On that same hour of the next day, the feast was still in progress and showed no signs of slackening.

Bryony sat beneath her favorite old apple tree in the orchard with Barlom and Abbess Meriam. The Redwall Recorder had brought quill and parchment to document the mousemaid’s story. She told it frankly, leaving out no detail. Abbess Meriam sat in silence until the recital was at an end.

The calm kind eyes of Redwall’s Abbess met those of the mousemaid. “So, Bella and I were wrong, there was some good in Veil, even though it cost him his life to show it. Can you accept my apologies, Bryony?”

The mousemaid kissed her Mother Abbess’s paw respectfully. “There is no need for your apology. Veil was bad, I know that now. Bella was right. Some creatures cannot help being the way they are. In all the time we knew him, Veil did not perform one act of kindness to any living creature. I have thought a great deal since he died and wondered if he would have saved me if he knew his father was really going to throw that javelin. I couldn’t help loving him, because that’s the way I am, but I know that the world is a better place without Veil or Swartt bringing death and misery to it.”

Meriam cast a knowing glance at Barlom before she replied, “You have grown, Bryony. Your courage and compassion were never in doubt, but you have returned to us wiser and more sensible, far more mature than I ever was at your age. What do you think, Barlom?”

The Recorder finished rolling his scrolls. “I think in the seasons to come, Redwall will not lack a good Mother Abbess; that is, of course, marm, when you feel the need to pass on your title.”

Meriam placed a paw around Bryony’s shoulders. “I could think of no one better to be Mother of Redwall some day.”

Bryony could scarce believe what she was hearing. “Me—Abbess of Redwall?”

“The same as Togget will be made Foremole when the time comes. You have earned both admiration and respect from many elders.”

*   *   *

Myrtle the hogwife trundled a fresh cart laden with hot scones, cheese, and salad vegetables from the kitchens to the dining tables of Great Hall. Most of the feasters were resting, or playing with the young ones, but the die-hard core of trencherbeasts remained.

“Ain’t you lot finished yet?” Myrtle groaned.

Rockleg smiled winningly at her. “Not as long as there’s such splendid food bein’ served!”

Myrtle sighed, then sat down with them. “Then I might as well join you; pass the mint tea, please.”

Duddle Pollspike pushed it across obligingly. “Mint tea, there you are, my chubby-cheeked chaffwarbler. It almost makes me wish I was a landlubber, dinin’ in this wunnerful Abbey. What say you, my liddle larkspur?”

Tutty Pollspike looked up from a raspberry crumble. “Lands’n’lakes! ’Tis all very nice, but we’ve been waterbeasts too long to change our ways now.”

Redfarl broke the crust of a pastie, letting the gravy spill out. “Wot about you, longshanks—thinkin’ of changin’ yore ways?”

Jodd cut himself a slice of fruitcake, a silly grin all over his face as he twisted his ears at Fleetrunn. “Whazzat? Oh, er, rather! I’d sooner be a square any time than a hirrel!”

Fleetrunn giggled. “Don’t you mean you’d sooner be a hare than a squirrel, you great duffer? Fancy bein’ called a squirrelhare, daft name!”

Jodd bolted the fruitcake reflectively. “Oh, I dunno really. I don’t mind daft names as long as a chap has a good sensible real name. By the way, Fleetrunn, I never told you my real name, did I? Well, it’s actually Wilthurio Longbarrow Sackfirth Toxophola Fedlric . . .”

Outside on the sunlit lawns of Redwall Abbey, the happy laughter of old and young alike rose to mingle with high larksong on the warm autumn afternoon.