A Strange Procession

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Down the beaten path rose the muffled thudding of one score heavy pawsteps. In perfect sync with each other, they advanced unanimously down the trail towards the ancient abbey of Redwall.

Tattered banners flew high above them, carried proudly by their weary bearers. Twenty spear tips stuck high above the marchers, their rusty and worn surfaces shining defiantly into the sunlight. Even the eyes of the marchers; all of whom were ragged, weary, and gaunt. Twenty wildcats, not including their leader at the head, marched on.

At one time they would have struck awe and wonder into the eyes of passers bye. Now they were a shadow of their former selves, some barely managing to keep up their pace. Even their eyes, once shining with valor and bravado, were dull and lifeless. Defeat upon defeat had all but torn them down. Only the barest of hopes still kindled their spirits onwards, and kept them from slaying themselves from shame and horror.

"Company, halt!" Cried a lithe she-cat marching at the front. Ten yards from the Redwall gates, the entire procession stopped with a final thud. The leader, adorned in a battered suit of royal armor with a ragged red cape flowing across his back and a gold circlet on his brow stepped forward, and the she-cat followed behind him in perfect military performance. Raising a rusted horn to her lips, he puckered and blew. It must have sounded golden once, but now it was more of a noise than the indicator of a commanding presence. "All hail to Lord Phineas the Sixth! Patriarch of the Iron Claws, and ruler and Lord of the Southern Patriarchy! Hail!" From behind them the entire troop pounded their spears into the ground and in one thunderous, growling voice, shouted:

"HAIL!" With all the strength they could muster they shouted. The trumpet sounded again, and the wildcat leader stepped forward, and then spoke in a powerful voice that rang over the walls.

"I bid greetings to all who dwell within these walls and are honest and good of heart. I come before you in a state of need most desperate. My heroes and I have traveled far and endured the most extreme of conditions. We are starved, we are sick, we are wounded. These lands are strange to us, and we throw ourselves down upon your reputed hospitality and mercy. I pray to the all mighty that you would open your gates and help us. I implore you to help us, please!"

[Romulus]

Delays, delays, nothing but delays. This was all Rommel's fault. The soft-hearted abbot had gone to his head, staying his paw. Here it was spring and Redwall was free as ever. At least the horde had had enough sense to remain in hiding when the bell hadn't rung.

Romulus paced his room, steaming with frustration. Twenty years he'd planned this takeover, and he'd been stalled by some . . . peasants! How had he overlooked those details? How had he not calculated for that outcome?

The mouse warlord had had this conversation with himself every night since autumn, when his plans to take over Redwall had nearly fallen apart. That hedgehog was still free as a lark to protect the abbey. His squirrel friend, too. The only thing Romulus could be grateful about was that nobeast suspected him. They thought he was still the kind, caring Abbot Rommel.

Speaking of Rommel, the wretched beast had reentered Romulus' mind once more. The persona Romulus had created was not to be disposed of so easily with a simple mind trick. And to top it all off, his headaches had returned with Rommel. Twenty years, almost wasted. But these past seasons had given him the chance to collect himself, his thoughts, and his plans.

He'd been out to see his horde a total of six times, each time ordering the captains to keep the soldiers at ease. He knew they were getting frustrated. Almost as frustrated as he was. They wanted bloodshed, conquest, all the things Romulus had promised them. And all of those things were in reach, if he just--

"Father Abbot!"

Rommel replaced his glasses on the end of his scarred nose and opened the door to his room. A young sandy-furred mouse with a brown spot over one eye stood out in the hall, brown eyes wide with apprehension.

"Young Django," the abbot smiled despite his growing migraine. "Whit brings ye here, lad?"

"A whole mess o' wildcats're outside the gates, Father," Django blurted. "Brother Halifax sent me up 'ere t' fetch ya." Rommel followed the younger mouse out of the main abbey, growing concerned. Wildcats? Here? What did they want?

"D' ye ken whit yon felines be aboot?" the abbot inquired as Django rushed him across the grounds towards the walltops. He got his answer as he stepped up to the battlements.

". . . I implore you to help us, please!"

A group of abbey-dwellers was gathering on the walls, murmuring about the newcomers. The abbot made himself known to the lead cat by calling out, "Halloo there! Laird Phineas, aye? I am Abbot Rommel. We at Redwall hear ye cries."

Rommel considered for a moment. Letting in a score of wildcats would not sit well with the elders, much less the infirmary keeper. Even if they were sick and injured, the mouse abbot was not too keen on allowing powerful wildcats into his abbey. One did not simply open the gates to a feline, after all.

Then again, glancing over the crowd of soldiers with a practised and careful eye, the abbot could tell they really were in desparate need of aid. He looked over at the few brothers and sisters clustered about the walls. Some of them shook their heads, and others nodded hesitantly.

Rommel turned back to the wildcat lord, "Ye sick an' injured be welcome 'ere. Open th' gates!"

Two of the otter crew scrambled off to do the abbot's bidding. Rommel stepped down off the walls, Brother Rolf trailing him and begging, "Father, these are ruthless vermin! We can't just let a score of them inside our walls!"

"They hae nae proven themselves tae be vermin, Brother," Rommel replied stoically. "All beasties be welcome at Redwall, ye ken?" He stood to one side of the gates as they swung open, revealing Lord Phineas and his soldiers. The abbot nodded, his paws in the sleeves of his habit. "Yon infirmary be oop in th' main abbey," he said. "Brother Halifax will lead th' way." He indicated an old mouse with spectacles too wide for his eyes.

Halifax harrumphed once and began heading for the main building, making sure the cats were following, beckoning some of the other abbey beasts to come with him. He was going to need all the help he could get. A few of the more kind-hearted beasts lent paws to the limping soldiers and kind words to the ones dragging their footpaws. Rommel watched the procession and felt a tug at his heart to tag along, but he wanted to speak with the leader first.

"Laird Phineas," he greeted. Romulus gave the big cat a looking-over. It was rare for him to come across another with his same title of warlord. Rommel offered a kind smile and, "Our hospitality be extended tae ye an' yorn, ye ken?" He held out a paw to shake.

-
((Sorry. That was long-winded.))

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

"Halloo there! Laird Phineas, aye? I am Abbot Rommel. We at Redwall hear ye cries."

The Abbot replied in a thick accent Phineas had scarcely heard in the south. But he could understand it well, and he bared his fangs in weary relief as the great doors swung open with a creak.

"Much thanks Abbot, much thanks!" He called out gratefully as he and the guard marched in. The Redwallers viewed them with natural suspicion; a score of armed cats was nothing to take lightly, but offered help to some of the heroes who were at the end of their strength.

Yon infirmary be oop in th' main abbey, Brother Halifax will lead th' way."

Phineas turned and nodded to his troops. Immediately seven of them began making their way for the main building, following Brother Halifax. Four more of their brothers came along, assisting the Redwallers and helping the most critically suffering ones along their way. Also with them came a shorter wildcat with several bags slung over his body. He held the paw of one of the wounder soldiers, muttering encouraging words in the southern tongue.

Phineas turned at the mention of his name, the Abbot offered his hand out to shake, saying they're hospitality was open to him and his heroes. He smiled gratefully, taking the smaller paw in his to shake warmly.

"I thank you father with my whole heart. We are strangers to this land. Our tale is a long and painful one, but in essence our vessel wrecked itself on the western coast. We decided to trek into the woods in search of aid, and heard from travelers about the place called Redwall. We lost several finding out way here from disease and infection. Our healer does not know the plant-life and couldn't make any remedies once our small supplies ran out." AS he talked, the she-cat stepped up to him and said something quietly into his ear. It was an odd language, one of growls and snarls. Phineas snarled back in reply, then turned back to the Abbot. "My Honor-captain wishes to remind me that those of my heroes not wounded are famished, we have not eaten properly for several days now. If it is no intrusion, I would ask my heroes be fed and given somewhere to rest."

Turning around to quickly check his soldiers, he turned back to the Abbot once more. "And if you have any here versed in weapons care, they would be most helpful. Our equipment is in dire state right now." He nodded to the other cats, most of who's spear heads were rusted and armor was falling off.

[Romulus]

A wildcat of honesty. It made Romulus sick. But Rommel was inwardly relieved, though he would certainly keep an eye on the visitors. The abbot listened patiently to Lord Phineas' short tale of woe, his concern growing with every word. When the female feline came up to her leader and growled at him, Rommel was unsure of the exchange until Phineas translated.

"My Honor-captain wishes to remind me that those of my heroes not wounded are famished, we have not eaten properly for several days now. If it is no intrusion, I would ask my heroes be fed and given somewhere to rest."

"Och, aye, me Laird," Rommel said with a nod, beckoning towards the main abbey. "Yon Grea' Hall be plenty big for all ye braw warriors. Friar!" He called to a fat vole who was dressed in a brown habit and white apron. The friar saluted with his ladle and Rommel asked him, "Be a gudd cook an' prepare a righ' auld feast fer our guests, aye?"

With a polite nod, the friar spun on his heel and marched off back to the kitchens, his numerous helpers in tow. Rommel gestured after him, turning to Phineas. "Coom an' rest ye weary paws, me Laird," he invited. "Food be on th' way, ye ken?"

They had barely entered the Hall and sat down when the friar scurried out of the kitchens and announced, "Lunch is served!" Immediately, abbey-dwellers began streaming out of the kitchen, bringing trays overladen with as much food as could be prepared in the short time. The friar made a side announcement that more food was being prepared should it be needed.

"Thankee, Friar," Rommel said, checking to make sure every hungry feline was being fed. The abbey-dwellers were still wary of the newcomers, but they were not at all holding back the delicacies. Plates were being piled high and passed around to the starving soldiers generously. The braver kitchen helpers were wheeling trolleys of even more food around, asking politely if a warrior wanted more soup or bread or cheese when they passed by.

A gaggle of abbey beasts were hanging near the open door of Great Hall, whispering and murmuring curiously about their strange visitors.

"Oh, just look at the poor dears," a mousewife named December crooned. "I bet they'll sleep like logs tonight, they will. I do hope we can find 'nuff blankets fore 'em all, I do."

"I bet the abbot chucks 'em out'n the abbey first chance 'e gits," an old otter said crankily. "T'ain't right 'avin' beasts like 'em inside our walls!"

"Don't be like that, Drom," scolded a black and tan hare who held two ebony-furred harebabes in his arms. "Abbot's a compassionate chap. Won't throw out beasts wot need carin' for, eh? Dontcha think so, Rook?" He turned to his son, who also held an infant. Rook nodded in agreement with his father, unable to voice his thoughts due to muteness.

"I think we ought t' make 'em feel welcome," sneered a squirrel named Trace Galahad. His twin Cyle drummed her fingers on her chin, already thinking up a mischievous plan. But a molemaid wagged a heavy digging claw at them.

"Ee be's naughty beasts, zurr Trace 'n' mizz Coile," she rumbled in mole speech. "Doan be troin' ter bother ee viziters."

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

"Yon Grea' Hall be plenty big for all ye braw warriors. Friar!"

After years on wartime rations, and recent months on survival rations, the prospect of a feast was glorious to Phineas. A fat old apron-wearing vole responded to the Friars call, eyeing the cats with a certain degree of nervousness when the Father asked for him to prepare a meal.

"Coom an' rest ye weary paws, me Laird,"

The Father's offer was attractive to the weary battler, and he followed with a gentle and thankful nod. Following him into the building, he stopped and marveled at the wonderful architecture. It wasn't the Royal Palace, but still quite a lovely sight. The call of lunch being served perked his ears, and he turned and nodded to Luna, who had followed silently.

"You are dismissed to eat Honor-Captain." He said with a slight curving smile. She bared her teeth in a gracious nod and trailed off towards the growing crowd of beasts. The dozen cats that were at the table soon found themselves being assailed on all sides by wary but friendly beasts wielding amazingly overflowing plates, stuffed with food. Eyes rolled back as they consumed food they had not tasted for a long time, and the rumbling sound of purring filled the air.

Phineas was finding it very hard to resist the delicious smells wafting his way, and had over half a mind of his own to join in on the feasting. "Father, do you have a place for us to store our wares? As we are out of the woods, it is not sensible for us to be tromping around in ruined armor everywhere we go." He said, motioning towards his feasting soldiers, all of whom still had swords at their sides and pieces of armor hanging from them.

[Romulus]

"Father, do you have a place for us to store our wares? As we are out of the woods, it is not sensible for us to be tromping around in ruined armor everywhere we go."

Rommel smiled from his seat at the head of the table. "O' course, me laird," the abbot replied. "Sure an' we can house ye braw warriors in yon Cavern Hole." He gestured towards the door leading off from Great Hall into the room he'd mentioned.

So, these cats would be staying here. Romulus' deceptive mind was racing furiously, trying to see if he could use this army to his advantage. If it came to it, his own horde could wipe out the weary felines in a blink, but that in itself would require intense planning, and would have to coincide with his ultimate takeover of the abbey, if he even had to in the first place.

But then again, was there a way to get Phineas on his side? Probably not, seeing as the cat displayed a more noble nature than most. In fact, Romulus could see Phineas fighting for Redwall if the mouse warlord decided to attack the abbey anytime soon. Well, this was indeed a setback. He would have to alert his horde of this latest development. Perhaps see what his captains had to say.

Rommel dispelled Romulus' dark thoughts and told Phineas, "Ye an' ye soldiers stay as long as ye need tae, ye ken? 'Tis nae burden on the abbey tae have extra guests, aye?"

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

The weathered cat smiled thankfully at the father. He offered he slightest of bows before turning to his feasting troop and raising his voice.

"The gracious father has offered us storage in Cavern Hole, right there yonder." He cast a claw in the Hole's direction. "Eat heartily, and then we shall attend to our equipment and make sure it is properly maintained as best we can right now. Following such, we shall all retire to sleep, every Hero at this table is well-worthy of rest." There was a chorus of "Aye's" and "Yes Lords" from the assembled fighters, who quickly went back to eating.

Phineas turned back to the father, smiling. "I will take some of this meal to my wounded Heroes in your infirmary, have you some platters for such a purpose?" He inquired.

[Romulus]

Rommel was overjoyed to see the felines rejoicing so. And a little relieved. Clearly, these cats were not hostile. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't going to keep his eye on them, but he could relax a touch. Romulus was threatening to blow chunks if the leader cat kept up his sob-story act.

"I will take some of this meal to my wounded Heroes in your infirmary, have you some platters for such a purpose?" He inquired.

"Ach, me lad, 'tis done," the abbot replied jovially. He nodded to several abbey dwellers following Brother Halifax's son, Jude, up the stairs to the infirmary, trays loaded with food in their paws.

"That's it, duckies," Jude directed the helpers out of the kitchen, mentally counting to make sure there was enough sustenance for the wounded. "Couple more ought t' do it. Don' wanna be caught short, eh, eh?" Rommel caught Jude's eye, and the infirmary mouse gave a big grin. "T'ink we got 'nuff, Father?"

"Lad, ye be a right auld wonder, aye," Rommel told him. Turning back to Phineas with his ever-present warm smile, the abbot said, "Dinnae worry aboot a thing, me laird. Redwall doesnae deny beasties in want anythin' it can offer 'em, ye ken?"