High Rhulain

30

It was midnoon. Major Cuthbert Frunk had ordered a welldeserved rest for the Long Patrol. The hares spread out along the banks of a woodland stream whose waters were clean and cold. Tiria sat with her two subalterns and Colour Sergeant O’Cragg. Sheltered by an old weeping willow, they cooled their footpaws in the shallows.

Quartle was munching on a bunch of watercress he had discovered growing near the bankside. “Rather nice, this Green Isle place. Y’could live here.”

Tiria winked at him as she helped herself to his cress. “What a good idea, I may do that!”

The burly O’Cragg commandeered a pawful of Quartle’s find. “Right, miss, soon h’as we rid the place o’ cats h’and free yore h’otterfriends.”

Quartle hastily moved his watercress out of the sergeant’s reach, whereupon Portan began attacking the remainder. “Huh, that’s always supposin’ we run into the blighters, wot! We’ve been on the flippin’ march all bally day an’ still not spotted s’much as a cat’s whisker or an otter’s flamin’ thingummy. I say, Sarge, how d’ye know we’re goin’ in the right direction, wot?”

By reaching over with his lance, the big sergeant deftly speared the last of the watercress. “Simple, laddie buck, we just keeps a-marchin’ over this h’island crisscross h’until we runs into ’em.”

Quartle stared ruefully at the spot where his cress had been a moment before. He sighed. “We might’ve worn out our bloomin’ paws by then. Bit of a fair-sized island t’be crisscrossin’ willy-nilly, wot?”

The high-pitched call of an osprey brought Tiria bolt upright. She saw Pandion swoop gracefully in to join Cuthbert upstream. Everybeast hurried to hear what Pandion had to report. Casting a fierce eye about, the fish hawk spread his wings dramatically.

“Yeekaharr! Pandion Piketalon has found the cats and riverdogs. They will soon battle!”

Cuthbert’s ears stood up straight at the mention of a fight. “A battle ye say, sah? Where at? Out with it, at the double!”

The osprey flapped his huge wingspread. “Arreeekaaah! At the big tree fort by the long lake. The cats are well dug in there. ’Twill be a hard fight I think!”

Captain Rafe Granden drew his blade. “We’re obliged to ye, goodbird, an’ more’n pleased if ye can lead us t’the jolly old field of combat, wot?”

Cuthbert’s eye was glinting wildly through his monocle. “Rather, I’d be distinctly ticked off if I missed a blinkin’ fullscale scrap! Sarn’t O’Cragg, get the Patrol formed up in skirmishin’ order! C’mon, me lucky lads, off your hunkers an’ on your paws. Quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action!”

The Patrol had to move rapidly to keep up with Cuthbert, who was already off at a swift trot, following the osprey. Quartle nudged Tiria.

“I say, miss, just look at Ole Blood’n’guts. He can’t wait to get in the middle of it all!”

The ottermaid patted her sling and stonepouch. “Neither can I, friend!”

“I am thinking you will be waiting for me. I need a rest after my long journey!”

Tiria was startled to see Brantalis flying just above her head. The barnacle goose looked about ready to drop.

“Brantalis, my friend, what are you doing here?”

The big bird flopped down to earth. Captain Rafe Granden, who was running rearguard, caught up with Tiria.

“What’n the name o’ seasons is a blinkin’ goose doin’ in the middle of a forced march?”

Tiria came straight to the defence of her friend. “I don’t know, Cap’n, but he’s come a long way to be with me, so it must be something important.”

The barnacle goose raised his weary head from the grass. “I come from the Abbey of Redwall to see this maid.”

Captain Granden twiddled his long ears in admiration. “I say, well done that, bird, wot! Right, then see her y’must, but we can’t halt the march. Subalterns Quartle an’ Portan, fall out! You two buckoes stay here with Lady Tiria an’ this bird. We’re carryin’ on to the field o’ battle. Afraid you’ll have to catch us up later, marm!”

Tiria nodded. “Thank you, Cap’n. Don’t worry, we’ll find you once our business here is done.”

Granden smiled and threw a hasty salute. “Oh, you’ll find us, marm. Just march t’the sound o’ the Eulalias, that’s where the Long Patrol will be!” He sped off after the other hares.

Tiria gave Brantalis a drink from Portan’s canteen and sat down by his side. “Take your time now. What news from the Abbey?”

Brantalis drank greedily before making his report. “I am thinking there is much news, but that can wait for a better time. Your father the Skipper, the Abbess and the Old Quelt beast sent me here to deliver this. I have not broken flight once since I left Redwall.”

Bending his neck forward, the goose used his bill to delve among the thick downy plumage, where his neck broadened to meet his body. He had some difficulty trying to move the object which was ringed around the thick base of his throat. Brantalis grumbled, “I am thinking this was easier to put on than to get off!”

Quartle gallantly offered his help. “Straighten your neck. Chin up, I mean beak up, old lad. I’ve got the confounded thing!”

Portan assisted him in moving the coronet from about the bird’s neck. Both hares gasped in wonderment.

“Oh my giddy aunt’s pinny, it’s a bloomin’ crown!”

“No it ain’t, Porters, it’s a wotsisname . . . a tiara!”

“Isn’t that the confounded thing that was supposed to have gone down with the jolly old ship?”

“Well here it is, old lad, Tiria’s tiara. I say, that’s pretty good, ain’t it? Tiria’s tiara!”

The ottermaid accepted it graciously from the two subalterns. “It’s called a coronet. Oh, Brantalis, how can I ever thank you? What a great friend you are!”

The barnacle goose ruffled his feathers back into place modestly. “You once helped me, I am thinking it was the least I could do to help you, Tiria Wildlough.”

Quartle and Portan began rubbing their paws gleefully.

“Well, go on, miss, put it on, wot wot!”

“Aye, let’s see if it fits your royal bonce, miss.”

Tiria took the simple gold circlet, with its inset stone which sparkled like green fire, and placed it lightly on her head. It fitted easily about her brow.

Brantalis stood and spread his wings. “I am thinking that was made for you!”

Portan flopped his ears, always a sign of admiration in hares. “By the left right’n’centre, miss, you really look the blinkin’ part now, wot!”

He was correct. With the addition of the coronet to the breastplate and cloak, Tiria looked unmistakably regal.

Quartle made an elegant, sweeping bow. “We are your most humble bloomin’ servants, Queen Tiria. Your wish is our flippin’ command, Majesty!”

The ottermaid struck a pose, trying to look as she imagined a queen would. Then she suddenly took a fit of the giggles. “Hahahaha, come on, you pair of duffers, stop bowing and scraping like two dithering ducks. It doesn’t matter what I dress up in, I’m still me, Tiria Wildlough from Redwall Abbey. Let’s put a move on and catch up with the Patrol. That is, if you’re up to it, Brantalis?”

The barnacle goose swelled out his chest. “Up to it? I am thinking I would not miss it!”

The still summer evening hung warm and dusty over the empty pier. Big Kolun Galedeep and the otterclans deemed it safer to hold a meeting in the bushes and trees of the left bank. The otters did not need a night attack by the cats to further complicate the quandary they were in. They gathered en masse, angry, puzzled and disgruntled at the ultimatum which the wildcat warlord had set upon them. The initial idea of a wild charge, and an all-out assault on the foe, had palled in the light of dire consequences—their enslaved friends, together with their families, being dragged out and executed in reprisal. The very mention of it was unthinkable. Proposals were put forth and rejected for various reasons. There seemed no answer to the problem.

Lorgo Galedeep mentioned another impractical solution. “Suppose we pretend to surrender. Then at the last moment, say, when the fortress gates are opened, we grab our weapons an’ make a forced charge, straight inside?”

At that moment, any scheme sounded good to Kolun. “Aye, it might work, mate. They wouldn’t be expectin’ a move like that. Sounds alright t’me!”

Banya immediately poured cold water on the plan. “Do ye think the Felis cat is some kind o’ fool? The instant we threw down our arms an’ surrendered, he’d have us surrounded by fully armed catguards. First thing they’d do would be to confiscate our weapons or sling ’em in the lake to stop us gettin’ at ’em.”

Kolun patted his brother’s shoulder sadly. “She’s right, mate. It wouldn’t work.”

A voice, completely foreign to the gathering, interrupted. “You chaps sound as though yore in a spot o’ bother, wot!”

Two tall hares, well armed and dressed in red tunics, emerged out of the shrubbery.

Kolun wheeled upon them, gripping his oar. “Who are ye, an’ where’d ye come from?”

The leader of the two rested one paw on a long rapier hilt and threw a casual salute. “Name’s Granden, old lad. Cap’n Rafe Granden o’ the Long Patrol at y’service. This is my aide, Colour Sergeant O’Cragg. We’re to be your allies I believe, wot!”

Banya Streamdog did not sound impressed. “Just the two of ye, huh? That won’t be much help!”

The burly Sergeant O’Cragg smiled down at her. “Ho, there’s h’a few more’n just the two of us, missy. Ye’ll see for yoreself. Yore to follow me’n the Cap’n to a meetin’ with h’our commandin’ offisah, Major Frunk.”

Kolun was not used to taking orders from complete strangers. He squared up in front of O’Cragg; they were both big beasts. The otter thrust out his jaw belligerently.

“We’re to follow you, eh? Says who?”

The sergeant’s eyes met Kolun unwaveringly. “H’I believe’er name h’is Rhulain, sah!”

There was a stunned silence, which broke into a roaring cheer from the otterclans. Big Kolun shook O’Cragg’s paw.

“Here’s me paw an’ here’s me heart, mate! Lead on, we’re with ye t’the death!”

Dusk had fallen by the time they reached the Long Patrol camp at the lake’s far end. A good fire burned there, shielded in the lee of some trees and rocks. The otters filed in, packing the site with their numbers.

Cuthbert climbed upon a rock, polishing his monocle and shouldering his swagger stick. After gazing around a bit, he addressed the gathering. “Righto, me buckoes. Let’s get off on the right paw, wot! I’m Regimental Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk. Unless I’m outranked by any o’ you chaps, I think I’m in command here. Any objections?”

Receiving no reply from the otterclans, he nodded. “Good show! Reason I say this is that there’s goin’ t’be a bit of a skirmish, a jolly old war in fact! No offence intended, an’ I’m sure you otterchaps are splendidly brave coves, but you ain’t Long Patrol. Now, d’ye see these hares? There’s a score’n a half of’em, they’re Long Patrol warriors. Fightin’ an’ soldierin’ is their business. Believe you me, these laddie bucks have slain more vermin than you’ve had hot flippin’ dinners. So take my word an’ trust me, wot!”

Kolun called out. “Fair enough, Major, we believe ye, but we’ve come here t’see our queen. Where is she?”

A murmur of assent ran through the clanbeasts. Silencing them with a wave of his swagger stick, Cuthbert pointed dramatically to the fire.

“Friends, meet Lady Tiria Wildlough of Redwall Abbey! The High Rhulain, Queen of Green Isle!”

The ottermaid came forth from behind the fire, dressed in full regalia and flanked by her two subalterns along with Pandion and Brantalis. The otterclans fell silent, overawed. Here was their prophecy fulfilled, the living legend standing before them. Tiria strode slowly through the hushed camp. All that could be heard was the crackle of twigs from the fire. Kolun was the biggest and most impressive of the otters. She went to him first. “Are you a Wildlough, sir?”

Bowing his head, Kolun went on bended knee. “Nay, Majesty. I’m Kolun Galedeep, Skipper o’ the Galedeep clan, an’ I’m honoured to meet ye, yore Majesty!”

Taking his paws, Tiria raised him up immediately. “Please, Kolun, I don’t want anybeast bowing and scraping to me. Don’t call me Majesty, my name’s Tiria.”

The big otter grinned cheerfully. “Fair enough. I’ll call ye Queen Tiria, how’ll that do?”

She patted his huge paw. “That’ll do me fine, mate. You’re such a bigbeast, I thought you must be a Wildlough.”

Kolun looked her up and down. “Wildloughs ain’t usually yore size, Queen Tiria. How did ye get to be so tall?”

With a twinkle in her eyes, Tiria replied, “I told my dad I wouldn’t be long!”

It was an old otterjoke. The clanbeasts laughed heartily, pleased that their queen was not a remote and formal presence. She was one of them.

Corporal Drubblewick and his helpers joined forces with some ottercooks. Together they set about cooking for everybeast. Cuthbert, Granden and O’Cragg convened a Council of War with Kolun, Lorgo, Banya and Tiria. They sat apart from the rest, dining on turnip and mushroom soup, fresh baked farls, fruit and burdock cordial. Banya explained to the hares what had taken place. She told them of the warlord’s threat to kill Leatho and the slaves, starting at dawn. Captain Granden questioned the otters on every aspect of the fortress and the number of catguards there. Using charcoal and a piece of willow bark, Banya sketched a map of the fortress layout—pier, buildings, barracks, tower and slave compound.

Cuthbert studied it keenly. Then, moving his ears in approval, he replied, “This is splendid, just what we jolly well need, wot. Sergeant, have the Patrol ready to move out in mufti soon as ye can. Tell ’em to smoke all blades, too.”

Tiria looked at him enquiringly. “You’re moving the Patrol out now? But why?”

Dropping his monocle, Cuthbert winked with the air of a conspirator. “Quick tactics are best, doncha know? I’ve laid my plans. Ye won’t see me or the Patrol again until dawn. Now, I’ll tell ye what I want you otter types t’do, so pay attention, chaps. Kolun an’ Lorgo, take your clans along both banks. Banya, see if ye can get some o’ your creatures to knock together a raft that’ll carry about twoscore. Can ye do that?”

The tough Streamdog maid nodded. “Aye, we can steal the fishin’ coracles an’ lay a platform of logs on ’em. Shouldn’t be too much trouble, Major.”

Cuthbert gazed at her admiringly. “If ye ever decide to become a hare, I’ll have ye in my regiment, gel. You go with your queen on the raft, straight up the middle o’ the lake. Tiria, I want you standin’ front an’ centre on that vessel, lookin’ just like a queen, d’ye hear me? Now, all you otters, it’s blinkin’ well vital that ye make it to the pier at dawn, understand? Oh, an’ I want ye t’be makin’ as much noise as possible. Sing, shout, yell warcries, do what ye bally well like, but let’s have a rousin’ good din raised. So, that’s about all, chaps. Good fortune be with us all. Forward the buffs, give ’em blood’n’vinegar an’ all that. Wot wot!”

“Patrol ready t’march out h’in skirmish order, sah!”

Tiria looked up to see that they were surrounded by hares. Each member of the Long Patrol had shed their scarlet tunics, camouflaging themselves with twigs, grass and leaves. Every blade they carried had been blackened by fire smoke. Major Cuthbert Blanedale Frunk dropped both monocle and swagger stick and shrugged off his tunic. Tiria could tell by the wild look in his eyes that he was going into one of his many character changes. He leered villainously, squinting one eye.

“Hohoho, me beauties, the wild badgers are huntin’ tonight. Lord Brockfang Frunk bids ye farewell!”

Both he and the hares were gone in a trice, swallowed up by the nighttime undergrowth.

Lorgo Galedeep shuddered. “Curl me rudder, he’s madder than a mop-topped mouse!”

Tiria reassured him calmly. “Oh, I wouldn’t call him mad, exactly. Let’s say he’s a beast of many parts. I’ve seen him as a shrew chieftain, a sea otter pirate and a regimental major. But one thing you may rest assured of, he’s not stupid. That hare is a legend among his kind—a master of strategy and the most perilous warrior in all Salamandastron. I’d trust my life to him any day of the season!”

Kolun chuckled. “So now he’s a wild huntin’ badger, eh? Well, I’d hate t’be the foebeast that has to face him.”

Banya tweaked the big fellow’s whiskers. “But you ain’t no huntin’ badger, Mister Galedeep. C’mon, up with ye! Yore a log finder now. Queen Tiria has to have a raft that won’t let us down, so move yore carcass!”

Tiria squeezed Banya’s paw fondly. “I like the way you dish out orders. Maybe I’d do well to appoint you my assistant-in-chief, Banya.”

Kolun heaved himself up, pulling a wry face. “Wait’ll ye meet my missus, Deedero. You’ll make her a chief, too. She’s good at givin’ orders, I can tell ye!”

As the night wore steadily on, Tiria sat alone on the lakeside. She made ready for the dawn, buffing her breastplate, polishing the coronet and carefully brushing her short velvet cloak. After folding her cloak, she laid the regalia on it. Next she checked her sling and stonepouch. Rummaging about amid the pebbles, she came across something she had almost forgotten. It was the vicious star-shaped iron missile which Brother Perant had extracted from Pandion’s beak. Tiria recalled the vow she had made to return it to the foebeast. She loaded it into the tongue of the sling which Lord Mandoral had made for her, thinking back to when it had all started—the day she and her three friends had rescued the osprey from the rat gang. It seemed so long ago now. A wave of nostalgia crept over the ottermaid for those she held dear: her father, Brink, Girry, Tribsy, Brinty, Friar Bibble, Sister Snowdrop and Old Quelt. She reflected on the many faithful companions she had been brought up with—the funny little Dibbuns, and Abbess Lycian, so young yet so wise. And, of course, her beautiful home, Redwall Abbey. Would she ever see it again? The ottermaid sniffed, wiping a paw across her eyes and reflecting on the destiny fate had thrust upon her: Rhulain, High Queen of Green Isle.

All those otterclans with so much faith and trust in her, and she, a single ottermaid, with the task of freeing them from the tyranny of a foebeast who revelled in cruelty and brutality. What would Martin the Warrior have done in her place?

Tiria lay down to sleep, staring up at the starstrewn skies. She remembered Sergeant O’Cragg telling her that they were the spirits of brave warriors. Through the mists of descending sleep, Martin’s voice drifted into her dreams.

“You ask what I would do in your place, Tiria. I would do the same thing you are about to do. It is called the right thing!”