Brian Jacques - Redwall #20 - Eulalia!

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that they would do as he ordered. Or die. Pausing at the cabin door, he turned, pointing at the watervole. "Jungo, yore in charge of dat 'un, make sure 'e don't try ter escape."

Jungo hauled the vole over by his neck tether. "Huhuh, I'll watch 'im like a mudder duck wid an egg, Cap'n. Ahoy, hairymouse, you knows 'ow mudder ducks watches their eggs, don't ya?"

The watervole shook his head. "No sir."

Jungo knocked him flat with a swift kick. "Huhuhu, dey sits on 'em, like dis!"

Abbot Daucus, Benjo Tipps and Skipper Rorc had been joined by Granspike Niblo. They listened intently as Orkwil related his story, telling of the coming danger from Longtooth and his vermin Sea Raiders. Granspike hugged Orkwil fondly.

"You see, Father Abbot, I alius knew there was good in this young feller. Even though he were banished for the season, Orkwil came back to warn us!"

Daucus smiled at the young hedgehog. "Indeed he did, you are a credit to your Abbey, young Prink!"

Orkwil immediately perked up. "Does this mean I'm not banished anymore, Father?"

Skipper gave Orkwil's snout a playful tweak. "I should 'ope not, matey, we'll be needin' beasts like you to defend the walls. How many vermin d'ye reckon Longtooth has with him?"

Orkwil scratched his headspikes. "I never had time to count 'em, but there must be more than eight score at least. What are we going to do if they attack Redwall? We don't have many trained warriors, and it may be some time before Gorath is well enough to fight."

The Abbot gathered both paws into his wide sleeves. "Redwall was never a military stronghold, we'll do what we've always done in times of attack. Our walls are strong enough to face any onslaught of vermin, we'll defend, right, Skipper?"

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The burly otter nodded. "Right, Father. Meself an' ole Benjo here, we've both had a bit of past experience with rovin' vermin. Seems t'me this lot don't sound a lot different, we'll deal with 'em atween us, one way or another. How would ye like t'be an officer o' the guard, young Prink? I think he'd suit the job well, eh, Benjo?"

The Cellarhog winked at Skipper. "Aye, why not, all young 'uns got to grow up sooner or later. I wish that the badger was fit to fight, though. My spikes! Have ye seen the size of him? I'll wager he could do some damage wid that pitchfork o' his!"

Orkwil was bursting with pride at his unexpected promotion. Feeling very important, he ventured an opinion. "My friend Gorath is a real warrior, I've already seen him slay one creature, when we were on the vermin ship. He told me that he suffers from Bloodwrath."

The Abbot sat up straight in his chair. "Great seasons of slaughter! D'you mean to tell me the badger lying on Great Hall table is a beast of Bloodwrath?"

Orkwil hastened to assure his Abbot. "I wouldn't worry too much, Father. Gorath told me that he was saved from the Bloodwrath by a vision of a mouse who carried a great sword."

Pushing his chair to one side, the Abbot rose. "It must have been Martin the Warrior! Come with me, friends, let's take a closer look at this badger."

Down in Great Hall, Gorath was sitting up on the edge of the large banqueting table. Friar Chondrus was refilling a bowl from a cauldron of leek and mushroom soup, whilst Foremole Burff held forth a plate of carrot and turnip pasties. The huge young badger accepted the soup and a pastie, grunting. "My thanks, friends, this is wonderful food!" As he ate, Sister Atrata, who was standing up on the table behind her patient, worked on some of his other wounds. Orkwil approached him boldly.

"How are you doing, mate, feeling better?" As Gorath

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raised his face from the soup bowl, Orkwil gasped and took a backward pace.

The thickly crusted scab, which had formed over the large wound that Vizka had inflicted with his mace and chain, was gone. Centred in the middle of his white forehead stripe was a deep scarlet shape, resembling a large flame. Gorath looked oddly at his friend. "I'm feeling a bit better, what are you staring at?"

Before Orkwil could reply, Sister Atrata explained. "I was bathing that dreadful injury on his head, with some special herbs and hot water, when the scab came loose. It was the size of a small plate. Well, I didn't know how severe the wound was, so just kept on bathing until the scab fell off. I'm afraid no more flesh or fur will ever grow in that spot again. However, the wound beneath was protected, and kept clean by the dried blood which had formed the scab. It isn't raw, or moist, and Gorath says it doesn't pain him anymore."

The badger touched his wide, flame-shaped wound. "It feels fine, thank you, Sister. Could I see it?"

Abbot Daucus extended his paw to Gorath. "If you feel well enough to walk, there's a polished shield on the wall, in an alcove over there. I've seen many a pretty young Red-wall maid using it as a mirror. Come on, take a peek at yourself, friend, it's not so bad."

On reaching the alcove which contained the shield, Gorath staggered right past it. He pointed at the Redwall Abbey tapestry, his voice sending booming echoes around Great Hall. "It's him, it's the warrior with the sword. There!"

Orkwil grasped his big friend's paw. "Hah, see, told you there was somebeast you might want to meet--that's Martin the Warrior!"

Gorath sat down on the floor, gazing at the woven figure. "He saved my life!"

It was impossible not to be impressed by the likeness of

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Martin. His eyes seemed to follow every creature, they were kindly eyes, but brave and resolute. Orkwil had always thought there was something very comforting in looking at Martin, he felt reassured by the sight of the warrior, as did every Redwaller. The Abbot placed something in Gorath's paws, it was the warrior's sword. Though it looked no bigger than a long dagger in the badger's massive grasp, he admired it greatly.

"This is a marvellous blade, whoever forged it must have been a master of the armorer's craft." The badger leaned toward the tapestry as if listening to something. He beckoned to Orkwil. "Would you please bring me my weapon?" Orkwil did as he was requested.

Gorath held the pitchfork until it was close to the tapestry. "This is not a real warrior's thing, but I call it Tung, it isn't as wonderful as your sword, but it has always served me well." Gorath laid Tung alongside Martin's sword by the tapestry. Without another word, he curled up on the floor and slept.

Sister Atrata whispered to Orkwil, "He seems to like it there, I'll bring him blankets, and a pillow. Your friend is still not recovered."

The party tip-pawed away from the sleeping badger, with the Abbot murmuring softly to Skipper, "Anybeast who can talk with Martin is a friend of Redwall."

Benjo Tipps agreed. "Aye, you could tell they was talkin' to each other, just by watchin' Gorath!"

Orkwil cast a backward glance at his friend, slumbering deeply, watched over by the greatest warrior of all. He whispered in Martin's direction, "If you can, sir, get Gorath well, so that he can help us to face those vermin!"

Did the eyes of the figure on the tapestry blink? Or was it just a trick of the flickering candlelight?

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14

Brownrats secreted behind rocks on both sides of the crookstream watched eagerly as the little flotilla of log-boats drew closer. Gripping clubs and spears, they awaited Gruntan Kurdly's signal. Their plan was simple, a straight charge into the shallow, running water would catch the unsuspecting Guosim shrews by surprise. It would be the perfect ambush. At its deepest part, the crookstream ran less than waist high, owing to its heavily pebbled bed.

Gruntan had left his litter, he lay flat on the top of the high rocks, overlooking the scene. He kept up a constant, muttered conversation with himself as he kept track of the logboats. "Haharr, now lemme see, there's two logboats to the right bank, an' two t'the left. Then there's two more in midstream, wid the liddle round boat betwixt 'em. Once they gits level wid this 'ere rock, I'll send my mob out, an' we'll give 'em thud'n'blunder!"