"Rose, we could have chopped the sycamore down with this."
43
The sun rose in summer splendor as Starwort's drum beat out a victory roll. Unaware of certain events, a large crowd stood cheering in the smouldering gateway that lay open to the sun warmed shore and the sparkling sea. Rowanoak strode slowly up, placing a restraining paw on the jubilant otter Chieftain. "Silence the drum, friend. Our battle was won at a bitter price."
Brome worked away dry eyed on the wounds of the unconscious mouse warrior, binding and staunching as he applied herb poultices, all the time talking to himself. "It was all my fault, if I had stayed at Noonvale and not gone wandering I would never have been captured by Badrang's creatures and none of this would have happened. I am to blame!"
Ballaw sniffed. Bending down one ear, he wiped his syes. "There, there, old lad. There's only one beast t' ?lame for all this and that's Badrang. Martin settled the >core with him for good; the evil has gone from this and for ever."
Grumm stumbled up with a large dressing on the side :>f his face and neck. Deep rivulets carved their way iown his face where the tears flowed constantly, and he nade several small gestures with his paws before Buckler sat him down with a large kerchief. "You'm 'ave to
'scuse Grumm, Maister Brome, him'n losed 'is voice through a grieven.
We'm puttin' fallen uns t' rest.... Wot abowt Miz Roser?"
Brome left off ministering to Martin's senseless form. He took a huge breath, letting it out in a shuddering sigh. "Thank you, friends, but I'm taking her home to Noonvale with me." Reaching out, he tucked in a corner of the simple white linen cloth that covered his sister's pitiful body. "Rose would have been alive today but for me, you know."
Buckler shook his head. "You'm not to blame, maister, nor Marthen, nor nobeast yurr."
Rowanoak looked bleakly around at the ruined, smoke stained walls of Marshank, where not one foe beast had been left alive. "I don't know where we're all bound, but let's get away from this place!"
Boldred seconded the badger's wise words. "Rowanoak is right.
There's been too much death and grief here, it seems to be part of the very stones. We'll leave what's left of Marshank standing as a reminder to any bad ones of what free and peaceful creatures can do when they're driven to it!"
Helped by Marigold, Brome placed Martin on a stretcher. He stood upright and addressed the multitude.
"Some of you, like the otters and the shrews of Broad stream, have homes to return to. Those of you who have no homes, listen to me.
Noonvale can be your home, a place of peace to live happily in for all seasons. Put aside your weapons if you wish to go with me to Noonvale."
A pile of javelins, swords, daggers, bows and arrows lay at the center of the deserted compound that had once held Badrang's slaves.
On the shore outside the fortress, comrades who had fought together now took their leave of each other. Like a stern father, the Warden of Marsh wood Hill shepherded the wild and wayward squirrel tribe back to their mountain foothills beyond the marshes. Boldred watched them go. "He'll keep his eye on those rogues. Come on, let's get Martin away from here."
Bound to the stretcher, and still clasping his father's sword tightly, the unconscious young mouse was carried south along the beach by Pallum, Grumm, Boldred and Rowanoak.
Ballaw turned to the remainder of the Rambling Rosehip players, who stood alongside others bound for Noonvale. "Old Rowanoak'll join us once Martin's safe, wot! Right ho, Starwort, lead us to your vessel, my good otter!"
Queen Amballa stood with her pigmy shrews. They were the last to leave. One of the shrews had picked up the sword she had once given to Martin. Waddling behind Brome, she called out, "Waitmouse!"
Brome halted. He watched as the Queen of the pigmy shrews signalled the otters carrying Rose's bier to lower it. Placing the small sword beside the mousemaid's still form, Amballa spoke in her curt vigorous manner.
"Rosemouse bravemouse! We remember hername allseasons!" She waved to the pigmy shrews and they set off south along the shoreline for their own territory.
High noontide hung over Marshank. It lay open to the insects, birds and seasons. A breeze lingered there, swirling the dust and sand into miniature spirals, mingling it with ashes around the carcasses of Badrang's horde, which had been left for the gannets and scavenging sea birds to dispose of. The once proud fortress of the Tyrant now stood deserted and forsaken.
The first gannet to land was chased off by Cap'n Tramun Clogg, waving his spade as he trundled out of hiding from the grave surmounted by the upturned wheelbarrow.
"Garn! Gerroutofit, you robbin' featherbag! Leave my 'orde alone.
I'm master 'ere now, just like I said I'd be one day, haharrharr!" The crazed corsair clumped about, turning first this one and then another, chatting amiably with the slain.
"Crosstooth, me ole matey, yore lookin' prime!"
"Harr, Boggs, sorry ye didn't join yer ole Cap'n to dig graves now, are ye?"
"Stumptooth, I allus said you should've sided with me. Never mind, mate, I'll find ye a snug berth. Leave it to Cloggo!"
He worked his way around until he found what he was looking for.
"Badrang! Arr, where's yer fine dreams of empires now, you swab?
Met a warrior who was more'n a match for ye, eh! Well, we're gonna be 'ere for ever now, you'n me, so let's not quarrel an' fall out with each other, matey. Tell yer wot, I'll dig ye a smart new grave, nice an'
deep, aye, with rocks piled atop an' yer name carved all 'andsome like on one of 'em!"
The sea birds wheeled and soared over the lone figure below, sitting in the slave compound as he argued and gossiped with the dead stoat, who made no reply as he stared through sightless eyes at the unclouded blue sky of the Eastern Coast.
44
Days shortened, and the flowers of summer died one by one as leaves began turning brown and gold. It was on one such mist shrouded autumn morning that Martin sat in the odd tree house, with the molewife Polleekin and his three friends, Boldred having long since departed for her mountain and her family.
All through the remainder of the summer Polleekin, Grumm, Pallum and Rowanoak had spent sleepless nights and restless days, nursing the Warrior back to health. Martin had come through it in silence, never speaking a word. He looked young still. Though healed in body and getting stronger by the day, his eyes still had a faraway look in them.
Grumm was about to speak when Polleekin silenced him with a glance. She nodded to the sword at Martin's side. "Oi be a needen more foirewood, Marthen. Will you'm cut some?"
Wordlessly Martin took up his sword and went off, descending to the forest to cut wood. Pawing at the scar cut through his backspikes, Pallum got up as if to follow, but the molewife forbade it. "You'm set thurr, 'edgepig. They Wurrier garn off to shed tears!"
Rowanoak shook her head wonderingly. "I heard him yesterday as I was walking through the forest. It must be very hard for him, he never mentions Rose."
Polleekin busied herself with breakfast. "No, marm, nor will him'n, oi doant think never. That liddle mousey maid be locked in Marthen's
'eart, and thurr she'm bound to stay."
Grumm blinked and sniffed. "Marthen be a gurt brave wurrier, tho'
him'n woant go back to Noonvale; too many mem'ries furr 'im thurr."
Polleekin's breakfast was good homely fare, oatmeal with honey, nutbread spread thick with strawberry preserve and a steaming pot of mint and dandelion tea. Martin ate automatically, neither tasting nor commenting on the food. When he had finished he made a simple announcement. "I am leaving today."
It was the first time he had spoken since the battle at Marshank.
His friend waited for him to say more, but he sat silent, staring at his empty plate, face calm and resolute.
It was then that Rowanoak knew Martin had rejoined the land of the living. "Will you come to Noonvale with us? We will be leaving to go there today."