Rakkety Tam (3 page)

Silently, the Redwallers tippawed from Cavern Hole. Skipper and Abbot Humble were last to leave. The otter chieftain latched the door gently, murmuring to Humble, “No more fires on the walltops for a while, Father. I'll tell the wallguards to stay alert during the night, an' keep a weather eye peeled for anythin' unusual. No sense invitin' trouble by bein' unprepared.”

The Abbot patted Skipper's brawny paw. “A good idea, my friend. I'll leave the arrangements to you.”

 

After breakfasting late, the Dibbuns had stampeded out into the snow again. Inside, the Abbey was relatively quiet. The dishes had been cleared away from Great Hall tables, and most of the elders had gone outdoors. Humble knew that they went on the pretext of watching the Abbeybabes, though mainly they wanted to join in the fun.

Humble wandered over the worn floorstones, stopping at the tapestry of Martin the Warrior. He it was who had fought to free Mossflower Country, and helped to build the Abbey, in the dim, countless seasons of long ago. Martin was the very essence and spirit of Redwall. Now his marvellous sword was displayed between two brackets over the tapestry. Humble gazed up at the figure of the heroic mouse whose likeness was woven lovingly into the huge ancient tapestry. His features were strong and resolute; his eyes—friendly, gallant and caring—seemed to follow wherever one went.

From outside, the Abbot could hear the distant merriment where everybeast was playing on the Abbey pond. It was a sound very dear to the old Cellarhog who had risen to be Father Abbot of Redwall. He whispered to Martin, “Don't let any ill fortune disturb the peace and happiness of our home—I beg you, Martin.”

Lanterns flickered on each side of the tapestry, which
rippled slightly in an errant breeze from the open door. But the figure of Martin the Warrior did not stir. He stood steadfastly, guarding his beloved Abbey throughout the winter, as he had through time immemorial.

The territory of Squirrelking Araltum and Idga Drayqueen consisted of a sizeable grove of beech, hazelnut and various conifers that grew near the clifftops and shoreline, some two leagues south of Salamandastron. It was not far from where Walt and Jem had found Askor's wrecked boat.

Araltum was a fat, pompous and vain creature whose title, “King,” was one of his own making. He had also conferred the name “Drayqueen” on his haughty and ill-mannered wife, Idga. They were, indeed, a well-matched pair. It was some twelve seasons since they had arrived and had enforced their authority over the tree groves. Araltum did this by hiring mercenary squirrel warriors, travelling pawloose fighters who pledged their swords in exchange for position and the benefits of life amid the fertile groves of fruit and nut trees which abounded in the Squirrelking's domain. It was no mean achievement for the royal couple to have established their rule. Their home and court was in the terraces at the centre of the groves. Araltum and Idga revelled in the setting of petty ceremonies, laws, acts and penalties, which were rigidly enforced by their officers.

One morning Idga Drayqueen awoke to witness the arrival of spring, a welcome event after the harsh, dark days of winter. The last snows melted and slid from bended boughs under a warm, beaming sun. Birdsong echoed through the trees, backed by the rippling music of streams freed from their icy covers. The earth was renewing itself once more. With the new season came the initiation of a new ceremony, the Marking of the Marches! This was something which Araltum and Idga had planned throughout the tedious days and evenings of wintertide. It was to be a grand parade of the royal couple's boundaries, starting at the court, then spreading forth to circle the groves which marked their lands, and culminating back at the court with a grand feast. The entire affair would be punctuated with music, song and many high-flown speeches which the Squirrelking and his Drayqueen had written for themselves. This was designed to impress upon their subjects the power and magnificence of the royal pair. Idga and her servants had spent long winter nights making a banner, a large, florid thing. Truly a triumphal set piece, it was yellow, with blue chevrons on one side to denote the sea. Six green trees represented the land at the other side. Its centre was dominated by two huge, bushy tails, the symbols of king and queen.

At the opening of the new ceremony, the royal banner, which was now fixed to a long flagstaff made from yew wood, was presented to Araltum by Idga. Amid cheers and jubilant chants from the rank-and-file squirrels, Idga performed an elaborate curtsy and fell flat on her considerable rear end. A playful gust of wind caught the banner, causing Araltum to stagger about and to nearly be swept off his paws. Driltig and Chamog, two of his captains, saved the king from injury by taking charge of the billowing flag. As Idga was helped up by her servants, Araltum launched squeakily into his speech.

“Ahem! Er, let all who see this, our Royal Standard, bow their heads and wave their tails in respect. Yes, wherever our banner flies, it will inspire joy in the hearts of all. . . .”

Dutiful cheers echoed forth from the onlookers as the king continued. “And strike terror into the hearts of foebeasts, who are, er, rash enough to trespass upon these, my territories!”

More orchestrated calls of approval rang out among the crowd before Araltum concluded his speech. “This flag shall fly a hundred, nay, a thousand seasons, as a symbol of my power! Let allbeasts know of the beauty and wisdom of Idga Drayqueen and her King, the fearless, the mighty, the magnificent. . . .”

Here he raised his paws as his subjects shouted en masse, “Long live Idga Drayqueen and Squirrelking Araltum!”

The procession wound off through the trees—Araltum swaggering in the lead, Chamog and Driltig slightly behind, bearing the new royal standard, and six other various captains and officials following. In their wake marched a score of singers and musicians, trilling the praises of their rulers in a song jointly composed by the royal couple.

 

“O mighty and magnificent,

upholders of our laws.

Thy loyal subjects call to thee,

protect us with thy paws.

O Araltum and thy Drayqueen,

so fair of fur and tail,

we bow to thee in honour,

and joyfully cry Hail!”

 

A huge, ancient chestnut tree, which held the court within its spreading limbs, had a small barred door set in the base of its trunk. This was the cell which held dissidents and malefactors.

Doogy Plumm peered through the tiny barred aperture and laughed. Then, in his strong Northern Highland accent, he shouted out, “Ho ho ho! Will ye listen tae the dunderheads, all chantin' an' singin' tae that wee lard barrel!”

Doogy, a short, thick-bodied squirrel, was no lightweight himself. He turned to his fellow prisoner—a tall, powerful,
sinewy-built beast. “Och, Tam, mah beauty, don't ye wish we were oot there, havin' sich a braw time, caterwaulin' the auld eejits' praises? Will ye be grieved tae miss the braw feast for their majesties?”

Rakkety Tam MacBurl unfolded himself from a small bunk and stretched lazily. “Nay, Doogy, I'd sooner miss a dozen feasts than have to bow'n'scrape around that little toad, singin' foolish ditties that him an' Idga penned between them!”

Tam's accent was not as broad as Doogy's; he was a Borderer and not from the Highlands. Doogy scrambled down from the stool he had been perched on and threw himself on the bunk. “Ah Tam, Tam. Why did we ever roam south tae pledge our blades tae sich a pair o' fools?”

Tam laughed drily. “Because it seemed a good idea at the time, wee Doogy Plumm. Ye have to take the bad with the good.”

Doogy scratched his tail. “Aye, an' there hasnae been much o' the good lately.”

Tam rattled the cell door to attract the attention of the guard who was posted outside. “Hi, Hinjo! When are they goin' to let us out o' here? We're famished for the want of food!”

Hinjo had served with both Tam and Doogy and was friendly toward them. He shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Tam, I've got my orders. Both of ye have got to stay there until the ceremony and the feast are finished. Then I'm to march ye up to the court, where the royal pair will decide what punishment fits yore crimes, mate.”

Rakkety Tam's face was the picture of roguish innocence. “Who, me? What crime am I supposed to have committed?”

The guard shook his head, chuckling. “Yore an insubordinate rascal, Cap'n MacBurl. What did ye think Araltum was goin' t'do after ye called him a waddlin' ole windbag an' refused to carry the royal flag in his new ceremony? Tam, yore the best warrior the King's ever had, but ye can't insult him like that an' get off free.”

Doogy scrambled back up onto the stool, next to Tam. “Ah never said ought aboot the blitherin' oaf!”

Hinjo guffawed loudly. “Of course ye didn't, Doogy, but ye did call Idga Drayqueen a fussy-bustled ole branch-burster! I think that might've had somethin' to do with ye bein' in there, eh?”

Doogy Plumm wrinkled his nose. “Ach, but we was only sayin' what everybeast was thinkin'.”

Hinjo leaned on his spear as he explained to Doogy, “Aye, but no matter what everybeast is thinkin', they keep it to theirselves. You two are the first to say it out loud. Why don't ye go an' take another nap? When all the celebrations are done with, you'll be sent for. Take my word for it, mates, I've got my orders.”

Further argument was useless. Tam and Doogy lay heads to paws on the little bunk and tried to slumber, each with his own thoughts. Both beasts had left the Northlands to come south in the winter of the famine. Starvation, or death by bands of predatory vermin, killed off many squirrels that winter. Neither Tam nor Doogy had any close family, but both were young warriors with a sense of adventure. They had met up on the road whilst trekking south to the warmer climes. Straightaway they had taken to each other and had become the closest of comrades. Together the two squirrels had lived through a series of perils and scrapes but had come through it all, still side by side.

Tam and Doogy had been spotted by Araltum's scouts as soon as they had walked into his territory. The Squirrelking immediately knew that these two young warriors were the best he had ever seen. Initially, Tam and Doogy had been flattered by the cordial welcome and the attention lavished upon them by the royal couple. In Araltum's kingdom were rich and fertile copses and glades, food grown in abundance everywhere and balmy coastline climate for most seasons—a whole different world compared to the hard life of the Northlands from whence Tam and Doogy had come. Soon the two companions had pledged their word and swords in the Squirrelking's service. Both had
risen swiftly in the ranks—Tam being made Royal Champion, with the faithful Doogy always at his friend's side. Having fiercely repulsed any foebeasts who attacked, soon there were few large vermin raids of any kind. After a while, the names Rakkety Tam MacBurl and Wild Doogy Plumm had become bywords for courage and fearlessness.

With the passing of seasons, Araltum's land became safe and secure, no longer a satisfying place for active warriors. Tam and Doogy, still young and wild, became disenchanted with having to enforce the trivial, and oft times piffling, petty regulations made by Araltum and Idga. The day before the new ceremony brought things to a head. Now they were imprisoned by the same laws that they had upheld. Things would never again be the same between Tam, Doogy and the royal squirrel rulers.

 

Tam and Doogy whiled away the hours, dozing fitfully. At midnoon Hinjo tapped on the door. Doogy sat up, rubbing both eyes with his tailbrush. “What's goin' on oot there? Can ye no' let a body take a wee rest—away wi' ye!”

This time the spearbutt rapped the door sharply. Hinjo's voice was loud and urgent. “Come quick! Idga Drayqueen wants to see ye both. Somethin's gone badly wrong. I don't know what 'tis, but yore both to follow me at the double!”

Rising unhurriedly, Tam began wrapping on his woven heather tartan of brown, green and dusty lilac—first around his waist, in a kilt, then across his chest and over one shoulder so that it draped down, cloaklike, upon his back. He winked roguishly at Doogy, who was also dressing.

“Idga wants t'see us, that's nice. I wonder if she's saved us some cake an' wine. Dearie me, we can't dash up there lookin' like a pair o' ragamuffins, Doogy!”

Hinjo unbolted the door and opened it hastily. “Will you two put a move on! Yore needed urgent, now!”

Doogy Plumm was setting a small eagle feather in his cap. He spat on one paw and preened his tail slowly. “Och, the poor wee Queenie, tell her we'll drop by tae chat wi' her as soon as we're lookin' braw an' saucy.”

Hinjo pleaded. “Come on, mates, please, or she'll have my hide. Tam, will ye move yoreself?”

Tam cinched his broad belt tight and set his cap at a jaunty angle. “So then, Doogy my friend, d'ye think we look fit enough to be presented to Her Majesty?”

His companion threw up a smart tail salute. “Aye, like a pair o' lassies ready tae dance a reel, sir!”

Rakkety Tam bowed gallantly to Doogy. “After you, sir. Quick march, left right, left right, tails up, shoulders back, eyes front!”

They marched out in perfect step, leaping together up into the big old chestnut trunk.

 

A wide platform of limbs and boughs connected the chestnut with several large trees nearby. This formed the royal court, which at that moment was in a state of chaos. King Araltum was wrapped in a blanket, dishevelled, shivering and wailing. Idga Drayqueen had gone into a swoon, lying flat on her back and gasping for breath. Several of her servants were fanning her with ferns and dabbing her paws with rose water. Squirrels were running hither and thither—some hiding, others gathering up their belongings.

Tam marched straight up to Araltum, questioning him sharply, “What in the name o' seasons has been goin' on here?”

Regardless of not being addressed by his title, the king sobbed, “I was attacked, invaded, assaulted! Barbarians, hooligans, monsters! They've stolen our Royal Banner!”

The courtiers and servants set up a concerted moan. Doogy roared at them, “Will ye shut that wailin' up!”

Idga Drayqueen raised a tearstained face, blubbering, “Oh oh, my poor love! What have those murderers done to you? We'll all be slain in our beds. Wahaaaaah!”

Tam turned on her contemptuously. “Silence, marm, an' try to behave like a queen. Your husband's alive an' well. Where did all this happen, Driltig?”

Nursing a bruised paw, Captain Driltig muttered brokenly, “Down at the west fringe, near the clifftops.”

Tam nodded to Doogy. “Get down there fast, mate. See what's gone on, then report back t'me!”

Doogy took off like an arrow, zinging through the foliage. Turning his attention to the trembling king, Tam tried to make sense of all that was going on. “Tell me what you can. What did you see?”