In the center of the orchard a feast had been laid out.
Pikkle gazed at it in openmouthed delight. "Well, flop my ears! I've heard of tucker, but I never thought I'd live to see such a bally spread as this!"
Dumble appeared from beneath a table, his high northland accent forgotten as he clung to the Abbess's robe, staring around at the army of strange shrews.
"It's a Nameday, Muvva. Wot we gunna call it?"
The Abbess looked fondly at Mara and Pikkle standing next to Arula and Samkim.
"The Autumn of the Homecomers. What else could we call it?"
The Feast of the Autumn of the Homecomers was an event long to be remembered in the annals of Redwall Abbey. For the first time in many long seasons the big badger's chair that had remained empty for so long had a badger sitting in it: Mara, Guardian of Redwall.
Friar Bellows, clad in a smart new white apron and cook's hat, stood ladle in paw on top of a barrel of cowslip cordial where all present could see him. The fat mouse coughed importantly.
"Er, ahem, ahem! Your attention please, friends. Very good, very good! Now, er, as most of you are new guests to our Nameday table, the Abbess has asked me to say a word or two."
Vale chuckled quietly as she whispered to Alfoh, "I never asked Bellows to say anything, but he will!"
The Redwall Friar continued his speech, warming to the subject. "It is indeed unusual to see such visitors joining us. I've never catered for a royal golden eagle, four falcons, a badger and a veritable army of shrews, to say nothing of a hare"
"I never told you to say nothing of me, old chap," Bikkle chipped in.
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Bellows shot him a glare. "Er, quite, very good. Where was I? Ah yes. Welcome to Redwallour Abbey is yours. Join us in good cheer upon this happy day. Eat, be merry and enjoy the bounty of the season, though I don't know whether our food will suit you all as my helpers and I have never had to feed such a strange assembly. Yes, very good!"
Droony ducked his head beneath the tablecloth and called out, "Hurr, then give you'm jaw a rest an' let 'em try 'ee vittles!"
There was a general roar of laughter. Amid the jollity, Mara stood up and rescued the red-faced Friar.
"I am sure the food will suit us all, Friar Bellows. It looks too good for words. The fame of you and your kitchen staff is a legend throughout Mossflower. We intend to do this feast full justice. Abbess, I believe it is customary for you to say grace at these occasions. Would you be so kind?"
Abbess Vale recited the Abbey grace as they all bowed their heads.
"Squirrels, otters, hedgehogs, mice, Moles with fur like sable, Gathered in good spirits all, Round the festive table. Sit we down to eat and drink. Friends, before we do, let's think, Fruit of forest, field and banks, To the seasons we give thanks."
Amid a clatter of bowls and spoons, the feast began. Tables had been joined together to form a large cross shape, and there were five centerpieces. A Redwall jubilee trifle of pears, damsons, greensap cream and hazelnut truffle was on the north end. Opposite at the south trestle stood a magnificent blackcurrant pudding, swimming in a peach-covered cream of whisked beech-nut and strawberry topped off with a sugar-preserved sprig of maple. The east side was graced by a high wobbling redcurrant jelly with flaked almond and chestnut suspended inside like a sunset snowstorm, and it was wreathed
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in yellow-piped meadowcream. At the west board was a golden honey-crusted confection of latticed pastry with mint-cream and candied chestnuts oozing from it onto a bed of purple plums. In the center stood a wide diamond of sweet arrowroot shortcake with all the fruits of the summer piled on it, fixed there by stiff comb honey blended with a puree of apple and raspberry. Salads of ten different kinds ranged amid the wedges of white, yellow and beige cheeses, studded with nuts, herbs and celery. Oatfarls, cottage loaves and batons of ryebread, all hot from the ovens with their crusts gleaming brown, lay scattered between vegetable flans, shrimp and hot-root soup and massive deeper *n' ever turnip V later 'n' beetroot pies beloved by moles. Redcurrant tarts, bilberry scones, plumcakes, latticed apple pies, strawberry flans and damson puddings radiated out into patterns, dotted by bowls of nutcream, meadowcream, Abbeycream, rosecream and buttercup fondant. Pitchers, flagons and jugs overflowing with October ale, strawberry cordial, dandelion and burdock, berry wine and cowslip cordial jostled for position amidst bowls of warm scented rosewater and embroidered napkins standing by for sticky paws.
"Hey, Nordo, what do you think of our shrimp an' hotroot soup, matey?
"Whooh! It's hot! Pass the October ale, please."
"Yurr, you'm sample some o' 'ee deeper 'n' ever pie, zurr
heagle."
"Och, as soon as Ah get man beak free o' this trifle, laddie."
"Righto, Dumble me old scout, load in the cheese an' salad. Now you start at this side of the loaf and I'll start at the other side. That's the ticketmeet you in the middle, wot?"
"D'you likes ches'nut an' celery cheese, Mr. Log-a-log? Just try a piece atop of yore vegetable flan."
"Mmm! It was worth paddling all that way for, Mr. Spinneyand I think I'll dream of your October ale for the rest of my life. Alfoh, what's that you're eating?"
"Bilberry scone with meadowcream. The Friar's going to
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give me the recipevery civilized indeed. Now then, young mole, don't fall into that deeper pie thing."
"Hurr hurr, zurr. That be the bestest part, fallen in 'ee pie, then oi c'n eat moi ways out o' et!"
"Oh, look out, Thrugann and Brother Hollyberry have started a shrimp-and-hotroot-soup-eating competition. Just look at that pepper they're putting into it!"
"I say, chaps, any room for another jolly old contestant?"
"Steady on, Pikkle Ffolger. You're in the middle of a pie-eatin' contest with me."
"Haha, so I am, Tubbyguts old lad. Hold the soupI'll be with you as soon as I've dealt with this Guosssom glutton."
"Ach, you skinny lang-legged laddie is a braw scoffer. Ah'd hate him tae visit mah nest for a season. Pass some o' those candied chestnuts, will ye, Tammbeak."
"Awa', yer no doin' sae bad yerseF for an injured falcon, if ye'd tak' yer beak out o' yon trifle an' look at yersel', Rocangus!"
The son of Laird Mactalon did take his beak out of the trifle long enough to rip away the dressing from his wing. He flexed it and gave a wild whoop. "Kaahey! Mah wing's wor-kin' again. Thrugg, yer a bonny riverdog!"
Immediately he was in the air, circling and soaring around the high spire and redstone turrets of the Abbey. Wheeling out, he swooped down and glided majestically over the heads of the revellers in the orchard as they cheered and hurrahed.
Abbess Vale smiled contentedly at her old friend. "My my, Faith, they are enjoying themselves. I do hope we don't run short of anything."
"Humph!" Friar Bellows leaned over between them. "Short, did you say? You should see the supper spread I've laid out in Great Hallit would feed an army through a hard winter."
Mara shook the fat mouse solemnly by the paw. "Thank you. Friar Bellows, you have done our Abbey proud."
Abbess Vale smiled as she grasped the badger maid's paw.
"Did you hear that, Samkim? She said 'Our Abbey.' Do