Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

To the west, the great sea was an expanse of turquoise and blue, twinkling under a clear summer sky. Below her was the coastline shore, sweeping up into the dunes. Ahead, and off to the right, lay heath, low hills and scrubland, with a fringe of treeline in the distance. Not having the faintest idea where she was going, Maudie picked up

45

a pawful of sand. She tossed it into the air, calling aloud, "I say, Mother Nature old thing, which way do I go now?" Incoming sea breezes blew the sand grains off toward the distant trees. Maudie threw a casual salute to the sky. "Thankee, marm, the woodlands it is!"

Setting herself a brisk pace, she marched off, still trying to repeat the instructions. "Find a blinkin' badger with destiny marked on his armour, or somethin' like that. Er, one who shuns the simple sword for life, an' walks with a confounded fear of a flamin' banished one. Oh, my giddy aunt! Not to worry, Maudie old gel, you'll know the blighter when you trip over him, wot!"

Having spent her first night out camped in the dunes, Maudie had broken her fast in the early morn, with a dried crust of oatbread and a swig of water. She complained to herself as she marched through the scrubland.

"Huh, a skinny old crust an' a single gobful of water. What sort of food's that to give an expert cook? I'll bet the chaps back at the mess are crammin' their fat faces with all kinds of fascinatin' fodder. Right, that's it! As soon as I get the chance I'm goin' to whip up a good cooked lunch for m'self!" The thought of hot food cheered Maudie up no end. Never downhearted for long, the incorrigible haremaid broke out into song, making up the words as she went along.

"Oh, I love nothin' better than a meal that's served up hot, so stir your stumps there, Cooky, an' let's see what you've got.

A pie, a pastie or pudden, a flan, a stew or cake, to save a poor maid starvin', let's see what ye can make.

Me tummy's a-rumble, apple crumble

just might halt its din; a fair old scoop of mushroom soup,

46

would stop me growin' thin.

You'd win my heart with a damson tart,

I'd wolf it at one bite, an' follow it up with a fruitcake at dinnertime tonight!

Oh, serve more salad, I fear my ballad is coming to an end, take pity on me with a fresh pot o' tea,

'cos I'm fading fast, dear friend.

Pretty soon, I fear, you well may hear

this maiden's final moans, tell Mama not to weep, or to lose any sleep, when they find her daughter's bones!"

As she trilled the last notes of her song, Maudie became aware of a mole. He was trundling along a few paces behind her, pulling a small wheelbarrow. He was an old creature, dusty and ragged. Moreover, he was weeping copiously. The haremaid halted, and the mole bumped into her, probably because he could not see through his tears. Maudie gave him her kerchief, enquiring gently, "I say, old lad, are you alright?"

The mole blew his snout resoundingly, then snuffled. "Hurr, missy, that'n bee's the saddest likkle song oi ever hurrd en all moi loife."

Maudie felt quite upset, so she started comforting him. "It's not true, y'know, just something I made up. There now, dry your eyes an' stop cryin'."

The mole did as he was bid, though he looked rather rueful. "But oi do luvs a gudd, sad song, marm, thurr b'ain't nuthin' loike a gurt ole weep, makes a body feel better roight h'away."

Maudie gave him a small curtsy. "Oh well, I'm sorry I stopped you bawlin', if y'like that sort o' thing. You just jolly well carry on if you like weepin', wot!"

The mole tugged his snout politely (as good-mannered moles do) and extended his paw. "No, no, oi'm over et

47

naow, miz, oi bee's called Bungwen ee Hurmit. You'm must've bee'd gurtly 'ungered to be singen' ee song loike that 'un."

The haremaid shook Bungwen's paw. "Actually I am a mite peckish for some hot vittles. My name's Maudie, pleased t'meet you, Bungwen."

The mole sat on his barrow, which was loaded with roots, tubers and berries. He smiled affably. "Mouldy, that bee's a noice name. Oi tell ee wot, Miz Mouldy, iffen you'd push me'n ee barrer to moi dwellin', oi'll treat ee to an 'ot lunch, wudd that suit ee?"

At the mention of a hot lunch, Maudie seized the barrow shafts. "I say, splendid! You just roar out the directions, old fellow, an' you've got a lunch guest!"

Bungwen's dwelling was a cave dug into the side of a hill. Heaving himself from the barrow, he beckoned Maudie inside. "Cumm ee in, Miz Mouldy, this yurr's moi 'umble 'ome!"

It was indeed humble, but comfortable, a small cave, with ledge seats padded thick with dried grasses. It contained a stove, built from rock slabs and chinked with solidified mud.

The hermit mole poured Maudie a beaker of dark liquid from a jug. "Naow, you'm set thurr an' sup that, miz, 'tis moi own tansy'n'coltsfoot corjul. Oi'll make moiself bizzy with ee stew, t'woant be long en cummen!"

It was rather dark inside the cave, but there was enough light coming in from the entrance to distinguish things. The cordial was chilled, and tasted delicious. Maudie sipped it as she watched Bungwen tending to the cauldron on the stove. Some of the herbs he was adding to his stew were very aromatic.

"Hurr, wot brings ee owt yurr, miz, bee's you'm losted?"

The haremaid shook her head. "I'm not lost, I'm on an important mission. By the way, have you seen a large badger type roaming your neighbourhood--huge, hefty,

48

fearless-lookin' type? I think he carries a flame, an' has a banished one with him. Don't suppose you've spotted the chap, wot?"

Bungwen stirred the cauldron, tasting a small drop. "Only ones oi sees round yurr bee's they rarscally sandy blizzards, miz, they'm woan't leave oi alone." As he spoke they heard the wheelbarrow being upturned outside. Bungwen put the lid on his cauldron, and brandished the ladle. "They'm smelled moi cooken an' cummed to steal et!"

Mocking, hissing voices came from outside.

"Gizzzzzz vittlessssss, ssssoilmoussssse!"

"Give vittlessss to ussss, or elsssse!"

Maudie restrained her friend from dashing outside. "I say, steady on, old lad, who are those blighters?"

Bungwen growled. "Oi tole ee, miz, they'm blizzards, narsty bunch o' villyuns!"

The haremaid flexed her limbs in a businesslike manner. "Right ho, 'nuff said, matey. Now you stay out o' this, an' I'll toddle out an' educate those bullies!"

She strode resolutely out of the cave, assessing the situation at a glance.

About a dozen male sand lizards were scattering the contents of Bungwen's barrow about. Their emerald green flanks glistened in the sun, dark, reptilian eyes flickering hither and thither, seeking more mischief. When they saw Maudie, the group froze, staring balefully at her.

She glanced coolly back at them, issuing orders like a nursemaid dealing with unruly youngsters. "Clean the sand out your ears an' listen to me, you blitherin' bunch. Kindly put that barrow back the way you found it, an' clear off, smartish, wot!"

One, bigger than the rest, reared up on his tail. "Ssstay out of our biznesssss, longearsssss!"

Maudie began bouncing on her footpaws, milling her forepaws in small, tight circles. "No point talkin' t'you foul felons, wot! You need two swift lessons, one in manners,

49

the other in the noble art of hare boxin'. Right, defend y'self, sir!" She shot out a quick, thudding hook to the lizard's jaw, sending him flat on his back. Not for nothing was Maudie (the Hon.) Mugberry Thropple, Regimental Boxing Champion of the Long Patrol. She threw herself upon the startled bullies, yelling the war cry of perilous hares. "Eulaliiiaaaa!"

With all four paws going like pistons, the haremaid sent her foes scattering. Thunderous punches, and punishing kicks, rained savagely on the reptiles. She was everywhere at once, jabbing, swinging, feinting, uppercutting and lashing out fiercely with her footpaws. "Blood'n'vinegar! Forward the buffs! Eulaliiiaaa!"