Brian Jacques - Loamhedge

All four of the Searats, not knowing exactly whom the glaring captain was addressing, ran off to do his bidding. “Aye aye, Cap’n! Right away, Cap’n!” they chorused as they tugged their ears in salute.

Raga Bol turned his spleen upon the one called Rojin, who was sitting on the gatehouse wallsteps, poulticing a swollen eye. “Quit dabbin’ at yore lamp, ye’ve still got a good ’un left. I never got no brekkist, ’cos Blowfly let me servants escape. They’re the beasts who should be doin’ the cookin’. Git yoreself after Blowfly an’ Glimbo. I want t’see ye all back ’ere by noon wid the runaways in tow. ’Cos if’n ye ain’t, I’ll let the livin’ daylights into the lotta youse wid this ’ook. Go on, gerrout o’ me sight, ye laggard!”

The next to come in for a tongue lashing was the one called Rinj, who happened to stray within earshot. “Stan’ by the big gate there, Rinj, ye useless mess of offal. Keep a weather eye out for Rojin an’ the others comin’ back. Report ter me the moment ye spot ’em!”

The Searat captain stalked back into the gatehouse, slamming the door so hard that its hinges rattled. He slumped into Old Phredd’s armchair, trying to banish thoughts of the badger and concentrate instead on his plans to conquer the Abbey.

Morning rolled on into the summer noon. The crew danced attention upon their captain, but he barely glanced at the food they brought. Instead, he ordered them to bring him volumes and scrolls from the shelves. Bol rifled through them, searching vainly for some clues—a reference or a sketch, perhaps. Anything that would help him gain access to the Abbey building. After awhile he tired of this pursuit and banished the crewrats from the gatehouse. Scattering volumes and parchments over the floor, the Searat captain flung himself upon the bed and fell into a fitful slumber, the coverlet draped over his face.

On waking, Raga Bol saw that the sunlight shafts had shifted across the window. It was late afternoon, merging toward eventide. Rising, he took a mouthful of his favourite grog, swilling it around his mouth, then spat it out sourly. It was silent outside, with no sounds of activity. The Searat captain went swiftly outside.

Rinj was standing upright, propped against the gatepost, obviously sleeping. Raga Bol dealt him a savage kick, knocking Rinj flat. He continued to kick the hapless Searat, accentuating his words.

“Ye scabby-eyed, useless bilge swab! Did I tell ye to go snoozin’ on duty? Wot’s this door barred for, eh? Yore supposed t’be outside, watchin’ for the others t’come back. If’n we was at sea now, I’d tie ye t’the anchor an’ sling yore lazy carcass o’er the side!”

Dragging Rinj upright by his ears, Bol knocked the gate bars up with his hook. He hauled the gates open, still shouting. “I’ll learn ye to disobey yore cap’n’s orders, I’ll . . . Yaaaagh!”

The gates swung inward, revealing Rojin, pinned to the timbers by a huge single arrow, head slumped and footpaws dragging in the dust. Dead as the proverbial doornail!

Beyond the outside path and ditch, out on the flatlands, Lonna Bowstripe roared as he fitted a shaft to his bowstring. “Raga Bol! Death is here! Hellgates await you, Searat! Eulaliiiiaaaaaaa!”

Bol took one glance at the avenging giant and hurled himself at the Abbey gates, slamming them and dropping the heavy baulks that served as locks. The wood shivered under the thud of the badger’s massive arrow. Raga Bol leaped back from the gates, as if expecting the shaft to come right through.

Sister Setiva was prying the paws of little Yooch from the dormitory windowsill. “Och, come away from there, ye wee pestilence!” Attracted by the shouting from the gatehouse area, she peered over to see what was amiss there. Raga Bol’s hoarse yells left her in no doubt.

“All paws to the walltops! Bring spears, slings an’ bows. Jump to it, the stripedog’s ’ere!”

Setiva caught Abbot Carrul’s sleeve. “There somebeast oot there, yon Searat’s howlin’ like a madbeast!”

Toran was out the dormitory door, with Martha close on his heels. Carrul and Setiva followed as Toran called to them. “Up t’the floor above, mates, ye can see better from there!”

Redwallers crowded to the second-story windows, which gave them a clear view of all that was taking place. Out on the flatlands, Lonna was raising his bow again. Brother Weld transmitted an excited commentary of what was taking place, for the benefit of those few who could not see. “Great seasons of slaughter, it’s a giant Badger Lord! The Searats are throwing spears, firing slingstones and arrows at him. Haha, their range is too short, their weapons can’t touch him. Oh my, oh golly! Did you see that?”

Old Phredd croaked impatiently. “See what? I can’t see a thing!”

Brother Weld described what he had seen. “The big badger fired off an arrow, huh, more like a spear. It struck a Searat, up on the ramparts. Got the vermin dead centre and drove him clear off the wall onto the lawn!”

Sister Setiva shook her head in disbelief. “Och, what a shot, ah’ve never seen aught like it!”

The Abbeybeasts set up a great cheer. Lonna caught sight of them and waved. Leaning out from the upper windows, the Redwallers waved back furiously, shouting encouragement.

“Give ’em blood’n’vinegar, well done, friend!”

“That’s the stuff big feller, keep those shafts coming!”

“Hurr, zurr hoojbeast, you’m give ee vurmints ole billyoh!”

With her eyes shining fiercely, Martha yelled at Toran, “Isn’t he magnificent! Can’t we do anything to help him?”

The ottercook bit his lip anxiously. “We got nothin’ to throw that’d span the range twixt this Abbey an’ the walltops, ’tis too far off for slingstones. There ain’t a single bow’n’arrer in the buildin’. I’d love to ’elp the big badger, but wot kin we do, miss, wot?”

Brother Gelf, normally a quiet, inobtrusive mouse, spoke out. “Er, I may be able to help, but I’ll need to be down in Great Hall. I think I’ll need a long windowpole, some twine, a couple of those pepper bombs and a few stones. Er, make them slightly larger than slingstones, but not much.”

His curiosity immediately piqued, the Abbot bowed to Gelf. “You shall have them, Brother. Let’s go down to Great Hall. No pushing there, please, let Gelf go first.”

Up on the walltops the Searats were lying low, stunned by the accuracy of the bowbeast. Raga Bol was trying to instil some confidence n his crew. “We’re safe be’ind this wall, buckoes. That stripedog’s got to stay out of our range. Soon as ’e moves forward we’ll get ’im. Ain’t been a beast born yet that spears an’ arrers can’t slay. All’s we gotta do is stay inside these walls!”

Wirga shuffled closer to Bol. “Aye, but while we’re on the inside, the stripedog has us pinned down from the outside. No Searat owns a weapon with the range an’ power of that big bow, Cap’n.”

Bol did not want to hear this. He stared cold-eyed at the Seer. “What would ye ’ave me do then, run out an’ charge ’im?”

The loss of her three sons rankled Wirga, who now did not lose the opportunity to needle Bol. “We outnumber the bigbeast by about twoscore. I never saw a Searat cap’n back off with those odds on his side!”

Before Bol could strike out, or argue against Wirga, a Searat further along the parapet gave out a shout. “Aaargh, wot the . . . Oooch!”

He fell sideways, slain by one of the big arrows. Raga Bol crawled swiftly along and inspected the dead crewrat. “Wot in the name o’ blood’n’thunder ’appened to ’im?”

Cowering fearfully against the battlements, the rat who had been crouching beside the victim babbled out. “I saw it, Cap’n! Gornat was ’it by summat from be’ind. There ’tis, see, one o’ those liddle bags o’ pepper, tied on a string, wid a stone at the other end!”