There was pure white cheese and celery wafers to go with the drink.
They sat on upturned casks as he issued them with wonderfully carved cherrywood bowls to drink from.
"Cherrywood be the best of all trees to make bowls from. Taste this and see what thee think of my art."
It was absolutely delicious, dark, cool and sweet. Before they had finished he was opening a large gourd.
"This was made by my mother, or 'twas made by my grandmother, I'm not sure, 'twas so long ago. Notice, 'tis a brighter red and a fizzy taste, more suited to eat with salads."
Gourds were opened, casks unbunged and flasks broached. Martin and Rose sat together in the cool dimness of the hollow oak, eating cheese and celery wafers and sipping so many different cordials, each with its own history, that they lost count. Aggril's voice droned on like a bumblebee hovering round apple blossom, while outside the sun made leaf patterns in the still woodlands. Martin had never known such peace and happiness in all his life. He lay back and closed his eyes, the heavy fragrance of wild cherries scenting the air about him.
It was night. Rose came slowly awake with the sensation that she was drifting, floating under the soft dark canopy of the sky, star pointed and centered with a waning moon. The mousemaid lay at peace, feeling the swirl of water against silent paddles, hearing the gentle creak of timbers ...
She was on a boat!
"Be still, liddle shipmate, an' take yer ease."
The strong cheerful face of a big male otter appeared before her.
Rose sat up slowly, trying to shake off the feeling of unreality.
"Where am I?"
"Aboard the good craft Waterlily an' travellin' on the great Broadstream. Lay back an' sleep now, yore in safe paws, miss."
Martin, Pallum and Grumm were curled up nearby, their contented snores blending with the slight noises of the boat. The otter plied his oar with a hefty tattooed paw as he chuckled, "Ole Aggril certainly slipped you an' yer pals a good measure of his special sleepin' potion.
Them three won't know nothin' about it until way into mornin' light."
Rose felt helpless, a pleasant inertia stealing over her as she slumped gently back. "You mean to tell me that Aggril drugged us?"
The otter grinned and winked at her. "Sure as my name's Starwort.
That ole hedgepig don't like young uns noways. He reckons the cherry trees are his, an' it's good night to any beast that messes wi' them.
Lucky you was with Boldred, or Aggril might've sent you into a sleep you'd never wake from. As it was, he just popped you off temp'ry so's Boldred could get you out of the way. We 'ad to sling you an' yer pals into 'ammocks an' carry you a fair way to get you aboard Waterlily."
Rose half tried to keep her eyes open, murmuring drowsily, "Where is Boldred?"
The short eared owl's voice came from somewhere above her.
"Perched nice and comfy up here on the masthead. Do as Starwort says, Rose. Go back to sleep."
The mousemaid could hear her own voice as if from a distance.
"Back ... to ... slee ... p."
The sun was up, and birds serenaded the new day from the thick foliage bordering Broadstream. The travellers sat with their paws through the midship rails, letting the water run through them. A crew of two dozen otters hauled the single square sail to catch the mild breeze, singing lustily as they heaved on the ropes.
"Oh, the Broadstream comes from who knows where, It flows to who knows whither,
And I sail with it here an' there,
Wand'rin' yon an' hither.
The place of waters is my home,
For I'm a fearless rover.
Through calm an' storm I'm bound to roam,
Until my days are over.
Roll, roll and flow, and let the seasons gooooooooo."
As the last deep bass notes died, a triangle's discordant jangle rent the air.
Grumm sniffed. His homely face lit up. "Hurr, 'tis zoop!"
Small otters poured out of the forecastle cabin, leaping, somersaulting and banging ladles on wooden bowls. Starwort's wife Marigold issued the four friends with bowls and ladles.
"Were I you, I'd 'urry. Those nippers'll lick the pot dry. They're nought but stomachs on paws!"
Over a charcoal brazier on the afterdeck, a fat otter called Stewer was dishing out soup, loaves of barley bread and a concoction the otters drank called scupper juice. Stewer filled their bowls to brimming, cautioning them cheerfully, "Watershrimp, bulrush 'n'
hotroot soup, mates. It'll give you fur like velvet an' put a sparkle in yer eye. But drink plenty o' that scupperjuice to cool yer gills!"
Pallum's eyes watered. He fanned his mouth with both paws and gulped scupperjuice greedily. "Phwaw! My poor mouth's on fire. I never knew soup could taste so hot. Oh, my burning tongue!"
Martin and Rose were suffering equally. The soup was delicious, but the hotroot pepper must have been ladled into it.
Tossing aside his spoon, Grumm drank his soup with gusto. The heat of it did not seem to bother him. "Gurr, this be wunnerful zoop, ho aye. Furst clarss! Yurr, you uns 'ave moi bread an' moi drink. Give oi yurr zoop."
Willingly they exchanged their soup for the mole's bread and scupperjuice. Grumm slurped away merrily, watched by the entire otter crew and their families.
Starwort shook his head. "I ain't never seen a creature enjoy our soup so much in all me born days. We can't even take it without drinkin' scupperjuice to quench the burnin'. Grumm, matey, are you sure you've never 'ad this soup afore?"
The mole wiped a bead of sweat from his snout tip. "No zurr, never, tho' oi wisht oi 'ad. Think wot oi been a missen all these seasons, hurr!"
Streamsailing was a novel experience for the travellers. Under the otter crew's helpful paws they learned to reef and tack, scull, row and steer. Boldred had flown on ahead to contact the shrews. The otters reckoned to meet up with them sometime in mid evening.
Grumm and Pallum took instantly to the nautical life. The Waterlily was so large and flat bottomed that they forgot their fear of the water.
Both the hedgehog and the mole adopted the otters' rolling gait and streamslang.
"Ahoy, Grumm matey. 'Tis a fair day on an even keel."
"Ahurr, Pallum me 'earty, coom an' sit yurr midships an' drop anchor 'longside oi, you'm ole streamdog!"
Martin and Rose clapped paws to mouths, stifling their giggles at the antics of the pair.
Roach, tench, perch and the odd pike could be seen through the clear running stream, following the Waterlily for the scraps that were thrown overboard. Sometimes they would cruise where the bank was deepsided, enjoying the shade of the trees. Other times they would ride out on the broad swell, catching the breeze. Rose watched Martin waving at a kingfisher which hung over an inlet, whirring its wings in a ceaseless blur as it watched the water for small fry. It was an idyllic day.
Early evening passed, coloring Broadstream's banks a limpid green that gave way to gold flecked cerise in midstream.
They heard the chattering and squabbling of small gruff voices from around a sharp bend in the watercourse. Starwort shook his head despairingly as he manoeuvred the tiller.
"Them Broadstream shrews, never stops arguin' an' disputin', they don't. I once saw two of 'em jump in the water an' climb out to argue over who was the wettest. Reef yer sail, you two streamdogs. We're roundin' the point!"
Pallum and Grumm attempted an otter's footpaw salute.
"Haye aye, steady as she goes. Reefin' an' furlin' wi' all paws!"
Pulling smoothly into the bank, they disembarked into a noisy chaos.
The Broadstream shrews were odd little creatures, raggledy haired and clad in baggy pantaloons. They all carried short rapiers, which they constantly drew and jabbed the air with when making a point. Boldred perched by their campfire, checking the charts and maps she had revised. The travellers sat alongside her, surrounded by a horde of curious shrews. She squinted her large round eyes in exasperation.
"Shrews! They don't even have a leader of this tribe, but each one thinks that they are in charge of everything. Listen to them!"