the Lord of Mountebanks. But first you must drink a toast to the two who caught the big carp, your Abbot
and your Warrior, two of the noblest, most brave creatures that ever lived.”
Fleaback, Skinpaw, Wartclaw, Scringe and the rest dashed around the tables, chuckling heartily and
tickling little ones behind the ears while filling up every beaker and bowl.
Foremole stood up on a bench. “Yurr’s to Mattwise ee Wurrier, an’ yurr’s to Habbot ’Dalfuzz. Gudd
’elth, gennelbeasts.”
Beakers and bowls clinked together as the toast was drunk.
Slagar threw another pawful of dust into the fire. This time it rose up golden and smoking in a column
as he called out in an eerie voice:
“Stellar Lunaris Fortuna Mandala, hark to me, all creatures.”
Mattimeo was fascinated by the magic fox. He put his cider down and watched with rapt attention. Now
the fox had taken off his flowing silken cloak. He held it up and swirled it in front of him, slowly at first
then getting faster and faster, chanting as he did:
“See the stars, see the moon,
Penned around by blackest night.
See the diamonds red and purple,
Silk and fire and blood and light.
See them turning, ever turning,
Like a great mandala wheel,
Spinning as the fire is burning.
What is false and what is real … ?”
From somewhere near, Mattimeo could hear Mrs. Churchmouse gently snoring. He tried to fix his eyes
on the swirling cloak as it turned from diamond patterns to star-studded night skies. The fox’s voice droned
on and on, until finally Mattimeo could no longer keep his leaden eyelids from drooping.
He fell asleep across the table full of good food, well entertained and completely happy.
Chapter 11
The day dawned humid and grey. Soon huge dark cloud masses bunched in a lowering sky, occasionally
cut through by forked lightning flashes over to the west. Thunder rumbled dully from the far horizons of
the Golden Plain, then drops of rain, each one as big as a beechnut, began falling.
Constance the badger was wakened by the wetness, combined with the scream of distress from baby
Rollo.
“Mama!”
All around the badger, Redwall creatures were wakening, groaning and stumbling about in the heavy
downpour.
Matthias held his throbbing head with one paw as he shook Constance. “Quickly, let’s get them all in
out of the rain. Was that somebody shouting a moment ago?”
“Mama, Mama, wake up!”
Constance came fully awake as thunder boomed out overhead and the scene was lit by a branch of
forked lightning.
“It’s baby Rollo over by the north wallgate!”
Hurrying through the battering thunderstorm, Constance and Matthias dashed to where the little
bankvole sat crying by the small gate low in the sandstone wall. He was shaking the still form of Mrs. Lettie
Bankvole.
“Mama, oh Mama, please wake up, I’m getting wet!”
The warrior mouse’s head began to clear with the rain. “Cornflower, over here! Take this little one
inside. We must find out what’s been going on here.”
Cornflower scurried off, carrying baby Rollo in her paws as she shielded him from the wet with her
body.
“There, there, little Rollo, you come with me. Matthias and Constance will see to your mama.”
Basil Stag Hare dashed to join them, a skinny bedraggled figure in the rain. “Oh, me poor old head.
Hello, what’s up, you two?”
Constance sat by the pitiful bundle on the grass, wiping rainwater from her eyes. “She’s dead! Matthias,
who could have done this?”
Matthias had his forehead flat against the wall. Rain mingled with the tears that filled his eyes.
“Who else but that rotten fox and his venomous gang. I was taken in, fooled! Oh, the filthy cowards!
How could they murder a helpless creature like Mrs. Bankvole?”
From behind the open walldoor there came a faint moan. Matthias straightened up quickly and rushed
towards the door as it swung back. John Churchmouse staggered out from behind the door, blood flowing
from his temple where an ugly cut ran a jagged line from ear to ear. Matthias caught him, holding him up
against the wall in the pouring rain.
“John, are you all right? What happened?”
The churchmouse wiped rainwater and blood from his eyes. He was obviously in deep shock, reliving
the horrific events that he had witnessed.
“Stop … stop them … Get back, Mrs. Bankvole…. No, no! Come on, Hugo…. Got to stop them…. Blood
… can’t see…. Where’s Hugo, where’s Hugo … ?”
He collapsed senseless against Matthias.
Constance stepped in, sweeping the unconscious churchmouse up with a single paw. “I’ll get John
inside. Winifred, cover Mrs. Bankvole with a tablecloth for the moment. Matthias, Basil, see if you can find
Friar Hugo!”
The big badger hurried off through the curtain of rain with her burden.
The warrior mouse and the hare searched frantically around the grounds in the increasing downpour.
“Friar Hugo, where are you?”
“Hugo, come on, old lad. Call out if you can hear us!”
Winifred the Otter bumped into Matthias as he rounded the bell tower. “No sign of Hugo?” she asked.
“None at all, Winifred. He must have followed them out of the grounds. Hi, Basil! Come on, let’s search
the woodland outside the gate.”
The rain made loud splattering noises as it burst upon the tree canopy. Visibility was bad with rising
mist in the woods.
Matthias searched in the loam, beneath bushes, behind trees and among ferns. Nearby he could hear
Basil muttering through the deluge, “Come on, Hugo, you old pan-walloper, show y’self. I promise I’ll
never raid your kitchens again, cross m’ heart and hope to starve.”
Winifred the Otter shook water from her sleek coat as she bobbed up and down, hoping to catch a
glimpse of Hugo in the distance. She checked with Matthias.
“I don’t think a fat little mouse like Hugo could have travelled further than this. Perhaps we’d better
make our way back to the Abbey and search the grounds more thoroughly,” she suggested.
Suddenly Matthias went rigid. “Listen, can you hear something, Winifred?”
A muffled noise came to them through the rain. The otter pointed. “Over there. Quick!”
They crashed though the undergrowth to the place where the sound came from.
It was Basil Stag Hare. He was crouching on the wet ground, hugging something to him and sobbing
brokenly.
Matthias felt a huge lump like a lead weight in his chest as he knelt beside the hare. Winifred turned
away, unable to look. The fat little Redwall cook lay limp and dead, unaware of the rain that beat down
upon the favourite dockleaf his tail still held in its curl. Tears coursed openly down Basil’s cheeks as he
hugged the still form.
“Hugo old lad, what did they do to you?”
Winifred knelt with her friends. Silently she began brushing the loam and soil from the sodden habit
and once spotless white apron of the beloved little Friar, then without warning she broke down and began
weeping like a baby.
“He never did harm to a living creature. Why this…. Why?”
Basil stood slowly, his legs shaking as he held Hugo in his paws. “Permission to carry my old friend
back to his Abbey?”
Matthias remained kneeling on the ground, his fur saturated by the ceaseless rain.
“Permission granted, Basil. Winifred, will you tell them I’ll be a little late back to Great Hall.” The
Warrior’s voice trembled as he spoke.
As Matthias watched his friends depart, he picked up the dockleaf that had fallen from Friar Hugo’s