Brian Jacques - Redwall #05 - The Legend of Luke

Windred looked across to Martin's sleeping father. "Aye, an' bad fortune to any Sea Rogues when Luke awakens properly. He will, you mark my words. I know him!"

Chapter 19

In the seasons that followed, Luke and his surviving tribe did well and learned many things. No longer were they hungryfarming the clifftop land, foraging farther afield in good weather, and gathering mollusks, shrimp and shellfish from rockpools and tide shallows. Drunn and his moles taught them how to create screens of rock, driftwood and overhanging vegetation for their caves, disguising them from the gaze of unwanted visitors and providing windbreaks against harsh weather. Windred looked after little Martin, who had become a sturdy toddler, living the simple life, still as solemn and well behaved as ever.

Luke, however, was a different creature from the easygoing, good-humored leader he had been before his wife's death. His tribe learned to give him a wide berth and ask no questions of him. He kept a cave apart from the others, in which he was making and storing weapons. He came and went at odd times, returning with materials he had gathered in his wandering. Martin was the only one he would confide in, though he constantly questioned Drunn and Welff on the habits of Sea Rogues. How often did they visit the north coasts? Did they ride at anchor or beach their vessels? What sort of discipline did they employ, what was the average size of a crew, what type of weapons and tactics did they favor? If a ship was sighted out on the main, all creatures ran for cover, but Luke would lie on the clifftops with Martin, watching it. The little fellow listened carefully to what his father had to say.

"I hope that vessel doesn't put in here, son. I'm not ready for them yet. Better that it stays out to sea and sails off. But when I'm ready, the day will arrive when I'll be looking for a ship to land here, and then we'll see what the seascum are made of. Look, she's veering off southward. We won't be bothered by that one, thank fortune. Come on, you can help me to build up our weapon supply."

Luke showed his son how to make arrows, while he himself attended to the bows. "See these, they're ash branches, good heavy wood. I've chosen the ones that are medium thick and straight, and dried the ends out by standing them in warm sand around the fire. Now, we make a slit in the opposite end and fit a piece of feather in it, like so, then bind above and below the feather with twine. Next, I place the dried end of the wood in the fire, let it burn, but not too much, then rub it to a point on this rock, burn a little more, rub a little more. Here, Martin, try the end of this with your paw. Be careful."

Martin dabbed his paw gently on the needlelike point his father had rubbed onto the fire darkened ash. He smiled. "Oo, it shark!"

Luke smiled at his little son, who was still learning to pronounce words. "Aye, 'tis shark all right, very shark. Sea vermin don't wear armor, so an arrow doesn't need a metal or flint tip. A good hefty ash shaft with a firepoint will stop 'em!"

Vurg entered the cave and indicated Martin with a nod. "His Grandma Windred is lookin' for him. Dinner's ready in the big cave. Are you coming, Luke?"

Luke glanced up from the bowstring he was twining and greasing. "I'll be along. There's still work to do here."

Vurg looked around at the rows of stakes waiting to be sharpened, flint axheads, unstrung yew bows, and gnarled driftwood limbs waiting to be fashioned into clubs. "A fair ole bit o' work I'd say, Luke. Why don't me'n'Cardo an' some of the others help you?"

Luke knotted off the end of his finished bowstring. "My son's a good little helper, but I could do with some like you to lend a paw. Why didn't you offer sooner, Vurg?"

His friend smiled wryly. "Because none of us fancied gettin' our heads bitten off."

Luke offered his paw. "Sorry, mate. I accept your help gratefully. 'Tis not your heads I'm lookin' to bite off, just the Sea Rogues'."

Vurg took Luke's paw and shook it warmly. "Good. Let's go an' get some dinner, then every able-bodied beast in camp will pitch in with pleasure!"

From then on Luke became a real Warrior Chieftain, directing his creatures in the making of weaponry, drilling and training his fighters and marking off the shoreline around the caves in various strategies and plans for when the time was ripe.

It came unexpectedly, one evening the following summer. Having finished their day's chores, the tribe sat about after dinner in the big cavemouth, their backs warmed by the fire within, enjoying the pleasant evening. Windred was singing an old song which had been passed down through her family.

"Old Ninian mouse and his goodwife,

Needed a house to build,

They had a family grown so large,

Their tent was overfilled.

To setting sun the old wife toiled,

From daybreak in the east,

But Ninian was a lazy mouse,

Who loved to sleep and feast.

The wife heaved stone and carried wood,

For door and wall and beam,

While Ninian idly in daylight,

Snored on in peaceful dream.

She raised the gables, built a roof,

Her back was bent and sore,

As Ninian ate up all the food,

And loudly called for more.

So when the house at last was built,

His wife nailed up a sign,

Which stated 'THIS AINT NINIANS!'

She said, 'That shows 'tis mine!'

Then when the countless seasons passed,

And all within had died,

The rain and storm of ages long

Had swept the sign outside.

It washed the first three letters out,

But left the rest intact.

That sign now reads, 'S AINT NINIANS!'

A church? A joke? A fact!

So traveler if you read the sign,

Then take my word 'tis true:

A dreamer can become a saint,

So can a glutton, too!"

Welff applauded with the rest, chuckling and shaking her head at Windred's song.

"Tell me, Windred m'dear, is it true, is there such a place as Saint Ninian's, or is it really a joke?"

Luke answered for her. " 'Tis a fact, marm. I was born at Saint Ninian's, as was Sayna my poor dear wife. We were driven out, when I was a babe, by an evil warlord, a wildcat named Lord Greeneye Verdauga who had a horde of vermin at his command, so they told me, but I was far too young to remember. This is our home now, and nobeast will ever drive us from here while I am about."

Drunn Tunneller dashed toward them, waving. He was panting hard, having clambered down from the cliff tops.

"Burr, git ee insoid, guddbeasts all, ee Sea Rogue ship be a cummen yurr!"

Immediately the tribe began pulling out driftwood and vegetation to disguise the cave's entrance as they had been shown. Luke nodded to Vurg and Dulam to accompany him down to the tideline.

Shading their eyes against the westering sun, the three mice stood in the ebbing tide shallows watching the ship. Vurg scratched his head and looked to Luke. "Doesn't look quite right t'me, mate. What d'you make of it?"

Luke scrutinized the vessel keenly. It was still a good distance from land. "Hmm, could be just an honest merchant trader, but in these waters I doubt it, Vurg. It doesn't seem to be making good headwayif it's trying for land, it won't make it here until near daybreak tomorrow at the rate 'tis goin', eh, Dulam?"

Dulam watched the strange craft take a north tack, as if trying to catch the wind. He pointed. "See, she's got a broken mast, I think. That's why the going's so hard for that ship!"

Luke checked Dulam's sighting. "You're right, mate. Maybe this is just what we've been waiting for. Back to the cave and rouse our fighters!"

Reynard Chopsnout, captain of the vessel Greenhawk,was in high bad humor. His ship was taking on water, and to make matters worse, add a broken mainmast and ten days on short rations. Moreover, the crew were becoming mutinous and he was hard pressed to maintain command. The Corsair fox pawed irritably at the hard polished blob of pitch which served him as a snout. It was stuck on where his nose had been until he came off worse in a swordfight with a skillful ferret.