Mhera stroked his fluffy paw. "Isn't he the prettiest little cub you ever saw?"
Egburt looked up at her inquiringly. "Is that 'is name, Cub?"
Rillflag stroked his son's downy head, smiling. "No, cub is just a word for a babe. His name is Deyna. My great-grandsire was a warrior called Deyna, and he carried a mark from birth just like this little fellow, see."
He turned the babe's paw pad upward. Instead of being all black like the other three, this one only had black edging. In the center was a pink mark, like a four-leaf clover, with one piece thinner than the others. Gundil touched it.
" 'Tis loike ee likkle flower. Can ee babby coom owt an' play with us'n's, zurr?"
Rillflag shook his head in amusement. "Not yet. Next season, maybe."
Filorn took a box from the mantelpiece and let them each choose a piece of preserved fruit from it. "I'm sure you'll make good friends for little Deyna when he's old enough to be up and about. Run along and play now."
Cregga enveloped all three Dibbuns in her massive paws. "Not so fast there, rascals. I could hear you outside. You only came in here to hide from Friar Bobb, didn't you?"
Floburt shook her head vigorously. "Ho no, marm, 'onest we didn't. Us was comin' to see if Deyna was borned. Ole Friar Bobb chased us out o' Cavern 'Ole."
The blind badger tapped a paw against her forehead. "Of course, I'd almost forgotten, the counselors' meeting. Right, you three can help me manage those stairs. Slowly, now; my paws aren't as young as yours!"
"Hurr, doan't ee wurry, marm. Uz'll get ee thurr noicely!"
Hiding a smile, Cregga allowed the three to grasp her robe and guide her to the door. "Thank you. I'm sure you will!"
When they had gone, Mhera picked her new little brother up and walked around the room with him, talking softly to him as she had seen her mother doing.
"Who's going to grow up into a great big riverdog like his dad then, eh?"
Rillflag shook his head. "He ain't a real riverdog until his back's touched runnin' water."
Filorn took the baby from Mhera and held him close. "Don't you think he's a bit young for that?"
The big male otter shorted. "Not at all. My father took me to the river when I was his age, just as I took Mhera when she was born. Deyna will feel the running water on his back too!"
There was a note of pleading in Filorn's voice. "But he's so small. Perhaps you could wet his back in the Abbey pond, at the warm shallow edge?"
Rillflag was adamant. "The Abbey pond has no current; it doesn't run on to the sea. It's got to be running water. The ford, where the stream crosses the path, that's the place."
"I'll go with you, Father. I'll carry little Deyna."
Rillflag patted his daughter's shoulder. "No need for that. You stay here and help your mother. I can carry that little rogue, he weighs nothing. Me and Deyna will bring you back some fresh watershrimp and good long watercress. Maybe some hotroot too, if we spot any."
Filorn resigned herself to the fact that argument was useless. Her husband could be a very stubborn creature.
"Your father's right, Mhera. You'd only slow him down. We'll get a nice naming party organized while he and Deyna are away. Then, when he's made a real riverdog of our baby, we'll name him properly, like any other Redwaller."
Mhera took to the idea eagerly. "Yes! The moment you set off, Dad, we'll get organizing with Friar Bobb, Drogg Cellarhog, the Foremole and Sister Alkanet. I can start gathering mushrooms and scallions for pasties, Mama can get the ingredients ready for her fruit and honey cake, and we'll ask Drogg if he has a cask of strawberry fizz . . ."
Filorn held up both paws against her daughter's onslaught. "Enough, enough! I'm starting to feel worn out just listening to you. We'll make a start after your father's left. Er, when will you be setting off, dear?"
Rillflag took an old traveling cloak and fashioned it into a carrying sling across one shoulder. He selected a stout ash-handled spear, which would double as a traveling stave. "As soon as you've packed some food and drink for two warriors. Enough for three days should do. We don't plan on wasting time at the wayside, do we, Deyna?"
From his mother's arms, the baby otter gave a rough squeak. Rillflag nodded in his direction. "He said no."
All three burst out laughing.
Down in Cavern Hole the meeting of Redwall counselors was about to begin. A supper of spring vegetable soup, new-baked oatbread and wedges of white cheese studded with hazelnuts, with October Ale and apple flan, was being served to the counselors seated around the big table. Foremole Brull, Cregga Badgermum, Brother Hoben, Friar Bobb, Sister Alkanet and Drogg Cellarhog were present. Brother Hoben indicated an empty seat as he recorded the members' names.
"Where's Rillflag this evening? Anybeast seen him?"
Cregga leaned forward to accept a tankard of October Ale. "Otter business. I think he's got to take the little 'un for some ceremony or other. You know the way he is about otter rituals. Anyhow, I'll make his apologies for absence."
Friar Bob tapped the tabletop with his ladle. "On with the meeting, then. Sister Alkanet?"
The Sister was a thin, severe, no-nonsense type of mouse. She bowed formally to the others and began.
"Friends, this Abbey has been without Abbot or Abbess for far too long. I suggested this meeting so that the situation might be finally remedied. Have you any ideas?"
Foremole Brull held up a sizable digging claw. It was unusual for the moles to have a female leader, but Brull was solid as a rock and full of good common sense. She was liked by all.
"Yurr, oi doan't think et aportant. Ee Abbey be runnen noice'n'smooth unner Cregga Badgermum. Nowt amiss wi' urr; she'm gudd!"
A general murmur of agreement confirmed Brull's mole logic. Before Sister Alkanet could object, Cregga spoke for herself.
"You all know I'm not a real Abbess, never wanted to be. But when old Abbess Song went to her reward I took up the job of caretaker, in the absence of anybeast's being elected officially. I'm countless seasons older than the oldest among you, I'm blind, sometimes I ache all over and I sleep most of the day. However, as Brull says, the Abbey runs nice'n'smooth. I merely guide or advise. Redwallers are trusty, responsible creatures; they usually know what needs doing to keep the place up to the mark. I'm quite happy to leave things as they are, though even I won't last forever. If you're content with an ancient, blind badger sitting in as substitute, then I'll continue to do so. With your kind permission, of course."
Amid the applause from the counselors, Sister Alkanet, who was always the mouse to raise difficult issues, raised her paw. "Then what about a Champion? Redwall needs a defender like Martin the Warrior."
Friar Bobb's snort of impatience was heard by all, as he wagged his ladle at the Sister and gave vent to his feelings. "I've got four great plum puddings steaming in the kitchens, and I've also got a sleepy assistant. Young Broggle will probably let the puddings boil dry if I'm not there soon. Sister Alkanet, marm, you brought up this same question at this same meeting this time last season. I'll give you the same answer now as I gave you then. Redwall is strong. Tyrants and vermin warlords have broken their skulls against our walls. The Abbey is too hard a nut to crack, vermin everywhere know that. Only a fool would try to test our might. These days there is no need of perilous warriors and great swords"
Alkanet was up on her paws, pounding the table and objecting. "But what if there were, Friar? What if the day came when we woke to find the foe at our gates and no brave one to lead or defend us? What then, sir? What then?"
Cregga's big paw hit the tabletop, silencing further argument. "Enough! We are supposed to be responsible elders, not squabbling Dibbuns. Friar Bobb, you may return to your kitchens. I'm very fond of plum puddings; they mustn't boil dry. Now, Sister, in answer to your questions. Champions and Abbey Warriors have always arisen when the need is great. It would be presumptuous of us to appoint one; that is something nobeast save Martin the Warrior can do. Martin was the founder Warrior of Redwall. His sword hangs over the picture of him on the tapestry in Great Hall, and there it will stay until he chooses the next Warrior. When our Abbey is in danger, the spirit of Martin will enter some young Redwaller, and he or she will pick up the sword of Martin to defend us. So let us hear no more talk of electing a Champion. Sit down, friends, and let's do this good food justice. Brother Hoben, pass me the bread and cheese, if you please. Sister Alkanet, would you like to pour me some October Ale?"