Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Inside the fortress Keyla was racking his young brains for an idea. He poked scraps through the grating as he whispered to the prisoners below.

  ‘They’re guarding the walltop, mates. It’s going to be difficult getting instructions to our friends out there. Any ideas?’

  ‘Hey down there, what’s all the whisperin’ about? Are you talkin’ to those prisoners? If ye are I’ll lay me spearhandle across yer back!’

  Keyla spread his paws wide appealingly. ‘Not me, sir. I haven’t said a word. It’s these poor wretches in the pit, they’re callin’ to me. They say that they’ve got the fever and they want to be let out.’

  Frogbit and Nipwort, the two rats who were on guard, looked at each other, taken aback by the news.

  ‘Fever! I knew it, mate. Gurrad was shiverin’ like a leaf last night. He sat by the fire drinkin’ wine, an’ this mornin’ said ’e was stayin’ in ’is bunk cos of the pains in ’is ’ead.’

  ‘Nah, that was just through guzzlin’ too much wine. There ain’t no fever in this fortress, mate.’

  ‘No? Well, what about ole Fleabane, got a great yeller mark on ’is ear. It was bleedin’ this afternoon!’

  ‘Huh, that’s cos the fool’s been scratchin’ at it to make it go away. Nah, there ain’t no fever ’ereabouts, take my word.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said, sir,’ Keyla called up to them. ‘But these three down here are convinced they’ve got fever or plague or something horrible. Come down and take a look at them, sir.’

  ‘What do we want lookin’ at mouldy prisoners,’ Nipwort scoffed. ‘Our job is up ’ere lookin’ out fer other things.’

  ‘Listen,’ Keyla whispered down to his friends, ‘they can’t stop sick creatures shouting out feverishly. If Rose is outside she’ll hear you.’

  Below in the pit Martin grasped his friends’ paws.

  ‘Who has the loudest voice, mates?’

  Brome swelled his little chest out. ‘Try me, listen to this . . .’ Cupping his paws, Brome yelled aloud in a piercing howl, ‘Somebeast, anybeast, can you hear me? Help us, there’s fever down here!’

  Both Martin and Felldoh had to cover their ears. The youngster had lungs like bellows and a howl like an injured wolf.

  ‘Help, help! We’re dying of fever. What’s the matter, can’t you hear me?’

  Nipwort clenched his paws and ground his teeth together. ‘Of course we can ’ear yer! Stop that yellin’ or I’ll come down there an’ kick yer tail until it’s blue!’

  ‘Oh yes, sir,’ Brome howled back louder than ever. ‘Please, sir, kick us, beat us, but come down and see us. We’re dying slowly of fever. The place is a plague hole. Come down and see for yourself!’

  Frogbit shuddered. ‘Fat chance! I ain’t goin’ down there an’ catchin’ a sickness.’

  Nipwort was in complete agreement. ‘Nor me, mate. They c’n yell an’ holler all they want. I’m not puttin’ a paw anywhere near ’em.’

  Through her tears Rose sat back, giggling helplessly.

  ‘Heeheehee! That’s my little brother all right. Remember he used to scream and shout like that back home until Mama let him have his own way?’

  ‘Yurr, oi amembers miz. Oi used t’ plug moi ole ears oop wi’ grass. If’n yon choild ’as fever wi’ a voice loik that, oi be a taddypole!’

  Rose held her throat, and throwing back her head she gave the eagle call.

  Grumm winced and covered both ears. ‘Moi moi, wot a fambily furr noisenin’. Maister Brome’ll know furr sure us’ns kin ’ear ’im naow, miz.’

  The eagle screech rent the night air again. Brome clapped his hands joyfully. ‘That’s my sister Rose all right. She can screech as good as any eagle.’

  Martin patted Brome heartily on the back. ‘Great work, young un. Rose can hear us! Right, get ready to send her the message.’

  From the walltop Nipwort shook his spear at Keyla. ‘You started all this, otter. Listen, they’ve even upset that eagle bird now. Get away from there, go on! Get back to the compound. You’ve caused enough mischief around here!’

  Keyla knew his job was done. Martin and his friends could send their own messages to the outside. The young otter trotted off grinning happily as the two guards argued away on the wall.

  ‘I’m not putting up with this row all night.’

  ‘Oh no, then go down there an’ shut them up.’

  ‘Me? Huh, I’m stayin’ right up ’ere, mate!’

  ‘An’ so am I, mate. We’ll just ’ave to ignore the noise an’ keep watch fer the Seascarab.’

  ‘Ignore the noise! Are you jokin’? Lissen to that!’

  ‘Roseyrosey rosey, Grummgrumm grumm! Lissenamee lissenamee!’

  The eagle screech sounded again. Rose and Grumm were listening.

  Nipwort and Frogbit plugged their ears with the screwed-up corners of their ragged cloaks and concentrated on watching the sea.

  Brome sent the message in fine howling style.

  ‘In the middle of the gate set your faces.

  Oh, I’m dyin’ of the fever!

  Walk to the south about twenty paces.

  It’s a terrible thing this fever!

  There are three of us in this awful pit.

  The fever, the fever!

  As deep as three mice and a bit.

  I’m goin’ to die of fever!

  We need the claws of a good old chum.

  The fever, the fever!

  I know that you can do it, Grumm,

  Don’t let me die of fever!’

  There was a moment’s silence, then the call of the eagle screeched out three times. Rose had received the message.

  A quiet peace fell over the star-traced seas, the shingled beach and the weary sentries on the walltop. The only sound was small waves gently lapping the land as the tide ebbed. Frogbit unplugged his ears. Nipwort followed his mate’s example.

  ‘Cwaw! Ain’t it lovely an’ quiet.’

  ‘Aye, I think the eagle bird frightened ’em inter silence.’

  ‘Silence, wot a lovely word.’

  ‘It’d sound better if you shut yer gob an’ gave it a chance.’

  Rose had written it all down on a smooth rock with a piece of sea coal. She read the instructions carefully to Grumm.

  ‘Face the centre of the gates, walk twenty paces to the south. Brome says there’s three of them in a pit that is as deep as three and a bit mice. So if we, or should I say you, dig down twice my height then straight tunnel from the twenty-pace mark, sooner or later you’ll break into the pit at about head height. Can you do it, Grumm?’

  The mole winked as he flexed his huge digging claws. ‘Can oi do et, miz? Can burds floiy in sky, can fishers swim in ’ee seas? Hurr hurf, ’twould be easier’n eatin’ yore mama’s li’l apple puddens!’

  ‘If you rescue Brome, I’ll see that my mama bakes you more apple puddings than you could shake a stick at, when we get back to Noonvale.’ The mousemaid hurled herself on Grumm and stroked his velvety back fur the wrong way.

  ‘Ohoohoohurrhurr, mizzy. Doant you’m do that. Et tickles, hoohoohurrhurr!’

  6

  SKALRAG THE FOX watched as Badrang tore at a roasted sea bird and drank deeply of the good damson wine that Clogg had brought him.

  When the Tyrant stoat had eaten and drunk his fill he wiped his mouth daintily on a dockleaf and nodded at Skalrag.

  ‘Make your report.’

  The fox swallowed visibly then spoke, moving from paw to paw as he did so. Badrang had that effect on most creatures. His swift mood changes were a byword among the horde.

  ‘Lord, there are no signs of Clogg and his ship. The sentries are keeping a sharp eye out day and night. The prisoners in the hole have some sort of sickness, Lord. It may be fever. Bluehide and Lumpback are taking stock of the armoury. Everything else is quiet and in order. There is nothing more to report.’

  Badrang poured himself a little more wine. ‘Fever, eh? That young mouse, Brome, he must’ve brought it in with him. Pity, I w
as going to have some fun with those three, make an example of ’em. Still, fever is a good enough lesson to the slaves. Throw the wrongdoers in the pit where they’ll catch the fever. What a clever idea, slaves getting fever from slaves. They can’t blame us for that, eh, Skalrag? Hahahaha!’

  The fox laughed nervously along with his master. Badrang suddenly stopped laughing, leaving the other to carry on. Skalrag’s thin giggle trailed away as the Tyrant’s eyes hardened.

  ‘I’ve just had another clever idea, Skalrag. If my fortress isn’t finished by the end of summer, I might just throw a few of my Captains in the fever pit to rot. That’d liven their ideas up. What do you say?’

  Skalrag could feel his paws beginning to shake uncontrollably. ‘A spl-splendid idea, Lord!’

  Rose waited until the wallguard changed. There was a considerable interval when nobeast was on the walltop, and she took advantage of this to sneak up to the fortress. Standing facing the centre of the gate, she measured out twenty paces to the south. Marking the wall with a piece of charcoal, she dodged back to the cover of the rocks. Grumm was waiting for her. He nodded over to the X marked on the stones of the fortress wall.

  ‘Be that et, Miz Roser?’

  She nodded, watching him sizing the area up. Rose trusted Grumm to do the job swiftly and silently. In all the country there was no stronger digger than her friend.

  The mole scratched the tip of his button nose. ‘Yurr, tain’t easy, but tain’t ’ard noither, miz. You’m see they rock o’er thurr?’

  It was another rocky outcrop, similar to the one they were hiding behind. Rose let Grumm explain his plan.

  ‘That thurr rock be on straightline wi’ thoi marker. Oi’ll start diggen frum thurr. Thatwise they vurmin guarders on wall woant see us’ns, an’ you’m kin spread tunnel durt behoind ’ee rock.’

  The plan was perfect. It was but the work of a moment to slip from one rock to the other. Grumm took one last look at the mark on the wall, muttering calculations to himself as he squinted at it. Then he held both his heavy digging paws to the earth and recited his good-fortune charm.

  ‘Luck to oi an’ every mole,

  As ever went to dig an ’ole.

  Tunnel gudd for all oi’m wurth.

  Mole be best when diggen urth.’

  Rose was amazed at his speed and strength. Grumm went straight down in a shower of pebbles and sand, widening as he went. The mousemaid sat and waited. Digging a flat oatcake from their pack, she munched it and sipped cold mint tea from a canteen.

  Soon Grumm called out to her, ‘Do’ee jump daown yurr, mizzy. Urry naow!’

  Without a backward glance, she leaped into the hole. Grumm caught her easily and set her steady. She looked up as he rumbled, ‘Bo urr, that be ‘zactly two mousey lengths.’

  He was right, it was exactly the height of two mice.

  ‘Yurr, stan’ on moi ’ead an’ climb owt naow, Roser. No sense in you’m agettin’ all durty. Wot udd yore mama an’ dad say if’n oi brought you’m back all mucked up. Hoo urr!’

  The mousemaid hopped out, assisted by Grumm, and began strewing the rubble from the hole around as he dug steps in the side of it.

  Blowing sand from his snout, Grumm eyed his work. ‘Nawthin’ fancy, but ’ee’ll do, hurr aye.’

  He went straight to tunnelling through the bottom side of the hole in a direct line, faster than any two moles in the whole of Noonvale.

  Skalrag stood at the rear of Badrang’s longhut, trying hard to stop his paws shaking after the interview with the Tyrant. A bankvole was idly pulling up weeds that grew against the side of the building. The fox watched him for a while before calling to him.

  ‘Druwp, over here!’

  The bankvole pretended not to hear but worked his way along until he was close to Skalrag. The fox looked this way and that, making sure he was unobserved as he spoke out of the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Well, what’s happening in the compound, matey?’

  ‘I’m not your matey or anybeast’s,’ Druwp answered without looking up. ‘There’s lots happening in the compound but it’ll cost you food and wine to find out.’

  Skalrag looked at his paws. They had steadied somewhat. ‘I know that. You’ll find a roast fish and some wine here tonight, just under the corner there, where it usually is. Now tell me what’s happening.’

  Druwp’s voice was low-keyed and surly. ‘I’m taking a chance doing this. If they ever found out they’d kill me for sure. So I’d like a proper whole roast fish, none of your table scraps, and some of the dark damson wine the corsairs brought when they paid a visit.’

  Skalrag’s eyes widened. ‘How d’you know they brought damson wine?’

  Druwp sniffed. ‘You’d be surprised at what I know. Well, do I get proper food?’

  ‘Yes, yes, get on with it.’ Skalrag chewed impatiently at a hangclaw.

  ‘Right, listen close now. There’s three ringleaders, Hillgorse the old hedgehog, Barkjon the squirrel and that young otter called Keyla. These three are urging all the slaves to steal fish, crops and also tools from the quarry, sharp stones, anything they can make into weapons. There’s a plan of some sort to free Martin, Felldoh and another mouse from the prison pit. Keyla has been doing something when he takes the food to the prisoners each night.’

  Skalrag urged his informer on. ‘What’s the plan? What is Keyla doing? Why do they need weapons?’

  Still keeping his eyes down, Druwp shrugged. ‘I don’t know how they plan to get them out of the pit and I’m not sure what Keyla’s up to. But the general talk is that when they’re free they’ll be able to help from outside. Meanwhile the others are collecting weapons against the day when they get a chance to strike back at Badrang and all of you. That’s all I know. I’ve got to go now.’

  Skalrag placed a footpaw swiftly on Druwp’s neck, holding him still a moment. ‘You’ve done well, Druwp. I’ll make sure the fish and wine are the best. But find out more. I need to know more. When will I see you again, my friend?’

  The bankvole struggled loose of Skalrag’s paw and hurried off.

  ‘I’m not your friend. I’ll be in touch.’

  In the gloom of the prison hole young Brome was getting very depressed after the initial euphoria of contact with the outside had faded. He began to speculate miserably.

  ‘Suppose they get caught outside the fortress, where will we be then?’

  Felldoh tried reasoning with him. ‘Don’t be silly, Brome. Your sister and that mole aren’t daft, they know what they’re doing.’

  The youngster was silent awhile, then he started again. ‘They might have the directions wrong. Suppose Grumm tunnels the wrong way. He could have missed this place by a few lengths. Just think of it, poor old Grumm, digging and digging and getting nowhere while we sit down here twiddling our paws.’

  Martin gave Brome a light thump on the back. ‘Here now, what’s all this gloom an’ doom for, young feller? You’ve already told us that Grumm is the champion digger in all the country. Well, let me tell you, moles are amongst the most sensible beasts over or under land. If your friend Grumm is a champion digger, why, I’d trust him with my life anyday. So would you, eh, Felldoh!’

  Before the squirrel had a chance to answer, a spearblade clanged on the grating above. The three friends looked up. They could not see clearly but Skalrag’s voice was unmistakable.

  ‘They say you’ve all got the fever down there. How d’you feel? Sick, dizzy, sweating? Not very nice, is it?’

  Felldoh laughed scornfully. ‘It doesn’t hurt as much as the rock that I hit you with, mangenose!’

  Skalrag banged the grating with his spear angrily. ‘I’ve half a mind to come down there and run you through with my spear . . .’

  ‘But you won’t, will you, because you’re terrified of catching fever,’ Felldoh’s answer came back mockingly.

  Skalrag thwacked his spear on the grating a few more times. ‘You’re right, squirrel, I won’t come down. But then nothing else will, and that mean
s food or water. Hah! We don’t feed useless mouths around here, nor do we play nursemaid to sick beasts. So you can all stay down there until you die and rot!’

  The fox swaggered off, proud that he had won the argument.

  Martin felt a tear from Brome’s cheek as it damped his paw. He threw an arm about the youngster. ‘I don’t know about rotting, but pretty soon he’ll get a rotten surprise when he finds we’re gone from here. Imagine the fox’s face!’

  Brome managed a sniff and a smile. ‘Haha, yes, and we’ll be safe in Noonvale.’

  Martin began kicking the side of the pit wall. Felldoh caught on and joined him. Their footpaws thudded away at the packed earth wall.

  Brome squinted at them in the darkness. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Giving your mole friend a little help and guidance. He’s probably very sensitive to underground noises. Take no notice of us, Brome. Tell us about Noonvale. Where do you live? What sort of a place is it? Are the creatures nice and is the food good? Go on!’

  As they listened Martin noticed that Brome’s heavy mood of sadness disappeared when he talked of his home.

  ‘Er, let me see, what sort of place is Noonvale? Well, it’s a deep glade far in the forests, a secret place, you might say. At dawn the sunlight comes filtering like golden dust through the oaks and sycamores and elms. It is quiet; you can almost hear the sounds of peace. Light blue smoke drifts up from the cookhouse fires, mingling with the green leaves above. Soft mosses and dark green grass carpet its slopes, and there are flowers – columbines, foxgloves, bluebells, wood anemones and ground ivy. Ferns grow there too. Sometimes I would lie among them at dawn, catching dewdrops on my tongue . . .’

  Felldoh blinked back a tear, surprised by the young one’s eloquence. ‘Sounds like my kind of place, Brome. What about the creatures there?’

  ‘Hmm, the creatures. Well, there’s my sister Rose and me, our father is Urran Voh, Chieftain of Noonvale, and our mama’s name is Aryah. We live with other creatures who have found Noonvale – moles, squirrels, hedgehogs, even some otters. My father rules the vale. He is always very kind, but sometimes he can be stern to naughty ones. You would like my mama, though. She is the best cook anywhere.’