Mattimeo (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Hawhawhaw. Silly old blighter. I say, the weasel chappie’s trying to eat the other juggling balls. Ooohoohoo, they’re real wooden ones! Spit ’em out, old lad, y’ll break your teeth.’

  Slagar was prancing about the tabletops, giving out paper butterflies to the young ones, they flew just like real butterflies. Nobody noticed that every time he passed a jug, flagon or bowl a little powder was dropped into the drink.

  Skirting the back of the gathering, Slagar stood behind the flames of the baking pit and threw a pawful of powder into the fire. It caused a whoosh of green flame to shoot upward. Leaping across the pit, the sly one seemed to materialize out of the middle of the emerald-coloured flames.

  ‘Stellar Lunaris, Lunar Stellaris! I am the Lord of Mountebanks. Is there one among you named Ambrose Spike?’

  ‘Aye, that’s me over here. But how did you know my name?’

  ‘The Lord of moon and stars knows all, Ambrose Spike. You are the keeper of the cellars, and your October ale next season will be even better than before.’

  ‘Well I’m blowed, the jolly old firejumper knows about you, Spike me lad.’

  Slagar whirled round. ‘Is that Basil Stag Hare I hear speaking, famed scout and retired foot fighter?’

  ‘Aye, and famous glutton and singer of dreadful songs.’

  The sly one cocked an ear. ‘Hark! Is that the voice of Mrs Lettie Bankvole, mother of baby Rollo?’

  Mrs Bankvole was flabbergasted. ‘Oh haha, yes, that’s me. But how did you know, Mr Stellaris?’

  ‘Gather round, gather round, good creatures of Redwall Abbey. I will tell you of secrets known only to the Lord of Mountebanks. But first you must drink a toast to the two who caught the big carp, your Abbot and your Warrior, two of the noblest, most brave creatures that ever lived.’

  Fleaback, Skinpaw, Wartclaw, Scringe and the rest dashed around the tables, chuckling heartily and tickling little ones behind the ears while filling up every beaker and bowl.

  Foremole stood up on a bench. ‘Yurr’s to Mattwise ee Wurrier, an’ yurr’s to Habbot ‘Dalfuzz. Gudd ’elth, gennelbeasts.’

  Beakers and bowls clinked together as the toast was drunk.

  Slagar threw another pawful of dust into the fire. This time it rose up golden and smoking in a column as he called out in an eerie voice:

  ‘Stellar Lunaris Fortuna Mandala, hark to me, all creatures.’

  Mattimeo was fascinated by the magic fox. He put his cider down and watched with rapt attention. Now the fox had taken off his flowing silken cloak. He held it up and swirled it in front of him, slowly at first then getting faster and faster, chanting as he did:

  ‘See the stars, see the moon,

  Penned around by blackest night.

  See the diamonds red and purple,

  Silk and fire and blood and light.

  See them turning, ever turning,

  Like a great mandala wheel,

  Spinning as the fire is burning.

  What is false and what is real. . .?’

  From somewhere near, Mattimeo could hear Mrs Churchmouse gently snoring. He tried to fix his eyes on the swirling cloak as it turned from diamond patterns to star-studded night skies. The fox’s voice droned on and on, until finally Mattimeo could no longer keep his leaden eyelids from drooping.

  He fell asleep across the table full of good food, well entertained and completely happy.

  11

  THE DAY DAWNED humid and grey. Soon huge dark cloud masses bunched in a lowering sky, occasionally cut through by forked lightning flashes over to the west. Thunder rumbled dully from the far horizons of the Golden Plain, then drops of rain, each one as big as a beechnut, began falling.

  Constance the badger was wakened by the wetness, combined with the scream of distress from baby Rollo.

  ‘Mama!’

  All around the badger, Redwall creatures were wakening, groaning and stumbling about in the heavy downpour.

  Matthias held his throbbing head with one paw as he shook Constance. ‘Quickly, let’s get them all in out of the rain. Was that somebody shouting a moment ago?’

  ‘Mama, Mama, wake up!’

  Constance came fully awake as thunder boomed out overhead and the scene was lit by a branch of forked lightning.

  ‘It’s baby Rollo over by the north wallgate!’

  Hurrying through the battering thunderstorm, Constance and Matthias dashed to where the little bankvole sat crying by the small gate low in the sandstone wall. He was shaking the still form of Mrs Lettie Bankvole.

  ‘Mama, oh Mama, please wake up, I’m getting wet!’

  The warrior mouse’s head began to clear with the rain. ‘Cornflower, over here! Take this little one inside. We must find out what’s been going on here.’

  Cornflower scurried off, carrying baby Rollo in her paws as she shielded him from the wet with her body.

  ‘There, there, little Rollo, you come with me. Matthias and Constance will see to your mama.’

  Basil Stag Hare dashed to join them, a skinny bedraggled figure in the rain. ‘Oh, me poor old head. Hello, what’s up, you two?’

  Constance sat by the pitiful bundle on the grass, wiping rainwater from her eyes. ‘She’s dead! Matthias, who could have done this?’

  Matthias had his forehead flat against the wall. Rain mingled with the tears that filled his eyes.

  ‘Who else but that rotten fox and his venomous gang. I was taken in, fooled! Oh, the filthy cowards! How could they murder a helpless creature like Mrs Bankvole?’

  From behind the open walldoor there came a faint moan. Matthias straightened up quickly and rushed towards the door as it swung back. John Churchmouse staggered out from behind the door, blood flowing from his temple where an ugly cut ran a jagged line from ear to ear. Matthias caught him, holding him up against the wall in the pouring rain.

  ‘John, are you all right? What happened?’

  The churchmouse wiped rainwater and blood from his eyes. He was obviously in deep shock, reliving the horrific events that he had witnessed.

  ‘Stop . . . stop them . . . Get back, Mrs Bankvole. . . . No, no! Come on, Hugo. . . . Got to stop them. . . . Blood . . . can’t see. . . . Where’s Hugo, where’s Hugo. . .?’

  He collapsed senseless against Matthias.

  Constance stepped in, sweeping the unconscious churchmouse up with a single paw. ‘I’ll get John inside. Winifred, cover Mrs Bankvole with a tablecloth for the moment. Matthias, Basil, see if you can find Friar Hugo!’

  The big badger hurried off through the curtain of rain with her burden.

  The warrior mouse and the hare searched frantically around the grounds in the increasing downpour.

  ‘Friar Hugo, where are you?’

  ‘Hugo, come on, old lad. Call out if you can hear us!’

  Winifred the otter bumped into Matthias as he rounded the bell tower. ‘No sign of Hugo?’ she asked.

  ‘None at all, Winifred. He must have followed them out of the grounds. Hi, Basil! Come on, let’s search the woodland outside the gate.’

  The rain made loud splattering noises as it burst upon the tree canopy. Visibility was bad with rising mist in the woods.

  Matthias searched in the loam, beneath bushes, behind trees and among ferns. Nearby he could hear Basil muttering through the deluge, ‘Come on, Hugo, you old pan-walloper, show y’self. I promise I’ll never raid your kitchens again, cross m’ heart and hope to starve.’

  Winifred the otter shook water from her sleek coat as she bobbed up and down, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hugo in the distance. She checked with Matthias.

  ‘I don’t think a fat little mouse like Hugo could have travelled further than this. Perhaps we’d better make our way back to the Abbey and search the grounds more thoroughly,’ she suggested.

  Suddenly Matthias went rigid. ‘Listen, can you hear something, Winifred?’

  A muffled noise came to them through the rain. The otter pointed. ‘Over there. Quick!’

  They crashed though
the undergrowth to the place where the sound came from.

  It was Basil Stag Hare. He was crouching on the wet ground, hugging something to him and sobbing brokenly.

  Matthias felt a huge lump like a lead weight in his chest as he knelt beside the hare. Winifred turned away, unable to look. The fat little Redwall cook lay limp and dead, unaware of the rain that beat down upon the favourite dockleaf his tail still held in its curl. Tears coursed openly down Basil’s cheeks as he hugged the still form.

  ‘Hugo old lad, what did they do to you?’

  Winifred knelt with her friends. Silently she began brushing the loam and soil from the sodden habit and once spotless white apron of the beloved little Friar, then without warning she broke down and began weeping like a baby.

  ‘He never did harm to a living creature. Why this. . . . Why?’

  Basil stood slowly, his legs shaking as he held Hugo in his paws. ‘Permission to carry my old friend back to his Abbey?’

  Matthias remained kneeling on the ground, his fur saturated by the ceaseless rain.

  ‘Permission granted, Basil. Winifred, will you tell them I’ll be a little late back to Great Hall.’ The Warrior’s voice trembled as he spoke.

  As Matthias watched his friends depart, he picked up the dockleaf that had fallen from Friar Hugo’s lifeless tail and pressed it to his lips in silent remembrance of his friend.

  Inside the Great Hall of the Abbey a large brazier had been set up and lit. Steam rose from the fur of all the creatures as they rubbed themselves off on rough towels. Sister May from the infirmary moved among them, giving out doses of herbal medidne. Many sat on the stone floor, clutching their heads tightly to relieve splitting headaches. Matthias strode in, followed by Basil Stag Hare. He clattered his swordblade against a sandstone column to gain attention.

  ‘Abbot, Constance, Winifred, Jess Squirrel, Warbeak Sparra, Foremole and you, Basil, follow me down to Cavern Hole. The rest of you, stay inside, keep dry and warm, and look after those who are not well.’

  A semblance of order was restored in Great Hall. Hot soup was being made in the kitchen, warm blankets were distributed by Brother Rufus and Sister Agnes, Sister May and Mrs Churchmouse tended John Churchmouse in the infirmary, while Cornflower took charge of baby Rollo.

  Down the steps in Cavern Hole, Matthias sat at the big table with the others. He looked around.

  ‘Well, did any creature see what went on last night, can anyone shed any light on this terrible thing? I want straight answers, no guesses, please.’

  There was silence, then the Abbot said, ‘We will have to wait until John Churchmouse is recovered sufficiently to talk. The only other two witnesses to what went on are no longer with us.’

  There was a stunned silence as the enormity of events sat like a heavy stone upon the little group.

  Jess Squirrel stood up slowly. ‘I’ll go to the infirmary and see how Mr Churchmouse is faring.’

  Basil livened up. ‘That’s the ticket, Jess. Action, that’s what we need. Now, where do we start.’

  The Abbot folded his paws into his wide sleeves. ‘At the beginning, Basil. I think we all know who did this shocking thing.’

  ‘Harr, boi ‘okey we do, zurr,’ Foremole growled, ‘’twas they rascally durtbags, foxes an’ the loik, they’m magicked us t’ sleepen.’

  ‘Magicked my auntie’s tail,’ Winifred the otter snorted. ‘That was a powerful sleeping draught. We should’ve known not to trust a fox, should never have let ’em in.’

  Matthias banged the tabletop hard. ‘Enough! No accusations or blame-laying, please. Now, you say that we were drugged by a sleeping draught, well, that makes sense. I remember the fox asking us to drink a toast. He could have slipped herbs or powders into the drinks any time at all while we were watching the entertainment.’

  Ambrose Spike had walked in. His stickles rose stiffly. ‘Aye, that’s what he did, the scummy toad. Then he started twirlin’ that cloak thing of his round and round. I couldn’t keep me old eyes open.’

  There were murmurs of agreement.

  ‘Me too, it’s the last thing I remember.’

  ‘Aye, we were mesmerized, I tell you.’

  ‘Lunar Stellaris my back paw, colossal cheek more like it, wot?’

  Foremole’s ground logic took over. ‘Hurr, but wot worr ee arfter?’

  ‘That’s the question.’ Matthias sighed heavily. ‘We don’t keep treasure or precious things that could be looted. There’s only the sword and our great tapestry. I have the sword and I know our tapestry still hangs in Great Hall, I’ve seen it with my own eyes this very morning. So what was he after?’

  Warbeak the Sparra Queen shook a wing. ‘They um worms, must come from the northlands. All bad in north. They go back that way, open little wormgate in north wall.’

  Basil seconded Warbeak. ‘D’ y’ know, I believe you’re right, old thing. When the bally rain stops chuckin’ down I’ll try and track ’em. Huh, ’fraid there won’t be much to track after this downpour, though.’

  ‘I think the Brothers and Sisters should take stock of everything, just in case there is something missing,’ the Abbot suggested. ‘Foremole, would you get a burial detail of your moles to dig two graves next to each other? Basil, perhaps you could see what you can find around that small north wallgate. The rest of you, when the rain stops, please help to bring the tables and stuff back in. We’d best get the Abbey back to normal running as soon as possible.’

  Matthias stood up resolutely. ‘Right, that’s it then. I think I’ll take a walk up to the infirmary and see how John is.’

  Sister May and Mrs Churchmouse cautioned Matthias to be silent as he entered the sick bay. John Churchmouse lay pale and still but breathing evenly.

  ‘How is he?’ Matthias whispered.

  Mrs Churchmouse smiled. ‘Alive and recovering, thank you, Matthias.’

  John opened his eyes slowly and looked around. Matthias pressed his head back to the pillow as he tried to rise. ‘Take it easy, old friend, just lie there. But if you feel like talking, perhaps you could tell us what you remember of last night. Nobody knows what went on at the feast.’

  Tears beaded in John’s eyes. ‘Friar Hugo and I had full cups already, so we didn’t let them pour us more ale. Poor Mrs Bankvole was too busy looking after her baby to join in the toast. Matthias, there’s no doubt about it, you were all drugged, even then Hugo and I were half hypnotized by that fox with the cape. When we saw what was going on we ran after them and tried to stop it, all three of us, the Friar, Mrs Bankvole and myself.’

  ‘But what did go on, what were they after, John?’ Matthias had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach as he asked the question.

  The churchmouse broke down sobbing. ‘Our young ones, Matthias. They took my Tim and Tess, Sam Squirrel, Cynthia Bankvole and your Mattimeo!’

  An icy daw gripped Matthias’s heart. The words echoed from the doorway where Cornflower stood with baby Rollo.

  ‘Mattimeo gone!’

  ‘My Tim and Tess! Oh, say it’s not true!’ Mrs Churchmouse’s voice was equally tinged with disbelief.

  Baby Rollo was hidden by the aprons of Cornflower and Mrs Churchmouse as they hugged each other and wept. John raised his head.

  ‘Little Cynthia Vole and Sam Squirrel too, they took them all,’ he said sadly.

  Sister May began bathing John’s wound. She dabbed away the tears that fell upon his brow.

  ‘Poor Jess, whatever will we tell her? Dearie me, little Cynthia is an orphan. Bless the mite, what will become of her? What a cruel and heartless thing to do. Those wicked beasts, stealing our young ones away. What badness!’

  Matthias put his paw about Cornflower’s shaking shoulders. He was numbed. Thoughts of his son raced through his mind; the stern lecture he had given him, the double tasks. Now he was gone. It was as if half of his heart had gone too. He loved Mattimeo, who would do little things that reminded him so much of himself and Cornflower. Poor Cornflower. Even now she was trying to b
e brave, comforting Mrs Churchmouse.

  Matthias held her tighter. ‘Don’t worry, Cornflower, I’ll bring our son back. I’ll bring them all back. Nothing can stop me doing that. He’ll be back in his own bed in the gatehouse cottage soon, you’ll see.’

  Mrs Churchmouse went to tend John and Sister May slipped off to break the sad news to Jess Squirrel. Cornflower took Rollo over to the infirmary window. She stared out at the rain.

  ‘I won’t be going back to our gatehouse until Mattimeo is back,’ she declared. ‘I’ll stay at the Abbey and mind Rollo.’

  Matthias nodded silently as Cornflower dried her eyes and sighed, ‘Oh Mattimeo, I hope no harm comes to you, my son. Poor Mattimeo.’

  Baby Rollo spread his paws wide, his face as sad as Cornflower’s. ‘Pore ’timeo gone’d. Aaaahhhhh!’

  Matthias joined them at the window, staring out into the rain. Sorrow and pain mingled with the cold lights of rage and vengeance in his eyes.

  12

  MATTIMEO DID NOT know at first whether he was awake or dreaming. The tip of his ear itched irritatingly, but it was as if there were leaden weights on his limbs. He could only raise his paw halfway, then the other paw would start to come upward as if pulled like a puppet on a string. From faraway he heard unpleasant sniggering and a loud swishing noise.

  Crack!

  The young mouse arched his back in agony as a searing pain lanced across him. His eyes opened with shock. He saw Vitch swinging a long thin willow cane. The second blow caught him low across the flanks. Stung by pain and rage, Mattimeo tried to leap up and teach the little rat a good lesson, but he stumbled, falling backwards with manacles clanking around him.

  He was chained!

  Vitch laughed nastily and raised the whipping cane slowly. ‘Come on, spoilt baby, little Abbey pet, what are you going to do now, eh?’