Eulalia! (16 page)

Orkwil was bursting with pride at his unexpected promotion. Feeling very important, he ventured an opinion. “My friend Gorath is a real warrior, I've already seen him slay one creature, when we were on the vermin ship. He told me that he suffers from Bloodwrath.”

The Abbot sat up straight in his chair. “Great seasons of slaughter! D'you mean to tell me the badger lying on Great Hall table is a beast of Bloodwrath?”

Orkwil hastened to assure his Abbot. “I wouldn't worry too much, Father. Gorath told me that he was saved from the Bloodwrath by a vision of a mouse who carried a great sword.”

Pushing his chair to one side, the Abbot rose. “It must have been Martin the Warrior! Come with me, friends, let's take a closer look at this badger.”

Down in Great Hall, Gorath was sitting up on the edge of the large banqueting table. Friar Chondrus was refilling a bowl from a cauldron of leek and mushroom soup, whilst Foremole Burff held forth a plate of carrot and turnip pasties. The huge young badger accepted the soup and a pastie, grunting. “My thanks, friends, this is wonderful food!” As he ate, Sister Atrata, who was standing up on the table behind her patient, worked on some of his other wounds. Orkwil approached him boldly.

“How are you doing, mate, feeling better?” As Gorath raised his face from the soup bowl, Orkwil gasped and took a backward pace.

The thickly crusted scab, which had formed over the large wound that Vizka had inflicted with his mace and chain, was gone. Centred in the middle of his white forehead stripe was a deep scarlet shape, resembling a large flame. Gorath looked oddly at his friend. “I'm feeling a bit better, what are you staring at?”

Before Orkwil could reply, Sister Atrata explained. “I was bathing that dreadful injury on his head, with some special herbs and hot water, when the scab came loose. It was the size of a small plate. Well, I didn't know how severe the wound was, so just kept on bathing until the scab fell off. I'm afraid no more flesh or fur will ever grow in that spot again. However, the wound beneath was protected, and kept clean by the dried blood which had formed the scab. It isn't raw, or moist, and Gorath says it doesn't pain him anymore.”

The badger touched his wide, flame-shaped wound. “It feels fine, thank you, Sister. Could I see it?”

Abbot Daucus extended his paw to Gorath. “If you feel well enough to walk, there's a polished shield on the wall, in an alcove over there. I've seen many a pretty young Redwall maid using it as a mirror. Come on, take a peek at yourself, friend, it's not so bad.”

On reaching the alcove which contained the shield, Gorath staggered right past it. He pointed at the Redwall Abbey tapestry, his voice sending booming echoes around Great Hall. “It's him, it's the warrior with the sword. There!”

Orkwil grasped his big friend's paw. “Hah, see, told you there was somebeast you might want to meet—that's Martin the Warrior!”

Gorath sat down on the floor, gazing at the woven figure. “He saved my life!”

It was impossible not to be impressed by the likeness of Martin. His eyes seemed to follow every creature, they were kindly eyes, but brave and resolute. Orkwil had always thought there was something very comforting in looking at Martin, he felt reassured by the sight of the warrior, as did every Redwaller. The Abbot placed something in Gorath's paws, it was the warrior's sword. Though it looked no bigger than a long dagger in the badger's massive grasp, he admired it greatly.

“This is a marvellous blade, whoever forged it must have been a master of the armorer's craft.” The badger leaned toward the tapestry as if listening to something. He beckoned to Orkwil. “Would you please bring me my weapon?” Orkwil did as he was requested.

Gorath held the pitchfork until it was close to the tapestry. “This is not a real warrior's thing, but I call it Tung, it isn't as wonderful as your sword, but it has always served me well.” Gorath laid Tung alongside Martin's sword by the tapestry. Without another word, he curled up on the floor and slept.

Sister Atrata whispered to Orkwil, “He seems to like it there, I'll bring him blankets, and a pillow. Your friend is still not recovered.”

The party tip-pawed away from the sleeping badger, with the Abbot murmuring softly to Skipper, “Anybeast who can talk with Martin is a friend of Redwall.”

Benjo Tipps agreed. “Aye, you could tell they was talkin' to each other, just by watchin' Gorath!”

Orkwil cast a backward glance at his friend, slumbering deeply, watched over by the greatest warrior of all. He whispered in Martin's direction, “If you can, sir, get Gorath well, so that he can help us to face those vermin!”

Did the eyes of the figure on the tapestry blink? Or was it just a trick of the flickering candlelight?

Brownrats secreted behind rocks on both sides of the crookstream watched eagerly as the little flotilla of logboats drew closer. Gripping clubs and spears, they awaited Gruntan Kurdly's signal. Their plan was simple, a straight charge into the shallow, running water would catch the unsuspecting Guosim shrews by surprise. It would be the perfect ambush. At its deepest part, the crookstream ran less than waist high, owing to its heavily pebbled bed.

Gruntan had left his litter, he lay flat on the top of the high rocks, overlooking the scene. He kept up a constant, muttered conversation with himself as he kept track of the logboats. “Haharr, now lemme see, there's two logboats to the right bank, an' two t'the left. Then there's two more in midstream, wid the liddle round boat betwixt 'em. Once they gits level wid this 'ere rock, I'll send my mob out, an' we'll give 'em thud'n'blunder!”

“Er, shouldn't that be blood'n'thunder, Boss?”

Gruntan glared at his scout, Noggo, who with Biklo was lying alongside him. “That's wot I said, izzenit?”

Biklo pointed out the error. “No, Boss, you said thud'n'blunder, not blood'n'thunder.”

Gruntan grabbed both scouts' ears and banged their heads together. “Avast there, y'swabs, wot sounds better, blood'n'thunder, or thud'n'blunder, eh?”

Noggo blinked hard, trying to uncross his eyes. “Thud'n'blunder, Boss, I likes the sound o' that!”

Gruntan tugged their ears roughly before releasing them. “Aharr, matey, an' so do I. Blubber thrunder it is then!”

Both scouts edged out of his reach, saluting. “Aye aye, Boss, blutter thrumble, or wotever ye say!”

 

Maudie was in one of the midstream boats, she looked across to Luglug in the other. The shrew chieftain was scanning both banks keenly. “Those rascals ain't much good at hidin', miss, I kin see 'em crouchin' in the rocks both sides of us.”

The haremaid allowed her paws to stray near the bow and arrows lying close to her. “Yes, I've spotted the blighters, too, they're all painted up like a dellful of bloomin' daisies. Not the best idea if you don't want to be jolly well seen, is it? So, what d'you say, old Lugathing, we know they're there, an' they know we're here. Shall we open up the ball?” She signalled Rigril and Teagle, who were holding the coracle, filled with shrewbabes, between both logboats. “Right, off y'go chaps, give them paddles a good whack, an' don't stop for anythin'. Good luck!”

Then things developed swiftly. The coracle shot off, with the babes squealing lustily as spray cascaded around them. Luglug roared to the four logboats skirting the banks. “Logalogalogaloooooog!”

They began launching showers of slingstones at the rats in the rocks.

Gruntan Kurdly sprang upright on his high perch, bawling furiously, “Don't just sit there, ye block'eads! Chaaaaarge!”

His first officer, Stringle, leapt upright. “Youse 'eard the boss, cummon, charge! Charge! Ch…”

A well-aimed slingstone cracked him on the jaw. He slumped backward as the other Brownrats came out of hiding. Without somebeast to lead them, they came cautiously forward. Gruntan danced with rage, flinging grass, soil, shale, anything to paw, as he yelled. “Don't stan' around waitin' for winter! Charge, ye fools! Chaaaaarge!”

Now the boats closest to shore began to speed up, half the crews paddling, as the other half continued slinging. Maudie stood erect, a shaft notched upon her bowstring. “Right, give 'em blood'n'vinegar, chaps. Eulaliiiiaaaaaa!” She loosed her arrow, bringing down one of the vermin, who was splashing through the shallows toward them.

The Guosim archers were ruthlessly efficient, they fired off salvos of arrows into the charging rats as they entered the crookstream. Maudie saw Guosim still hurling slingstones into the forward flank of vermin, as she notched up another arrow, shouting. “One more time, then let's get out of here. Shoot!” Another rain of arrows cut the air, then the Guosim dropped their bows and started paddling energetically.

Now the logboats that had been close to shore came to midstream, ahead of the two carrying Maudie and Luglug. All six craft carried on upstream, their paddlers working hard. The coracle had rounded another bend, and could not be seen, but the logboats were hard in its wake.

Gruntan Kurdly was beside himself with rage, he hopped and danced on top of the big rock, ranting and raving. “Get after 'em, stop 'em, ye blitherin' blisters! I wants those boats, ye sluggardly laggards! Out! Git yore useless bottoms out o' the water an' run along the banks, ye brainless blunderers! 'Tis ten times easier runnin' on land than 'tis in a stream! Are ye deaf, daft or ditherin'? I said git out an' run along the bankside!”

Some of the rats could not hear him clearly amid the stream noise, they continued wading through the water. Gruntan hopped and jumped wildly on top of the high rock, bellowing dreadful oaths and curses. Then he jumped a fraction too far, and disappeared over the edge.

Noggo stared in bewilderment at where Gruntan had been. “Huh, where's the boss gone?”

Biklo shrugged. “I think 'e fell, 'cos 'e's not 'ere no more, mate!”

Noggo scratched his tail awhile, then he giggled. “Well, 'e can't slay us now, can 'e? The sh'ews musta spotted us, 'cos they was ready for the ambush. The boss said if'n we was spotted, then we was in fer a dose o'the Kurdlys.”

Biklo suddenly realised they had been given a new lease on life, due to their leader's mishap. He began chuckling. “Mebbe ole Gruntan fancied 'e was a bird, hahahahaha!”

His companion sniggered uncharitably. “Heeheehee, that's wot comes of eatin' all those eggs, mate. I reckon 'e turned into a Kurdlyburd!” Both rats sat down. Overcome by merriment, they laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. Then an agonised wail arose from below.

“Yeeeeeeeooooow…ooh, 'elp me mates, owowaaarrrrgh!”

The laughter froze in their throats, Noggo and Biklo crawled to the edge of the rock and peered downward. About halfway down the rockface, a big, old, gorse bush sprouted out of a crevice. Gruntan Kurdly was hanging there, painfully suspended in the thorny branches, wailing.

“Yowch, ooch, yeeek! 'elp me afore this thing breaks!”

Noggo called down instinctively. “We'll 'elp ye, Boss, stay there!”

Gruntan's voice reached new peaks of indignation. “Stay here? Where d'ye think I'm goin', fer a paddle in the water! Get a rope down 'ere t'me, quick!” Looking down, Gruntan spotted his first officer. “Ahoy, Stringle, organise some 'elp an' git me outta this!”

Vermin were called away from chasing the logboats, to assist their leader out of his predicament. The task was eventually achieved, with lots of ropes and harnesses. Gruntan Kurdly was hauled up to the top of the rock, screaming and yowling every pawlength of the way. The big Brownrat was pierced by long, sharp gorse thorns, from tailtip to ears. Whilst a team of helpers worked gingerly to remove them, he glared murderously at his two scouts.

“I should peel the hides off'n ye both, aye, an' sling youse into that bush. But I'm givin' ye another chance, git after those logboats an' see where they're bound!”

Wordlessly, Noggo and Biklo dashed off to obey the order.

 

Maudie and the Guosim had problems of their own. The coracle containing Rigril, Teagle and the shrewbabes had run too far ahead of them. The waterway called the crookstream'n'ripples was a curious phenomenon. Once they were past the pebbly shallows of the gorge, the water deepened drastically. Even though they were paddling against the current, the going became smoother as they came in sight of a fork. It was there that the water went two ways, following a diverted course to one side, which the Guosim had named the ripples. This tributary thundered off downhill.

Luglug stood in the prow of his logboat, shouting to Rigril and Teagle, as they were swept into the slipwater at the fork. “Pull 'er out, keep to yore midstream, don't let those ripples draw ye in afore we gets to ye, mates!”

Whether he could be heard over the rushing waters and the excited cries of the shrewbabes Maudie could not tell. However, she could see the trouble which the coracle was in. Rigril and Teagle were paddling furiously, trying to hold the little circular craft back, but it bumped against a rocky nub, just beneath the surface.

A groan of dismay arose from the crews of the six pursuing logboats. The coracle had begun to rotate, bouncing off the underwater rock, and slipping right into the ripples. As it hit the opposing downhill current, the paddlers' oars became useless. Spinning like a top, the coracle was lost to sight, skimming swiftly downstream on a perilous course.

Luglug was bellowing. “Put yore backs into it, Guosim, we've got t'catch 'em!”

Maudie watched breathlessly as the shrew paddlers put all their might into their efforts. Compared with the coracle, the logboats had to struggle against the slipwater at the fork. Immediately they had to back water, and avoid going into collision with one another, as the long, pointed logboats hit the ripples. Gousim rowers dug paddles deep, leaning back, trying to stop their boats going into a spinning motion. The six craft raced off downhill, leaping and juddering into white clouds of enveloping spray.

Maudie put her mouth close to Luglug's ear, she yelled aloud, “These ain't ripples, they're rapids!”

The shrew chieftain's voice was almost lost amid an increasing thunder of water as he bellowed, “Save yore voice an' hang on tight, miss, there's a big 'un comin' up!”

Maudie heard herself scream as the logboat shot off into thin air. It was then that she realised that the “big 'un” was a waterfall.