Mrs. Churchmouse and Cornflower barely managed to stop baby Rollo diving from a pear tree into a maple
and mint cream trifle, while Mattimeo and his friends were recapturing their lost season with other young
ones from the slave pits. They dashed about, plucking wild cherries from the tops of iced cakes, and
sneaking candied chestnuts from an arrangement which Sister May was making. She scolded them tongue
in cheek as the intricate heap fell apart for the umpteenth time.
Jabez Stump and young Jube were discovering the delights of strawberry cordial cold from the cellars.
They lay beneath a trickling barrel with their mouths open wide, only stopping to munch celery and young
onion flan.
Basil Stag Hare was instructing his protégé young Cheek in the art of trencherbeastship.
“No, no, m’lad. Don’t grab it all at once. Watch me. A smidgeon of fruit cake on the plate, a slice to eat
now; a pawful of honeyed blackberries for yourself, and one for your plate; a quick swig of elderberry
wine, and fill your beaker with beetroot port; now, some of the Abbot’s Redwall pie; lots of Brother Trugg’s
celery and woodland herb dip; compliment the old mole fellers on the deeper’n’ever pie an’ they’ll give
you an extra-large helpin’. Right, tackle that lot, and we’ll start again!”
Sir Harry was perched among the sparrows.
“Now listen and mark my words
As I eat this delicious cheese.
You’re really quite lucky birds,
To live in surroundings like these,
Woodland nutcrunch, gooseberry pie,
Honeybaked apples too.
Bilberry pudding, my, oh my,
Just swallow, don’t bother to chew.”
The Abbot looked apologetically over his glasses at Matthias. “There’s a very nice fish baking in the pit, a
grayling, like the one we caught together many seasons ago. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up to go fishing,
but you were sleeping so peacefully.”
Matthias shook his head regretfully as he watched the moles take the dockleaves from the steaming
white fish which lay on the pit embers.
“Hmm, I’ve missed our fishing trips, but I forgive you. By the way, who did help you? It’s more than a
one-mouse job, landing a fish that size.”
Sister May tugged shyly at the Warrior’s habit.
“Beg pardon, Matthias, it was me. We hooked it, played it and landed it together, the Abbot and I.”
“Well, I never! Sister May, you’re getting a dreadful name around here. Knocking birds out with herbs
and cooking pots, helping ghosts to walk, now fishing half the night after grayling on the Abbey pond.
What next?”
“Taking my paw to your young Mattimeo’s ear, if he keeps upsetting my candied chestnut display. If
you’ll excuse me,” Sister May said, and hurried off.
Baby Rollo had finally succeeded in diving from the pear tree straight into the center of an oversized sliced
apple and wild plum crumble. He sat smiling and eating his way out, a mass of sweet acorn crumbs and
sticky fruit.
Basil Stag Hare wagged his ears in admiration. “Now there’s a buck with the right idea. Here, Rollo old
messmate, chuck Uncle Basil a helpin’, will you? I say, marm, this Mossflower salad is outstanding. Is that
fennel you’ve grated in with the carrot? Excellent. My, my, what a pretty pattern of parsley and cucumber
around the edge. Talented gel!”
Sister Agnes blushed at the compliments. “Oh, Mr. Stag Hare, have you tried my orchard fruit cake
with the buttercup cream center?”
“Lead me to it, marm!”
Jess and Sam had taken the young squirrel Elmtail in tow. They laughed at his curiosity as he sampled
everything put in front of him.
“What’s this one called?”
“Blueberry cream tart.”
“Mmmph, great! What’s this nice drink?”
“Oh, that’s cold mint and apple tea. D’you like it?”
“I’ll say I do! Can I have some of that funny-looking pie?”
“Ssshh! Don’t let the Abbot hear you, that’s his new invention, wild cherry and glazed plum gateau
with elderflower cream. He’s very proud of it.”
“Mmmm, so he should be, tastes marvelous. D’you use paws or a spoon?”
“Try using your mouth. Hahaha!”
Morning slid into afternoon. A gentle breeze drifted small white clouds across the serene blue expanses of
sky, and the autumn sun shone down kindly upon the happy scene as the creatures of Redwall feasted
through noontide, across the balmy evening until the night fires and lanterns in trees illuminated the joyous
scene below. The half moon came out to watch for the sun. It shed pale light upon baby Rollo, fast asleep on
Orlando’s lap. The big badger’s battleaxe hung from a beech tree nearby. He turned to Matthias, who was
drifting off into sleep, holding Cornflower’s paw.
“Warrior, I have never seen such a wondrous place as this. Look at the beautiful building, those huge
safe walls, the fruit and food growing from the ground; and that pond, it glows like a silver plate in the
moonlight. Aaaahhh! These contented old ones, peaceful, wise, and your young ones too, they look so
happy and good. Even when I lived out on the Western Plains with my Auma, we never knew such
wellbeing as this. Can you explain it to me?”
Matthias let his eyelids droop until they shut.
“Orlando, my good friend, the explanation to it all is merely one simple word: Redwall.”
The badger turned to reply, but Matthias and Cornflower were asleep. He looked down at baby Rollo
slumbering on his lap without a care in the world. Settling himself down, Orlando turned his face to the
night sky which surrounded Mossflower. He repeated the precious word aloud to the moon:
“Redwall!”
Chapter 55
Extract from the diary of Tim Churchmouse, Recorder of Redwall Abbey:
It is the summer of the Rosebay Willowherb!
Great masses of the pink mauve flowers nod their heads by the sides of our Abbey paths. Seven seasons
have passed, counting the Autumn of the Warriors’ Return, and this will be my second season as Recorder.
John, my father, retired. He is now helping the Abbot to compile a great volume of Mossflower recipes. Strange,
when I was young our Father Abbot was an old mouse, yet still he carries on changeless as ever. I think he will
outlive us all.
The slaves who were freed from the evil of Malkariss have all settled here. They are our Brothers and
Sisters now, and a happier band you could not meet. The Sparra colony is growing and flourishing in our
roofspaces, though now it is called Warbeak Loft. Sir Harry the Muse lives up there with them. He was elected
Leader and Poetry Instructor. Several times now he has resigned in despair at the Sparra language, though his
love of authority always leads him to be re-elected.
Redwall is surely a place of curious happenings, not the least of which is the adoption of Cheek by Basil.
There was much amusement three seasons ago when he became officially the hare’s young one. Now he calls
himself Cheek Stag Otter, and the impudent rascal has also adopted all Basil’s mannerisms (and his appetite
too).
Stryk Redkite is at present paying us a visit. She has a mate, a huge fellow named Skine, and they have
their first eggchick too. Sister May was delighted at their announcement that the young one is to be named