His suggestion was greeted with roars of approval. “Lunch inna h’orchard, ’ooppee!”
Martha smiled happily. “Oh, what a splendid idea!”
Little Shilly sped off toward the Abbey, calling to the other Dibbuns. “Come on, we ’elp Granmum Gurvel wiv lunch!”
Toran watched them go. “I don’t think old Gurvel will thank me for lettin’ that lot invade the kitchens.”
Martha settled the big volume more comfortably on her lap. “Bless their little hearts, they mean well.”
Toran cast a glance at the haremaid’s book. “That’s a heavy ole thing t’be readin’, miss. Wot’s it all about?”
Martha opened the book at a page marked by a silken ribbon. “I borrowed it from Sister Portula’s library. It’s a rare and ancient account of Loamhedge mice.”
The ottercook looked thoughtful. “Loamhedge mice, eh? I’ve heard of them. Weren’t they the ones who helped t’build our Abbey? Aye, they were led by old Abbess, er, wotsername?”
“Germaine.” The haremaid corrected him. “It was she and Martin the Warrior who helped to build and design Redwall. Germaine and her followers once lived at the place they called Loamhedge. It was a peaceful and prosperous community, almost as large as our Abbey, some say. But they were forced to abandon it and flee for their lives. Loamhedge was left deserted to the four winds.”
Toran’s interest was roused. Although he was no great reader himself, he liked to hear his friend tell of what she had read. “Why did they have to leave? Does the book explain?”
Martha riffled back to a previously read page. “It says here that a great sickness fell upon Loamhedge. A plague, brought by vermin, possibly Searats. First there was sickness, then a few deaths. Abbess Germaine was wise enough to realise that it would grow into an epidemic, which would wipe them all out. So she took her mice and fled. They went wandering for many seasons, far from home. One day their journey took them into this part of Mossflower territory. It was here they met Martin the Warrior and his friends. Germaine joined forces with the Woodlanders, helping to rid the lands of powerful enemies. When peace was achieved, Martin and Germaine were free to realise their dream. They built a mighty stone fortress, an Abbey, where goodbeasts could live in safety and happiness together. That’s how, countless ages ago, Redwall came into being. . . .”
Martha was interrupted by her brother Hortwill. He came bounding and splashing through the shallows and threw himself upon her.
“Wot ho, wot ho, wot ho, me pretty young skin’n’blister!”
She ducked her head, laughing as he showered her face with kisses. “Stop that this instant, Horty! I’m not your skin’n’blister, I’m your sister. Oh, look now, you’ve splashed water all over Sister Portula’s precious book!”
Hortwill Braebuck, or Horty, as everybeast knew him, was Martha’s brother, older than her by two seasons. An overpowering character—ebullient, quaint of speech, always in trouble, he was roguishly gallant, sentimental to a fault, and possessed a gluttonous appetite. In short, a typical hare.
Throwing up both paws and ears in mock horror, Horty declaimed, “Well, flog me twice round the jolly old orchard an’ chop off me ears with a rusty blinkin’ axe, wot! Splashed a bally spot o’water on Sis Peculiar’s blessed book? Lack a day, fifty seasons in the cellar for me. What say you, Toran old scout? Either that or instant death. Wot wot?”
Toran played along with Horty’s dramatic mood. Squinting an eye, he growled fiercely, “Instant death’s the only thing!”
The young hare threw him a smart military salute. “As y’say, sah, sentence t’be carried out on the blinkin’ spot!”
Without further ado, Horty flung himself into the pond and vanished underwater, still saluting.
Martha sat bolt upright in her chair. “Oh the fool, save him Toran, quickly!”
Lumbering into the pond, the ottercook fished Horty out with one huge paw.
Grinning like a madbeast, and still saluting, Horty spouted a mouthful of water into the air. “Beloved blinkin’ friend, you’ve saved me life. I’ll never forget you, an’ I’ll always dine at your excellent kitchen!”
Keeping a straight face, Toran looked at Martha. “I’d better chuck him back in, miss, think of the food we’d save!”
Martha nearly fell out of her chair with laughter. “Hahahaha! Oh no, please sir, hahaha! I beg you, spare his gluttonous young life. Hahahahaha!”
Shooting a last jet of pondwater skyward, Horty said fondly, “A chap’s confounded lucky to have such a merciful sister, wot!”
Toran growled as he frog-marched Horty ashore. “Ye certainly are, matey. But if’n I hears ye callin’ Sister Portula, Sis Peculiar again, back in the pond ye’ll go. Aye, an’ those two ripscuttle pals o’ yores, Springald an’ Fenna. A lesson in manners wouldn’t harm them, either!”
Martha dabbed the book pages dry with her lap rug. She could never be angry with her boisterous brother. Horty had always been close by, ready to cheer her up when she was sad or depressed. Her inability to run free like other young ones sometimes put Martha in low spirits.
She held up the volume for Toran to see. “No harm done really, it’s perfectly dry now. Come on you two, let’s go back to the Abbey!”
On the way up, they met Muggum and several other Dibbuns who had been banished from the kitchens by Granmum Gurvel, the old assistant molecook.
Muggum tugged his snout respectfully to the haremaid. “Yur, mizzy, oi’ll push ee to ee h’orchard furr lunch.”
Reaching down, Martha lifted the molebabe onto her lap. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Muggum, but I’m sure Horty and Toran can manage the job quite well.”
Patting the young haremaid’s paw, the molebabe nodded sagely. “Oi thankee, Miz Marth’. Coom on, zurrs, you’m pushen us faster’n’that, us’n’s bee gurtly ’ungered furr lunch!”
3
Redwall orchard was a riot of blossoming fruit trees and bushes. Pink and white flowers clustered thick on every branch, their petals carpeting the grass. Apple, pear, cherry, beech, hazelnut and almond trees flourished in rows, fronted by raspberry, strawberry, red currant and whortleberry. Summer promised an abundant yield.
Toran cast an eye over three trolleys laden with buffet lunch—spring vegetable soup, brown bread and cheese, dandelion and burdock cordial, followed by a dessert of damson preserve pie. “Who did all this?”
Abbot Carrul bowed apologetically, knowing how touchy the ottercook could be about trespassers in his kitchen domain. “I offered to help Granmum Gurvel. You looked so hot and weary when I met you in the orchard for a breath of fresh air. Gurvel and I decided to help you out. Is it to your liking, my friend?”
Toran bowed thankfully to them both. “My thanks to ye. I couldn’t have done it better!”
Redwallers sat in the tree shade, laughing and chatting amiably as lunch was served. Sister Portula spread a rug, and Toran lifted Martha onto it. All four sat beneath a wide chestnut tree at the orchard’s far end. Sunlight and shadow dappled them as they watched the inhabitants of Redwall enjoying lunch. Martha appreciated such moments because the elders always included her in their discussions. The young haremaid felt she had become an honorary member of the Elders Council.
Martha laughed at the antics of the Dibbuns, who were beginning to get a bit rowdy. “They do get excited after a rainy spring indoors. Look at baby Yooch, he’s eating flower petals!”
Sister Portula shook her head. “There’s Shilly and some others doing it. I’ll wager ’twas Muggum who started it all. Muggum, Shilly and Yooch are more trouble than any ten Dibbuns. I call them the Terrible Trio!”
Toran’s stomach shook as he chuckled. “Yore right, marm. Hi there, Springald, go an’ tell those little ’uns to stop eatin’ the petals, or Sister Setiva will have to dose ’em with physicks.”