“Missus Spinney says don’t eat too much, you get heagle’s tummyache.”

“Yurr, Dumble, let oi give heagle a scone. Burr, ’ere y’ are, zurr.”

MacPhearsome had never tasted such food in all his wild life among the icy crags. He picked the scones from the infant’s paws delicately with his savagely curved beak and wolfed them down, showering the two little heads below with crumbs.

“Och, these vittles are braw eatin’, Dumble. Ha’ ye nae mair o’ those wee veggible pasties the guid hedgepig lady made?”

Droony squinched his eyes until they nearly disappeared into his small velvety face. “Bohurr, you’m heagle do be a-talken funny loik. Oi carn’t unnerstan’ a wurd ’ee be sayen, Dumble.”

*   *   *

That evening the tables were laid out in the orchard. Friar Bellows, Faith Spinney, Thrugann and Furgle were setting out a scratch feast in honor of the two saviors of Redwall: Dumble and the Wild King MacPhearsome. It had all been done on the spur of the moment with what food was available; nonetheless it was a happy and joyous occasion.

Perched on a specially chosen log, the great golden eagle and Dumble did full justice to the food from their place of honor. A large basin of moles deeper’n ever tater ’n’ turnip ’n’ beetroot pie stood steaming in the center of the board, surrounded by woodland salad, yellow and white cheeses and oat farls. Farther out it gave way to candied acorns, hazelnuts and chestnuts arranged around flagons of October ale. Three plumcakes, heavy with honey, stood at strategic points, and between them were heaped platters of bilberry, redcurrant and apple tarts, with bowls of greensap milk and rich buttercup cream. Friar Bellows had invented a special MacPhearsome cake, comprised mainly of damson cream, stiff comb honey, arrowroot shortbread and glazed maple shoots. It was difficult for the Wild King to keep a dignified posture and satisfy his ravenous appetite, so Dumble translated for him as he sank his talons into the special cake.

“Ach, yer a bonnie wee mousie, Dumble—bringin’ yer auld pal MacPhearsome tae sich a gran’ blow-oot. I’ll remember ye fer aye an a’, ye wonderfu’ bairn.”

Abbess Vale wiped Dumble’s cream-caked mouth. “What is your friend saying, Dumble?”

The infant chortled. “The heagle says to feed me plumcake so I’ll grow all bigga an’ strong, wiv cream too.”

Tudd Spinney and Droony, his new cellar apprentice, rolled out a keg of elderberry wine.

Foremole removed the head from the keg and bowed graciously. “Yurr, zurr, heagle, dip’n ’ee beak into this woin, hurr hurr!”

*   *   *

Thrugg strode down through the foothills, accompanied by Rocangus. Tammbeak and two other able-looking falcons circled overhead as they began the trek back to Redwall. The Laird Mactalon stood waving goodbye with both wings.