troops.
“Right ho, chaps, for those who don’t know me, let me introduce m’self. I’m Major Perigord Habile Sinistra of the
Salamandastron Long Patrol, commandin’ this entire operation, though your orders will prob’ly reach you through
your own leaders an’ chieftains. Now I’ll make this as short as possible, wot! There’s a thousand Rapscallions
sweepin’ up-country, an’ Redwall Abbey’s in their path. So to save the place I’ve ... ahem ... arranged for the jolly old
fracas to take place elsewhere. According to Taunoc the blighters are on the move, and we’ve found the ideal place to
meet ’em head on. So that’s what we’ll jolly well do, if y’follow me. As you know, we’ll be outnumbered by more’n
three to one, but by jingo we won’t be outclassed! We won’t be outfought! An’ as long as I can stand with a saber in
me paw, we won’t be driven backward a single pace!”
Every creature listening leapt up cheering and brandishing their weapons.
“No surrender! No retreat!”
“Eulalia! ’S death on the wind!”
“Boi ’okey they’m furr et!”
Perigord gestured for silence. “Thank you, friends. But as you know, not all of us will come marching home. War
is war, and that is a fact. So if there are any of you with families or young ’uns to look after, well, nobeast will think
less of ye if you go home to them now.”
A rough-looking otter stood up. “Beggin’ yore pardon, Major, but I got a wife an liddle ’uns, an’ if I didn’t go
with ye then I’d think less of meself. ’Cos we ain’t fightin’ the vermin just to protect Redwall, we’re facin”em to make
the land safe an’ rid of their kind.”
Mother Buscol trundled her barrow of babes through the army ranks, followed by a flock of Dibbuns. She halted in
front of the Major and presented him with a cloth bundle.
“Indeed to goodness, sir, you can’t ’ave an army without a flag to march under, oh dear no you cannot!”
Skipper and Arven unrolled the bundle. It was a dark green tablecloth with a big red letter R embroidered upon it.
Inside the bundle was another smaller package, which Buscol gave to Perigord. “It ain’t velvet, sir,” the old
squirrelmother said, shrugging awkwardly, “but may’ap ’twill be of service.”
Arven grabbed a long pike and began fastening the flag to it. “Here, Skip, lend a paw, you can tie better knots than
me.” The banner was lashed to the pikestaff, and Arven waved it high over the crowd. Back and forth it fluttered in the
sunlight as the massed shouts rose to a concerted roar:
“Redwaaaaaalll! Redwaaaaaalll! Redwaaaaaalll!”
Major Perigord slipped out of his tattered tunic and donned the one that Mother Buscol had made for him. It was
blue linen, homespun, but beautifully fashioned from an ancient bed quilt. Fastening on the medals from his old tunic,
he bowed gracefully and kissed the squirrel-mother’s paw. “My thanks to ye, lady, I’ll wear it with honor an’ pride.
Mayhap I’ll even return here with it unharmed.”
The Dibbuns dove upon the Major’s old tunic.
“Me wannit, ’smine, gitcha paws offen it, Sloey!”
Perigord eyed them sternly. “Silence in the ranks there, you fiends! Y’can wear it a day each at a time. Sloey first.”
Even the search party led by Viola left off their task to see the Redwall army on its way. Elders and Dibbuns alike
lined the path to the main gate as the warriors marched past four abreast, every creature well armed and carrying
provisions. Arven and Perigord stood to one side, each drawing his blade to salute the flag, which was being borne by
Skipper. The stout otter dipped the colors, awaiting orders as the columns formed up on the path outside.
It was a high summer day, and the sun shone out of a sky that appeared bluer than it had ever been. They stood
waiting in silence, listening to grasshoppers chirruping and skylarks singing on the western flatlands. Many Redwallers
straightened their backs, breamed deeply, and blinked to prevent a tear appearing, wondering if they would ever see
the old Abbey on such a beautiful day again.
All the good-byes had been said, though Major Perigord bowed to Sister Viola and spoke a last few words. “‘Tis
always hard to leave a place, marm, particularly when certain friends are not there to wish you farewell. I wish you
every good fortune in your search for the Mother Abbess and her companions. In happier, more peaceful times, myself
and the patrol would have been at your disposal to help find them, but alas it was not to be. I hope you bear me no ill
will, marm. I must bid ye good-bye.”
Sister Viola smiled at the gallant hare. “How could any true Redwaller bear ill will to a brave soldier marching to
defend our home and our very lives? Never fear, sir, I will find our lost friends. I bid you success and good fortune
along with my good-bye. You are a perilous creature. Major.”
Sergeant Torgoch’s stentorian roar rang out through gateway and path: “Flagbearer three paces forward! All
offisahs to the vanguard! In the ranks ... Atten ... shun! Corporal Rubbadub—beat the advance! By the right ... quick ...
maaaaaarch!”
Shouldering blades, Perigord, Arven, Gurgan, and Log-a-Log formed the first rank of four behind Skipper’s
banner, with Rubbadub behind them setting up a fine, paw-swinging drumroll.
“Barraboom! Barraboom! Drrrappadabdab! Buboom!”
Galloper Riffle called out through the rising dust cloud, “Permission for the Company to sing ‘O’er the Hills,’
sah!”
“Permission granted, Galloper,” Perigord’ s voice rang back at him. “Sing out with a will!”
“O’er the Hills” was a famous marching song, and close to three hundred voices roared it out lustily:
“O’er the hills an’ far away, ’Twas there I left my dearie, An’ as I left I heard her say, ‘Come back to me d’ye hear
me, Y’may eat cake an’ drink pale wine, But come back home at autumn time, An’ on fresh bread’n’cheese you’ll
dine, For no one brews good ale like mine.’
O fields are green an’ skies are blue, Ole woods are high an’ full o’ loam, But hearken friend I’ll tell you true,
Ain’t no place in the world like home.
O’er the hills an’ far away,
‘Tis there my home’s awaitin’,
The season’s shorter by a day,
Whilst I’m anticipatin’
A logfire made from cracklin’ pine,
An’ washin’ dancin’ on the line,
As blossoms ’round the door entwine,
Hurrah, for there’s that dearie mine!”
Redwallers old and young stood out on the path waving kerchiefs, aprons, and headscarves until the marchers
diminished to a faraway dust cloud, with their song a faint echo on the hot air.
Viola could not help sniffling into a lace kerchief, “Oh, they made such a brave sight going off like that!”
Ever the practical creature, Gurrbowl Cellarmole shooed the Dibbuns back inside, remarking, “Hurr aye, they’m
did, an’ let us’n’s ’ope they’m lukk ee same on ee day ’em cumms back!”
46
The two rats Sneezewort and Lousewort kept their weapons firmly centered on Midge and Tammo, suspicious of
their every move. It was a stalemate that was lasting far into the night, with little hope of the two hares escaping.
Eventually the fire inside the canvas-and-brush shelter began to burn low. From beneath his heavy disguise, Midge
Manycoats winked significantly at his friend. It was time to make their move. Tammo edged slowly around until he
judged that Rinkul the ferret and his cronies, who were hovering outside, could not see him.
Midge stood upright. Sneezewort’s spearpoint menaced him, a fraction from his throat. “Siddown, ragbag, where