Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Badrang leaped at Felldoh, cleaving only empty air with his sword as his adversary skipped back nimbly. Gripping the sword tight in both paws, the stoat rushed in, swinging wildly, hoping to overwhelm his foe with the ferocity of the attack. Felldoh was like a stinging hornet. He weaved in under the flailing blade, jabbing at the Tyrant’s face with his javelin as he flashed by. Badrang turned, drawing in his breath sharply as he felt blood trickle from a small wound on his jaw. Balanced lightly on his footpaws, Felldoh grinned insolently, threw himself into a swift roll and whacked his adversary hard on the shin with the wooden shaft. Badrang yelped with pain, spinning fast and chopping down with his sword. He chopped only sand, arching his back as the wicked javelin point raked a long scratch on it. Breathing heavily, he held the sword point forward and low, shuffling slowly towards the squirrel, watching for a sudden move. Felldoh stood his ground, eyeing the sword carefully as it rose fractionally, guessing the exact moment Badrang would choose to thrust. The stoat lunged! Felldoh skipped sideways, bringing the javelin down with numbing force on his opponent’s left paw. Tears sprang unbidden to the stoat’s eyes as he held on to the sword with his right paw, the left stinging and throbbing as it hung limp at his side. Felldoh was still smiling, adding insult to injury. Badrang feigned helplessness for a moment, trying to move his deadened paw. Suddenly he dropped flat, rolled over and swung out wildly. Felldoh was taken by surprise. The blade cut deep into his footpaw. Badrang moved in for the kill, swinging the sword in his good paw. The butt of the javelin struck him hard in the stomach, knocking his breath out in a sharp gasp. He doubled over, fighting for air.

  Thwack!

  The wooden haft struck the sword into the air. It curved in a shining arc, landing point down in the sand as Badrang’s right paw fell numbly to his side. Holding the javelin in both paws like a quarterstave, Felldoh knocked his enemy flat on the shore. Ignoring his injured footpaw, the squirrel raised the javelin. He brought it down with punishing force.

  Tullgrew clapped a paw across her eyes. ‘Has he killed him? I can’t look. Is Badrang slain?’

  Brome shook his head in astonishment. ‘No, Felldoh is beating him with the javelin as if it were a rod!’

  Tullgrew uncovered her eyes, smiling with grim satisfaction. ‘Aye, just as he used to have slaves beaten. Lay it on, Felldoh!’

  Badrang tried to curl up into a ball, yelping as he rolled about on the round. The javelin rose and fell across his back, each stroke punctuated by Felldoh’s harsh shouts. ‘How does it feel to be beaten like a slave, O mighty one? Feel this! And this! You had me beaten when I was little more than an infant! My father was beaten with the rod because he was old and slow! You never made me cry out! Why are you wailing! Can’t you take your own medicine!’

  Tullgrew covered her eyes again, but Brome watched in horrified fascination. ‘He’s going to beat Badrang to death, I can hear him yelling from here!’

  But the Tyrant was not crying out needlessly.

  ‘Marshank! Marshank! Marshank!’

  37

  BOLDRED PERCHED ON the fallen sycamore as she related all she had seen.

  ‘The first place I stopped at was a camp on the south-east cliffs. There were many creatures there. A hare and a badger seemed to be in charge, Ballaw and Rowanoak.’

  ‘I have not heard of these creatures,’ Martin interrupted.

  Boldred held up a talon. ‘Let me continue, it will soon become clear. I spoke to them of Brome, and they assured me that he was alive and well. When I told them of you there were many there who knew the name of Martin. One, an old squirrel named Barkjon, sends you a message.’ Martin leaped up, unable to constrain himself. ‘Barkjon, old Barkjon! He’s Felldoh’s father. What did he tell you, Boldred?’

  ‘He told me that his son has gone alone to face Badrang. Every able-bodied creature in the camp was armed, and they are planning to go to Felldoh’s rescue – that is, if he still lives. Either way they will attack the fortress called Marshank, where the evil one rules with his horde of vermin.’

  Martin’s eyes shone with the desire to be in the midst of battle. ‘The creatures in this camp on the cliffs, are they a great army?’

  ‘Alas, no.’ Boldred shook her head. ‘I have seen the comings and goings at Marshank before. Badrang’s horde is far too vast to be opposed. The creatures at the camp are brave, but pitifully few compared to the horde.’

  ‘I must go now!’ Martin jumped down from the sycamore trunk.

  Boldred nodded. ‘The old squirrel Barkjon is a shrewd beast, he said that you would act thus, and here is his message to you. Tell Martin if he is coming to travel with all speed and bring plenty of help!’

  Aryah looked at Boldred anxiously. ‘Did you see my son Brome? Did you speak to him?’

  Boldred spread her wings wide. ‘There was no time, I had many things to do. The hare Ballaw assured me that Brome was lively as a grasshopper and fit as a flea. The badger Rowanoak confirmed this. She seemed like a wise and sensible creature. Badgers usually are.’

  Aryah climbed down from the sycamore and took Martin’s paw. ‘Bring my son back to me, please, Martin. I beg you!’

  Rose leaped down to join Martin and her mother. ‘We will Mama, don’t worry.’

  ‘Rose, how can you go?’ Urran Voh gazed sternly at his daughter. ‘Is it not enough that we have Brome caught up in a war far from home!’

  Rose faced her father resolutely. ‘I must go. Martin and I are the only ones who would stand a chance of bringing Brome back to Noonvale.’

  ‘Hurr, you’m not leavin’ us’ns yurr, mizzy!’ Pallum and Grumm joined paws with Martin and Rose.

  Another little paw sneaked in to clasp theirs. ‘Hurr, say ’ee wurd an’ Bungo’s with you’m!’

  Grumm ruffled the dark velvety head of the infant. ‘Gurr, you’m gotter stay yurr an’ chop up’ee gurt tree. Oi wants t’ see et chopped oop small when us’ns coom back.’

  Martin looked at Urran Voh, who nodded. Then he raised his voice so that all could hear. ‘Is anybeast with us? You heard Boldred, we need plenty of help!’

  The otter quartette, several moles and a few hedgehogs stood forward. Martin counted, sixteen in all including his three friends.

  ‘I am sorry, Martin,’ Urran Voh said, his tone more kindly, ‘but we are not warriors, my creatures do not have any knowledge of battle. Many have families to care for. Those who have volunteered to go with you are few, but brave. None of them have ever used a weapon, yet they are prepared to go and help you with their very lives.’

  Martin bowed to his small army. ‘I thank you with all my heart.’

  Boldred tut-tutted slightly and shook her head. ‘I’ve always said that the trouble with young creatures is they never listen properly, especially hot-headed warriors. Did you not hear me tell Aryah that I never stopped to search for Brome because I had things to do?’

  ‘Things, what things?’ Martin looked nonplussed at the owl.

  ‘Things that only a wise owl would think of, like getting an army together for you. But let’s deal with first things first. We’ve got to find the shortest route to Marshank and get you there as quickly as possible. Now I don’t wish to preen myself on this matter, but I am the foremost pathfinder, mapmaker and researcher of this whole country, from beyond here to the Eastern Sea. Find me a clear space, somebeast!’

  The moles patted a bare patch of soil flat as Rose went off with Aryah and Urran Voh to gather provisions for the journey.

  Boldred crooked a claw at Martin. ‘Come here, Warrior, and pay attention!’

  Martin sat and watched, fascinated as the owl’s skilful talons marked out the route.

  ‘This is the Broadstream here. You came the long way round to Noonvale, probably because you were washed up down the far south coast. Marshank is further north, facing the Eastern Sea. There is a much simpler way back to the coast. I know this, and so does Starwort. At this moment he will probably have just arrived at a wide tributary two hours’ journey from here
, to the north of Noonvale. So the sooner you get going, the quicker you’ll be able to join him and get under way.’

  Martin stood upright. ‘What happens then, Boldred?’

  The owl blinked impatiently. ‘Leave that to me, I’m coming too!’

  Rose and her parents had just finished putting together some food and drink in packs when Martin strode into the cottage. Rose took the small shrew sword from its peg behind the door and held it out to Martin.

  ‘You gave this up freely, now I give it back to you.’

  The Warrior thrust the sword into his belt. ‘I’m ready!’

  ‘Fur and Freedoooooooommm!’

  The cart rattled and bumped, leaping off the ground as it struck humps and clumps on the clifftop. It roared forward with Ballaw and Keyla holding to its jolting bed as they waved the streaming banner aloft. Rowanoak pounded along. Sinew and muscle bunching and stretching, she towed the careering cart. The Fur and Freedom Fighters pushed as they pelted madly alongside.

  Brome could not stop himself. At the sight of Felldoh going down fighting amid a welter of horde vermin, he dashed forward down the cliffside, sobbing and calling his friend’s name aloud, ‘Felldoh! Oh Felldoh, I’m coming!’

  But Felldoh did not hear his young companion. He lay with a calm smile on his face, surrounded by a score of slain hordebeasts who had died trying to defeat him.

  Badrang rushed back to the fort, away from the carnage and the broken javelins, the memory burned into his beaten skull of the roaring, laughing squirrel who had died with a shattered piece of timber in each paw, still taking ferrets, rats and weasels with him as he went.

  As Marshank’s gates slammed shut, the cart sped by Brome. Scattering the last few venturesome horde members, it ground to a halt next to Felldoh’s body.

  Rowanoak leaped from the shafts as the first wave of arrows flew from the walltops. ‘Dig in, turn the cart on its side, get to cover quick!’

  Ballaw assembled his throwers behind the cart. ‘Take your range, chaps, and drop those javelins in just over the walltop. You others, pick up any weapons you find lyin’ about. That’s the ticket! Slingers, get those stones from the cart. Look lively now, lads!’

  Brome staggered up, tears streaming from him as he undid his healing bag and pulled out herbs and bandages. Barkjon sat with his son’s head cradled in his lap, dry-eyed.

  ‘He won’t be needing those, young one. Save them for the living. My son has gone to the silent forest where he’ll always be free.’

  Brome sat with Barkjon. The old squirrel wiped away the young mouse’s tears. ‘It is good to grieve for a friend who has gone. He looks so happy and peaceful.’

  Brome shook his head. Placing a paw about Barkjon’s shoulders, he said, ‘I’ve never seen anything like it; he was laughing aloud. It took a score and a half to get him down, and he still slew most of them. It was as if he knew his fate.’

  Barkjon nodded. ‘Never afraid, always a true warrior – that was Felldoh’s way.’

  The side of the cart was thick with quivering arrows. Ballaw barked out a sharp command: ‘Up an’ at ’em, javelins!’

  The line of throwers leapt up, flung their weapons off and dropped back down.

  Immediately Ballaw called to the slingers, ‘Quick as y’ like, one volley of stones. Go!’

  The slingers stood, threw and dropped back down.

  Howls and screams greeted the wave of javelins that dropped in on the archers at the walltop. They stood up to retaliate, and met the volley of slingstones zinging up hard on the heels of the javelins.

  Crosstooth grabbed Wetpaw and Fleabane. ‘Take fifty fighters apiece over the back wall, an’ spread out left an’ right, advance along the shore an’ dig in. We’ll have ’em cut off at both sides, with the fort in front of ’em an’ the sea behind. They’ll have to surrender, or die!’

  Buckler saw the hordebeasts pouring out either side of Marshank. He found Rowanoak. ‘Lukkit, us’ns all ’ave to proteck ’ee flanks!’

  Kastern, Gauchee, Trefoil and Celandine helped to shore up two long hillocks of sand either side of the cart. The slingers were split up and detailed to both sides, whilst the javelin throwers concentrated on the front facing the fortress.

  Inside the fortress, Badrang lay on the longhouse table while Boggs and Growch dressed his wounds. The Tyrant had been beaten black and blue before his soldiers got to the rescue, and his head, face, shoulders and back were a welter of ugly lumps and long bruises. He arched his back painfully as Boggs treated the long javelin scratch.

  ‘Haharr, matey, I thought you’d run into an army, but they tells me ’twere on’y one ’ard-nosed squirrel. Scorch me sails, but ’e did a right good job on yer. Haharrharrharr!’

  Badrang glared at Clogg through puffy eyes. ‘Get out of my sight. You’re bad luck to me, Clogg!’

  Boggs applied a dock leaf poultice to Badrang’s shoulder. ‘Stay still, Sire. ’ere, ’old that in place.’

  Clogg did a little jig in the doorway. ‘Aye, you ’old still, yer mightiness, lest yer ugly ’ead drops off, haharr!’

  Badrang made as if to rise and grab his sword. Clogg scuttled off, chuckling to himself, ‘I’ll ’ave the last laugh yet. Now, where’s the galley round ’ere? I might as well eat an’ drink me fill, seein’ as all the rest are too busy warrin’ an’ fightin’ fer glory!’

  Ballaw gave a sharp gasp. He plucked out the arrow sticking from his paw and snapped it. ‘Ruined me best eatin’ and gesturin’ paw. Rotters!’

  Brome sat down behind the cart. Cleaning the wound, he applied a comfrey poultice and bound the paw with a clean linen strip.

  ‘Good as new, eh wot!’ Ballaw held it up, admiring the dressing. ‘I say, Brome old lad, you’re gettin’ to be a bit of a dab paw at this healin’ lark!’

  Wordlessly the young mouse crawled off to the next casualty.

  Noon brought a lull in the fighting. The sun beat mercilessly down on the beach, and there was not even a welcome breeze. Behind Rowanoak’s back, the sea shimmered, showing hardly a wave. The badger dusted sand from her paws as she gratefully accepted food from Keyla.

  ‘It’s only a mouthful of water and a scone. We don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here.’

  Trefoil nibbled at her scone. ‘Stuck is the right word, Keyla. We’re boxed off on three sides, with the sea behind us if we fancy drowning ourselves.’

  Celandine sipped daintily at a scallop shell of water. ‘Drown ourselves? Ugh, how horrible! It’d ruin my tail!’

  Kastern was making a bow with some springy wood and a cord. ‘Well it’s either that or carry on fighting a horde about thirty times greater than us. I should think that’d ruin your tail in the long run, Miss Fussbudget.’

  Buckler came to sit by Kastern. ‘Hurr, wot be you’m a-maken a bow furr?’

  ‘Well, there are so many arrows lying about and sticking out of everywhere, it seems a shame to waste them.’

  Rowanoak shook her head in admiration. ‘What an efficient trouper. Hey, Groot, see if you can make a few bows and help Kastern to use all these arrows messing the place up!’

  Yarrow looked at Rowanoak strangely. ‘You Rambling Rosehip Players, you seem to make a joke of everything. Don’t you realize we’re in the middle of a battle, fighting for our lives?’

  Ballaw patted his head with a bandaged paw. ‘What d’you want us to do then, laddie buck? Break down an’ weep? Make the best of the situation, m’ boy. Smile!’

  The cart shook under a rattle of arrows, several piercing the wood by half a shaft-length.

  ‘Ah well, back to work, wot wot?’ Yarrow yawned, fitting a stone to his sling.

  Ballaw launched a javelin and ducked low. ‘Cheeky blighter! Catches on fast, though.’

  Badrang was up and about, looking much the worse for wear but still bad-tempered and active.

  ‘Crosstooth, tell the horde to hold back their weapons a bit. I want to parley with that lot on the shore.’

  Archers and slingers stopped.
Badrang’s jaws were aching from Felldoh’s blows, so he got a rat called Nipwort, who possessed a high squeaky voice, to call out his message.

  Nipwort funnelled both paws around his mouth and shouted, ‘Parley! Cease fire, we want a parley!’

  ‘Then parley away, pipsqueak. What do you want?’ Rowanoak’s readily identifiable roar came back at him.

  ‘My master, Lord Badrang, can keep you pinned down there and slay you at his leisure. If you surrender you will not be killed!’

  This time it was Ballaw who answered. ‘Tell me my good chap, what happens to us after we surrender?’

  ‘That will be for Lord Badrang to decide!’

  Ballaw’s head popped up over the cart. ‘Blinkin’ nerve o’ the rascal! Listen, rustyhinge, you tell old Badtrousers that the Commander in Chief of the Fur and Freedom Fighters said that he can go an’ boil his scurvy head, wot!’

  The reply was accompanied by a healthy hail of slingstones, one of which knocked Nipwort senseless. Badrang crouched beneath the parapet, massaging the numbness from his paws. ‘Get a fire going, use flaming arrows on that cart. We’ll burn them out into the open!’

  38

  GUIDED BY BOLDRED, Martin and his party made it in good time to the Broadstream inlet. They were greeted by Starwort’s cheery cry as they came in sight of the water.

  ‘Ahoy, mates, come on aboard!’

  The big otter boat Waterlily was packed with tough-looking otters, and in tow she had a flat-bottomed barge, also filled to the gunwales with more otters. They made room for Martin and his contingent.

  Starwort grinned and held up a thonged sling. ‘Mainly uses these for sport an’ fishin’, but we’ve all got one. Miss Rose, good to see yer pretty face again. Still keepin’ this Warrior of yours in check, I ’ope. Pallum an’ Grumm, well, shake me rudder yer lookin’ plump an’ fitter’n ever!’