All about Redwall, spring's delicate bloom had ripened to the lush green and sun-gold of summertime. Noon's sun had baked those great red sandstone walls until they had taken on a hue of scarlet; and now the Abbey, perched high upon its hill, seemed sedate as an autumn leaf against all of the greenery.
Abbess Elinor, a mouse in her middle seasons, and Sister Bethelle, the elderly quirrel Infirmary Keeper, stood together in the lawn, sunning themselves. It might be said that the two were close friends - though they were not inseparable, one would seldom find either of them socializing freely with another creature.
"Brother Aaron has fully recovered from his brandy binge, Mother Abbess," Sister Bethelle said. "That hedgehog has been drinking for seasons now, but he has managed to keep the Abbey from knowing of it. Perhaps it was his own good fortune that he made himself ill this time. The Abbey hasn't had a drunkard in its Cellars since the days of Ambrose Spike!"
The Abbess nodded her agreement. "But Friar Jerome must have known of it - he enters the Cellars for beverages. Doubtless he wished to prevent his brother from being disgraced, and, although I am deeply dissppointed in our Cellarkeeper, I will honor the Friar's wishes. But, directly after lunchtime, I will approach him privately and give him the responsibility of the Cellars until further notice!"
"Speaking of which, Mother Abbess - the sun is at its peak now. It's past time for lunch to be announced! Where on earth is Marianne?"
By straining her eyes, Abbess Elinor caught sight of the aproned, brushtailed figure, making its way across the lawn. "There she is, coming now. Look at that young maid - she's so plump that she is puffing for breath at each step. That's the trouble with the creatures of this Abbey these days, shovelling down great mountains of food and getting far too little exercise!"
Marianne, the assistant cook of the Abbey, drew near. She was, indeed, a rather chubby young squirrelmaid, with large, jovial brown eyes. Setting a tray before the Abbess, she curtsied.
"Afternoon, Mother Abbess, Sister Bethelle. Friar Jerome didn't wish t' disturb you by askin' you to come t' the table, Mother Abbess, as you were enjoyin' the sun, so he sent me with food for both of you."
The Abbess cast a glance over the contents of the tray. She sniffed with disapproval. "Apple turnovers, blackberry tartlets, raspberry jam scones and summer fruit salad. All that for afternoon tea! - and after a breakfast of oat porridge, honey scones, oat cake and apple and pear salad. We'll soon have a load of great fatbeasts scurrying about this Abbey! Now, young maid, take this tray back to the kitchens straightaway, and tell the Friar to have lunchtime formally announced, as it should be. Then ask all of the Abbey creatures to wait until I attend and say the grace, instead of rushing to cram themselves!"
"Aye, marm." As Marianne prepared to take up the tray once more, she hesitated.
"Before I go, Mother Abbess . .. well, I was thinkin' the Dibbuns might like to play outside for a bit. Mightn't I bring them out for a little picnic on the lawn?"
The Abbess stared at her for one long, frosty moment, before replying.
"I hope, Miss Marianne, that you have not forgotten Sister Jane's duties as Abbey Recorder and teacher of Abbeyschool. You will have to ask her permission before you take the liberty of dragging these Dibbuns off on frivolous outings, to ensure that they do not interfere with her schedule!"
While Friar Jerome busied himself with formally summoning the Abbeybeasts and seeing that every partly-eaten dish was abandoned immediately, in order to avoid a face-to-face chastisement from the Abbess, Marianne found Sister Jane in her library.
Though the mouse Sister had held that position for as far back as Marianne could remember, she could not have been past thirty-five seasons. Raising her eyes from the tome that she had been poring through, Sister Jane greeted Marianne with a smile.
"Good afternoon to you, Marianne. It is a pleasure to see you - since you left Abbeyschool to assist Friar Jerome, I've seen very little of you."
Marianne offered her a contrite smile. "I'm dreadfully sorry, Sister Jane, marm. Work in th' kitchens 'as turned out t' be far 'arder than I figured it would."
"There's no need to apologize - every creature in the Abbey has his or her own duties." Sister Jane laid the tome aside. "What brings you here, Marianne?"
As Marianne made her picnic request, she could not help but to allow her eyes to roam over the walls - lined with book- and scroll-stacked shelves. Maianne had always been more of an industruous young creatue, not the most studious one, and she had always hated the crowded, oppressive atmosphere of the Abbeyschool room. But the library was spacious, the air was cool as a garden's, and, sitting high upon a bookshelf, framed in cherriwood, was the Portrait of the Season: the Rose of Redwall, pale as snow, coated with bits of dew.
The sound of shuffling papers brought Marianne back to earth. She colored a little, for stifled amusement was fighting to un-stifle itself at the corners of Sister Jane's mouth. "I was saying that you may take the Dibbuns out onto the lawn, so long as they are back inside within the hour - but for a moment I feared you were no longer with us. Gazing at the picture, you looked delighted enough to have sampled a spoonful of Heaven."
Abruptly, Marianne straightened up, remembering the day's duties. "I hardly know about 'eaven, marm, but I'll get a taste of somethin' unfit to say if th' Mother Abbess comes into Cavern Hole and doesn't see me there. Thank you!"
But, as she hurried out of the chamber, she laughed to herself. Sampled a spoonful of Heaven - who knew?
Cavern Hole was packed with creatures - mice, moles, squirrels and hedgehogs. The hedgehog Cellarkeeper, Brother Aaron, the Friar Jerome's brother, sat at the far end of one table, ashen-faced, but sober.
And why would he not be? He had endured one of Abbess's Elinor's tongue-lashings - which had the power to nip the most drunken wretch into sobriety.
The Abbess herself was entering now. As she crossed over to seat herself at the head table, over which she and Johndam, Skipper of otters, presided at every meal, a hush fell over Cavern Hole - although it had been almost noiseless already.
Beneath the eagle eye of the Abbess, every fidgeting youngster became still - quite motionless; every beast who had dared to whisper a jest to his neighbor clamped his mouth shut immediately.
All Abbeybeasts knew that Abbess Elinor hated nothing more than frivolous chatter, whispering, chortling, loud talking, or noisemaking of any kind. It was an unwritten law, and few creatures were unwise enough to break it.
Abbess Elinor recited the grace ."Praise is to God Who has given us this food, providing it to us without any help or power from ourselves." She proceeded with a lecture on how Almighty God had sent food to earth, and how, seeing as the good creatures did not have the power to defend their walls from enemies without resorting to Skipper Johndam and Log-a-Log (she felt that gluttony and fatness accounted for this), they should praise God, Who Alone possessed the power to create so much as a grain of wheat.
After the Abbess had challenged them all, over and over, to produce one - just one - grain of wheat, and feed themselves, few of the Redwallers had the courage to do much more than pick over the good fare. So Friar Jerome and Marianne were only too glad to excuse themselves from the table, at last, and escort the Dibbuns out onto the lawn.
No sooner had those little creatures emerged into the sunlight, than a noisy, frolicsome baby rapture overtook the lawn. Abbeybabes scattered all about - chasing one another, holding food fights, shrieking and laughing.
The Friar Jerome sat beside a shrub, caressing his head. To Marianne, he remarked, "And th' Sister said these villains could stay out for an hour? Good Lord - I'll be lyin' in the Infirmary before then!"
Watching a little molemaid who was trying - in vain - to capture a butterfly, Marianne began to sing a verse that she had loved as a Dibbun
"A butterfly in spring
A golden-winged queen
Who seldom idle perches on a flower
"To caterpillars green
Sweet pollen-food she brings
In morn and evening hours
"Though she drifts gracefully
A butterfly, you see
Is busier than any other -
"Far more than you or me
Or the lazy droning-bee
All fat and yellow as butter!"
OOoooOOOoooO
The ferret siblings had been travelling since yesterday. Samuel had refused to rest for very long, until nightfall, when both young creatures had collapsed, sore and exhausted, and prepared for a long, uncomfortable night on that stony, rain-sodden ground. But Salome needn't have worried about the wetness of the ground - Samuel had told her to make a bed of dry leaves and lie upon it, to protect her clothes from the mud and soil. This had only added to Salome's discomfort. But , aside from their jar of drinking water, he had brought no water with which they might wash themselves. He was determined that they would not arrive at their destination wearing shabby, mud-covered clothes, and subject themselves to the pitying scrutiny of charitable woodlanders.
Salome knew that Samuel had gotten very little sleep - he had lain awake for most of the night, clutching his dagger, tensing up at every rustle or thump.
It was noontime, and the sun was not blisteringly hot, but Salome felt as if she had been lying in an oven for a good half-hour. Her throat was sand-dry - but there was no remedy for that, as the drinking jar was empty now - and her feet ached infernally. But, as she trudged along beside Samuel, she dared not voice any complaints.
So far, Samuel had said nothing to her about their destination, and she did not inquire. Samuel had warned her not to ask him "a bookful of questions."
She might well have been six seasons old again - a drowsy ferret kit, being shaken to wakefulness by her big brother in the middle of the night.
"Get up! Sit up, Salome, for God's sake! We're out o' this wreck . . . "
"But why, Big Brother? "
"Just do as I say, an' lower yore God-damn voice, or you'll wake
everybeast! "
Salome was jolted back to earth by the sound of Samuel's voice.
"Salome! HARRY-UP! "
It was then that she glanced up and realized that she had fallen
several feet behind Samuel. Immediately she picked up her pace, though
the heat of the sun and her own thirst did nothing to make it easier.
Samuel seized her wrist as soon as she was within reach.
"Watch where yore goin'," he gritted, " an' stay with me!"
Startled, Salome looked into his eyes, expecting to see exasperation, brought on by hours of travelling, heat, and an empty stomach. She noticed, for the first time that day, that Samuel's teeth were clenched as if he were poised to bite, and his eyes - they were twice their normal size, and stark enough to resemble those of a dead creature.
After a moment or two, Samuel rekeased Salome, and the young ferrets resumed walking in silence.
Samuel had no more trouble with Salome and lagging behind.
About an hour passed before Samuel spoke again.
"We 'aven't got much farther t' go. Try an' pick up yore feet, will you, Salome."
Samuel seemed to have calmed somewhat, although, as he addressed Salome, he did not look back at her.
Reluctantly, Salome tried to "pick up her feet" - whatever that meant. "Are we goin' t' see some woodlanders from th' military or somethin'?"
Samuel couldn't help but to smile at his younger sister. "No, they ain't from no military. These woodlanders live in an Abbey. It's a sort of missionary place, where creatures live together in a big buildin' an' act peaceful. I'm sure th' woodlanders couldn't care less about th' way you walk. I'm tellin' you t' pick up yore feet so you won't get dust all over yore pinafore an' make us look like a pair o' ragmuffins."
Salome stopped in her tracks.
"Samuel? You mean. . . we're goin' t' live in an . . ."
Samuel suddenly placed his paw upon her shoulder, stifling any further questioning.
"Look ahead of you, Baby Sister."
Salome followed his gaze.
They could see the crests of the red sandstone Abbey, rising up above the lush, lettuce-green hill-slopes that surrounded it. Slowly, the sun slid behind the Abbey's turrets, ashamed that it had lost much of its brightness, for the moment, and was nothing but a wan, pallid yellow disc. Before long, it would appear once more, and would repeat its descent two or three times that day, before hiding itself, for the last time, behind a cloud and waiting for duskfall. Now that the brightness of the sun had faded, the ruddiness of the sandstone had also faded. All of the Abbey took on a soft, dusty, rose-like shade of pink.