High Rhulain

Girry saw the gannet turning to renew its attack. Throwing caution to the winds, he ran out from where he and his companions were sheltering behind the gate. Flinging himself bodily on the gannet, he kicked, pummelled and punched the startled bird, yelling, “Gerrout, you big bully, out of our Abbey!”

The gannet stumbled, regained its balance and dealt Girry a vicious peck, which pierced his ear. Brinty came dashing to the aid of his friend. His assault on the foebird was so sudden that he forced it out of the gates, onto the path. Shaking with fright but amazed at his own audacity, the young mouse turned, waving and grinning at the Redwallers, who were pouring across the lawns.

“Redwaaaaalll! Haha, we did it!”

Nobeast was prepared for what happened next. Behind Brinty’s back, a young rat leaped out of the ditch on the opposite side of the path. He was brandishing a crude sword fashioned from a scythe blade. The rat struck Brinty down with one cruel slash.

“Told yer I’d pay ye back someday, didden’t I?!”

It was Groffgut, leader of the young water rat gang. He turned to run but was stopped by the lance of Corriam. Skipper had thrown it true and hard. Groffgut stared stupidly at the lance sprouting from his chest. Then he fell dead without a sound.

The gannet had stumbled into the ditch. The screams emanating from there indicated that he had at last found food, the remainder of the water rat gang. Brink Greyspoke, the first Redwaller to reach Brinty, carried him hastily into the gatehouse. Girry and Tribsy followed him anxiously. Skipper went to retrieve the lance and found it broken for the second time. Groffgut had fallen clumsily, his weight having knocked the lance sideways, causing it to snap. Picking up the broken halves, Skipper pushed Groffgut’s carcass into the ditch. It fell in a heap on two other bodies: Plugtail’s and Frogeye’s. The gannet glared up at the otter, who had disturbed its grisly feast. The otter chieftain met its gaze with narrowed eyes.

“Here’s another one for ye. I suppose the rest have run off—well, no matter, mate. You carry on with yore vittles, then go an’ track ’em down, easy meat, eh? But I warn ye bird, show yore beak in Redwall again, an’ I’ll slay ye!”

The gannet got the message. It watched Skipper stride back into the Abbey grounds and lock the gate. The big bird gave a satisfied squawk and returned to its gruesome fare.

Skipper could not bear to go into the gatehouse. He skirted the doorway, which was packed with shocked Redwallers who could not get inside.

Brink was sitting on the west wallsteps, weeping unashamedly. “Pore young Brinty! He didn’t stand a chance, Skip.”

The otter sat down beside his friend, at a loss to say something about the untimely death of Brinty. He dropped the broken halves of the lance into Brink’s lap.

“At least I got the scum who murdered him. This lance is wrecked, mate. Cellarhogs are good at carpentry. D’ye think it could be repaired?”

Sniffing loudly and scrubbing a paw across his eyes, Brink strove to get back to normality. He inspected the broken ends closely. “May’aps I could, Skip. ’Tis only the wood at the middle come adrift from this silver sleeve wot’s been holdin’ it t’gether. Here, what’s this? There’s somethin’ jammed inside the sleeve.”

Brink tapped the tube of beaten silver against the wallstep until a piece of yellow metal protruded from its end. He took a grip of the metal in his strong, blunt claws. “You hold onto the sleeve, Skip. I’ll get this out.”

Skipper grasped the sleeve tightly, whilst Brink jiggled the thing free. It was a slender circlet of pure gold, which had been squashed flat to fit inside the sleeve. Set into the gold was a big green stone of uncanny brilliance.

“Ever together the two have been set,

since Corriam’s lance ate the coronet!”

They looked up, discovering Old Quelt as the speaker. “What you have there, my friends, is the crown of the High Queen Rhulain!”

After a while, Abbess Lycian had to clear the gatehouse of mourners. Molemum Burbee, with Grudd Foremole and his crew, would take on the sad task of dressing Brinty in a clean habit and preparing the young mouse for his final rest. Even amid all the sorrow, word had got out of Skipper and Brink’s discovery. To take their mind off things, the kindly Brink invited all the Redwallers to his cellars, where they could watch him restoring the coronet.

Lycian sat with her paws around Girry and Tribsy, trying to cheer them up. “Come on now, imagine what Brinty would say if he could see you both, wailing like a pair of Dibbuns on bath night! We’ve found Tiria’s crown for her. Now watch what Mister Greyspoke is doing.”

Brink had covered the head of a wooden mallet with a soft cloth. He had looped the squashed coronet around the spur of his anvil. Moving the coronet around slowly, he beat at it gently, explaining the process as he worked.