He was jerked back to reality by the sounds of steel upon steel and roars of conflict as paws stamped around the deck outside. Matters had finally reached a head; the fighting had begun. Either Romsca had attacked Lask Frildur or vice versa.
Pushing a table in front of the cabin door, Durral sought about for any other furniture that might block the entrance. Meanwhile the sounds of battle grew outside on deck, accompanied by the occasional scream and splash as somebeast went over the side. Pulling the grimy blanket from Romsca's bunk, the Abbot huddled in a corner. He wrapped himself tightly and sat miserably in the dim cabin, hoping that Romsca would triumph over the hated Monitor General. The sounds of fighting seemed to go on endlessly as day drew gradually to a close.
Durral closed his mind to everything, even thoughts of his own life or death. Eventually he fell into a doze, his mind lulled into slumber by the vision of a mousemaid singing sweetly to him.
"High o'er the hills, far o'er the seas,
Fly with the small birds, follow the breeze,
Go with your heart, where would you roam,
Back to the rose-colored stones you call home,
Where faded summers will echo again,
Brown autumn trees, or the spring's gentle rain.
Shadows are falling 'cross woodlands you know,
Rest, weary one, in the warm firelight glow."
It was fully dark when Abbot Durral came gradually awake. Creaking ship's timbers and the endless wash of waves against the vessel's sides were the only sounds he could hear. The din of conflict had ceased altogether. Holding the musty blanket around him, the old mouse groped his way cautiously across the cabin floor. With no light to guide him and the absence of his eyeglasses denying him clear sight, Durral fumbled his way forward until a table leg came into contact with his paw. At least the cabin door was still securely blocked, he thought. He sat with his back against the table, not knowing what to do next, longing for contact with some other living creature, providing that it was a friend.
Dawn came gradually, cloaked by gray skies and soft drizzling rain. It was warmer, though humid. Faint gloomy light began pervading the cabin from a small dirty window, too high for Durral to reach. A sound caused him to become alert somebeast was scratching at the cabin door from outside. Not knowing whether it would be friend or foe, but fearing the worst, Durral crept back to his corner and sat waiting, watching the door. The scratching gave way to a thumping noise, faint at first, but growing heavier. The Abbot of Redwall sat filled with apprehension as the door began to shake under the blows, then suddenly there was a sharp, splintering crack and a cutlass blade thrust its way through the rifted wood. Durral watched fearfully as the blade was withdrawn, only to slash through again a moment later. Shrinking down into his blanket, he watched, horrified, as the blade hacked and sliced at the quivering timber, splintering the door in its onslaught.
The old mouse could stand it no longer. "Who's there, who is it?" he cried out.
Krrrakkk!
An entire panel burst and the huge reptilian head of Lask Frildur was thrust through the broken aperture.
Chapter 36
From the shelter of the little canvas tent on the ice floe, Viola was first to see the intruders. She gave a shriek of alarm and instantly the sword was in Martin's paw. Shoving the canvas awning away from him, he came upright ready to do battle.
Clecky, who had clapped a paw across Viola's mouth, stared about in astonishment at the mass of creatures surrounding the logboat. "Great seasons of salad, where'd this mob of nautical nightmares come from, wot?"
Snub-nosed, stiff-whiskered and dark-eyed, the huge beasts crowded around, staring curiously at the little logboat and its occupants. Martin raised the sword threateningly to warn them off.
Grath Longfletch moved cautiously to the warrior's side, murmuring, "Put up that sword, Martin, they're the sealfolk. Don't make any sudden moves or they'll bull us into the sea and drown us."
Martin lowered his blade, keeping his eyes fixed on the seal-folk. "What do we do next?" he whispered to Grath.
The otter relinquished her bow and arrows to show she was unarmed. "Leave this to me. Sealfolk used to visit the holt of my kin. They don't speak our language, but I can understand them a bit."
Grath climbed from the logboat and approached the foremost seal. He was a great bull, dark gray in color and mottled with heavy spots. The big beast watched Grath impassively, head held majestically high, round black eyes unblinking.
Grath crouched upon the ice, taking care not to raise her head higher than the lead bull. Holding her paws out level, she clapped them gently together several times and said, "Feryooday, Haaaawm!"
Immediately the seals around began making a sort of coughing barking sound, in surprise that Grath could speak their language.
As the big leader bull silenced them with a haughty glare, Martin joined Grath and murmured to her, "What did you say to the big fellow?"
"I gave him a greeting, feryooday, just like saying good morning, then I called him Hawm, but long, like this Haaaawm. It means great leader or king; the longer you sound it, the greater your respect. Sshh! He's going to say somethin'."
The seal looked regally down his wide flattish nose at them. "Thessez m'hoil, ommin Haaaaaaaawm floooooe!" He moved his head about in a wide circle as if indicating the iceberg where they were standing.
Grath held up her chin and closed both eyes as she answered, "Haaaaaaaaaaawm floe yaaanh!"
It seemed to satisfy the leader. He raised a massive flipper and slapped it loud and wetly once upon his sleek chest.
Grath explained, "I can't unnerstand it all, but best as I c'n make out he said, this is my island, I am king of this ice floe. All I could think of to answer was to tell him he was a mighty king and this surely was his floe."
"Do you know how to say not mine?" Martin asked Grath swiftly.
Grath thought for a moment. "Er, you just say ommino, I think."
Martin stepped forward, aware of the vast number of seals watching him. He spread his paws and brought them together, clapping softly as he had seen Grath do. Then he slapped one paw hard on his chest as the seal king had done.
"Haaaaaaaaawm Martin! Ommino floe. Ommino!'' Martin said.
This seemed to amuse the king greatly. He pointed a powerful flipper at Martin and said, "Ommino! Omminooooo!"
The seals fell about, rolling on the ice, slapping their flippers loudly and emitting great barking merriment.
The great bull seal towered above Martin. Raising his flipper high, he brought it down gently on the mouse warrior's head and patted him. "Haaaaaaaawm Ma'tan Haaaaaaaaawm!" he rumbled.
This caused even greater jollity among the sealfolk; they shook their heads and blinked rapidly as they honked with laughter.
Clecky climbed out of the logboat to join Martin and Grath. "I say, good thing these wallahs have a sense o' humour, wot!" The hare slithered boldly over the watery ice to face the king. Straightening his long ears, Clecky brought them together several times as if clapping. Pursing his lips comically he mimicked a seal. "Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawm old chap Haaaaaaaaaaaaawm. Howzat!"
This time the hilarity was unbridled. Even the king rolled his gargantuan bulk over and over, tears streaming from his round dark eyes as he held both flippers to his sides, shaking helplessly with laughter. This drove the hare on to further efforts. Lying stomach down and holding himself up with his front paws, Clecky looked majestically down his nose, bobbed his stubby tail about and let one ear flap down hard across his brow. Then, in a perfect imitation of the seal king, he called out, "Haaaaaaaawm Clecky, that's me chaps, Haaaaawm Clecky!"
Some of the seals were laughing so hard they fell off the iceberg into the sea.
Martin pulled Clecky upright. "You'd better pack it in now, we don't want to be held responsible for any of these creatures laughing themselves to death, especially the great Hawm there, he looks fit to burst."