Eagle Warrior

by Roger Mortimer

  Glancing at Conal, Gideon saw that he, too, reckoned the situation hopeless. Daniel took a step forward, but Gideon gripped his arm and held him still.

  Pombal raised the whip – and brought it lashing down. William gasped at the sudden, searing pain. Then, as the whip bit into his back again and again, the little mouse gave a scream which pierced Gideon like a rapier.

  At last, even Bultivar had had enough. ‘Stop!’ he yelled. ‘Better not kill the little brat, we’re short-handed as it is.’

  Laying down the whip, Pombal poured sea-water over William, silencing his screams for a moment. But as the sharp sting of salt water pierced his wounds, he cried out again before passing out. Pombal untied him, and was dragging him along the deck when he found Gideon and Conal barring his way. ‘We’ll take him,’ said Gideon, between clenched teeth, his eyes smouldering in fury and contempt.

  Pombal hesitated. He felt a little twinge of fear and a prickling sensation between his shoulder-blades as if a dagger were feeling its way through his fur.

  ‘All right,’ he muttered. Almost gently, he passed the limp body across to the two friends. Between them, they carried William to the fore-castle where they laid him carefully, face down, on the deck. By tearing their shirts into strips, which they soaked in fresh water, they managed to bandage his wounds. Then they gently placed the little mouse on a heap of blankets and for the rest of the day, they took it in turns to watch over him.

  By evening, William was able to sip some water. But he was dreadfully weak and his back felt as if it were on fire. He was also deep in shock and could not speak.

  Darkness fell, and the fore-castle lanterns were lit. Daniel, Gideon and Conal were grouped around William who seemed, at last, to be sleeping normally. From outside came the rhythmic slap of the sea against the hull.

  ‘Do we carry on as planned?’ whispered Daniel nervously. He was not so confident now. But despite his fear of the Captain and the Bosun, he was burning to avenge his brother’s cruel injuries.

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Gideon. ‘And if the other mice do not join us after what has happened today, I shall be very surprised.’

  ‘I’d not be so sure,’ muttered Conal. ‘These mice – their spirits are broken. They’re conditioned to obedience. Besides, why should they risk their necks when many of them will have gold enough at the end of this voyage to be quit of the sea forever?’

  But he realized he was wasting his breath. He knew his commander of old and he could see that poor William’s flogging had made Gideon all the more determined to put an end to Bultivar’s cruelties once and for all.

  As the night wore on, they waited in tense silence. Suddenly, like a ghostly shadow, Mutt appeared beside them.

  ‘Are you ready, sir?’

  ‘Yes! Conal and I will come with you. Daniel will stay here and guard his brother.’

  Daniel was about to protest, but at the sight of Gideon’s stern face, he kept silent.

  Following Mutt’s lantern, Gideon and Conal descended a ladder and crept along the lower deck between the gloomy silhouettes of the big guns. All around them, the ship creaked and groaned like a creature in pain.

  ‘Nearly there, sir!’ whispered Mutt, and Gideon saw the faint outline of the weapons chest. Then it vanished as shadowy figures loomed in front of it.

  Gideon whirled around but already the armed officers who had been crouching behind the guns were closing in behind him, the lantern-light glinting on their cutlasses. With a flood of despair, Gideon and Conal felt pistol-barrels thrust against their backs. They watched in dismay as Mutt scuttled over to the Captain, who was smiling in triumph.

  ‘Tie them up,’ said Bultivar, his smile broadening as he watched the anger on Gideon’s face. ‘So, little Mutt, you were right for once. We have a nest of vipers in our midst – mutineers, no less! You have done well, dear Mutt!’

  Bultivar stretched out a paw and stroked his servant’s head. Mutt sighed with pleasure. Bultivar withdrew his paw, wiped it on his cloak – and kicked Mutt viciously in the stomach.

  ‘You nauseating creature,’ he drawled. ‘You’ve betrayed better mice than you tonight. Nothing to be proud of, you smelly animal. Now get out of my sight. Throw the prisoners into the hold! Tomorrow we reach the island. After our business there is finished, we shall deal appropriately with these traitors!’

  Bound and helpless, Gideon and Conal were dragged to an open hatchway and flung into the deep darkness of the hold. Minutes later, Daniel and William, captured by Pombal and the officers, arrived to join them.

  Gideon lay still, feeling the blood oozing from his leg where it had found a sharp splinter in the deck. His paws, securely tied behind his back, were already numb. He was furious with himself. In his eagerness to take over the ship, he had foolishly ignored Conal’s advice, and had very probably sentenced them all to death.

  13. The Secret

  Never before had Dabo slept in a four-poster bed. On his first morning at Quincy Manor, he opened his eyes and gazed at the beautiful blue canopy embroidered with a pattern of moon and stars. Feeling wonderfully secure after his adventures, Dabo stretched, turned over and snuggled down again. Suddenly, the curtain was yanked aside and there was Bella Quincy grinning down at him, a loaded tray in her paws.

  ‘Mum says you get breakfast in bed this morning, only don’t get into the habit! You’re to help with the milking later – but when you’re dressed, Dad wants to see you.’

  Dabo descended the staircase and found himself in the Great Hall. It was a long, low, sombre room, furnished with a handsome oak table and high-backed chairs. Below the great stone coat of arms, the cavernous fireplace was empty, and the sunlight, filtering gloomily through the shields painted on the windows, dappled the stone floor with dark colours, like shadowy pools of blood. Dabo shivered ... and not just with cold. The Hall filled him with a strange sense of foreboding.

  A door swung open and an elderly mouse appeared, leaning on a stick. The grey fur on his handsome head was streaked with white. One eye was covered by a patch, and Dabo shuddered at the thought of the wound that must have robbed the old soldier of his sight. This was General Quincy, who had fought for the King at the Battle of Barrowdown.

  With his good eye, the General gazed sternly at Dabo. His whiskers bristled and he gave his long tail a brisk, military flick. But when he spoke, his voice was kindly.

  ‘I’m sorry I was not up to welcome you last night. I trust you are well rested after your ordeal.’

  Dabo pulled himself together and tried not to stare quite so obviously. ‘Yes, thank you, sir. And I’m very grateful to you for giving us food and shelter.’

  ‘There is no need for thanks. My house is yours for as long as Prince Armand requires it. But please come into my study, Master Dabo. We have important matters to discuss.’

  Old Quincy stood aside and Dabo, wondering what on earth was corning now, stepped past him into the room. Here, the feeling of oppression was worse than ever, but Dabo could not see anything that could account for it. The furniture was plain and solid, and the walls opposite the windows were lined with books. The floor was carpeted and a fire crackled in the hearth. Above the stone overmantle were three flintlock rifles, richly inlaid with silver. On either side of the fireplace, tall, wooden racks each held half a dozen more long guns.

  ‘Those over the fireplace are for show,’ said old Quincy. ‘The others are to use when the time comes.’

  Dabo looked at him in alarm.

  ‘Cambray’s bound to find you one day,’ Quincy explained. ‘And we cannot hold out against a determined attack. When that happens, you will be responsible for Prince Armand’s safety. So, if I give you certain orders, you must follow them faithfully. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Dabo, trying to sound as soldierly as his host.

  ‘Good. Now: an underground passage leads from this room to a place deep in the forest behind the house. I’ll show you the entrance later. But when you need to use it, there is something
you must take with you.’

  The old mouse fumbled at his belt and removed a key from its ring. Beckoning Dabo to follow, he crossed to one of the tall bookcases.

  ‘Now,’ he said, ‘the fourth shelf down is false. The spines of the books are stuck on to wood. The keyhole is ... here.’ He pulled aside a strip of leather from an imitation book. ‘The key must be turned ... twice ... so. The whole shelf now swings open ... ah! I see you feel it – don’t be afraid!’

  The feeling of oppression had suddenly got worse. Dabo felt as if an unbearable weight were pressing down on him. The tall, red curtains swayed, setting the shadows moving like the slow beating of wings. The fire sank to nothing and went out.

  ‘Do not be afraid!’ repeated General Quincy.

  Terrified, Dabo nodded.

  ‘This cannot harm you. But you must see and understand.’

  From the secret hiding place, he pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle and carried it to the desk. Carefully, he pulled aside the wrapping until, with a gasp, Dabo saw what it was: the Crown of Carminel, gleaming and sparkling as if lit by a thousand stars.

  From its solid silver base, there rose up four clusters of leaves, one for each of the four wild flowers sacred to the Lord of Light: White Clover for wisdom; Lady’s Mantle for purity; Willow-herb for charity; and King’s Chalice for strength. All were wonderfully made of silver, and three were studded with diamonds; but the fourth, the King’s Chalice, bore a single, glowing ruby, which, as Dabo gazed at it, seemed to move as if somewhere in its depths a tiny heart were beating.

  Dabo had never seen anything so beautiful. As the ruby’s light grew brighter, he felt the power of the Crown flooding over him. Eagerly, he reached out a paw – but before he could touch the ruby, it seemed to explode with a great burst of light and energy that sent him reeling back against the wall.

  General Quincy threw the cloth wrapping over the Crown and thrust it back in its hiding place.

  ‘Sit down, young Dabo, before you fall. The Crown is angry – it has been kept too long from its rightful owner.’

  ‘Angry?’ repeated Dabo in astonishment.

  ‘Oh, yes! You must understand a thing or two about this Crown.’

  As he sank into the comfy chair by the hearth, Dabo noticed in amazement that the fire was blazing cheerfully once again.

  ‘The Crown possesses great power,’ said General Quincy. ‘And its source is the ruby. Without that, it’s just a pretty bit of jewellery. Valuable, of course, but not very old. It was made for King Auriol’s father by the Master-Jeweller of the time. But the ruby was originally set in the sword hilt of King Vigan, the first of the Mouse Kings, who conquered this land hundreds of years ago. According to legend, that ruby was given to King Vigan by the Lord of Light himself.’

  ‘But what’s it for?’

  ‘To defend the King from his enemies! And to give him the virtues represented by the four clusters of silver plants. If King Auriol had kept the Crown at the Battle of Barrowdown, all might have been well. But in a moment of fear and weakness, he sent it away.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ said Dabo. ‘Armand told us that Forstus had taken it. But he didn’t know where.’

  The General frowned. ‘I knew Forstus was scheming and self-seeking! And since the King’s defeat, I have always feared that Forstus would, one day, return for the Crown and try to use it for his own selfish ends. We heard all about Prince Armand’s rescue and how Lord Gideon’s eagle dropped Forstus out of the sky. But I’ve heard rumours that he survived, so he may yet return to General Cambray and bargain favours for himself in exchange for his secret.’

  Dabo’s heart sank. The old mouse went on: ‘We must take no chances. To you alone I have revealed that the Crown is here. My family and servants know nothing of it, though some have complained of uncomfortable feelings of oppression whilst in my study.’

  I’m not surprised, thought Dabo.

  ‘I shall not tell Prince Armand,’ General Quincy continued, ‘but you are his friend and protector and I know you to be trustworthy. The next mouse to open that secret door will be you, so take this duplicate key and keep it safe. When the time comes – when our defeat is certain – you must take the Crown and escape with the Prince, my family and servants through the secret passage.’

  The old soldier pointed to the corner of the study between the fireplace and the window. ‘The trap door lies beneath the carpet and a rope ladder leads down to the tunnel.’

  ‘But, sir – the last mouse down the trap door won’t be able to replace the carpet. We’ll be discovered and chased down the passage!’

  The General frowned and his one eye glittered. ‘Foolish mouse! Did you imagine that I should be escaping with you?’

  Dabo felt dreadful. He had imagined them all scuttling off down the passage together. But he realized that the old soldier was prepared to sacrifice his life to ensure their safety. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, humbly. ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘Then start thinking,’ said the old mouse, sternly. ‘One day, the enemy will come and you must get Prince Armand and the Crown to safety. Meanwhile, be vigilant! The danger may be closer than you think ...’

  14. Death on the Island

  ‘Conal!’

  ‘I’m here, sir – just about.’

  ‘How’s William?’

  ‘He’s out cold, sir,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m afraid the fall’s made him worse.’

  ‘Any ideas, Sergeant?’ asked Gideon.

  ‘I’ve a knife tucked inside my right boot,’ replied Conal with a grin that Gideon could sense in the pitch darkness of the hold. ‘If you can get yourself over to me, sir, and reach for it ...’

  Gideon’s paws and ankles were securely bound. But he managed to roll painfully towards his friend until his paws made contact with Conal’s foot.

  ‘That’s it, sir! You’ve got it!’

  Gently, Gideon eased the knife from its sheath. ‘Now, Conal, shuffle round and I’ll cut your ropes. Steady – mind your tail!’

  Conal twisted round until he and Gideon were sitting back to back. Gingerly, he felt for the razor-sharp knife ... seconds later, the ropes fell away.

  ‘Right, sir! Now I’ll soon have us all free!’

  As Conal cut away the last of their bonds, the three mice peered anxiously at the motionless body of William. Gently, Conal ran his paws over the little mouse.

  ‘There’s blood on his back, of course. The fall re-opened his wounds. But none anywhere else. No bones broken, so far as I can tell. We’ll just have to wait.’

  Suddenly, they heard shouts from above and the pattering of feet. The deck beneath them lurched and swayed, water slapped loudly against the hull, and they felt the ship slowly turning.

  ‘She’s altered course,’ said Conal. ‘What was it that murdering swine said? Something about an island?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gideon. ‘An island they hoped to reach tomorrow – or today, as it must be by now.’

  ‘What can we do?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘Sit tight, laddie,’ replied Conal, ‘and wait and see.’

  Hours crawled miserably by. From time to time, they could hear muffled shouts from above. But no one came to bring them food or water.

  William moaned, gasped, and cried out in pain. At once, Daniel knelt over him, stroking his head and soothing him.

  ‘It’s all right, Will. You’re safe. Don’t move! You’ve been badly hurt. But our friends are here, Conal and ...’ Daniel faltered. He still did not know the tall mouse’s name. But he was astonished to hear his brother murmur: ‘Lord Gideon. Didn’t you realize? Dan, I’m ever so thirsty. Have we anything to drink?’

  The hold was lined with barrels which may well have contained fresh water, but broaching them would be too noisy. ‘Nothing, laddie,’ replied Conal. ‘Just you lie quiet. And don’t worry. We’ll soon have you out of this.’

  At last, they heard the splash of the anchor, followed by the rhythmic sound of oars. ‘They’re rowing away!’ exclaimed
Conal. They listened intently. But the ship was silent.

  ‘Right, Conal!’ said Gideon. ‘Now or never. Let’s get that hatch-cover open!’

  The overhead deck-beams were just low enough for Conal to reach the hatch. He gave a cautious push – and, to his relief, felt the cover lift. He peeped through the narrow gap. The gun-deck was dark and silent. With Gideon supporting the hatch-cover, Conal scrambled out and tilted it back.

  Gideon swung himself out, then reached down and helped the still woozy William through the hole, Daniel gently pushing from below. William understood the need for silence and fought back his squeaks of pain. Finally, Daniel clambered out and Conal replaced the hatch-cover.

  ‘We must move quietly!’ whispered Gideon. ‘They must have left some mice on guard. Now – let’s find the weapons!’

  The large chest was firmly padlocked. ‘Let’s see!’ whispered Conal. ‘A little job for my dagger, I think!’

  Pushing the tough blade under the hasp, he worked it to and fro until the padlock fell clear.

  Catching it neatly, he slowly raised the lid.

  The chest was crammed with weapons and ammunition. ‘Two pistols and a cutlass each,’ ordered Gideon. ‘Load the pistols, Conal, then let’s get up on deck!’

  Gideon led the way up the ladder. It led up to the small open space at the very front of the ship. As he gingerly raised the hatch-cover, sunlight streamed in, dazzling him for a moment. He listened intently. Then he thrust back the cover, stepped out, and crouched low, a pistol in his paw.

  To his relief, the door just in front of him, leading into the fore-castle, was shut. To his right, the open sea stretched to the horizon, but to his left –

  Gideon gasped. The island was a tropical paradise. Palm trees fringed a long curve of silver sand, dense jungle cloaked a range of hills and a tall cliff guarded the natural harbour, where the ship was riding at anchor. There was no sign of the crew.