Major Perigord stood in the gap of the south wall with Captain Twayblade. Together they watched the shrews and Waterhogs from the water meadows being led up the slope by Log-a-Log and Gurgan Spearback to join the Redwall army. Perigord attempted a rough head count as they turned west to the main gate.
“About a hundred an’ ten, maybe twenty, not many really. Let’s go an’ see what Morio has mustered up.”
Lieutenant Morio was seated in the orchard with quill and parchment on an old tree stump. Pasque was assisting him in compiling the figures on what number of fighting beasts were available.
Perigord looked questioningly at the two hares. “Make y’report, be it good or ill. Speak up, chaps.”
Morio wiped an inky paw against his tunic. “Well, it ain’t good, Major, but they all seem fit’n’able. There’s fifty Redwallers, and thirty squirrels come in from ’round Mossflower, all pretty fair archers an’ good slingers, well equipped too. Skipper’s rounded up a few more otters, bringin’ his strength up to twoscore. Wish we had more otters—they look like they know their way ’round a fight.”
Perigord straightened his green velvet tunic, now practically in tatters after all it had been through. “Wishes don’t win wars, Lieutenant, we make the best of what we’ve jolly well got. Have y’counted all the shrews’n’hogs?”
“I have, sah. One hundred an’ sixty-three all told, and if you add our twelve, well, that’s the total strength. Always providin’ that Tammo, Midge, an’ Rockjaw make it back from the Rapscallion camp in one piece.”
Perigord did a quick mental calculation. “Well, that makes nearly three hundred we can put in the field. Pasque, me pretty one, how’s the jolly old armory?”
Pasque Valerian had slightly better news. “Top o’ the mark, sah. Everybeast carries their own weapon, an’ there’s a chamber in the bell tower crammed full of arms, all manner of blade, spear, and bow. Ginko the Bellringer says you’re welcome to ’em all, sah!”
Twayblade drew her rapier, and flicking an apple from a nearby branch, caught it deftly and polished it on her sleeve. “Three hundred, eh. Wish I’d told Midge to let the Rapscallions know there was only two hundred of us, but I said three, hopin’ we might have had four. Always nice to keep a hundred as a surprise reserve. Ah well, no use worryin’ over spilt cider, wot.”
Perigord took the apple from his sister and bit into it. “Indeed, we’ll just have t’give ten times as good as we get off the vermin. Hello there, what’s amiss here?”
The Galloper Riffle was trying to restrain Viola Bankvole from reaching Perigord.
“Sorry, marm, y’can’t see the Major right now, he’s busy.”
Viola thrust her jaw out belligerently. “Stand aside, young sir, or I’ll take a stick to you. I must see your officer right now!”
Perigord gestured Riffle to one side. “At y’service, marm. You wanted to see me?”
Viola shot Riffle a haughty glance before addressing the Major. “It’s our Abbess. She’s missing, and so are Shad the Gatekeeper, Foremole Diggum, Craklyn the Recor . . .”
Perigord cut her off with a wave of his paw. “Enough, marm, enough! Just tell me how many altogether.”
“Well, there’s five of them. They’re nowhere to be seen, I’ve searched the Abbey grounds high and low. Now, what do you intend doing about it, sir?”
Perigord answered her gently, seeing that Viola was upset. “Beggin’ y’pardon, lady, but there ain’t a lot I can do. We’re about to march off an’ fight a war. So as y’see, I can’t spare anybeast to go off searchin’ for your friends.”
Viola Bankvole’s paw waved under the Major’s nose as she ticked him off. “Well, that’s a fine how d’ye do. But mark my words, sir, I will gather more reliable searchers and look for them myself. Good day!”
She flounced off through the orchard, calling to the older ones. “Gurrbowl, come here! I need you to search with me, and you, Mother Buscol, you too, Brother Ginko. Follow me!”
Captain Twayblade chuckled as she rescued the apple back from her brother. “I say, chaps, I think we’d best stay here an’ search. Send her off to face the vermin. She’d soon send ’em packin’, wot!”
Perigord nodded admiringly as he watched Viola bullying half the Abbey elders into service. “Aye, she’s a bold perilous creature right enough. But to business now. Pasque m’dear, would y’be good enough to assemble the leaders? We’ll have to get geared up an’ movin’ shortly.”
*
The last full meal had been produced in Redwall’s kitchens by Guosim shrew cooks. They had filled six huge cauldrons with a thick stew of leeks, mushrooms, carrots, turnips, water shrimp, onions, potatoes, and lots of herbs, enough to feed an army. October Ale casks were broached and served in beakers with rough batch loaves and wedges of autumn nut cheese.
As the Redwall force ate, Perigord consulted with their Chieftains: Skipper of Otters, Log-a-Log of the Guosim, Gurgan Spearback of the Waterhogs, and Arven, Champion of Redwall, bearing with him the great sword of Martin the Warrior. There was not a lot to say that had not already been said; they all knew what they had to do, and even in the face of overwhelming odds they were prepared to do it, or go down fighting.
Mother Buscol had evaded Viola. She stood on the sidelines, with Russano the badgerbabe and Orocca’s three young owls in the straw-lined wheelbarrow, enjoying the sun. The rest of the Abbey Dibbuns crowded ’round, hanging on her apron strings, in the absence of anyone else to mind them. Together they listened to the Major address his troops.
“Right ho, chaps, for those who don’t know me, let me introduce m’self. I’m Major Perigord Habile Sinistra of the Salamandastron Long Patrol, commandin’ this entire operation, though your orders will prob’ly reach you through your own leaders an’ chieftains. Now I’ll make this as short as possible, wot! There’s a thousand Rapscallions sweepin’ upcountry, an’ Redwall Abbey’s in their path. So to save the place I’ve . . . ahem . . . arranged for the jolly old fracas to take place elsewhere. According to Taunoc the blighters are on the move, and we’ve found the ideal place to meet ’em head on. So that’s what we’ll jolly well do, if y’follow me. As you know, we’ll be outnumbered by more’n three to one, but by jingo we won’t be outclassed! We won’t be outfought! An’ as long as I can stand with a saber in me paw, we won’t be driven backward a single pace!”
Every creature listening leapt up cheering and brandishing their weapons.
“No surrender! No retreat!”
“Eulalia! ’S death on the wind!”
“Boi ’okey they’m furr et!”
Perigord gestured for silence. “Thank you, friends. But as you know, not all of us will come marching home. War is war, and that is a fact. So if there are any of you with families or young ’uns to look after, well, nobeast will think less of ye if you go home to them now.”
A rough-looking otter stood up. “Beggin’ yore pardon, Major, but I got a wife an liddle ’uns, an’ if I didn’t go with ye then I’d think less of meself. ’Cos we ain’t fightin’ the vermin just to protect Redwall, we’re facin’ ’em to make the land safe an’ rid of their kind.”
Mother Buscol trundled her barrow of babes through the army ranks, followed by a flock of Dibbuns. She halted in front of the Major and presented him with a cloth bundle. “Indeed to goodness, sir, you can’t ’ave an army without a flag to march under, oh dear no you cannot!”
Skipper and Arven unrolled the bundle. It was a dark green tablecloth with a big red letter R embroidered upon it. Inside the bundle was another smaller package, which Buscol gave to Perigord. “It ain’t velvet, sir,” the old squirrelmother said, shrugging awkwardly, “but may’ap ’twill be of service.”
Arven grabbed a long pike and began fastening the flag to it. “Here, Skip, lend a paw, you can tie better knots than me.” The banner was lashed to the pikestaff, and Arven waved it high over the crowd. Back and forth it fluttered in the sunlight as the massed shouts rose to a concerted roar:
“Redwaaaaaalll! Redwaaaaaalll! Redwaaaaaalll!”
Major Perigord slipped out of his tattered tunic and donned the one that Mother Buscol had made for him. It was blue linen, homespun, but beautifully fashioned from an ancient bed quilt. Fastening on the medals from his old tunic, he bowed gracefully and kissed the squirrelmother’s paw. “My thanks to ye, lady, I’ll wear it with honor an’ pride. Mayhap I’ll even return here with it unharmed.”
The Dibbuns dove upon the Major’s old tunic.
“Me wannit, ’smine, gitcha paws offen it, Sloey!”
Perigord eyed them sternly. “Silence in the ranks there, you fiends! Y’can wear it a day each at a time. Sloey first.” Even the search party led by Viola left off their task to see the Redwall army on its way. Elders and Dibbuns alike lined the path to the main gate as the warriors marched past four abreast, every creature well armed and carrying provisions. Arven and Perigord stood to one side, each drawing his blade to salute the flag, which was being borne by Skipper. The stout otter dipped the colors, awaiting orders as the columns formed up on the path outside.
It was a high summer day, and the sun shone out of a sky that appeared bluer than it had ever been. They stood waiting in silence, listening to grasshoppers chirruping and skylarks singing on the western flatlands. Many Redwallers straightened their backs, breathed deeply, and blinked to prevent a tear appearing, wondering if they would ever see the old Abbey on such a beautiful day again.
All the good-byes had been said, though Major Perigord bowed to Sister Viola and spoke a last few words. “’Tis always hard to leave a place, marm, particularly when certain friends are not there to wish you farewell. I wish you every good fortune in your search for the Mother Abbess and her companions. In happier, more peaceful times, myself and the patrol would have been at your disposal to help find them, but alas it was not to be. I hope you bear me no ill will, marm. I must bid ye good-bye.”
Sister Viola smiled at the gallant hare. “How could any true Redwaller bear ill will to a brave soldier marching to defend our home and our very lives? Never fear, sir, I will find our lost friends. I bid you success and good fortune along with my good-bye. You are a perilous creature, Major.”
Sergeant Torgoch’s stentorian roar rang out through gateway and path: “Flagbearer three paces forward! All offisahs to the vanguard! In the ranks . . . Atten . . . shun! Corporal Rubbadub—beat the advance! By the right . . . quick . . . maaaaaarch!”
Shouldering blades, Perigord, Arven, Gurgan, and Log-a-Log formed the first rank of four behind Skipper’s banner, with Rubbadub behind them setting up a fine, paw-swinging drumroll.
“Barraboom! Barraboom! Drrrappadabdab! Buboom!”
Galloper Riffle called out through the rising dust cloud, “Permission for the Company to sing ‘O’er the Hills,’ sah!”
“Permission granted, Galloper,” Perigord’s voice rang back at him. “Sing out with a will!”
“O’er the Hills” was a famous marching song, and close to three hundred voices roared it out lustily:
“O’er the hills an’ far away,
’Twas there I left my dearie,
An’ as I left I heard her say,
‘Come back to me d’ye hear me,
Y’may eat cake an’ drink pale wine,
But come back home at autumn time,
An’ on fresh bread’n’cheese you’ll dine,
For no one brews good ale like mine.’
O fields are green an’ skies are blue,
Ole woods are high an’ full o’ loam,
But hearken friend I’ll tell you true,
Ain’t no place in the world like home.
O’er the hills an’ far away,
’Tis there my home’s awaitin’,
The season’s shorter by a day,
Whilst I’m anticipatin’
A logfire made from cracklin’ pine,
An’ washin’ dancin’ on the line,
As blossoms ’round the door entwine,
Hurrah, for there’s that dearie mine!”
Redwallers old and young stood out on the path waving kerchiefs, aprons, and headscarves until the marchers diminished to a faraway dust cloud, with their song a faint echo on the hot air.
Viola could not help sniffling into a lace kerchief, “Oh, they made such a brave sight going off like that!”
Ever the practical creature, Gurrbowl Cellarmole shooed the Dibbuns back inside, remarking, “Hurr aye, they’m did, an’ let us’n’s ’ope they’m lukk ee same on ee day ’em cumms back!”