Doomwyte

Everybeast present stared in amazement as the warrior bard applied himself unsparingly to the food, commenting between mouthfuls. “Is that nutbread ye have there, aye, an’ celery cheese, too? Jings, there’s nought like it, wi’ a dab o’ honey, some slices of apple an’ a leaf or two o’ lettuce. Ah’m verra partial tae it, ye ken.”

Using the nutbread as a base, Bosie built himself a sandwich of epic proportions. “Mmmff gruch grrulp! Would ye like tae pour me a beaker o’ yon mint tea, mah wee lassie?”

The squirrelmaid Perrit obliged willingly. “Careful, sir, it’s hot. There’s October Ale or Pale Summer Cider, if you’d like something cooler.”

Hot mint tea did not seem to bother Bosie, he swigged off the beaker at a single gulp. “Weel, that hit the spot nicely. Ah’ll take a tankard o’ yore ale, an’ mebbe one o’ yon cider. Och, Ah’m thinkin’ ’twould be a sensible scheme, if’n ye were tae hire me as wee bairn rescuer tae your Abbey. Would ye no consider it, Father?”

Glisam sliced into a warm scone. “I’d not deny you the position, if you so wish it, friend. Though it isn’t every day you’d be called on to rescue Dibbuns from carrion birds.”

Bosie ploughed through a plum pie reflectively. “True, true, but if’n yer foes knew that Laird McScutta o’ Bowlaynee was guardin’ the entire Abbey, och, the rascals would be afeared tae come near. Anybeast knows Ah’m a braw, bonny warrior o’ wide repute. As for mah needs, Ah’d bother ye little, Father. A place tae rest mah heid, an’ six square meals a day—not countin’ snacks an’ supper ye ken, we McScuttas are noted as frugal creatures. So what d’ye say?”

Abbot Glisam buried his nose in a beaker of pennycloud cordial, trying hard not to burst out laughing. Calming himself, he turned to Sister Violet, seated nearby. “Hmm, that sounds fair enough, what’s your opinion, Sister?”

The jolly hedgehog Sister replied promptly, “Oh no, don’t drag me into it, Father, go and ask Friar Skurpul, vittles are his responsibility. Er, excuse me, Laird Bosie, I see you own a musical instrument. Perhaps you’d like to play or sing for us.”

The hare left off licking an empty meadowcream bowl. “Aye, ’twould be mah pleasure, marm. Clear the floor!” With a bound he was up, tuning his fiddle-like instrument. Holding it at waist height, he drew the short bow across its strings. Bosie launched into a pleasant, lively air. The lyrics were hard to understand, being in the Highland dialect. As he sang, Bosie danced a jig, his huge footpaws and flailing legs whirling at odd angles. The music was so lively that many Redwall paws began tapping, particularly the Dibbuns, who considered themselves the very cream of dancing beasts.

“A braw wee beastie tramped o’er the hill,

Red Jemmie was his name sir,

tae pay some court tae a bonny young maid,

who dwelt hard by the burn there.

Sae skirl the pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

an’ Ah’ll sing all the day,

is the wit, the heart or the belly tae rule?

Ah canna truly say.

Bold Jem he came tae the wee lassie’s door.

‘Are ye within, mah darlin’?’

She yelled, ‘Awa’ ye roguey scamp,

how dare ye come a callin’.’

Well skirl mah pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

och, are ye afear’t tae play?

Does a girlie’s nay mean yea mayhap,

or does her yae mean nae?

She’s barred the door on puir young Jem,

she’s spinnin’ by the fire,

an’ left him langin’ in the cauld,

far frae his heart’s desire.

So skirl mah pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

’tis aye mah golden rule

that Ah will sing an’ dance an’ woo,

but Ah’ll be naebeast’s fool!

Now Ah’m awa’ tae mah wee bit hame,

havin’ suffered enough ill will,

an’ Ah’ve commandeered yore mammy’s pie,

frae off yon windowsill.

Aye, skirl mah pipes an’ rosin mah bow,

Ah’ll relish every bit,

for ’tis many the maid may rule mah heart,

but mah belly commands mah wit!”

Brother Torilis picked up two Dibbuns, who had been cutting a fancy jig upon the tabletop. Stern-faced, he wiped honey from the little ones’ footpaws before placing them down on the floor. “Really, Father Abbot, do we have to put up with this sort of rowdiness at mealtimes? All this shouting, singing and dancing, it isn’t very dignified. I think it sets a bad example!”

Glisam, who was still applauding the music and dance, shook his head. “Oh no, Brother, it was such good fun. I vote we give Laird Bosie the job!”

Any objections Brother Torilis attempted were drowned out by cheering Redwallers and squeaking Dibbuns. Bosie put away his instrument. Spotting a half-plate of scones, he sat down and attacked them vigorously.

“Mmmf grmff sninch! Mah thanks tae ye all, Ah’ll do mah best tae be worthy o’ the task!” He waggled his long ears at Brother Torilis. “An’ you, mah friend, practice smilin’, but watch yore face doesnae crack an’ fall off!”

Torilis stalked off in a huff, whilst Bosie helped himself to what was left of the spring vegetable soup. He winked at Bisky and Dwink. “A wee word of advice, laddies: Always see the table is well cleaned afore ye leave it!”

They sat watching him in openmouthed awe.