byes.”
The infant took Cornflower’s paw as they descended the wallsteps.
“A come t’morrer on wall?” he wanted to know.
“Yes, Rollo. We’ll come to the wall tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that until my Mattimeo
comes back. Do you remember Mattimeo?”
Rollo rubbed a tiny paw into his eyes. He was tired. “A’member ’timeo.”
Supper was good: redcurrant fritters and honeybread with hot elderberry cordial. The Abbey had been
repaired after the bird damage, food was plentiful and the season was mild, yet a gloom hung over the
Abbey without the presence of absent loved ones.
Cornflower sat late at table with Constance and the Abbot. Ambrose Spike had gone to his wine cellar,
Mrs. Churchmouse and John had carried Rollo off to the dormitory, and all the other Redwallers had gone
off to settle down for the night. The only sound was Winifred and Brother Rufus laying the trays out in the
kitchen for next morning’s baking.
Mordalfus folded up his glasses and yawned. “Still no sign of them yet, Cornflower?”
“No, Father Abbot. But don’t you worry, they’ll come home soon.”
“You have great faith, daughter. That is good. But we must learn in this life that the time comes to be
realistic. You must see that they’ve been gone nearly a season’s length now. That is a long time in the span
of any creature.”
A tear rolled down Cornflower’s cheek, and she wiped it away busily.
“Oh dear, my eyes get so watery when I’m tired. Maybe I should get Brother Dan to make me spectacles
like yours.”
Constance’s heart went out to the brave little mouse, and the badger stood up decisively.
“Right, it’s quarter moon tomorrow night. If they’re not back by the time the moon is full, then I’m
going out to look for them!”
The Abbot nodded his approval. “An excellent idea, old friend. I’ll send the remaining sparrows with
you and whoever you choose to take.”
They shook paws across the table. Constance winked cheerily at Cornflower.
“Come on, Cornflower. Off to bed with you, or you’ll be too tired to climb those south wall steps
tomorrow.”
When Cornflower had gone, Constance shook her head.
“I’m afraid I must agree with you, Mordalfus. A season is a long time, and the longer they’re away the
less chance they stand of coming back.”
“I know, Constance, but I couldn’t say that in front of Cornflower. She keeps her hopes up, though she
looks so sad these days, and the churchmice too. D’you really suppose they’ll come back?”
Constance toyed with some crumbs on the tabletop. “My heart likes to think so. However, my brain
tells me different. At least the hope that we’ll be sending a search party out soon should cheer her up. Ah
well, come on, young feller, it’s past bedtime.”
The two friends shuffled off wearily up the steps into Great Hall.
Shortly before dawn, Cornflower turned restlessly on her pallet in the dormitory. She had decided not to
sleep in the gatehouse cottage until her family was reunited. Soft voices rang through her head as grey
figures stole across her dreams. “Matthias, is that you, are you back?” she called out in her sleep. “No, wait,
you’re not Matthias. It’s Mattimeo. Oh, my little Matti, how you’ve grown. Is it really you? Come closer
and let me look at you.”
The figure loomed closer out of the mists of slumber. It was a warrior mouse, neither Matthias or
Mattimeo, but so like them both. The mouse smiled at Cornflower and pointed in the direction of the south
wall.
“Martin becomes Matthias becomes Mattimeo, and so it goes. Go now,” a voice said.
The dream faded as some creature tugged at Cornflower’s paw.
She opened her eyes and sat up, as baby Rollo climbed on the pallet.
“Wanna waterdrink, Rollo firstee,” he pleaded.
Cornflower hurriedly threw on a habit over her nightgown. “Come on, little one, we’ll take water and
bread up on the wall. Let’s have a picnic breakfast. The sun will soon be up.”
Rollo skipped beside her happily. “Water’n’breads, pickernick on wall.”
The sun rose over Mossflower like a ball of red fire, lighting the treetops, and dispelling the long grey and
purple rolls of cloud. The sky was soft pink tinged blue. Birds heralded the day as a light mist rose from the
forest.
Cornflower looked out eagerly over the still woodlands. Not a leaf moved or a blade of grass stirred.
There was nothing out there. She set Rollo’s breakfast out upon the stones. Then, clenching her paws in
determination, she waited. Still nothing.
The morning brightened as Redwall Abbey came alive with the sounds of creatures going about their daily
chores and pursuits. John Churchmouse sat next to his wife at the breakfast table. He looked up from the
maps of Mossflower he was studying.
“No baby Rollo this morning, dear?”
Mrs. Churchmouse passed the cheese to Ambrose. “No, that’s strange. Cornflower’s missing too. I
wonder where they have got to.”
John finished his October ale at a single draught. “Top of the south wall, of course, where they go with
you every day. Come on, I’ll take you up there and we’ll stand with them for a while.”
When they arrived at the south ramparts, Rollo was hurling apple cores over the wall at imaginary rooks.
“Morning, Cornflower. Glad to see you’ve got a warrior to protect you in case of invasion,” John
remarked.
“Oh, good morning to you both. Sorry I didn’t give you a call, but we decided to come up here early
and bring breakfast with us.”
John chuckled. “Good job it wasn’t porridge, the way that young scamp is chucking stuff about. Here,
Rollo, why don’t you try throwing a pebble with your little sling. It’ll go further.”
Rollo tried, but the pebble kept hitting the top of the wall and bouncing back. Half preoccupied with
watching the antics of the little one, Cornflower turned away from her vigil. Constance joined them, and as
the mice played with the baby bankvole, she looked out across the south reaches, casually at first.
Then Constance froze as if she had been turned to stone. She remained rigid, staring southwards and
slightly west.
Cornflower looked up as she retrieved Rollo’s stone. “Constance, what is it?”
“Dust!”
“Dust? Where from?”
“Seems to be from beyond that bend in the path, behind the trees. I can’t tell yet. Wait a moment…. Yes,
it’s dust all right, and it’s coming this way!”
The three mice scrambled to the top of a battlement. Cornflower jumped up and down, and Constance
had to catch her apron strings to keep her from falling.
“It’s dust! Somebeast is coming up the path, I know it!” Cornflower shouted.
John Churchmouse quickly donned his glasses. “There must be a great many to send up a dust cloud
like that so early on an autumn morning. They’ll be round the bend soon. Listen, can you hear voices?”
Constance leaned forward, straining her ears. Faintly she could catch the strains of voices chanting the
familiar warriors’ cries of Redwall and Mossflower.
Round the bend of the path they came, the paws of the horde raising a cloud of brown dust.
Cornflower could see the leaders as they began to march in double time at the sight of Redwall Abbey.
“It’s Matthias and Mattimeo, they’ve returned!” she shouted.
John Churchmouse and his wife yelled aloud, “Look, there’s our Tess and Tim…. Hooray!”
Constance leaned out across the battlements. “There’s Basil, and Jess and Sam. See, they’ve got young