Eulalia! by Brian Jacques
Orkwil folded his paws resolutely. “No, you ain’t, I said yore stayin’ here!”
“And I said I’m coming with you!”
The pitchfork prongs were a spike’s breadth from Orkwil’s snout. He hardened his voice as he glared at Gorath. “That’s what I said, yore comin’ with me. Now stop arguin’ an’ let’s get movin’, bigbeast!”
The bankvole was quite a good cook, by woodland standards. He was sitting on the edge of the river, just outside of his dwelling, savouring the aroma of a large, speckled trout. Only the previous day he had netted it in a reed snare. It was not often that such a feast was to be had, speckled trout were cunning and swift on the River Moss, but voles, particularly old and greedy ones, were equally sly and quick.
The watervole had been up most of the night, preparing himself an epic breakfast. He had dug a firepit, laying his ingredients on the white-hot charcoal embers. A layer of fresh watercress and dandelion leaves, with fragrant mint, pennywort and sorrel. Next came the trout, stuffed with mushrooms and some almonds he had been saving for such an occasion. Topping the lot with a layer of dock-leaves, he covered the pit, and its contents, with loam. Soon it would be baked to a turn.
Sipping a beaker of his own home-brewed cider, the watervole sniffed the delicious aroma permeating through the loam.
“Mmmmm, is that baked trout I can smell, marvellous!”
The vole’s paw reached for the club, which lay beside him, as he snarled viciously at Orkwil Prink. “So, it’s you agin’, well, I’m ready for ye this time, ’edgepig. Try anythin’ wid me an’ ye’ll join those two water rats, weighted down wid rocks in the swamp!” Waving the club, he scrabbled around with his free paw, and came up with a long dagger. “Aye, I’m good’n’ready, so make yore move, if ye dare!”
Orkwil shook his head, feigning sadness. “Well, there’s gratitude for you, after me savin’ his life. If I’d known he was goin’ to be so nasty I wouldn’t have invited you along, my friend.”
The vole looked over his shoulder, to see whom the young hedgehog was addressing. His jaw dropped at the sight of the huge badger carrying a pitchfork. Dropping both club and dagger, the terrified beast took to his paws and fled into the woodlands.
Orkwil began raking the loam from off the cooked trout. “Dearie me, I never knew voles could run as fast as that. D’you think it was somethin’ I said?”
Squatting down beside the cooking pit, Gorath helped to lift the delicious repast out onto the bank.
“Who knows, perhaps he didn’t feel very hungry?” For the first time, Orkwil saw his friend smile. Indicating the fish, the young hedgehog smiled back. “I’ll wager you feel hungry, mate. Look, why don’t you stop here, eat your fill and rest. I can make it to the Abbey alone, yore too weary an’ ill to travel far. I’ll get help sent out to you, just take it easy, you’ve been through enough.”
Gorath used the vole’s dagger to share out the meal. “Eat up and don’t talk so much, Orkwil. I’m coming with you, just as I’ve been ordered to.”
The young hedgehog looked oddly at his companion. “Ordered to, wot d’ye mean?”
Gorath explained, “While I was chained to the mast of that ship, I saw things in my mind. A mouse who carried a sword spoke to me, he told me to watch for the young thief. You told me yourself that you were the thief, remember, when you were opening the locks. That mouse halted my Bloodwrath. Do you know what Bloodwrath is?”
Orkwil shook his head, so Gorath continued.
“My grandparents called it the affliction of Badger Warriors. It is a rage for battle that cannot be stopped. When the Bloodwrath strikes I lose all control of myself. Nothing can stand against me in my lust for slaughter, nothing but death itself.”
Orkwil’s voice sounded very small. “I saw it on the ship, when you seized the fox, it looked as if yore eyes were filled with blood.”
Gorath nodded. “Aye, that was Bloodwrath, I would have attacked that full vermin crew. But in this weakened state, they would have overcome me with their numbers. It was the sword mouse who brought me out of it. He appeared in my mind, and told me to go to Redwall with you. So don’t try to stop me, little friend, eat this food and we’ll be on our way.”
Orkwil began wolfing down the food, talking with his mouth full. “Right, I’ll try not to stop you, mate. Anyhow, I lost my staff in the swamp, so I couldn’t really, could I?”
Gorath passed the vole’s club and dagger to him. “You’d best take these.”
Orkwil could see Gorath was smiling. He brandished the weapons, slitting his eyes fiercely. “There, how do I look now, eh?”
The young badger managed a straight face. “Oh, very savage, a real terror I’d say!”
Orkwil took a last mouthful of food and licked his paws. “Come on, then, let’s go to Redwall, mate! Oh, before I forget, there’s something there that I want you to see.”
They set off along the bankside together, the badger’s curiosity was aroused. “What’s that?”
“Just a friend of yours, the sword mouse, is that what you called him?” Orkwil winked broadly, and would not say anything further.
Dawn glimmered through the trees onto the River Moss. Vizka Longtooth lay asleep in his cabin, gradually coming awake to the sound of voices outside his cabin door.
“Yew tell ’im, Glurma, ’twas ye wot found ’im!” Firty’s remark was followed by the cook’s denial.
“Ho no, mate, yew see’d ’im afore I did, I was on’y da one who tripped up over ’im on me way t’the galley.”
Jungo interrupted Glurma. “Why don’t youse both tell de cap’n t’gether?”
Firty rounded on him irately. “Why don’t yew tell ’im, bigmouth, go on. March in dere an’ say, ‘Cap’n, I got news for ye, Codj is dead’!”
The cabin door flew open, knocking Firty flat, and smacking the rat cook in her bulging stomach. Vizka grabbed Jungo by the neck. “My brudder dead, where, ’ow?”
The hapless weasel’s windpipe was constricted, he gurgled, “Gollawolla me, Clap’n, yer krokklin’ me!”
Glurma rubbed her stomach with one paw, gesturing with the other. “Over dere by d’mast, ’e’s over dere!”
The golden fox rushed to the spot. Hardly paying any attention to the crumpled figure of his brother, he stared wildly around, yelling, “Where’s der stripe’ound an’ dat ’edgepig?”
Bilger, who had just appeared on deck, took in the situation at a glance. “Gone, Cap’n!”
It was the wrong thing to say. Vizka felled him with a hard blow, and jumped up and down on him, roaring, “I kin see dey’re gone, mud’ead! But who saw ’em, an’ where’ve dey gone to?”
The rest of the crew had turned out to see what all the commotion was about. Vizka rounded on them. “Don’t jus’ stan’ there, do sumthin’, go an’ track ’em!”
Keeping her distance, Glurma the cook called out, “None of dem kin track, Cap’n, we ain’t got a trail follerer aboard!”
Vizka kicked the prone form of Bilger. “Den go an’ find one an’ bring ’im back ’ere!”
There was a mass scramble as the vermin followed Bilger to the rail, nobeast wanted to stay aboard with their captain in his present mood. About ten made it into the river, when Vizka halted the rest.
“Git back ’ere, it don’t take all of youse to find a tracker. Line up there, where I kin see ye!”
The remainder of the crew formed a haphazard line. They stood staring at the deck, as Vizka paced up and down in front of them, glaring.
“Wot a crew, eh? Y’spends yer lives snorin’ an’ eatin’, huh, dat’s when yer not swiggin’ grog. Lettin’ prisoners escape, dat’s all yore good for!” He went to the tiller and leaned on it, shaking his head. “An’ dere’s my pore brudder, deader’n a stone. Codj was worth more’n all of ya put t’gether, now ’e’s gotta be laid t’rest. Dogleg, Patchy, find some sailcloth an’ wrap Codj up in it. Bind it round wid dat chain, so ’e’ll sink. Firty, make up some nice, fittin’ werds to say for when
The two stoats, Dogleg and Patchy, parcelled the carcass of Codj up in a length of sailcloth. They bound it with the chain which Gorath had been locked to. Six crewbeasts bore the bundle to the rail, where they balanced it. Firty stepped forward at a nod from his captain, and dirged the eulogy he had hurriedly put together about Codj.
“Parcelled up in sail an’ chain,
we won’t see young Codj again,
’e’s goin’ down where der fishes play,
one shove’ll send ’im on ’is way,
while all ’is good ole shipmates wail,
fer one pore fox widout a tail!”
Vizka gave the bundle its required shove, sending it overboard. The golden fox wiped water from his eye, which some of the crew mistook for a tear, but it was only caused by a splash as Codj hit the river. A shout came from the bank foliage.
“Ahoy, Cap’n, we found ye a tracker!”
Bilger and his mates scrambled aboard, dragging with them a creature who was not having the happiest of days. It was the watervole. Bilger sent him sprawling with a well-aimed kick. “Dis ole hairy mouse knows der way to dat Abbey place, Cap’n, an’ ’e sez dat stripe’ound an’ de ’edgepig robbed ’is brekkist jus’ afore dawn.”
The prisoner attempted to rise, but Vizka booted him flat again. “Wot’s ya name, ’airy mouse?”
The watervole snapped abruptly, “I’m a vole!”
Vizka allowed him to stand upright. “Well, if’n ye wants ter stay alive, vole, ye’d best tell me where Redwall Abbey is.”
The captive indicated with a sullen nod. “Upriver to the ford, an’ south down the road, as far as I know.”
Vizka tweaked his captive’s snout until tears poured from the vole’s eyes. “Yer a feisty ole crab, ain’t ya? Well, let me tell ye, I’m der cap’n o’ dis ship, so ye’d best show me some respeck, or yer’ll be a dead ’airy mouse!”
Still tweaking his victim’s snout, Vizka gave orders. “Weigh anchor an’ get under way, we’ll pole ’er upriver t’der ford. Dogleg, give dis ’un a paddle an’ put ’im ta work. Fasten ’im on a lead, we don’t want ’im slippin’ away. Hah, we might need an ’airy mouse when we gits ter Redwall.”
By midnoon of that hot, summer day, Bludgullet had progressed well. The vole stared at the entrance hole to his dwelling as they sailed past it. He silently cursed the bad fortune which had thrown him into the paws of Vizka Longtooth and his Sea Raiders. His reverie did not last long, though. A sharp tug on the tethering rope tied around his neck dragged him back to reality. Bilger was shouting at him.
“Keep movin’, get dat paddle a-pushin’, move yer wobbly ole bottom or I’ll move it for ya!”
The watervole spat on his blistered paws, glaring at his taskmaster, as he punted deep with the long paddle.
Soft evening shades were draping over the land as Orkwil and Gorath waded across the River Moss, where it forded the path. Orkwil pointed south. “If we push on, I reckon we might get to the Abbey sometime after supper.”
Gorath began plodding wearily down the path. “Do you think there’ll be any supper left over?”
Orkwil matched his big friend’s flagging pace. “There’s always food to be had at Redwall, mate, anytime of the night or day, you’ll see.”
12
It was fully dawn when the trio slowed their headlong dash through the woodlands. Luglug beckoned to a strata of sandstone ledges, dotted with bushes and shrubbery. He drew his rapier.
“That place looks like snake land t’me, go careful now. Serpents like these shaded places, with lots o’ nooks an’ crannies, an’ ledges where they can sun themselves.”
Maudie whispered to Asio as they crept forward, “Looks jolly silent an’ sinister t’me. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the neighbourhood was crawlin’ with flippin’ snakes, bet there’re adders, too, wot!”
The owl scoffed. “Snakes are nowt but snakes, lass. Adders, subtractors, they’re all a load o’ sneaky worms t’me. Ah’ve never been fond o’ the slippery things.”
Maudie froze, fixing her eye on a movement, about halfway up the ledges, by a slender rowan tree. “Luglug, I think I’ve found our snake. See it, up there, coiled around that rowan root. There’s the babe, too!” They ducked behind an old spruce, peering out to get a better assessment of the situation.
Asio blinked. “How’s the liddle tyke, my eyes ain’t too good from this distance. Is the babby hurt, d’ye think?”
The shrew chieftain shaded his eyes, staring hard. “I think I saw him move. Aye, he moved again, see? So, baby Dupper ain’t been bitten yet, or he’d be stiff as a board. That’s an adder, though, I’m sure!”
Maudie kept her eyes on the ledge. “How d’you know, by the thing’s markins?”
Log a Log Luglug wrinkled his snout. “Can’t make out any markins, it’s in the shade. I can smell it from here, though, that’s an adder!”
The owl was skeptical of Luglug’s judgement. “Nay, lad, all snakes smell the same, it could be a slow worm for all thou knows!”
However, Luglug was adamant. “That’s an adder, I tell ye!”
Maudie treated them both to a severe wiggle of her ears. “Will you chaps stop squabblin’ an’ help me to figure out how we’re goin’ to rescue little wot’sisface. There’s no way we can sneak up on that slimy rotter, he’d see us comin’ from up there on the ledge. By the time we crossed the flat area and climbed those rocks, the blighter could’ve done away with the poor mite, an’ scoffed him t’boot. So, let’s stop bickerin’ about snake smells, an’ face up to the confounded problem!”
Luglug shook his head. “Pity we never brought a bow an’ arrows along.”
Maudie stamped her footpaw, but quietly. “Really! I’m lookin’ for solutions, sah, not wishful blinkin’ thinkin’! Asio, any ideas rollin’ about in that feathered bonce of yours, wot?”
The owl blinked his huge, yellow eyes. “Aye, lass, ah’ll back off a touch, then fly up high in t’sky, then zoom in an’ give yon worm ecky thump, just like ah would wi’ a lizard!” Before Maudie or Luglug could protest, or agree, Asio shuffled rapidly backward and was lost to view.
The shrew chieftain blew a sigh of frustration. “It’s no good talkin’ to that stubborn ole fool. Come on, miz, we’ll start advancin’ careful like, so we can give him some help, if’n he does wot he’s goin’ t’do!”
Nipping quietly from tree to bush, the pair stole forward, with Maudie keeping an eye on the snake and its prey, as Luglug watched the sky for signs of the owl. They reached the base of the ledges. Maudie stared upward.
“This is goin’ t’be the tricky part, old chap, wot. No sooner do we start scalin’ these ledges than that villain will spot us, we’ll stick out like toads on a thimble!”
Without warning, a tremendous din rang out from above: Asio’s hooting and screeching, mingled with little Dupper’s wails, and the vicious hissing of the snake.
Maudie began bounding up the ledges. “Come on, mate, Asio’s arrived. Blood’n’vinegar! Eulaliaaaa!”
The sandstone was weathered, soft and rounded, with no real pawholds, but Maudie and Luglug scrabbled up it as if their lives depended on it. They arrived on the scene in the midst of the hubbub. The owl was gripping the reptile’s body in his talons as they attacked one another, beak for fang, in a furor of coils and feathers. The shrewbabe was howling lustily, trying to crawl away from the conflict.
Maudie leapt in. Snatching the infant up, she hurried him out of harm’s way. Luglug circled the fight with his rapier at the ready, trying to get a good thrust at the snake. It came a moment later, when the snake lunged, openmouthed, for a strike at Asio. The shrew chieftain thrust the blade right down its throat, dodging to one side as its tail thrashed furiously. The owl held it tight in his talons until he was sure the snake was dead. Luglug retrieved his blade from the reptile’s mouth, saluting the owl with it.
“Got the brute, just as it was goin’ to strike ye!”
Maudie was wrapping the shrewbabe back in his little shawl. Concern registered in her eyes as she stared at Asio. “Are you quite sure, old lad, that filthy rotter got his fangs into you four blinkin’ times, wot?”
The owl blinked. “It were either four or five times, ah weren’t countin’. Still, yon worm’s slain now, an’ the babbie’s safe. That’s all wot counts, lass!” Asio’s legs seemed to buckle, he wobbled a pace or two, then squatted down, his head nodding forward as he watched Luglug cleaning off his blade. “Whoo, ah feel right tired out, ’appen ah’ll need a liddle nap afore we carry on back ’ome.” He winked lazily at Luglug, then chuckled. “Yeh great pudden’ead, yon worm weren’t no adder, it were nowt but a grass snake. Ah were right, weren’t ah?”
Putting his rapier aside, the shrew knelt alongside Asio, patting his wing gently. “Aye, mate, you were right, no doubt about it.”
The owl’s eyes were blinking rapidly as he turned to Maudie. “Ah may forget one or two things, but when ah recall ’em ah’m always right, eh, lass?”
Still holding the shrewbabe, Maudie hurried to Asio’s side. However, the great yellow eyes had fallen shut, for the last time. The haremaid knelt, pressing her face against his downy cheek feathers. “My poor, old, brave, muddleheaded friend, you’ve earned a perilous warrior’s rest. Sleep well, Asio Bardwing!”
Maudie and Luglug laid him where he had fallen, they built a neat cairn of sandstone slabs over Asio. It was midmorning before the task was finished. The shrewbabe was hungry, he began whimpering for his breakfast. Maudie rocked him soothingly, as Luglug recited a few lines over the owl’s resting place.
“Friend of the Guosim, courageous one,
it is time to bid thee farewell,