Mariel Of Redwall

by Brian Jacques

  The three squirrels went off through the top terraces of the woodlands like greased lightning. Ready paws gripped the stretcher, steadying Rosie as the group broke into a fast trot.

  Greypatch limped badly from an arrow that had pierced his leg. He gazed around at the smashed cage, the smouldering embers of last night’s fires and the carcasses of dead searats that littered the ground like fallen leaves. They were piled in a heap in the middle of the camp. He prodded the lifeless forms with his sword. Somewhere beneath that heap lay two hares and a squirrel. The searat Captain shook his head and slumped down upon a rock.

  ‘Three hares and a squirrel did all this?’ he murmured disbelievingly.

  Deadglim shambled over. He leaned on a broken spear, nursing the place where his left ear had been. ‘Eighteen left alive, Cap’n. Well, it would be a score, but two went after the hare that got away.’

  Greypatch massaged his leg, wincing. ‘Eighteen, is that all!’

  ‘Aye, Cap’n. What’s yer orders?’

  Greypatch stared into the surrounding forest. He had come to hate Mossflower country; the whole thing had been a catalogue of disaster since they arrived. He had stolen the Darkqueen and set sail from Terramort with a crew of a hundred able-bodied searats, and now he was sitting in this landlocked hell of greenery with only eighteen left.

  ‘Tell the crew to pack up, lock, stock ’n’ barrel. We’re pullin’ out o’ this stinkin’ place. I’m goin’ to find the Darkqueen, get ’er seaworthy an’ sail out to the open sea, where we can breath again!’

  A slow smile formed upon Deadglim’s coarse face. ‘Aye-aye, Cap’n Greypatch. I’ll do that with pleasure, sir!’

  Treerose paced the corridor outside the sickbay.

  Abbot Bernard came out with a basin and a stained towel. ‘Ah, Treerose. See if you can get some clean warm water and a fresh towel for me, pretty one.’

  Treerose’s voice betrayed great anxiety. ‘How is Rosie, Father?’

  The Abbot wiped his paws on his wide sleeves, a smile creasing his kindly face. ‘D’you know, I didn’t believe it at first, but she’s going to be all right. Thanks to your warning, the creatures who got her here so fast, and the marvellous skills of Simeon and Sister Sage. Yes, Treerose, she’s going to be around for quite a number of seasons yet to come. So you stop that crying now and get me fresh water and a clean towel.’

  Mother Mellus came out to stand in the corridor with the Abbot. ‘What was all that about, Father?’

  ‘Oh, nothing really. It just surprises me how overnight that young squirrel has changed from a spoilt brat into a really nice helpful creature.’

  Mellus patted the Abbot’s frail back. ‘Hmm, then we must be doing something right, the way we bring our young ones up at Redwall, eh!’

  The Abbot bowed gallantly. ‘The way you bring them up, Mellus.’

  Saxtus lay on his back in the strawberry patch with the Dibbuns. Bagg and Runn chattered incessantly as they decimated the latest crop of ripe fruit.

  ‘Have all the searats gone now, Sax’us?’

  ‘Suppose so. We haven’t seen them for a while.’

  ‘An’ they’re not comin’ back to ‘ttack the Abbey again?’

  ‘I hope not. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Oh nuts! I wanted ’em t’ come back so I could fight ’em!’

  ‘No you don’t little one. We’ve had enough fighting and killing. Isn’t it much nicer lying here filling your tummy with strawberries in the sun?’

  ‘Mm, s’pose so, but I can’t get at the biggest ’n’ juiciest ’n’ squashiest ones.’

  ‘Why not?’

  “Cos you’re lyin’ on ’em. Hohohoho!’

  Saxtus got up slowly, feeling the cold juice running down his back. ‘Well, thank you for telling me so soon!’

  Grubb plonked himself down and began stuffing strawberries three at a time. ‘Oi sees ’ee winds blowed all ’ee strawbly trees away agin.’

  Sister Sage was creeping from the sickbay with Simeon on tip-paw. They had done all they could with the hare’s dreadful injuries; now they decided it was best that she sleep and recuperate. The hinge squeaked as Sister Sage opened the door.

  Rosie opened one eye and peeked through the bandaged slit. ‘Never died after all, wot . . . good . . . show!’

  Simeon leaned on Sister Sage’s arm. ‘Incredible! Totally unbelievable. I’ve heard of cats having nine lives, but that Rosie, she’s the limit!’

  Sister Sage shut the door as quietly as possible. ‘Or the absolute bally limit, as Colonel Clary would have said.’

  37

  ‘DO YOU KNOW where we are now?’

  Mariel and Rawnblade shook their heads. They were completely lost on their guided tour of the tunnels of Terramort.

  Joseph pointed ahead. ‘Go up there – careful now because it’s the end of this particular tunnel – and you’ll see a couple of gorsebushes. Just part them and tell me what you see.’

  As they carried out his instructions, Mariel drew in a sharp breath. ‘It’s Fort Bladegirt, right across on the next hill!’

  Joseph nodded. ‘I can take you to another branch of this same tunnel that brings you out on the other side of the fort, or yet another which will bring you out at the back of Bladegirt. Well, does it give you any ideas?’

  ‘A three-pronged invasion?’

  ‘You took the words out of my mouth, Lord Rawnblade. Anything else you’d like to see?’

  ‘Yes, Father. I’d like to see these other two exits. I’m beginning to get a few ideas myself.’

  ‘Hmm, I thought you would. Come on then, follow me.’

  Down below in the main cave, Dandin, Durry and Tarquin were making friends with the freed slaves of the Trag society. A young shrew and some of his companions sat questioning them.

  ‘Where do you come from?’

  ‘Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country.’

  The youngster gazed at them with shining eyes. ‘Redwall Abbey, Mossflower country. Does it look as nice as it sounds?’

  Tarquin strummed his harolina. ‘You can bet your fluffy bedsocks it does, young thingummy. Here, Dandin, give me a trill on your whistle while I tune me jolly instrument up an’ I’ll tell ’em all about it.’

  Dandin tootled away on his ancestor’s flute until between them he and the hare had a rollicking air going. The Trag members tapped their paws on the rocks to the infectious music as Tarquin sang.

  ‘On the old brown path from north to south

  Is a place you’d love to stay in.

  Come one, come all, to old Redwall,

  And hear what I am sayin’.

  There’s an orchard there that’s fat and fair

  With apple, berry, plum and pear.

  There’s a pond with fish and all you’d wish

  To grace a supper table dish.

  They’ve a nice soft bed to rest your head,

  Or sleep beneath the trees instead.

  If you meet the Abbot then be sure to shake him by the paw.

  On the old brown path from north to south

  It’s peaceable an’ free where

  Our Abbey stands amid woodlands,

  I’m sure you’d love to be there!’

  There was loud cheering, and Tarquin was requested to sing the ditty twice more. Durry leaped up and danced with a vole and a dormouse. Afterwards they sat about talking. Redwall was the chief topic of discussion among the freed slaves, most of whom had never known or could not remember a place they called home.

  ‘Do you have lots of nice things to eat at Redwall?’

  ‘My spikes y’do! Summercream woodland puddens, deeper ’n’ ever pies, strawb’rry flans, blueberry scones, raspb’rry muffins, cheeses you couldn’t count, an’ cordials, teas, wines an’ October ale that me ’n’ my ol’ nuncle Gabe makes in our cellars!’

  ‘And every creature is free there, Mr Woodsorrel?’

  ‘Free as the air, young feller, peaceful as the flowers that grow an’ happy t’ wake up among friends
each dawn, wot!’

  ‘Will you take us there, Dandin? Oh, please say you will!’

  Dandin held up his paws. ‘Of course. You have my promise on it, though Mother Mellus’ll probably grab you all and bath the lot of you on sight!’

  A small hedgehog sat enraptured with every word he had heard. ‘Mother! You mean they have a mother there? I can’t remember having a mother. D’you think she’ll be my mother too?’

  ‘What’s your name, young ’un?’

  ‘Barty. That’s my sister Dorcas. She’s younger than me, I think.’

  Durry patted their soft unformed spikes. ‘You can live with me an’ Nuncle Gabe. I’ll teach ’ee t’ be cellar ’ogs.’

  When Joseph returned with Mariel and Rawnblade a full meeting was called. Freed slaves crowded into the big cavern.

  Rawnblade expressed surprise at the numbers. ‘Quite a sizeable army, Joseph. I didn’t think there was so many.’

  The bellmaker indicated a crowd packing the ledges at the rear. ‘Our Trag warriors who stole three of the searat ships have brought us many oarslaves who wish to join us. All of these have been landed from the three ships we captured. There must be close on a hundred new arrivals, though we are still far below in numbers compared to the searats.’

  Mariel stood alongside her father. ‘Not to worry, we’ve got their ships. It’s the rats who are trapped on this island and not us. Besides, we’ll have the advantage of cover and surprise. Lord Rawnblade, would you like to outline our plan?’

  The badger took a charred stick from the fire and drew upon the rockface. ‘This is Fort Bladegirt. We will attack tonight when they are sleeping. These three tunnels come out into the hills both sides and behind the fort. Mariel, you and your friends will lead one-third of our force to attack from the left. Joseph my friend, you will lead the other third from the right, that way they will be under pressure from both sides. My Mariel will tell you what to do.’

  Mariel took over, flattered that such a warrior as the Lord of Salamandastron was consulting her judgement, recognizing in the mousemaid a fellow warrior spirit.

  ‘Use bows and slings. Don’t attempt to climb the walls into the courtyard. Stay well hidden and use the ground above the tunnel entrances – that way we can send arrows and stones down at them – but remain silent, don’t give the searats any noisy or standing targets to fire back at, and keep slinging rocks and firing arrows as hard as you can. Tarquin, once the rats are occupied in fighting us on both sides you will attack the front gates of the courtyard. Take the rest of the force with you, and make as much noise as possible. You will have a battering ram to smash away at the gates with. We will besiege them from three sides. Tarquin, your squad will be armed with spears, bows and long pikes. Got that?’

  ‘Understood, old scout. What happens then?’

  ‘I come from the back!’ Lord Rawnblade explained. ‘I will pick my moment – it will be when most of the searats are defending the front gate from your battering ram. Outside the tunnel at the rear of the fort is a big boulder on the hillside. I will send it down the hill to smash through the rear courtyard wall. Joseph, the moment you see the boulder start to roll, bring your force down from the right to back me up. Mariel, you bring your creatures down from the left to join Woodsorrel. I’m banking on the rats doing an about-turn and coming to face me. If the ram hasn’t battered the gates down, you must prop it against them and use it as a ladder. Well, that is the plan: first they’ll be attacked from the left and right, then from the front and back. Once we are inside the courtyard we can force our way into the fort itself, then it’s good luck to whoever finds Gabool.’

  By unanimous decision the plan was voted a good one.

  Joseph stood to have a final word with the occupants of the cavern. Grey-furred as he was, the bellmaker stood tall in their eyes, the suffering and indignities he had put up with etching his strong face, righteous vengeance ringing out from his voice like the sound of his own great bell.

  ‘Hear me. This is the time I have waited for; we will rid the earth of searats for all seasons to come. No more are you slaves, you are the fighters of Trag. If victory is ours tomorrow, we have ships to sail away from this accursed island. Let us leave this place deserted, as a monument to the death and misery it has caused to creatures everywhere!’

  When the wild cheering had died down, the two small hedgehogs Barty and Dorcas called out. ‘We’re going to Redwall Abbey to live!’

  Rawnblade picked them both up, one in each huge paw. ‘If I know the good creatures of that place . . . you’re all going there!’

  The cavern echoed and re-echoed to the wild applause of Trag warriors, none of them knowing what the morrow would bring, but each one fervently wishing his or her desire to go and live in the fabled Redwall.

  38

  GREYPATCH AND HIS band were lost.

  They stumbled about in the vastnesses of Mossflower Woods, not knowing which direction to take next. Each place they arrived at looked the same as the spot they had started from.

  Oak Tom sat high in a chestnut tree, watching them. He tested the point of his lance and shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t leave ’em in charge of a Dibbuns’ spring outin’, any of ’em!’

  Deadglim slumped wearily on the ground. ‘Belay, Cap’n, you sure you know the right course fer Darkqueen?’

  Greypatch turned on him and vented his temper. ‘I did when we started out, but you wetnosed idiots a-wanderin’ here and an’ yon scroungin’ fer vittles have set me off course. I’m as lost as the rest o’ yer, an’ it’s your fault, not mine!’

  Dripnose threw himself down beside Lardgutt. ‘Yah, what’s the use? I’m stayin’ ’ere until somebeast finds the right way!’

  Greypatch sat down with him, his voice dripping sarcasm. ‘Oh, you are, are yer? So be it. I am too, matey. This way nobeast’ll find the Darkqueen an’ we’ll all sit right ’ere an’ rot!’

  Fishgill came up with a suggestion. ‘Cap’n, why don’t we split into three groups? We could each set course a different way, mark the trees as we go an’ all make our way back ’ere when somerat finds Darkqueen.’

  Greypatch thought about this for a moment then stood up. ‘Fishgill, matey, that’s the first decent idea to come out o’ this load of lunkheads. Right, you take five an’ go thataways. Dripnose, up on yer claws, take five an’ head the other way, over there. I’ll take the other five an’ go straight ahead. Don’t ferget an’ use your blades to mark the trees, otherwise you’ll be lost for ever in this hellridden forest. Right, let’s get goin’.’

  Oak Tom watched them go before leaping down to scar false routes widespread on the treebark with his lancepoint. The squirrel carefully noted the direction taken by Greypatch and his party then set out after the five led by Deadglim. Pushing through the brambles and tripping over tree roots, Deadglim and his rats unwittingly made their course south, back the way they had come, completely lost and in their confusion taking a bumbling path towards Redwall Abbey.

  ‘Turn round and follow Fishgill!’

  Lardgutt pointed into the leafy canopy. ‘It’s a voice from up there.’

  Deadglim dawed nervously at his sword. ‘What d’yer want from us?’

  ‘I’m from the Abbey,’ the mystery voice called back to him. ‘We don’t want you attacking us again. You’re headed for Redwall if you keep on in this direction. Turn round and follow Fishgill. He’s travelling in the direction of your ship Darkqueen!’

  Lardgutt carried on south, calling up in a sneering voice, ‘Aaahh, you could be trickin’ us. I think this way’s the right way!’

  The javelin hissed down from the branches, slaying him on the spot.

  This time the voice was loud and menacing. ‘Take my word for it, fools die! There are many of us up here. Turn round and follow Fishgill, if you value my advice!’

  Deadglim did a swift about-turn. ‘We’re going, look, we’re going! Leave us alone and we won’t be back!’

  A mocking laugh rang out through the t
rees. ‘Go then. Quickly!’

  Oak Tom plucked the javelin from Lardgutt’s carcass as the pounding paws of Deadglim’s party receded into the distance. Before nightfall they would join Fishgill’s party, in the Flitchaye territory. Oak Tom took one look back to the south, where his friends Rufe Brush and Treerose would be giving Clary and Thyme a decent burial at the deserted searat camp. Setting his jaw grimly, he took off through the woodlands on the trail of Greypatch and the remaining five.

  The searat Captain did not know whether to be delighted or disappointed. He stepped out of the foliage and on to the path, leading north with his companions, having travelled in a huge semi-circle.

  ‘Well, at least we’re clear of all that tangle fer a while, mateys. Maybe now we can get some proper bearin’s.’

  A rat named Stumpclaw strained his eyes northward up the path. ‘Ahoy, Cap’n. There’s a ford up ahead. I can see the sunlight on its waters!’

  Relief flooded through Greypatch’s body. He sat down by the side of the path, a tear forming in his single eye.

  ‘If it’s water it’ll run to the sea, mateys, an’ it’ll take us to Darkqueen if it’s the right stream. Stumpclaw, take these buckoes an’ scout the lay o’ the water will yer, matey. Ole Greypatch is weary, I’ll be restin’ me bones ’ere awhile till you get back.’

  On a spruce bough not too far distant, Oak Tom sat watching.

  Greypatch let the summer sun play on his face as he lay back and relaxed. The stream must lead up to Darkqueen, and then down to the sea. Maybe a few more dawns would see him in command of his own ship once more, running south before the breeze, away from Mossflower and the seas where Gabool’s vessels hunted.

  Sleep was just about to embrace Greypatch when loud screams rent the still air. Silently Oak Tom trailed him as he made his way cautiously to the ford. Using the trees to the side of the path as cover, Greypatch sneaked up to within a short distance of the water.