Amid a clatter of bowls and spoons, the feast began. Tables had been joined together to form a large cross shape, and there were five centerpieces. A Redwall jubilee trifle of pears, damsons, greensap cream and hazelnut truffle was on the north end. Opposite at the south trestle stood a magnificent blackcurrant pudding, swimming in a peach-covered cream of whisked beechnut and strawberry topped off with a sugar-preserved sprig of maple. The east side was graced by a high wobbling redcurrant jelly with flaked almond and chestnut suspended inside like a sunset snowstorm, and it was wreathed in yellow-piped meadowcream. At the west board was a golden honey-crusted confection of latticed pastry with mintcream and candied chestnuts oozing from it onto a bed of purple plums. In the center stood a wide diamond of sweet arrowroot shortcake with all the fruits of the summer piled on it, fixed there by stiff comb honey blended with a purée of apple and raspberry. Salads of ten different kinds ranged amid the wedges of white, yellow and beige cheeses, studded with nuts, herbs and celery. Oatfarls, cottage loaves and batons of ryebread, all hot from the ovens with their crusts gleaming brown, lay scattered between vegetable flans, shrimp and hotroot soup and massive deeper’n ever turnip ’n’ tater ’n’ beetroot pies beloved by moles. Redcurrant tarts, bilberry scones, plumcakes, latticed apple pies, strawberry flans and damson puddings radiated out into patterns, dotted by bowls of nutcream, meadowcream, Abbeycream, rosecream and buttercup fondant. Pitchers, flagons and jugs overflowing with October ale, strawberry cordial, dandelion and burdock, berry wine and cowslip cordial jostled for position amidst bowls of warm scented rosewater and embroidered napkins standing by for sticky paws.

“Hey, Nordo, what do you think of our shrimp an’ hotroot soup, matey?”

“Whooh! It’s hot! Pass the October ale, please.”

“Yurr, you’m sample some o’ ’ee deeper’n ever pie, zurr heagle.”

“Och, as soon as Ah get mah beak free o’ this trifle, laddie.”

“Righto, Dumble me old scout, load in the cheese an’ salad. Now you start at this side of the loaf and I’ll start at the other side. That’s the ticket—meet you in the middle, wot?”

“D’you likes ches’nut an’ celery cheese, Mr. Log-a-log? Just try a piece atop of yore vegetable flan.”

“Mmm! It was worth paddling all that way for, Mr. Spinney—and I think I’ll dream of your October ale for the rest of my life. Alfoh, what’s that you’re eating?”

“Bilberry scone with meadowcream. The Friar’s going to give me the recipe—very civilized indeed. Now then, young mole, don’t fall into that deeper pie thing.”

“Hurr hurr, zurr. That be the bestest part, fallen in ’ee pie, then oi c’n eat moi ways out o’ et!”

“Oh, look out, Thrugann and Brother Hollyberry have started a shrimp-and-hotroot-soup-eating competition. Just look at that pepper they’re putting into it!”