Cynthia with them!”
“I can see two badgers!”
“There’s an owl. Look, an owl!”
“Hedgehogs, shrews, woodlanders! By the fur and claw, there’s a great army of woodlanders coming
this way!”
“Turn out the Abbey, tell the Father Abbot. Sound the bells!”
Matthias marched shoulder to shoulder with his friends, while the horde packed in behind them gazed up
in awe at the red sandstone Abbey which reared above the trees ahead.
Mattimeo began laughing. Tim, Tess and Cynthia pounded him on the back as they shouted and
cheered wildly:
“Good old Redwall, tell Ambrose to get the barrels open!”
“Who’s that on the walls? It’s your mum. Look, there’s ours too. Mum, Mum! D’you think they can
hear us?”
The Methuselah and the Matthias bells began pealing and clanging out across the clear morning air.
Bong! Clang! Boom! Bong! Clang! Boom!
Basil halted the army. “Right markers, get fell in. Come on, you sloppy lot, we’re coming home like a
proper army, not a ragamuffin crowd. Ranks of six, chins in, chests out, shoulders back. Step lively there,
you at the back, catch up. Come on, come on, laddie buck, you’re not on a daisy-chain ramble now,
y’know. Quick march!”
“Never gives up, does he?” Jess muttered to Sam from the side of her mouth. “You watch, he’ll be the
first to break ranks and charge if anybeast throws a pie over that wall.”
The hot morning sunlight shafted down on the brown dust rising between the green and gold leaves of
Mossflower as the main doors of the old red sandstone Abbey burst open.
The Abbot walked out at the head of the Abbey dwellers. They lined the path facing Matthias at the
head of his army.
There was complete silence as they stood looking at each other.
The warrior mouse unslung his great sword. Stepping forward, he laid it flat in the dust at the paws of
Mordalfus.
“Father Abbot, we have come home.”
There was a mighty cheer which shook the timbers of the main gate frame, then the ranks broke as
every creature dashed forward to greet old friends and meet new ones.
So it was the young ones returned to Redwall.
It took the whole of that day in the Abbot’s study for the full story to unfold from both sides.
Matthias, Jess, Basil and Orlando, with Mattimeo, Tim, Tess, Sam, Cynthia and Auma, crowded in
alongside Cornflower, Constance and Ambrose Spike.
Food was brought in to them as the young ones related all that had happened from the night of the
feast to Malkariss’s cells. Matthias, Orlando, Jess and Basil related the hunt for the young ones from the
same night up to the death of Slagar.
It was late afternoon before they were done. The Abbot had listened intently to the harrowing narrative.
He shook his head sadly.
“In the midst of all our joyous reunion we must never forget fallen friends, particularly Queen Warbeak
and Log-a-Log. I will hold services for all our fallen friends at the first sunrise of spring, and they will
remain dear to our memories for all the seasons to come.”
In the sad silence that followed, Matthias decided to lighten the mood of the proceedings a little. He
slapped his paw down on the table.
“Well then, Mordalfus you old twig, I suppose you’ve been sitting here twiddling your paws while
we’ve been away. Tell me, how did you manage to keep busy?”
The Abbot chuckled. “Oh, we managed, I suppose. However, I’ll let Cornflower tell you about that.”
Cornflower took her paw from around Mattimeo’s shoulder for the first time that day. She stood up and
grinned mischievously.
“Hmmm, it was as dull as ditchwater without our warriors and young ones about. Then one fine day
we had a visit from some birds. Let me tell you about it….”
They listened spellbound, fuming with indignity at the thought of baby Rollo being held hostage, cheering
for Sister May and her drugged strawberries, laughing aloud at the warrior ghost mouse and the terror it
caused among the rooks, and finally applauding Constance and Stryk Redkite at the final struggle.
Mattimeo picked up his father’s sword and offered it to Cornflower.
“Here, Mum, you should be the Champion of Redwall!”
Matthias shook his head in amazement. “By the claw and the fur! What a brave bunch we have at our
Abbey. I would dearly like to meet this Stryk Redkite.”
Constance gazed fondly at Auma as she stroked the young one’s headstripes. “You will, Matthias, you
will, someday. Now, we must find quarters for our new friends. Sister May and Brother Rufus will open
the infirmary to all, for sore paws and old wounds must be treated. I’m afraid there’s no supper tonight.
You’ll have to go straight to bed. Anyhow, you lot look as if a long rest will do you good.”
Basil’s ears flopped with disappointment. “What, no supper? I say, Constance old fruit, the only thing
that’s kept B. Stag Hare on his paws for nearly a full season was the hope of a good old scoff at Redwall. I
mean, what’s a chap to do if he’s had the old nosebag cut off, wot, wot? Bad form, old gel, t’ say nothin’ of
rank bad manners to our guests. No supper. I don’t believe it!”
Mrs. Churchmouse slapped Basil smartly upon the paw. “Mr. Stag Hare, will you kindly give your
overworked jaws a rest and be quiet! Thank you. Now let me explain. The reason that we are not cooking
supper is that the season is to be named first thing tomorrow: the Autumn of the Warriors’ Return. All our
Abbey dwellers have volunteered to work through the night, but new arrivals must sleep and keep out of
the way. Starting at sunup, we are going to hold a feast in the orchard.”
Basil’s ears stood up like two signals. “A f-feast, y’say, marm. Will it be a big un?”
Cornflower spread her paws. “The biggest one you’ve ever sat down to, Basil.”
“Golly! Bigger than the summer feast?”
“Far bigger!”
“An’ you’re all goin’ to cook right through the night?”
“Oh yes, that’s why we don’t want you under our paws. Otherwise we might not have it ready on
time.”
“Got it, marm. All the weary warriors sleep while you sportin’ creatures cook up a whackin’ breakfast.
Right?”
“Right!”
Basil shot out of the Abbot’s study like a rocket, calling over his shoulder as he went, “Last one in bed
and fast asleep’s a rotten egg. Yaaaah!”
Foremole entered the study, rubbing his nose. “Oi jus’ bin a-runned over boi a mad creatur’. Hurr.”
Orlando laughed so hard he hurt his jaw.
Chapter 54
The feast of the Autumn of the Warriors’ Return began just after dawn. Mist rose in the orchard as the sun
began to mount in the sky, and rosy apples dripped dew onto the heads of the creatures who sat beneath
the trees. There were far too many for tables, so the entire party sat on the grass.
Chestnuts were baked and roasted on the fire pit dug by the moles; cheeses were rolled from the
larders; fresh fruit lay in heaps between honeycombs and small hillocks of new baked bread.
Ambrose Spike tapped the casks of cider, October ale, berry wines and various fruit cordials which
stood on trestles around a thick-boled beech tree.
The liberated slaves sat transfixed. They had never seen such an abundance of fare. Moles called for
gangway as they trundled deeper’n’ever pies out on trolleys; long poles slung between otters wobbled
under the weight of cauldrons of watershrimp and hotroot soup: hazelnut and acorn scones were laid out
in rows to cool by the raspberry canes.