Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  Thyme tested his bowstring. ‘Don’t worry about us, laddie buck. We’ll be right as rain, won’t we, Rosie?’

  ‘What, oh er, rather! Get the little thingummies back to the wotsit and leave the rest to us. Tickety-boo an’ all that!’

  Clary glanced at the noon sky. ‘Time to go, troops!’

  Rufe, Tom and Treerose shook paws with the three hares. Clary sent them off. ‘Get round the back of the camp an’ wait for my signal.’

  ‘Righto. Goodbye an’ good luck, Thyme.’

  ‘Toodle-pip, old scout. Chin up.’

  Treerose waved. ‘Goodbye, Rosie. See you back at the Abbey.’

  Rosie nodded. “Course you will, pretty one. On your way now.’

  When the squirrels had gone, Colonel Clary inspected his patrol.

  ‘Very smart, top marks, good turnout, wot!’

  Thyme brushed his moustache one last time. ‘No excuse for sloppiness, my old pa always said.’

  They nocked shafts on to their bowstrings and strode off toward the searat camp, talking softly to each other.

  ‘Make me proud of you now, troops.’

  ‘Goes without sayin’, Clary. We’ll give Rawnblade somethin’ to talk about while we’re at it, wot!’

  ‘I say, Clary. Is it all right if I laugh ’n’ hoot a bit once the show gets under way?’

  ‘Permission granted, Rosie old gel. You chuckle as much as y’like.’

  The searats were milling about the fires, shoving and pushing as they tried to get cooking space. There had been no fish or meat taken, as a result of Oak Tom’s activities in the area. However, they had found a good supply of wild pears and apples, and plentiful dandelion roots. Now they cooked the fruits, telling each other that there would be good hunting tomorrow when the birds and fish returned.

  The oarslaves sat miserably in their long wooden cage. It was exceptionally strong, being made from thick green branches lashed together with rope. The young creatures gazed longingly out at their captors, knowing the only food they would receive was the waste and scraps after the rats had glutted themsleves.

  Pakatugg pushed his face against the wooden bars. He had grown thin and gaunt in captivity, suffering the kicks and curses of searats. He bitterly regretted tracking the Darkqueen in quest of plunder. Now he sat staring through his prison at the woodlands beyond, thinking of his secret den far away, the cool green light from the shading trees, the mossy rocks and trickling stream . . .

  Quite suddenly Pakatugg saw the three hares of the long patrol! They were striding grim-faced through the searat camp, making for the captives in the cage, fully armed with lance and dagger, each with a shaft drawn tautly on a longbow. The squirrel watched them silently, his eyes wide with disbelief. The hares ignored the noisy crew of searats as they marched purposefully forward.

  The rat called Fleawirt was first to see them as he turned from the fire. ‘Hey! Where d’yer think yer go –’

  Wordlessly Thyme turned and slew him, the heavy oak arrow knocking the startled searat back fully three paces. Pandemonium broke out. Before the rats could grasp what was going on, another two fell, pierced by shafts from Clary and Rosie. As swiftly as they loosed the arrows the long patrol had fresh ones stretched upon their bowstrings.

  ‘Get them!’ Greyp[atch bellowed, drawing his sword. ‘Don’t just stand there, kill ’em!’

  Shaking the numbness of surprise from him, one called Shoreclaw plucked his spear from the ground and raised it. He was so close that Clary’s arrow passed through him and wounded another standing behind. Rosie dodged a spear as the trio quickened their pace. She sent her arrow zinging into the snarling face of Kybo, cutting off the scream that issued from his mouth. Now the hares sent out the blood-chilling warcry of Salamandastron; it rang out above the clamour.

  ‘Eulaliaaaaaaa!!!’

  They arrived at the cage, still sending arrows from the formidable longbows thudding into the horde of advancing foe rats.

  Pakatugg shoved his paw through the bars. ‘Give me a dagger and I’ll cut the ropes!’

  Clary tossed him a freshly sharpened knife from Redwall’s kitchen. ‘What ho, you old villain! Chop away at the back of the cage, would you.’

  A spear took Thyme in the right footpaw. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched it out and hurled it back, wounding its thrower. ‘Ah wel, no more runnin’ for me today, wot?’

  Rosie stopped a charging rat with her lancepoint. ‘Hate to remind you, old thing, but we didn’t come here to run.’

  Clary whacked out fiercely, breaking a leg with the heavy yew bow. ‘Famous last stand, wot? Go out in a blaze of glory an’ all that. Right, chaps. Another quick volley, an’ give ’em a shout t’ let ’em know we’ve arrived. Fire!’

  Three arrows flew from the longbows into the seething rat pack.

  ‘Eulaliaaaa!!!’

  Pakatugg slashed frenziedly at the remaining rope lashings in the back of the cage. The bindings parted and a section of the woodwork fell away. The oarslaves huddled dumbly in a group. He pushed through them, tugging at the back of Clary’s belt through the front bars.

  ‘I’ve done it, part of the back’s fallen down!’

  Colonel Clary winced as an arrow took him in the shoulder. ‘Wait’ll the squirrels arrive, old thing, then follow ’em. Take all the slaves an’ stick dose to them, no matter what.’

  Clary threw back his head and yelled, ‘Rufe, Tom, Treerose! Now now now!’

  Thyme was kneeling. Wounded in both footpaws, he bravely held his bow horizontally, firing as rapidly as his dwindling quiver of arrows permitted. Glancing back, he saw the three Redwall squirrels herding the timid oarslaves out through the broken cage into the woodlands. Rosie was throttling a struggling rat on her bowstring as Clary held off the mob with a lance held in each paw.

  ‘Mission accomplished, eh, Rosie old scout!’

  ‘Rather! Whoohahahahahooh!’

  Standing at the back of the crew, Greypatch ran around belabouring with the flat of his sword as he roared hoarsely, ‘Get into ’em! Come on, yer sluggards, rush ’em!’

  Frink took aim and skilfully threw a long dagger. ‘Got ’im! I’ve wounded the big ’un in the ribs!’

  The grin of triumph froze on his face as an oak arrow found him.

  Thyme tugged at Clary’s leg. ‘Out of arrows, old sport. Get me up on me pins an’ give me a lance!’

  Pakatugg assisted in getting Thyme upright. Clary glared at him.

  ‘Where did you come from, mister? You were supposed to escape with the rest. I won’t stand for insubordination, y’know!’

  Armed with a searat cutlass and spear, the squirrel growled dangerously. ‘I’m stoppin’ here, see. Don’t like searats – dirty vermin beat me an’ made sport o’ me. Nobeast does that to Pakatugg. I’ll teach ’em!’

  Rosie flinched as a sword caught her high on the cheek. ‘Good for you, Paka, y’nasty old rogue, give ’em vinegar!’

  Flinging their empty quivers and longbows into the faces of the rats, the long patrol brandished daggers and lances. Charging forward, they carried the battle straight into the ranks of the enemy, with Clary calling out aloud, ‘Nice day for it, wot!’

  Thyme staggered forward. ‘Summer’s my fav’rite season, old lad!’

  Hon Rosie clapped Pakatugg on the back. ‘Let’s give ’em one last shout, for Salamandastron an’ the jolly old Abbey.’

  ‘Eulaliaaaa! Redwaaaaaaall!’

  Accompanied by an old squirrel, the long patrol threw themselves into the howling mob of searats.

  Not just Flagg, but every creature in Redwall Abbey stood out upon the north ramparts, scanning the path in the pale moonlight for signs of movement. Mellus and Flagg were armed with longbows; lanterns flickered all along the walltop in the hushed silence. Simeon the blind herbalist stood with the Abbot and the Dibbuns, their bedtime forgotten in the tense, waiting atmosphere. Simeon’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it could be heard by many as he addressed the Abbot.

  ‘
What’s happening out there, Bernard?’

  ‘Nothing, old friend. It’s very quiet and still down there.’

  ‘Hurr, be they a-cummen yet, maister Simmen?’

  Simeon patted Grubb’s velvety head. ‘Only if you’re very good and stay quiet, little mole.’

  ‘Oi be vurry soilint naow. Hussshhher!’

  ‘Whatever possessed them to go on such an insane venture?’ Mellus murmured to Flagg. ‘Six of ours against all that rotten horde. And to think it was I who urged Colonel Clary to rescue the slaves in the first place.’

  Flagg shook his head. ‘No, marm, it weren’t you. Clary had it in his mind to do the deed anyway. He left me a scroll tellin’ all. I burned it in the kitchen stove as he wished me to. So don’t blame yerself, marm. They were sworn to fight searats from birth; it was their destiny.’

  Minutes stretched into hours as the Redwallers waited, straining their eyes along the north path, sometimes expectant at a sign of movement, only to have their hopes dashed by the realization that it was merely a shadow as clouds scudded across the moon, or the rustle of breeze-stirred foliage.

  The Dibbuns had finally fallen asleep. Sister Sage covered them with blankets from the gatehouse as they lay huddled together in the northwest corner of the walltop.

  Saxtus and Sister Serena carried a cauldron of leek and celery broth from the kitchens, followed by Friar Alder and Cockleburr, laden with wheat farls.

  Gabriel Quill stared towards the eastern horizon over the treetops of Mossflower. ‘Be dawn in two hour, I reckons.’

  Foremole was slurping soup rather noisily from a wooden bowl when Simeon placed a restraining paw on him. ‘Hush, I think I can sense something.’

  The Abbot held up his paws for silence all round. ‘What is it, Simeon?’

  The blind mouse leaned out across the battlements, his whiskers quivering slightly. ‘Metal, I thought I could hear metal . . . Yes, there it is! Any signs on the path?’

  ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘Sssh, there it is again, over there on the woodland edge – metal. Wait . . . it’s chains, I can hear chains!’

  Saxtus sprang up between the battlements with a whoop. ‘Hurrah! It’s them, I can see Rufe Brush leading the slaves out of Mossflower on to the path. Hi Rufe!’

  Flagg acted speedily. ‘Marm, put an arrow to your bow and stand beside me here. We’ll keep them covered. Saxtus, Foremole, Gabe, you’ll find spears down by the main gate. Take twenty with you and escort them back in. Keep your wits about you an’ your eyes open. Hurry now, they may be followed by searats!’

  Without further event the last eleven slaves made it into the safety of Redwall Abbey. As the chains were being cut from their wasted limbs, the Abbot questioned the three squirrels who had taken part in the rescue. Treerose and Oak Tom were crying; even the normally tough Rufe Brush broke down and wept bitterly as they related what they had seen at the magnificent last stand of the long patrol.

  ‘They didn’t stand a chance, yet they came through the centre of that searat camp laughing and joking. They were completely surrounded!’

  Oak Tom was pale, his voice low and trembling. ‘I never thought that was what they meant to do, but it was the only thing they could have done to free the slaves. What makes it all so strange is that they knew what would happen, how it must end!’

  Treerose accepted a spotted handkerchief from Foremole. ‘Oh, they were so brave! Rosie smiled at me and said she’d see me back here. Oh, Father Abbot, why did they do it?’

  Abbot Bernard shook his head gently. ‘Who knows, child, who knows? Certainly none of us at Redwall. We are infants in the ways of war. Colonel Clary and his hares were complete warriors. Their seasons were numbered from birth – they knew this was the day their fates were sealed.’

  Saxtus hung his head. ‘Yet they knew they were helping Redwall and bringing liberty to the slaves, so they went to meet their destinies smiling and joking. I was wrong about the hares and I’ll always remember that when I make judgements about other creatures.’

  Simeon and the Abbot went back to lock the main gates before turning in. Dawnlight was beginning to flush the skies.

  ‘Triumph and tragedy in the one night, old friend.’

  The Abbot kicked away a stone which was hindering the closing gate. ‘Right, Simeon . . . Hey, you two, come in here. Right now!’

  Bagg and Runn came strolling through the gateway in their nightshirts. Abbot Bernard wagged a stern paw at them.

  ‘You two rascals should be fast asleep in bed. What are you doing out here on the path, may I ask?’

  Bagg rubbed his eyes sleepily. ‘Wavin’ g’bye to Flagg an’ Mum Mell’s.’

  Throwing the gate back open, the Abbot hurried out on to the path. ‘Flagg and Mother Mellus? I can’t see them. Are you telling whoppers?”

  Two heads shook vigorously.

  ‘No, Father Habbit, sir. Honestly!’

  ‘They went up that way an’ into the woods.’ Runn pointed north.

  ‘An’ they was carryin’ those big bows an’ lots of arrers too!’

  35

  GABOOL UNSHEATHED HIS sword and glared suspiciously at the three Captains who had stridden into Fort Bladegirt at the head of their crews.

  ‘What are you three doin’ here? What d’yer want?’

  ‘You told us to come back here, Gabool.’

  ‘King Gabool. You call me King, d’ye hear. Anyway, what news?’

  ‘No news. Greypatch an’ that dratted Darkqueen have vanished from the seas – no sign of ’em anywhere.’

  Gabool tugged absently at his matted beard. ‘That’s no news. I’ve taken care of Greypatch an’ Darkqueen long ago. Belay, have you three swabs been sinkin’ ships in Terramort cove?’

  ‘Ships, what ships?’

  ‘Two of ’em, haharr, but never mind that. Have ye heard the bell? What about the great badger, did yer clap eyes on him?’

  Riptung looked from Hookfin to Grimtooth. All three raised their eyebrows and shrugged. They watched as Gabool went across to the bell.

  ‘See that! They don’t hear ye, so why should I?’

  ‘So it’s right, he’s mad as a gaffed fish,’ Riptung whispered to Grimtooth.

  Gabool spun round. ‘Avast, don’t you three start plottin’ behind me back!’

  Riptung took a cask from one of his crew. He banged it down upon the table, stoving its head in with the hilt of his sword. ‘Nobeast’s talkin’ about yer, King Gabool. Come an’ share a beaker o’ this wine that I won!’

  Grimtooth strode to the window. He stood drinking his wine and looking out to sea, then turned, laughing, to the others.

  ‘Hoho. Lookit, mates, ’ere comes the Waveblade, sailin’ inter the cove like a stranded sardine. Haharr, I’ll wager ol’ Orgeye’s still in his bunk snorin’.”

  They crowded to the windows to watch. Hookfin tugged Riptung’s sleeve urgently. ‘Did you leave any watch aboard yer vessel, matey?’

  Riptung swung a claw back over his shoulder. ‘No, they’re all up ’ere with me. Why?’

  Hookfin pointed down at the three ships. ‘Then who’s movin’ those vessels out ter sea?’

  Riptung drew his sword and faced Gabool. ‘This is one o’ your tricks. What’s yer game?’

  But Gabool did not hear the angry Captain, he was staring wild-eyed at the hulking figure that paced the deck of the Waveblade, distant but unmistakable.

  ‘Aaaaah! It’s him, it’s the badger!’

  Immediately the three searat Captains and their King started bellowing orders to the packed hall.

  ‘Get down t’ the cove, stop the Blacksail puttin’ out t’ sea!’

  ‘Kill the badger. I’ll make any rat a Cap’n who slays him!’

  ‘Stop the Nightwake, some scurvy slob’s tryin’ to steal her!’

  ‘The badger! Kill the badger, shipmates!’

  ‘Get after the Crabclaw, buckoes. Bring ’er back t’ me!’

  ‘Whoever kills the badger is a rich rat, you
got Gabool’s oath on that!’

  Mariel stared at the three searat ships as Waveblade sailed into Terramort cove. Rawnblade swung the tiller, navigating between them.

  ‘Strange, they’ve just arrived yet they’re going out again.’

  Tarquin shaded his eyes and peered across. ‘Aye, an’ those aren’t searats who are sailin’ them. What d’you think’s goin’ on?’

  ‘Ahoy there, Mariel!’

  The mousemaid gasped. There standing on the shore of the cove, waving at her, was Dandin. She jumped up and down, waving back.

  ‘Dandin, Dandin! Stay there, we’re coming ashore!’

  They plunged over into the shallows and waded on to the beach.

  Dandin hugged and patted Tarquin and Mariel, who in their turn squeezed him tightly, ruffling his whiskers and patting his paws as if they could not believe it was really him. Smiling happily (and sniffling a little), Dandin managed to extricate himself from the welcoming huddle.

  ‘I thought you were dead, I was certain you’d been drowned, though there wasn’t much time to think about that with the fix me and Durry found ourselves in. I tell you, don’t ever become an oarslave, it’s worse than being captured by the Flitchaye!’

  When the reunion was finished and Lord Rawnblade had been introduced, Mariel looked about. ‘Where’s Durry?’

  No sooner had she spoken than, in company with two hooded shrews, Durry came pounding down the path to the cove. The young hedgehog looked very dashing, wearing a broad leather belt with several daggers bristling from it and a hood on his head.

  ‘Oh, Durry, you do look a proper swashbuckler and no mistake!’ Mariel laughed.

  However, Durry Quill was in no mood for banter. Puffing and blowing, he waved back over his shoulder. ‘Phew! Quick, ’urry up, there’s about five ’undred searats ’ot on me trail. They’re comin’ after you, I think. Mikla, Flann, get that ship out to sea. I’ll take these friends to the caves. Hurry!’