Rose smiled happily at him. ‘Good, come and I’ll show you to your room.’
At a glance from Urran Voh, Aryah intervened once more. ‘No, Rose, you’ll have Martin up half the night talking. I’ll do it. Follow me, young mouse.’
When they had gone, Rose’s father put his paw about her shoulders and sighed unhappily. ‘Rose, listen to me carefully, daughter. What I tell you is for your own good. This Martin, he is a warrior, and death walks alongside such creatures. You must never let yourself grow too close to him.’
The mousemaid smiled. ‘Father, you’re not a warrior, you’re a worrier. Martin is my best friend in the whole world, he would never hurt me or let me be hurt. I’ll change him, you’ll see. One day he will be the most peaceful creature in Noonvale!’
Urran Voh rose from his chair slowly. ‘You and Brome are alike, both strong-willed. I only hope that you are right, Rose, though I think no good will ever come of your friendship, because I can tell that Martin has a will and determination far stronger than any I have ever come across. Good night, my Rose. Before you sleep, think on what I have said.’
Rose ruffled her father’s grey beard. ‘Good night, you great fusspot. There’s nothing to think about except a much needed night’s rest. When you come to know Martin the Warrior as well as I do, you’ll understand.’
34
FELLDOH HAD PLANTED caches of javelins all around Marshank. In the half-shadowed world of twilight he was like a phantom. Two sentries hung over the wall, slain by his accurate throwing. Inside the fortress another one had been slain and three lay wounded.
‘More pesky buryin’ fer me to do in the mornin’,’ Tramun Clogg snorted as he peered out from under his wheelbarrow. ‘Stripe me, iffen I waits long enough I’ll ’ave Marshank alone to meself, ’cos I’ll be the only beast left livin’ ’ere!’
Badrang paced the floor of his badly charred longhouse. Several prominent horde figures sat in silence as he ranted angrily.
‘We’re not dashing out into the night to get picked off like flies. That’s what those slaves want. I’m not going to fight on their terms, I’ll do it my way when the time’s right!’
Crosstooth played with a dagger, twirling it deftly. ‘Yore right, Sire. I’ve told everybeast to keep under cover. Them that gets ’urt or slain, ’tis their own fault.’
Slamming himself down in his chair, the Tyrant gulped wine.
The weasel Lumpback unwisely voiced an opinion. ‘But if we don’t fight back, they’ve got us pinned down. They’ll start thinkin’ we’re frightened of ’em an’ begin attackin’ ’arder!’
Badrang hurled the wine jug. Lumpback scarcely had time to duck as it smashed on the wall behind him, covering the hapless weasel with pottery shards and damson wine. Badrang’s teeth were bared as he hissed at Lumpback, ‘Who asked you, dirtbrain? I don’t need the thoughts of idiots and halfwits to do my planning for me. Maybe you’d like to get out there and face them yourself!’
Boggs felt sorry for Lumpback. He could see it would only take a sudden whim for Badrang to send the weasel out on the shore alone. ‘Go easy, Lord. He was only sayin’ –’
‘Easy?’ Badrang’s face flushed dark with rage as he stood and threw the chair over. ‘Go easy, you say, while a stinking pawful of slaves are holding Marshank and an entire horde under siege . . .!’ Whipping out his sword, he leaped at the group. ‘Get out of here! Go on, out of my sight, you mindless mud-crawling morons. You’re about as much use as a one-winged gull!’
Yelling and shouting, they scrambled over each other to avoid the flailing blade and get out of the door.
Felldoh came out from behind a rock, his keen ears twitching as he pinpointed the sounds of the scuffle. With remarkable precision he quickly sent off two javelins, one after the other.
Lumpback was last to leave, he had been dodging the swordplay as Badrang chased him. With a yell he dived out of the open door, straight into Felldoh’s first javelin.
Badrang slammed the door shut quickly.
Thruck!
Felldoh’s second javelin pierced the half-burned timbers. The weapon came right through, stopping a hair’s-breadth from the Tyrant’s bloodshot eyes. Badrang slashed with his sword, chopping the javelin in two pieces. Flinging back his head, he roared out into the gathering night, ‘Sneaks, cowards! I’ll chop you into fishbait if I catch you!’
‘Come on out then, stoatface,’ Felldoh’s deep voice boomed back from the shore. ‘Two can make fishbait!’
‘Scum!’ Badrang yelled back at his unseen foe. ‘I’ll fix you good and proper when the time is right!’
Felldoh’s harsh laughter rang out in reply. ‘Hahahah! Scum yourself, yellowbelly. Hide in your fort. I know you’re scared!’
‘Scared, me?’ Badrang’s voice went shrill with spleen. ‘I am Badrang, Lord and Tyrant of all these lands. Nobeast can stand against me. I was killing and fighting while you were still clinging to your mother’s tail!’
Felldoh had got a fix on the voice. Three javelins in swift succession burst through the longhouse door, another one thudded into the roof. Badrang lay flat behind his upturned chair, gripping the wood tightly to stop himself trembling.
‘Hahaha, missed me,’ he managed to laugh back. ‘Pity you can’t throw those things straight!’
Felldoh’s reply came deep and confident. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got all night to practise. Don’t go to sleep now!’
Gathering his javelins, Felldoh slid off into the night, leaving behind a very worried stoat.
Peering through a crack in the gate, Tramun Clogg saw the shadowy figure hurry off south toward the cliffs.
‘Harr, ’twere as I reckoned – only one beast. Well, I’d best get me sleep. No use tryin’ to tell ’is Lordship he’s safe to ’ave a bit o’ shuteye. He wouldn’t take the word of a slave.’
Away in the safety of the clifftops, Ballaw sat watching the gloomy little groups of creatures sitting around the campfire. All day long the mood had been heavy among them. The hare finished sipping cider from a scallop shell and made his way over to where the Rambling Rosehip Players lounged about by the cart.
‘Evenin’, chaps an’ chapesses, wot! My my, you lot look like a pile of frogs that’ve been to a rock-swallowin’ party. No wonder our chums are lookin’ glum if an entertainin’ troupe can’t smile.’
Brome smiled wanly at the garrulous hare. ‘What do you want us to do?’
Ballaw twiddled his long ears cheerfully. ‘That’s the spirit, young Brome me laddo. I’ll tell you what I want you all to do. Bring a bit of cheer into those creatures’ sad little lives, a laugh, a smile and a song. Let’s do a show!’
Celandine fluttered her eyelids and cooed. ‘What a lovely idea. You’ll have to wait until I’ve got myself ready though, Ballaw. Dearie me, I must look an absolute fright!’
‘Fright?’ Ballaw tickled her under the chin. ‘You, me pretty one, never. You look absoballylutely gorgeous. Come on, you apprehensive actors, the show’s tonight!’
The audience sat shaking with laughter, their eyes shining in the firelight, the day’s troubles temporarily forgotten as they watched the antics of the Rambling Rosehip troupe.
Rowanoak braced her huge back as Gaucho, Kastern, Trefoil and Buckler formed a pyramid on it. Buckler stood highest, on top of Trefoil’s head.
Ballaw swirled a floppy cloak as he placed a scrap of material on the ground and called to the audience, ‘Pray silence. Please, no tittering or throwing objects whilst this dangerous trick is in progress. Malcolm the Magnificent Mole will dive from a very great and perilous height on to this damp cloth. Ladies an’ gentlebeasts, I present Malcolm the Magnificent Diving Mole!’
There was a round of applause. Buckler, dressed in a baggy costume and wearing a curly black moustache, took a wobbly bow from on top of the pyramid and announced dramatically:
‘Oi be ready an’ willin’ to die,
An’ moi wages be a custard pie!’
Dressed in a spangled gown, C
elandine paraded, showing the audience a huge custard pie.
‘Oh, dive, my loved one, my dear.
I have your wages here!’
‘Well, hurry up, my back’s killing me!’ Rowanoak roared out in mock agony.
Ballaw did an elegant bow in the badger’s direction. ‘Do not worry, madam. Your face has been killing me for years, let alone your back. Keep quite still now. Malcolm, are you ready?’
‘Oi be ready t’ dive frum this gurt ’igh place on to ’ee damp cloth!’
Ballaw drummed his footpaw on a small tambourine. ‘We will not be responsible for small infants an’ nervous folk who faint durin’ this death-defyin’ performance!’
Fuffle leaped up and pulled Rowanoak’s stubby tail. ‘Ho, gerron wivvit!’
‘Yaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!’
Rowanoak tried to stand up and the pyramid collapsed. Amid loud laughter the troupe lay on the ground pretending to be stunned, whilst Buckler appeared with the damp cloth balanced on his nose. He struck out as if swimming. ‘Oi did et, oi did et! Oh, ’elp, somebeast, afore oi drowns. Oi carn’t swim!’
Celandine ran forward holding the custard pie and calling sweetly, ‘Oh, save him, someone. Don’t let poor Malcolm drown before he’s had his custard pie!’
‘Fear not, fair maid, I will save the poor lad, for I can dive like a duck and swim like a rock!’ Ballaw ran to the rescue. Celandine tripped and fell beautifully. The custard pie sailed through the air, and Kastern caught it just as Ballaw whipped the damp cloth from Buckler’s nose. He waved it dramatically. ‘Saved, saved from a fate worse than tummyache!’
The flapping doth hit Kastem in the face. She let go of the pie and it splattered all over Buckler’s head. The audience fell about, holding their sides and hooting with laughter. Buckler bowed.
‘Yurr am oi, Malcumm, cumpletely disgusted,
‘Stead o’ water oi bin drownded in custed!’
From the edge of the firelight Felldoh watched the performance. Barkjon suddenly noticed his son sitting next to him. ‘Ha ha, oh hohoho! What a good show. Felldoh, where did you come from, son?’
Felldoh kept his gaze on the performers, smiling as he clapped his paws together. ‘I’ve been here all the time. Funny, wasn’t it? Cheers you up to see somebeast taking a tumble, eh Dad!’
His father was about to reply when Felldoh pointed. ‘Oh, look out, here comes young Brome. I wonder what he and Ballaw are up to?’
As they began the next act, Barkjon looked strangely at his son and murmured in his ear, ‘Yes, and I wonder what you’ve been up to.’
Brome sat banging a large drum.
Boomboomboomboom!
Ballaw appeared from behind the cart in a long nightgown and a tasselled nightcap. He yawned, stamping his paw bad-temperedly. ‘I say, what d’you think you’re doin’ bangin’ that thing all night, you young rip. I’m tryin’ to sleep!’
Brome continued to bang the drum vigorously.
Boomboomboomboom!
‘I’m practising for the Periwinkle Parade!’
Ballaw wriggled a paw in his ear over the drum noise. ‘The whatiwinkle hooray, did y’say!’
Brome banged the drum louder as he shouted, ‘The Periwinkle Parade, you silly fool!’
Ballaw wriggled paws in both ears as if to hear better. ‘The pretty pinksnail in a slippy pool?’
Brome continued banging as Ballaw turned to the audience. ‘What did he say?’
‘The Periwinkle Parade, you silly fool!’ everyone yelled aloud.
Ballaw nodded. ‘Oh, I see. The gritty pigstail of a swilly cool!’
The audience roared out as Brome banged even louder.
Ballaw shook his head. Grabbing Brome’s paw, he halted the noise. ‘Listen, you young rogue, I’ll give you a cream pudden if you stop that bangin’. Is it a bargain?’
Brome smiled foolishly. ‘Done! Where’s the cream pudden then, flopears?’
Ballaw produced a big knife. ‘Inside the drum. It’s all yours if you stop that beastly bangin’.’
Still smiling foolishly, Brome cut the drumskin wide open and poked his head inside. There was a moment’s silence then he called out. ‘Hey, lankypaws, there’s no cream pudden in here!’
Ballaw did a huge wink at the audience and grinned wickedly. ‘Oh, isn’t there? What a jolly old shame. Ah well, I’m off for a nice long sleep, ’cos I’m playin’ my drum tomorrow in the Periwinkle Parade y’know. Good night!’
Gauchee walked up holding a lantern. ‘Goodnight Mr Ballaw!’
Ballaw shuffled past her. ‘Good night, Mrs Gauchee. Oh, don’t forget and leave my big drum out for me in the morning, I’m playin’ in the Periwinkle Parade.’
Gauchee threw her paws up. ‘Oh corks! I’d forgotten all about that, Mr Ballaw. I’d better go and get your drum back off young Master Brome. I lent it to him to practise on!’
Ballaw clapped a paw to his head and collapsed in a faint. Gauchee turned to Brome. ‘Leave that silly old drum with Mr Ballaw and come in for your supper. I’ve made you a nice cream pudden, Master Brome!’
Tullgrew, Keyla and Baby Fuffle leaned on each other, the tears coursing down their cheeks as they tried to stop laughing. Purslane was shaking with laughter herself as she swept Fuffle up in her paws. ‘Come on, mischief. Time for bed. Are you coming, Groot?’
Purslane’s husband Groot was saying his good nights to the others. He passed Felldoh at the edge of the firelight. ‘Good night, Felldoh. It’s nice to see you smiling again.’
The strong squirrel patted Groot’s back as he passed. ‘Yes, it was very good night altogether!’
Brome had been watching Felldoh. He was rather puzzled by the squirrel’s jolly mood. The young mouse lay down to rest near the campfire embers, next to Keyla and Tullgrew. The three lay staring at the myriad hosts of stars piercing the velvet cape of night.
‘Felldoh is up to something,’ Brome said softly to the two otters. ‘I can’t quite put my paw on it, but I’ll swear he’s hatching some plan or other.’
Keyla half sat up. ‘Funny you should say that, Brome. I couldn’t help watching Felldoh tonight myself. He’s being far too smug, sort of secretive. Have you noticed anything, Tullgrew?’
‘About Felldoh? Well, he’s been going about patting backs and shaking paws, grinning like a demented frog. That’s not like him, he’s usually a dour creature these days.’
Brome listened to the guttering fire crackle gently. So, it was not only he who had observed Felldoh acting oddly. ‘Listen, you two, I don’t like it one little bit. In fact, I’ve been thinking. I’m going to follow that squirrel tomorrow and see what he’s up to. Fancy coming along?’
Keyla and Tullgrew both nodded silently. Brome clasped their paws. ‘Good, as soon as it’s light we stick to him like limpets!’
The campfire burned down to a tiny glimmer of light on the clifftops. Ballaw and Rowanoak snored gently in the cart, and a soft summer wind rippled the grass. The encampment slumbered peacefully in the calm night. Only Felldoh was still awake. He sat with his back against a rock, planning.
35
DAWN LIGHT CREPT over Noonvale in a golden haze. Unused to sleeping in a bed under a roof, Martin was up and about, feeling strangely light without the short sword tucked snugly at his side. He wandered about the settlement, marvelling at the beauty and proliferation of fruit and flower, a tribute to the industrious inhabitants. Sitting beside the waterfall, he enjoyed the cool atmosphere. Perch and trout could be seen gliding lazily in the crystal depths of a pool at the base of the falls. The young mouse stared at his reflection in a shadowed inlet. The marks of the deep scratches on his cheeks were still there, and his face was thinner, though the resolute jaw was firm and the eyes that stared back at him shone with the light of determination.
He was not surprised to see Aryah appear beside him. She placed her paws on his shoulders, watching his image in the water. ‘You are an early riser, Martin.’
‘I could not sleep, but I see you are up early too
.’
‘Yes, I have spoken to Boldred. I have asked her to seek out Brome. What is the matter, Martin? Are you not happy here?’
‘It is a beautiful spot.’
‘But you must soon return to Marshank?’
The young mouse flicked a pebble into the pool and watched it sink. Aryah sat down beside him and patted his paw. ‘You and my husband Urran Voh are both alike in many ways, warrior and peacemaker, both walking different paths, but both stubborn and immovable. The world needs such creatures. Rose told me that the Tyrant holds your father’s sword. Is that the reason you must go, to take the sword back from him?’
Martin stood up. He helped Aryah on to her paws. ‘Yes, the sword belonged to my father, Luke the Warrior. I swore a warrior’s oath to him that I would never let another beast take it from me. I was little more than an infant when Badrang stole my sword, but now the seasons have given my paws the strength to take it back. You understand, I must do this, and I must free Marshank of slavery.’
Martin thought he saw the glimmer of a tear in Aryah’s eye.
‘I understand, young warrior. The thing that grieves me is that Rose will go with you, no matter what I, or her father, may say.’
Martin reached out, wiping the teardew from Aryah’s cheek. ‘I will take far greater care protecting her life than I will my own.’
Grumm ladled creamy pale batter on to a heated stone, grunting eagerly as he watched it cook. ‘Gurr, pancakers. Oi dearly do luv pancakers wi brekkist.’
His tiny nephew Bungo stirred a cauldron furiously. ‘Hurrhurr, an’ zoop, Nuncle Grumm. Doant furget ’ee zoop!’
Martin The Warrior (Redwall) Page 27