Cavern Hole was packed tight for the Council of War. As Champion of Redwall, Arven sat at the Abbess’s right paw, his weapon, the great sword of Martin the Warrior, laid flat on the table in front of him. As guests and experienced fighters, Major Perigord and his hares held the right side of the table, Log-a-Log and his shrews with Gurgan Spearback and the otter crew facing them.
The Guosim Chieftain had something to say before the main meeting got under way. “About that water runnin’ beneath yore south wall, I think I’ve found the answer t’the problem. Today we found where the water comes out—good job we did, too, or Skipper woulda never been seen agin. So, I figgers that I knows the waterways of Mossflower better’n most. Any’ow, I put on me thinkin’ cap about that stream. If’n it’s got a place t’come out, stands to sense there must be a spot where it flows in. Heed me now, I think I knows where that very place is, ’tis on the river north an’ west o’ Redwall. I’ve sailed it a few times an’ seen where it splits off. With yore permission, Abbess, marm, I’d like to take some o’ yore otters an’ molefolk with me to dam it off an’ stop the water flowin’ under yore wall. We’ll go first light tomorrer, sooner the better!”
Mother Abbess Tansy signaled for her helpers to begin serving supper all ’round. “You have my permission and may fortune go with you and yours, Log-a-Log. The Guosim have always been special friends of Redwall. Skipper, Foremole Diggum, will you assist the shrews?”
“Aye, marm, my crew’s willin’ an’ ready!”
“Bo urr, ee can count on us’n’s, h’Abbess!”
Tammo was sitting between Perigord and Pasque. He sipped hot red-berry cordial and nibbled a wedge of heavy fruitcake, not feeling really hungry. Cavern Hole seemed overfull, rather muggy, warm, and distant. Tammo’s eyes drooped, then he swayed slightly and settled back as the talk became a soothing murmur, as if it were echoes from far away. Then a butterfly flew gently by in his sleep-laden imagination; soft, delicate, and silent. It settled on the pink flowers of an almond tree, closing its fragile, pale gold wings. The flowers fell, drifting slowly through still noon air, lighting with scarcely a ripple on the tranquil waters of a shady stream. Catching a small eddy, butterfly and flowers together went ’round and ’round in lazy circles.
Both Log-a-Log and Gurgan Spearback had told the meeting of Gormad Tunn’s death and everything they had seen of Damug Warfang and his Rapscallions. All eyes turned to Major Perigord and Arven, who were already deep in conversation. The squirrel Warrior, as Champion of Redwall, would naturally be consulted on the Abbey’s defense. Finally Perigord leaned forward, nodding his head shrewdly. “Hmm, we’ve defeated those vermin at Salamandastron not s’long ago, but you’ll forgive me sayin’, we had the full force o’ the Long Patrol an’ Lady Cregga Rose Eyes full o’ Bloodwrath when we did it. How many Rapscallions d’you estimate Damug has on call?”
Log-a-Log scratched his head reflectively. “Best ask Gurgan, he’s seen ’em firsthand.”
“Aye,” said the Waterhog, “we’ve watched ’em on the move and when they camped. Oft times they looked to number like leaves in an autumn gale. Hark now, ’tis not my wish to afright these gentle Redwallers, but my mate Rufftip, she counted ’em as they moved out from the coast. Damug Warfang has a few score o’er ten ’undred to do his biddin’.”
A stunned silence settled upon Cavern Hole. Nobeast had envisaged a vermin army of more than a thousand on the march. Arven shot Major Perigord a quick glance. Something had to be done before panic set in. Perigord understood and rose to the occasion.
“Well now, chaps, that sounds like a tidy old bunch, wot! However, there was half that number again when they came at Salamandastron, ships too, but we still managed to send the rotters packin’. Main thing is not t’be scared by numbers, after all, ’tis quality that counts, not quantity!”
Pellit the dormouse challenged him. “You could stand ’ere all night talkin’ like that, but it still won’t stop all those Rapscallions attackin’ Redwall. Point is, wot are you goin’ to do about it besides talk, eh?”
Abbess Tansy glared frostily at Pellit. “Perhaps, sir, you would tell us what you propose to do?”
All the dormouse could do was bluster in his own defense. “I ain’t no fightin’ beast, marm, most of us Abbeydwellers don’t know the first thing about battlin’. Wot d’you expect us t’do?”
Arven stood up slowly, frowning at Pellit, who cringed under the Redwall Champion’s stern reproof.
“Major Perigord has pledged himself and his patrol to help us. I would expect that you have the good manners to give him a hearing, unless you have a better or more helpful suggestion to assist your Abbey in this crisis.”
Pellit lowered his eyes and shrugged. The Abbess smiled apologetically at Perigord. “Forgive the interruption, Major. You were saying?”
But the hare had slightly lost track of his speech. To gain time he stroked his whiskers thoughtfully and pursed his lips.
Suddenly all eyes turned on Tammo. He rose and walked ’round to stand beside Arven, gazing at the great sword that lay upon the table. In a calm, measured voice, he began speaking:
“Aye, Sire, it shall be as you say.”
Arven could tell by the look in Tammo’s eyes that he was still sleeping. The young hare moved toward the steps leading up to Great Hall. Placing a paw to his lips, Arven warned everybeast to hold their silence. Then he gestured with his other paw to clear a way. Redwallers fell back to either side as Tammo went by them, unaware of all about him. Craklyn uttered a single word as she followed in his wake:
“Martin!”
Lanterns burned dimly in Great Hall, casting shadows around the sandstone columns and recesses, and moonlight shone through the high windows onto a floor worn smooth by countless generations of paws. In complete silence the Redwallers grouped behind Tammo, who stood staring up at the tapestry on the wall. It was a marvelous piece of work, fashioned by Abbey creatures in the distant past. Martin the Warrior, Redwall’s founder hero, was depicted there, standing armor-clad and leaning upon his sword.
“I brought you quill and parchment,” Viola Bankvole whispered to Craklyn, passing her writing materials. “You may need them!”
The Recorder nodded her thanks as Tammo started speaking.
“Spring is done now, summer calls,
This season fraught with wartime’s fear,
Fate says Damug will ne’er see our walls,
Battle must take place, though not here.
So go with him, De Fformelo.
A soothsayer knows what to say,
Secrets Warfang longs to know.
One day Redwall a badger will see,
But the badger may never see Redwall,
Darkness will set the Warrior free,
The young must answer a mountain’s call.”
A vagrant night breeze waved the tapestry once, then all was still and quiet. Tammo sat down upon the floor. He rubbed his eyes and stared at his surroundings in bewilderment.
“What the . . . Who brought me here?”
Arven sat beside him, pointing to the figure on the tapestry.
“Martin the Warrior did, he had a message for us.”
“Oh, y’don’t say, an’ what was the message?”
“You should know, friend, ’twas you who delivered it!”
“Me? I say, that’s a bit blinkin’ much. I don’t remember a single thing. What did I, I mean he, say?”
Craklyn spread her parchment in front of the young hare. “Don’t worry, Tammo, I recorded every word. Martin the Warrior is the guiding spirit of our Abbey. In times of trouble he will often choose somebeast to deliver his message to us. You must be a very special creature for Martin to single you out.”
Tammo nodded absently as he scanned the parchment. “Hmm, never thought of m’self as jolly well special, marm. Hey, Midge, it mentions you here. It says, ‘Manycoats will know the way.’”
Midge was far shorter than the other hares, but none the less brave. He laughed excitedly. “Hahaha! Wonderful! It’s just come to me in a flash, yes, I certainly do know what t’do!”
“Well bully for you, laddie buck!” Perigord checked him hastily. “But there’s no reason t’be worryin’ our friends with a lot o’ balderdash. C’mon, chaps, all pop along an’ get some shut-eye now, it’s rather late y’know. Leave this to us, we’ll sort out the details, wot!”
Abbess Tansy nodded in agreement. Some of the Redwallers looked rather reluctant, but one glance from their Abbess told them she was in no mood for argument.
Skipper, Foremole, Log-a-Log, Gurgan, and the hares followed Arven, Craklyn, and Tansy back down to Cavern Hole. Once there they made themselves comfortable by the fire embers.
Perigord stirred the logs with his saber tip, saying, “Speak y’piece, Midge. Tell us what came t’you in a flash.”
The small hare did so readily. “Listen, Martin said that the battle mustn’t take place at Redwall, it’s got to be fought elsewhere, see!”
Arven placed the great sword on the fireplace lintel. “That makes sense. We wouldn’t stand much chance with over a thousand Rapscallions charging a collapsin’ south wall. What do you intend t’do about it, Midge?”
“Here’s the wheeze, old chap. Damug Warfang, like all Warlords, is prob’ly very superstitious. Well, what if an old ragged soothsayer puts a word in the ear of somebeast close to him?”
Perigord frowned. “What sort o’ word?”
“Well, sah, the sort o’ word tellin’ where a battle might take place an’ sayin’ how unlucky ’twill be to look upon Redwall Abbey until the battle is won, an’ how the chosen battle place’ll be lucky for a certain Rapscallion leader . . .”
The Major shook his head at Midge’s quick-wittedness. “Enough, enough, I’ve got the drift now. Well done, Midge Manycoats! Spot of action for you, young Tammo; the rhyme says you’ve got to go with Midge. Don’t worry, he’ll disguise you pretty well.”
Eyes shining, Tammo clasped his dirk hilt. “Y’can rely on me, sah!”
Perigord ruffled Tammo’s ears fondly. “Splendid! I knew I could. Y’know, you look the image o’ your mother sometimes, not half as pretty, but somethin’ about the eyes. However, can’t let you two go alone. Rockjaw, you are our best tracker. Go with ’em, find the camp, and keep y’self close. We’ll use you as a go-between. Very good! Sar’nt Torgoch, you an’ Lieutenant Morio go right away at dawn an’ scout out a good location for the battle. We’ll get news of the chosen spot to you, Rockjaw. Taunoc, with his sharp eyes and knowledge of the woods, will be messenger. Meanwhile, Midge, you can be workin’ y’self into the vermin’s confidence. Shouldn’t be too hard for a hare with a head on his shoulders like you have, wot. We’ll get word t’you as soon as a good location’s been staked out. That’s all, chaps. Get some rest now, busy day ahead of us tomorrow. Dismissed!”