The feast of the Autumn of the Warriors’ Return began just after dawn. Mist rose in the orchard as the sun began to mount in the sky, and rosy apples dripped dew onto the heads of the creatures who sat beneath the trees. There were far too many for tables, so the entire party sat on the grass.

Chestnuts were baked and roasted on the fire pit dug by the moles; cheeses were rolled from the larders; fresh fruit lay in heaps between honeycombs and small hillocks of new baked bread.

Ambrose Spike tapped the casks of cider, October ale, berry wines and various fruit cordials which stood on trestles around a thick-boled beech tree.

The liberated slaves sat transfixed. They had never seen such an abundance of fare. Moles called for gangway as they trundled deeper’n’ever pies out on trolleys; long poles slung between otters wobbled under the weight of cauldrons of watershrimp and hotroot soup: hazelnut and acorn scones were laid out in rows to cool by the raspberry canes.

*   *   *

Mrs. Churchmouse and Cornflower barely managed to stop baby Rollo diving from a pear tree into a maple and mint cream trifle, while Mattimeo and his friends were recapturing their lost season with other young ones from the slave pits. They dashed about, plucking wild cherries from the tops of iced cakes, and sneaking candied chestnuts from an arrangement which Sister May was making. She scolded them tongue in cheek as the intricate heap fell apart for the umpteenth time.

Jabez Stump and young Jube were discovering the delights of strawberry cordial cold from the cellars. They lay beneath a trickling barrel with their mouths open wide, only stopping to munch celery and young onion flan.

*   *   *

Basil Stag Hare was instructing his protégé young Cheek in the art of trencherbeastship.

“No, no, m’lad. Don’t grab it all at once. Watch me. A smidgeon of fruit cake on the plate, a slice to eat now; a pawful of honeyed blackberries for yourself, and one for your plate; a quick swig of elderberry wine, and fill your beaker with beetroot port; now, some of the Abbot’s Redwall pie; lots of Brother Trugg’s celery and woodland herb dip; compliment the old mole fellers on the deeper’n’ever pie an’ they’ll give you an extra-large helpin’. Right, tackle that lot, and we’ll start again!”

*   *   *

Sir Harry was perched among the sparrows.

The Abbot looked apologetically over his glasses at Matthias. “There’s a very nice fish baking in the pit, a grayling, like the one we caught together many seasons ago. I’m sorry I didn’t wake you up to go fishing, but you were sleeping so peacefully.”

Matthias shook his head regretfully as he watched the moles take the dockleaves from the steaming white fish which lay on the pit embers.

“Hmm, I’ve missed our fishing trips, but I forgive you. By the way, who did help you? It’s more than a one-mouse job, landing a fish that size.”

Sister May tugged shyly at the Warrior’s habit.

“Beg pardon, Matthias, it was me. We hooked it, played it and landed it together, the Abbot and I.”

“Well, I never! Sister May, you’re getting a dreadful name around here. Knocking birds out with herbs and cooking pots, helping ghosts to walk, now fishing half the night after grayling on the Abbey pond. What next?”

“Taking my paw to your young Mattimeo’s ear, if he keeps upsetting my candied chestnut display. If you’ll excuse me,” Sister May said, and hurried off.

*   *   *

Baby Rollo had finally succeeded in diving from the pear tree straight into the center of an oversized sliced apple and wild plum crumble. He sat smiling and eating his way out, a mass of sweet acorn crumbs and sticky fruit.

Basil Stag Hare wagged his ears in admiration. “Now there’s a buck with the right idea. Here, Rollo old messmate, chuck Uncle Basil a helpin’, will you? I say, marm, this Mossflower salad is outstanding. Is that fennel you’ve grated in with the carrot? Excellent. My, my, what a pretty pattern of parsley and cucumber around the edge. Talented gel!”

Sister Agnes blushed at the compliments. “Oh, Mr. Stag Hare, have you tried my orchard fruit cake with the buttercup cream center?”

“Lead me to it, marm!”

*   *   *

Jess and Sam had taken the young squirrel Elmtail in tow. They laughed at his curiosity as he sampled everything put in front of him.

“What’s this one called?”

“Blueberry cream tart.”

“Mmmph, great! What’s this nice drink?”

“Oh, that’s cold mint and apple tea. D’you like it?”

“I’ll say I do! Can I have some of that funny-looking pie?”

“Ssshh! Don’t let the Abbot hear you, that’s his new invention, wild cherry and glazed plum gateau with elderflower cream. He’s very proud of it.”

“Mmmm, so he should be, tastes marvelous. D’you use paws or a spoon?”

“Try using your mouth. Hahaha!”

*   *   *

Morning slid into afternoon. A gentle breeze drifted small white clouds across the serene blue expanses of sky, and the autumn sun shone down kindly upon the happy scene as the creatures of Redwall feasted through noontide, across the balmy evening until the night fires and lanterns in trees illuminated the joyous scene below. The half moon came out to watch for the sun. It shed pale light upon baby Rollo, fast asleep on Orlando’s lap. The big badger’s battleaxe hung from a beech tree nearby. He turned to Matthias, who was drifting off into sleep, holding Cornflower’s paw.

“Warrior, I have never seen such a wondrous place as this. Look at the beautiful building, those huge safe walls, the fruit and food growing from the ground; and that pond, it glows like a silver plate in the moonlight. Aaaahhh! These contented old ones, peaceful, wise, and your young ones too, they look so happy and good. Even when I lived out on the Western Plains with my Auma, we never knew such wellbeing as this. Can you explain it to me?”

Matthias let his eyelids droop until they shut.

“Orlando, my good friend, the explanation to it all is merely one simple word: Redwall.”

The badger turned to reply, but Matthias and Cornflower were asleep. He looked down at baby Rollo slumbering on his lap without a care in the world. Settling himself down, Orlando turned his face to the night sky which surrounded Mossflower. He repeated the precious word aloud to the moon:

“Redwall!”