"But that line, my first is in blood and also in battle. Only two letters appear twice in both words, the B and the L."
"Yes, and the next line's easy. Acorn, oak and apple have only one letter in common, the A."
"Now, look at these lines, my third and fourth are both the same, in the center of sorrow and twice in refrain. The middle of the word sorrow contains the letter R twice, and R crops up twice in the word refrain. So it's R and R."
"Correct, now the next line. My fifth starts eternity ending here. Simple, what starts the word eternity and ends the word herethe same letter, an E."
"The final one isn't too difficult either. My last is the first of last. Huh! The first letter of the word last is an L."
"So, we've got a B or an L, then an A, two Rs, an E and an L."
"And it's certainly not larrel, so it's got to be barrel!"
Piknim jumped up and down clapping her paws, squeaking, "Oh, this is fun, can we help you some more?"
Tansy was musing over the word and gazing at the waxy paper. "What? Yes, of course you can help. Hmmm, barrel, where in Redwall would we find a barrel?"
Rollo put his food to one side. "In the winecellar?"
Piknim and Craklyn were off, running ahead of Tansy and Rollo. "Last one to the winecellar is a jumpy toad!"
Rollo trailed on behind Tansy. "Carry on, young misses, with your fleet young paws. I'll just take my time like any old jumpy toad!"
Chapter 18
The Stump family had been in charge of Redwall's winecellars for many seasons. Friar Higgle Stump's brother Furlo was a strong fat hedgehog, conscientious and tidy in all things pertaining to his beloved cellars. He sat the three maids and Rollo down on a bench and fetched them a drink.
"This'll cool you down, fresh-brewed dandelion and burdock cordial," Furlo said as he poured out four beakers from a big jug. It was cool, sweet and dark with a creamy foam head, and they drank gratefully.
Then the cellar-keeper dug his paws into his wide apron pocket, saying, "Now, young 'uns, an' you, Rollo sir, what can I do for ye?"
The Recorder wiped a foamy moustache from his mouth. "I know this sounds silly, Furlo, but we're looking for a barrel."
"Well, sir, I've got lots o' barrels down 'ere, which one'd you like?"
Tansy spread the waxy paper flat on the bench. “Trouble is, sir, we don't know. Maybe if you read this it may help."
Furlo Stump was a slow reader. He borrowed Rollo's spectacles and scanned the rhyme for what seemed an age. Then he scratched his huge spiky head in bewilderment. "Dearie me, I can't unnerstand none of that, missie. 'Ere, you 'ave a look round my cellars whilst I think about it."
Rollo took them on a tour. He had worked in the winecellars on many an occasion when he was younger and had a fair knowledge of things.
"What a lot of barrels, mister Rollo!"
"They're not all barrels, miss Craklyn; those great giant ones standing in the corner, they're called tuns. Beetroot wine is kept in them. Barrels are these smaller ones, mainly for ale. Then there's the kilderkin, a bit smaller, for cordials and such, and smaller again, half the size, is the firkin, usually for wines. Any small quantities of strong wine are kept in these little casks."
Tansy waved her paw around, indicating the cellar stocks. "So we can rule out most of these, and just pay attention to the barrels, is that right, Rollo?''
The old Recorder shrugged. "Who knows, maybe Fermald knew little of cellars and they all looked like barrels to her. Where are we then?"
Furlo approached them, still scratching his head and looking very unsure of himself. "Beg pardon, Rollo sir, but I been thinkin' about the poem as was written down on that paper. There's somethin' a botherin' my 'ead, those words at the end o' the rhyme: the winter of the deepest snow. I remember when I was but a Dibbun, my father told me somethin' about a cellar-keeper name of Ambrose Spike, long afore my time, though what it was 'e told me I can't recall."
Rollo halted him with an upheld paw. "Ambrose SpikeI remember him from when I was a Dibbun. Piknim, you're the fastest runner. Nip across to the gatehouse and ask Wullger to dig out the volumes of a Recorder named Tim Churchmouse. Craklyn, go with her, there may be more than one volume to carry. Bring them straight back here to me, quick as y'like now!"
The two young ones sped off out of the cellars, shouting, "Last one to the gatehouse is a frumpy frog!"
As it turned out, neither of the young maids was a frumpy frog. They matched each other for speed all the way to the gatehouse and back to the winecellar, arriving breathless and burdened down with two volumes apiece. Furlo poured out more dandelion and burdock cordial for everyone. With tiny spectacles balanced on his nose end, Rollo pored through page after yellowed page, muttering to himself.
"Spring of the lesser periwinkle, hmm, later than that. Autumn of the late marjoram, hmmm, later I think. Summer of the rosebay willowherb, ha, I've gone too far, it was the winter before that. Yes, here it is, winter of the deepest snow, got it!"
The three young maids leaned over Rollo's shoulder eagerly. "What does it say, sir, tell us?"
Rollo took a deep draft of cordial before reading, “Ambrose Spike was lucky, he harvested all the rhubarb he had been growing alongside the west wall before the snows started. The snow is now so deep they have named this season the Winter of the Deepest Snow. The weather outside is harsh and gloomy, but Redwallers are merry and snug within our Abbey. I helped Ambrose in the cellars today; he is squeezing the rhubarb with great stone slabs and ale barrels as weights. The juice we mixed with clear honey and poured into a firkin; it is a beautiful pink color. Ambrose Spike would not allow me to touch it. He says it will not be properly ready for at least two seasons, but when it is ready, Ambrose is of the opinion it will be unequaled for taste.
"I left him to go back to my recording today. Ambrose was fitting the lid tight onto the firkin with soft willow withes. He had a brush and vegetable dye to paint the name on the firkin. I like the name he has chosen for this wine: the Cup of Cheer."
Tansy repeated the first line of the rhyme aloud, "I shed my second tear, into the cup of cheer!"
Rollo slammed the volume shut, sending up a small dust-cloud. "Of course, a pink pearl in pink wine!"
There were a lot of firkins, each one identical to the next. They stood on end, two high. Furlo bade Tansy and her friends stand aside as he lifted each one down for inspection. They could not help smiling at the fashion in which hedgehog cellar-keepers wrote the names on different firkins, though they did not laugh aloud for fear of offending Furlo Stump. The powerful hedgehog lifted down one firkin after another for their inspection, and Rollo translated the simple spelling.
"Persnup corjul, ahem, that'll be parsnip cordial. Pinnycludd win, er, that'll be pennycloud wine. What's this onerabzerry viggen?"
Furlo chuckled. "That's raspberry vinegar, sir. Us cellar 'ogs ain't the best o' scholars, but we know our own marks when we sees 'em!"
Tansy and Craklyn dusted off the bottom of a firkin which Furlo had laid on its side. Piknim read out the faint green lettering, "Ambrows Spiks faymiss Kopachir?"
Tansy said the last word several times before it dawned on her. “Kopachir ... Kop a chir ... Kup a chir ... Cup o' chir ... Cup of Cheer!"
Rollo stroked the aged wood reverently. "This is the one, made long ages ago in the winter of the deepest snow. Ambrose Spike's famous Cup of Cheer!"
It took quite a while for the cellar-keeper to tap the bung. With his coopering hammer, he knocked a sharp spigot through the center of the firkin bung without losing a drop of its contents. Then, with a mighty heave, Furlo lifted the firkin onto a table and began running the liquid off into an empty barrel. They watched the pink rhubarb wine splashing out in a shining stream.
Rollo caught some in a beaker and tasted it. "Delicious, but very strong, perhaps Sister Cicely could make use of it in the sick bay for cold and chills."