Brian Jacques - [Redwall 18] - High Rhulain

Tiria bowed to the outlaw’s superior knowledge. “You’re right, of course. It seems I have a lot to learn.”

Leatho bowed gallantly. “Don’t worry, yore Majesty. I’m here to help ye, all ye have t’do is ask.”

Taking his advice literally, Tiria asked, “Tell me, what’s this Holt Summerdell place like?”

Banya was the one who answered. “ ’Tis a place fit for a queen. It’s like the nicest spot ye’ve ever dreamed of but never believed ye’d ever see!”

That night, by the light of the burning fortress, the bodies of the slain were put to rest. Carcasses of catguards, along with that of Riggu Felis, were consigned to the flames of their stronghold. Otters who had fallen, along with the osprey Pandion Piketalon, were placed upon the flower-decked raft and floated out onto the lake’s centre, where the raft was sunk, following an ancient Green Isle tradition. The clans stood on the shore, chanting a dirge in some bygone language which Tiria could not understand. She enquired of Leatho as to its meaning. He translated it for her.

“Thy memory stays midst friends,

’neath water thy body lies,

thy spirit lives, a warrior star,

set high in darkened skies.

I’ll look for thee when day is done,

thou jewel in night’s crown,

a fearless legend, burning brave,

forever shining down.”

A hefty paw touched Tiria’s shoulder. Colour Sergeant O’Cragg whispered in her ear, “We’ve ’eard that afore, h’ain’t we, miss?”

Big Kolun Galedeep and his brother Lorgo, with lots of willing help, had managed to save loads of supplies from the catguards’ barracks. Kolun waved his oar aloft, proclaiming to everybeast, “Tonight’s Victory Feast Night. Sleep in late tomorrow, then we takes our queen back to Holt Summerdell. Do I hear any arguments?”

Nobeast ever argued with Kolun, with the exception of his missus. Besides, they were all more than willing to go along with his excellent plan. Temporarily shunning her role as queen, Tiria joined Corporal Drubblewick and a host of ottermums who had never seen such an array of food to cook with. They used burning pier boards as a fire and set up barrels of drink on the lakeshore sand. The otterclans were highly amused with the antics of the hares, who were always hungry and in high good humour after a battle. Little otterbabes chuckled uproariously as the hares sang barrack-room ballads.

“There’s goin’ to be a mutinee,

mate, I’m a-tellin’ you,

if there ain’t skilly’n’duff for tea,

to feed this big fat crew.

Don’t dish ’em up no salad leaves,

or no burrgooly stew,

if there ain’t skilly’n’duff for tea,

they might eat me’n’you!

Whoa! Skilly’n’duff, that’s the stuff,

for my ole crew t’chew,

it’s hot’n’thick so take your pick,

it’ll do the trick if you feel sick.

So fill yore tum, by gum ole chum,

don’t pant’n’wheeze’n’puff,

you’ll run like a hare an’ fight like a bear,

on good ole skilly’n’duff.

So don’t stand lookin’ silly, feed me lots o’ skilly

. . . an’ duff!”

They sang it twice more, each time speeding up the words. Tiria sang along with the bits she could catch; though, like the otterbabes, she mostly whooped and thumped the ground with her rudder. It was all such good fun! She looked at the happy faces around the fire, sniffed at the savoury aromas from the cooking and thanked her good fortune that the day had ended so well. The rule of the cats was finished; she had slain Riggu Felis, the tyrant. The thought of killing another creature did not sit easy on her mind, but when the ottermaid saw all the freed slaves, she felt thoroughly justified by her swift action in the heat of battle.

The food, when it arrived, was a real victory feast. Tiria sat sampling the various dishes with Brantalis, Colour Sergeant O’Cragg, Banya, Leatho and her two subalterns. There was an unending supply of shrimp’n’hotroot soup for the otters, plenty of skilly’n’duff for the hares, trifles and tarts for the little ones and so many different pasties that it was hard to choose which one to try next.

Big Kolun passed a dish to the barnacle goose. “Get yore ole beak around that, mate. It’s leek an’ roasted parsnip in hazelnut sauce!”

Brantalis clacked his beak happily. “I am thinking this will taste as good as it looks!”

Tiria patted her friend’s long neck. “I’m sure it will, mate. I wish our Redwallers were here to join in with all this. My dad, Brink and those three rascals Brinty, Tribsy and Girry.”

Brantalis looked up from the dish he was about to sample. “I am thinking I should have mentioned your friend, the mouse named Brinty.”

Tiria chuckled. “Why, what’s that rogue been up to?”

The barnacle goose shook his head mournfully. “Alas, the young mouse is dead.”

Tiria stared at him blankly. “Dead? Surely you’re mistaken, Brinty can’t be dead!”

Leatho placed his paw over hers, murmuring, “Hear him out, Lady. Wot happened to him, mate?”

Brantalis explained about the slaying of Brinty at the Abbey gate by the rat called Groffgut. Then he apologised. “I am sorry, but in all the excitement since I came here, I am thinking I forgot to mention this sad news.”

No longer able to enjoy the feast, Tiria wandered off alone and sat weeping by the lakeside. After a while, Leatho came to comfort her.

“Brinty must have been a very good friend to ye, Lady. I have seen many of my mates slain. It’s a hard thing to bear, more so when yore far away in a strange place an’ there ain’t a thing ye can do about it.”

The ottermaid nodded. “Aye, poor Brinty, and he did so want to become a warrior someday.”

Leatho peered out at the lake, whilst Tiria dried her eyes. “Well, from wot the goose told us, he got his wish. Brinty went out fightin’ like a real warrior. Do ye know, I think we should honour him like we did those others today. Let’s do it, just me’n’you, eh?”

He pressed something in Tiria’s paw, explaining, “It’s a little wooden figure, Banya gave it t’me. Us clanbeasts often use it if’n the warrior gets lost in battle. It’s an otter, see. But Banya carved the rudder down thin, so that it looks like a mouse.”

Tiria gazed at the small object. “I see what you mean. So this is my Brinty! What do we do with him now?”

The outlaw explained. “Well, we ties him to a stone, with a few flowers bound around. Then we puts him in the lake with the others who fell today. That way he’s in good company amid warriors like himself, Lady.”

They gathered some meadowsweet and spearwort blossoms and bound them to a paw-sized pebble along with the figure. Together they waded out into the lake until the water was at waist height. Tiria took the package in her sling and threw it, up and out. The few golden blossoms were lost in the night sky. Then they heard a splash. Leatho watched the ripples drifting back at them.

“Yore friend Brinty is at rest now.”

They held paws as the outlaw recited the verse which Tiria had heard the clanbeasts saying earlier in ancient otter tongue. Heaving a great gusty sigh, Tiria straightened her back.

“Thank you, Mr. Shellhound. I feel much better now!”

The outlaw grinned roguishly. “Aye, an’ I’m still hungry. Let’s get back to the vittles, Lady!”

As he turned to wade shoreward, Tiria pulled him back. “I don’t think I could bear you calling me lady, queen or majesty for the rest of my life. So from now on it’s Tiria to you, sir!”

She waded past him, but this time it was he who pulled her back. “Fair enough, as long as ye never calls me sir or Mr. Shellhound. Let’s call each other ‘mate.’ ”