Suddenly it was bright, hot daylight again. Still holding the cable they stood up slowly and gazed awestruck at the scene surrounding them. Where the cable ended it was made fast to a treestump on the banks of a broad stream. Fields stretched about the entire area, ending in trees, which gave way to dense vegetation and shrubbery climbing the mountain's inner slopes.
Martin turned full circle, staring up at the high circular rock-rim. "It's like some kind of a massive crater, as if the mountain had had the heart taken out of it. We're in a big basin!"
Cupping both paws to her mouth, Winniegold cried out, setting echoes bouncing and ringing from the surrounding heights: “Rudddaaaawaaaaaaake!''
Otters came bounding from everywhere, dashing across the fields, tumbling down the banks and popping from the stream's surface. They crowded around the logboat, staring silently at the newcomers. Everybeast, male and female, even the babes, was fully armed; slings, clubs and javelins were much in evidence. Then a murmur ran through the ranks and they parted.
A magnificent male otter, fully a head taller than the rest, strode purposefully forward. His fur was dark, almost sable, and he was forbiddingly muscled through his sleek neck and broad shoulders. Grath stared curiously at the big bow he carried, a shaft set ready upon its bowstring. Over his shoulder she could see a quiverful of red-feathered arrows. He glanced down from the top of the bank, noting that she also carried a bow and arrows, then he nodded and stood to one side.
From behind the big otter another appeared, old and gray, but radiating a presence of wisdom and calm. The old otter carried an oak staff and was garbed in a long, homespun tunic of light brown color. His voice was deep and warm.
"Do you come to Ruddaring in peace? Are you friends?"
Martin realized who the patriarchal-looking beast was. Leaving the boat he waded ashore and, bowing low, placed his sword on the ground in front of the old otter.
"Peace be upon you, Wallyum Rudderwake, and all of your holt. I am Martin the Warrior of Redwall Abbey. The Hawm of sealfolk delivered us to your island. We are friends."
Wallyum's grizzled features creased into a gentle smile. He nodded to Grath. "Which holt come you from?"
Grath inclined her head to one side, allowing her rudder to rise and tip beneath her chin in a courtly old-fashioned gesture.
"I am Grath Longfletch of Holt Lutra, Sire."
Wallyum appeared extremely gratified by Grath's politeness. 'Well said, maiden. It is a long time since I saw such courtesy in an otterwould that half of my holt had your good manners! You and your friends look as if food would do you no harm. Come, I always find conversation far more pleasant over a good meal. Inbar, will you carry our friend Grath's bow and arrows for her?"
Wallyum's huge, dark-furred son leapt forward willingly, missing the smile that passed between his father and Martin.
The old otter picked up the Warriormouse's sword. "I will carry this for you. 'Tis a blade that I have only once seen the like of, the sword of a great warrior, ancient and beautiful."
Helped by numerous otters, the friends set out along the streambank to Holt Rudderwake.
Chapter 42
The holt was a sprawling comfortable cave in the mountainside, next to where the streamsource bubbled from the rocks. Thick woven rushmats and rockslabs for tables were the only furniture; a fire was kept under an oven made of baked clay and stone.
The otters were partial to great soups and stews of seaweed and shellfish. Also much in favor, owing to the tropical and fertile nature of their island, were magnificent fruit salads. As they ate, Martin related their story to Wallyum and his wife, a great fat old grandma otter called Dorumee, who seemed always to be surrounded by grandbabes climbing over her and swinging on her apron strings. Wallyum listened carefully to Martin's narrative, as did several of the holt elders.
Clecky was the center of attention with the rest of the otters. His ever-present appetite for staggering amounts of food astounded them. The hare declined shellfish, but did justice to everything else.
"Can't abide the old edible mollusks, wot!" he announced. "Cockles'n'mussels an' all that bring me out in an itchy paw rash, chaps, sorry. Oh, I say, you fellers, this big ball tastes rather splendid!"
The otters hooted with laughter.
" 'Tain't a ball, mate, that's a melon. Yore not supposed to eat the seeds, though."
"Oh, I dunno, taste pretty good t'me. 'Scuse me, old chap, d'you mind not hoggin' that seaweed soup? Nice salty taste, sort o' contrasts jolly well with these peach thingees. Owch! My word, y'could use these stones to chuck from your slings, great lumpy things. You there, otterchap, have the decency to unstone that big peach for a feller, will you, that's the style!"
Inbar was admiring Grath's bow and arrows. "Nice string, well twined. I don't know which has the stronger pull, your bow or mine. Our arrows are the same length, too."
Grath closed one eye, sighting down the shaft of one of Inbar's red-feathered arrows. "Mmm, good'n'straightthey'd fly true!"
The normally taciturn otter tested an arrowpoint on his paw. "That's my full nameInbar Trueflight. I'll show you where I usually practice, maybe we can loose off a few shafts together?''
Grath agreed, a hint of challenge in her smile. "I'd like to do that, Inbar. We'll match each other arrow for arrow after we've eaten."
Wallyum's wife Dorumee was speaking to Martin, whilst her husband took the little otters off to watch Clecky. The babes had never seen a hare before.
"Our Holt of Rudderwake's lived on this isle I don't know 'ow long. It goes right back into the mists of time. There's some say that it were four otter families who escaped from a corsair vessel an' found their way to this place purely by accident. Anyway, Martin, our ancestors made Ruddaring Isle their own. They fought a great battle with the lizards that used t'live 'ere. Wot lizards they didn't slay were driven off to another isle 'way west o' here, may'ap 'tis that Sampetra place you talk of. That was more seasons ago than a score of otters could count. Ruddaring Isle is our 'ome now. Searats an' corsairs passin' in their ships don't even know this is an island, to them 'tis just a mountain pokin' up out o' the ocean with no place to land upon. Nobeast knows we're livinere, 'cepting the seals an' you an' yore friends, Martin. Swear if ever you leave 'ere not to tell a livin' creature of our isle."
The Warriormouse patted Dorumee's paw. "I swear it will be so. I'd hate to think of me or my crew being the cause of ever bringing unwelcome visitors here to your beautiful home."
Viola, Plogg and Welko were trying to learn an otter dance. They found it very difficult, not having the balance that an otter's rudderlike tail affords. Winniegold and her chums were whirling and wheeling about, balancing first on one footpaw, then hopping onto the other with a skilful tailspin between each leap.
A deep-voiced old otterwife beat two drums with her tail as she sang for the dancers.
"Ho comb yore whiskers, brush that tail,
Place a flow'r behind yore ear,
Wash those paws in my ole pail,
We're off a dancin', dear! Oooooooh!
Paws up high, rudder on the deck,
Pace up to yore partner, check!
Rudder in the air, paws on the ground,
Whirl that otter round an' round!
Vittles onna table, drink's there too,
Hear the music playin',
Smile at me I'll dance with you,
Every otter's sayin'! Oooooooh!
Shuffle back an' clap both paws,
I'll clap mine an' you clap yours!
Turn away now back to back,
Slap those tails down whackwhackwhack!"
Giggling and laughing, they fell to the floor exhausted.
Clecky looked up from a wild grape trifle, shaking his head. "Do y'self a mischief, prancin' about like that after eatin'. Don't you chaps know any good slow ballads t'settle the jolly old digestion?"