Vurg entered the cave and indicated Martin with a nod. "His Grandma Windred is lookin' for him. Dinner's ready in the big cave. Are you coming, Luke?"
Luke glanced up from the bowstring he was twining and greasing. "I'll be along. There's still work to do here."
Vurg looked around at the rows of stakes waiting to be sharpened, flint axheads, unstrung yew bows, and gnarled driftwood limbs waiting to be fashioned into clubs. "A fair ole bit o' work I'd say, Luke. Why don't me'n'Cardo an' some of the others help you?"
Luke knotted off the end of his finished bowstring. "My son's a good little helper, but I could do with some like you to lend a paw. Why didn't you offer sooner, Vurg?"
His friend smiled wryly. "Because none of us fancied gettin' our heads bitten off."
Luke offered his paw. "Sorry, mate. I accept your help gratefully. 'Tis not your heads I'm lookin' to bite off, just the Sea Rogues'."
Vurg took Luke's paw and shook it warmly. "Good. Let's go an' get some dinner, then every able-bodied beast in camp will pitch in with pleasure!"
From then on Luke became a real Warrior Chieftain, directing his creatures in the making of weaponry, drilling and training his fighters and marking off the shoreline around the caves in various strategies and plans for when the time was ripe.
It came unexpectedly, one evening the following summer. Having finished their day's chores, the tribe sat about after dinner in the big cavemouth, their backs warmed by the fire within, enjoying the pleasant evening. Windred was singing an old song which had been passed down through her family.
"Old Ninian mouse and his goodwife,
Needed a house to build,
They had a family grown so large,
Their tent was overfilled.
To setting sun the old wife toiled,
From daybreak in the east,
But Ninian was a lazy mouse,
Who loved to sleep and feast.
The wife heaved stone and carried wood,
For door and wall and beam,
While Ninian idly in daylight,
Snored on in peaceful dream.
She raised the gables, built a roof,
Her back was bent and sore,
As Ninian ate up all the food,
And loudly called for more.
So when the house at last was built,
His wife nailed up a sign,
Which stated 'THIS AINT NINIANS!'
She said, 'That shows 'tis mine!'
Then when the countless seasons passed,
And all within had died,
The rain and storm of ages long
Had swept the sign outside.
It washed the first three letters out,
But left the rest intact.
That sign now reads, 'S AINT NINIANS!'
A church? A joke? A fact!
So traveler if you read the sign,
Then take my word 'tis true:
A dreamer can become a saint,
So can a glutton, too!"
Welff applauded with the rest, chuckling and shaking her head at Windred's song.
"Tell me, Windred m'dear, is it true, is there such a place as Saint Ninian's, or is it really a joke?"
Luke answered for her. " 'Tis a fact, marm. I was born at Saint Ninian's, as was Sayna my poor dear wife. We were driven out, when I was a babe, by an evil warlord, a wildcat named Lord Greeneye Verdauga who had a horde of vermin at his command, so they told me, but I was far too young to remember. This is our home now, and nobeast will ever drive us from here while I am about."
Drunn Tunneller dashed toward them, waving. He was panting hard, having clambered down from the cliff tops.
"Burr, git ee insoid, guddbeasts all, ee Sea Rogue ship be a cummen yurr!"
Immediately the tribe began pulling out driftwood and vegetation to disguise the cave's entrance as they had been shown. Luke nodded to Vurg and Dulam to accompany him down to the tideline.
Shading their eyes against the westering sun, the three mice stood in the ebbing tide shallows watching the ship. Vurg scratched his head and looked to Luke. "Doesn't look quite right t'me, mate. What d'you make of it?"
Luke scrutinized the vessel keenly. It was still a good distance from land. "Hmm, could be just an honest merchant trader, but in these waters I doubt it, Vurg. It doesn't seem to be making good headwayif it's trying for land, it won't make it here until near daybreak tomorrow at the rate 'tis goin', eh, Dulam?"
Dulam watched the strange craft take a north tack, as if trying to catch the wind. He pointed. "See, she's got a broken mast, I think. That's why the going's so hard for that ship!"
Luke checked Dulam's sighting. "You're right, mate. Maybe this is just what we've been waiting for. Back to the cave and rouse our fighters!"
Reynard Chopsnout, captain of the vessel Greenhawk, was in high bad humor. His ship was taking on water, and to make matters worse, add a broken mainmast and ten days on short rations. Moreover, the crew were becoming mutinous and he was hard pressed to maintain command. The Corsair fox pawed irritably at the hard polished blob of pitch which served him as a snout. It was stuck on where his nose had been until he came off worse in a swordfight with a skillful ferret.
Chopsnout roared at the hapless weasel who was wrestling with the tiller. "Hold 'er fast to the wind, Bootbrain. What's the matter with ye? To the wind I said, wagglepaw, the wind!"
Some of the vermin crew were aloft, trying to rig a jury mast. One of them called down mockingly, "Don't shout too 'ard, Choppy, yer nose'll fall off!"
Chopsnout grabbed a belaying pin and hurled it up at the rigging. It fell back, almost hitting him. Amid the hoots and jeers of the crew, he yelled, "Who said that? Come on, own up, ye lily-livered poltroon!"
Another insult rang out from below, where other crew members were baling out the water the Greenhawk was shipping. "Bootbrain'd 'andle the tiller better if yer fed us proper, yew ole vittle robber!"
Chopsnout could not see who made the remark. He danced and stamped in anger on the deckplanking. "Liar. Filthy foul-tongued liar. I get the same amount o' vittles that everybeast aboard gets!"
There was an ominous clack. Chopsnout quit stamping and dropped on all fours, scuttling about the deck. This caused great hilarity among the crew, and bold ones began yelling.
"Oops, ole Choppy's lost 'is hooter agin, mates. Hahaharr!"
"Let's 'ope it don't bounce down 'ere an' kill some-beast."
"Give 'im a chance, mateys, 'e's on the scent of it. I leehee!"
"Arr now, don't say that, bucko, 'e'll go an' get all sniffy on us. Hohohoho!"
The irate fox soon found his pitchblob nose and stuck it on hastily. He paced the deck waggling his cutlass ominously. "Go on, laugh, ye slabsided slobberin' swabs, but don't come whinin' t'me for aid or advice. I'm finished, d'ye hear, finished!"
He strode off huffily to his cabin. Bootbrain dithered at the tiller, not sure of which way to swing it. "Harr, cummon, cap'n, we was only funnin'. Wot course d'yer want me to set?"
Chopsnout poked his head round the cabin door and cast a withering glance at the weasel. "Course? I couldn't give a frog's flipper wot course you set. Sail where y'fancy, let the ship leak 'til she sinks, leave the mainmast broken. 'Tain't my bizness. I'll leave the command o' the Greenlwivk to youse clever-tongued beasts, an' see 'ow you like it!"
There was an uneasy silence from the crew. Darkness was falling fast and nobeast was about to take on the responsibility of running the vessel. Chopsnout smiled triumphantly. "So, what've ye got to say t'that, me fine buckoes?"
Bootbrain, who was never given to teasing or insulting his captain, could not help making an observation. "Cap'n, yore nose is on the wrong ways round. Ye've stuck it on backward."
The final straw came when a strangled titter rang out from below. Reynard Chopsnout slammed his cabin door shut and sat sulking in his cabin.