Mattimeo (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  20

  AUMA LIFTED HER head slightly and nodded to Mattimeo. ‘It’s now. They’ve all dozed off. We must go, now!’

  The dagger had been passed from paw to paw, and one by one the captive companions had freed themselves from the manacles. They looked towards Mattimeo, waiting upon his lead.

  Willing himself to move carefully, the young mouse gripped the dagger blade between his teeth and summoned up all his courage. Rising slowly to a crouch, he edged forward along the sunwarmed stone of the riverbank, keeping a wary eye upon the sleeping slavers. Bit by agonizing bit, he crept along until he reached the water. Now he had to be extra careful not to make a splash that would waken their captors. Lowering himself gently into the smooth-flowing waters, Mattimeo caught his breath sharply as his body dipped deep below the warm surface into the cold undercurrent. Holding the rock ledge to keep from being swept away downstream, he nodded towards Sam.

  The young squirrel stood boldly upright and moved straight into the water with a quiet confidence. He waved a paw at Cynthia Bankvole, who shuddered and huddled down against the rock whining. ‘I can’t do it, we’ll be caught and they’ll beat us. I’m scared!’

  Mattimeo gritted his teeth against the dagger with impatience as he snarled against the blade. ‘Move, Cynthia, move! Come on, you’re holding the rest back!’

  Auma gave her a gentle shove, murmuring quietly. ‘Hurry now, there’s a good little vole. You’ll never see home again if you act frightened.’

  The mention of home set Cynthia’s trembling paws in motion. She stood hurriedly, dashed forward, tripped on some loose manacles and fell headlong into the water with a splash. Mattimeo and Sam grabbed her, stifling her mouth with their paws to stop her screaming out in panic. The escapers froze.

  Vitch’s eyelids flickered and a weasel lying by him grumbled in his sleep as he turned over. Auma let out a low sigh of relief. The peace had not been disturbed, the slavers slept on.

  Tim and Jube went next, followed by Tess and Auma. The remaining slaves on the bank lay chained and asleep. None of them would have had the courage or nerve to attempt escaping; they had been captives far longer than Mattimeo and his friends, and they had seen Slagar deal with captured runners. It was not a pretty sight.

  Mattimeo glanced up at the darkening sky gratefully. The twilight would aid them, and it would soon be night. Holding paws and staying close to the bank, the friends pushed their way upstream to the south. It was heavy going. The surface of the river was deceptively calm, belying the cold, tugging undercurrent. Wet habits weighted down by water soon made it even harder for the Redwallers, and they were grateful when Mattimeo pointed to an overhanging rock ledge. He pressed forward, moving slower because of the depth, and behind him he could hear his friends breathing hard through their nostrils as they followed in his wake.

  The rocky overhang was an ideal hiding place. They chose a spot where silverweed and purple loosestrife bloomed thick, drooping over the soil-topped rock ledge to mingle with arrowhead growing from the shallows. It provided a perfect curtain. Crouching low at the rear of the underhang, they nodded silent congratulations to each other.

  Back along the bank, all hell suddenly broke loose with the return of Scringe.

  ‘Come on, you lazy lot, up on your paws. Slagar says you’ve got to— Hey! Look at these loose chains! Halftail, Threeclaws, raise the alarm! There’s been an escape!’

  ‘Escape! Escape! The prisoners have escaped. Search every nook and cranny, they can’t have gone far. Escape! Escape!’

  Browntooth ran slapbang into Threeclaws. The weasel held the tender end of his smarting nose as he glared at the stoat, who sat on the ground rubbing his head. ‘On your paws, clumsyclod. Get searching, hurry!’

  ‘Oh, er, righto. Which prisoners are we searching for?’

  Scringe had been checking the slave lines. He grinned wickedly. ‘That Redwall lot, the female badger and the young hedgehog. Hoho, I wouldn’t like to be in your fur when Slagar gets back.’

  ‘Oh no, not the Redwallers.’ Halftail groaned. ‘Slagar’ll have our guts for garters if that lot have gone missing, ‘specially you, matey. You’re supposed to be in charge.’

  Threeclaws held his throbbing nose indignantly. ‘Who, me? Not the way I heard it, bucko. You’re the one who always wants to be boss when he’s away.’

  Vitch ran about waving his paws. ‘Oh, stop arguing, you blockheads. Let’s find them, or he’ll flay the lot of us alive.’

  Scringe stuck out his paw and tripped Vitch neatly. ‘Watch who you’re calling blockhead, dribblenose. I can see I’ll have to take charge here after the mess you lot have made. Wedgeback, Badrag, go back the way we came. No need to go further than that big hill. Slagar would have spotted them if they’d got that far. Halftail, Damper, search up ahead. The rest of you look around here, under rocks, behind bushes, anywhere they might be hiding. Vitch, Browntooth, into the water and search that river!’

  Vitch stood his ground defiantly. ‘Huh, who are you to be giving orders? I’m not going into any rotten old river. Who can tell how deep it is? Besides, it’s nearly dark and there might be a pike in there or something. Ouch!’

  Threeclaws stood brandishing the willow cane he had laid across Vitch’s back. ‘Do as he says. Get in that river, snivelwhiskers, and you, Browntooth, or I’ll tie you in a sack with rocks and toss you in there myself.’

  With a fine show of moody bad temper, Vitch began lowering himself gingerly into the water, followed by a resigned Browntooth.

  ‘Yah! I suppose we’ll have to do it if the rest of you are too scared to get your paws wet.’ The undersized rat muttered aloud.

  Scringe grabbed a passing weasel. ‘Scared? Who’s scared? Me and Skinpaw will search downstream, you and Browntooth look upstream, and we’ll show you just who’s scared, won’t we mate?’

  Skinpaw looked decidedly unhappy but tried to put a bold face on. ‘Ha, we certainly will . . . You go first, Scringey.’

  Underneath the rock ledge upstream, Tim Churchmouse heard every word. He turned to Mattimeo. ‘What are we going to do, they’re searching the river?’

  Tess plucked a hollow reed and bit the end off it. ‘Look, remember these, remember we lay under the Abbey pond breathing through reeds like this last summer when Constance was looking for us?’

  Mattimeo pulled a reed and bit the end. ‘Oh yes, wasn’t that the time you cut up one of Friar Hugo’s best tablecloths to make a tent?’

  Sam Squirrel blew through a reed to test it. ‘If I remember rightly, that was you, Matti. No time to argue, though. Let’s give it a try.’

  Holding on to each other and the rocks on the riverbed, they submerged, closing their nostrils and using their mouths to breathe through the hollow reeds. It worked perfectly.

  Vitch clung tightly to Browntooth in the centre of the river as they waded neck-high against the flowing current. It was cold and deep. Browntooth shook the rat away from him.

  ‘Gerroff! What are you tryin’ to do, drown me? Go and search that side of the bank, I’ll take a look at the other side. They couldn’t hide in the middle of a river. Look, let go, will you, or we’ll both be swept away.’

  ‘Huh, you’re not soft, are you, baggybelly? This side is full of overgrown ledges, and your side is nice smooth bank. Well, you can nibble your claws, fattie. I’m not going, so there!’

  Browntooth forded his way toward the smooth bank. ‘Do what you like, runt. When Slagar gets back I’ll tell him that you wouldn’t search the river properly, and we’ll see what he has to say about that.’

  ‘Snitch, telltale, gabbygob!’ Vitch waded over towards the ledge, calling back insults.

  Mattimeo could dimly make out the rat’s paws through the debris Vitch was churning up from the riverbed as he waded. The young mouse held his breath as the paws came slowly closer. Another few steps and he would tread on Auma’s back. The badger huddled with the water waving through her coat, unaware of the impending danger as her eyes were shut t
ight. Mattimeo made a sudden decision. It was risky, but worth a try.

  He struck out swiftly at the rat’s paw with the small dagger.

  ‘Yowchooch, glubglub. Help!’ Vitch thrashed about in the water, losing his balance as he tried to clutch his injured paw. Swallowing water, he floundered about for a moment. Then, galvanized by pure terror, he grabbed the overhanging plants and scrambling furiously hauled himself over the rock ledge up on to the bank.

  ‘Aargghh! Browntooth, don’t go near that ledge, mate. There’s a big pike under there. Look, it bit me. Owowowow!’ Vitch rocked back and forth, trying to staunch the flow of blood by stuffing the injured paw into his mouth.

  Browntooth waded hastily across. Avoiding the ledge, he found a part of the bank where he could easily get out of the river.

  ‘Well, they won’t be under there, or anywhere up this end, if there’s pike in the water. Are you sure it was a pike, mate? Maybe it was one of those giant eels with poison teeth. I shouldn’t suck it, if I were you.’

  Vitch spat out hurriedly and rubbed his mouth hard, forgetting the stabbed paw in his panic. ‘Splurr! Yurgh! What’ll I do, supposing that I’ve swallowed some?’

  Browntooth lay flat on the rocky ledge, trying to peer over and get a glimpse of the monster. ‘Oh, you’ll soon know, if you turn purple and green and start swellin’ up. That’ll put a stop to your impudence, eh?’

  Beneath the ledge, Auma could take it no more. The air from the straw was not enough for her, and she broke the surface, blowing hard and sucking in breath.

  ‘Whooaar!’

  Browntooth leapt backwards. Regaining his paws, he trotted off to join the rat.

  ‘Cor, did you hear that, Vitchey? You’re lucky you weren’t eaten alive. It sounded like one of those giant things they talk about that lives in the bluesea place. Hoho, I’m not stopping round here.’

  Mattimeo and the others broke the surface beneath the ledge. Gulping air gratefully, they listened to the cries of the rat and the stoat receding down the bank.

  ‘Maybe I won’t turn purple and green, maybe it was just a sharp rock.’

  ‘Are you kiddin’, bucko? I never heard a rock sound like that.’

  ‘Then it must have been a pike. They don’t have poison teeth, do they?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been bitten by one. How d’you feel?’

  ‘I feel all right, ’cept for my paw. Ooh, it really stings and it won’t stop bleedin’. Look.’

  Cold and numb as they were, the comrades beneath the ledge tried to stifle suppressed giggles.

  Scringe had the remaining captives chained and ready to march. He shrugged in resignation.

  ‘Well, if they can’t be found, then they can’t. So much the worse for us when the boss finds out. Right, let’s march them into that cave over there, then out again and continue south. Wedgeback and Badrag, you cover the tracks coming out, but leave the ones going in.’

  ‘Hmph! Sounds a bit silly, what’ve we go to do that for?’ Badrag grumbled.

  ‘Because that’s what Slagar ordered, numbskull. Now get moving.’

  Darkness had fallen when Matthias and his search party reached the foothills of the gorge. Orlando looked about in the still night, brandishing his axe.

  ‘I don’t like it, Matthias,’ the badger remarked.

  ‘Neither do I, friend, but we’ve got to take the chance. We can’t afford to wait until dawn. They may know we’re following and have pushed on ahead.’

  Basil Stag Hare pulled Cheek back as he tried to bound forward. ‘I agree with you, old scout. Got to take the chance, wot? Faint heart never found fair young uns.’

  ‘Then we’d best stick t’gether in case of a trap,’ Jabez Stump cautioned.

  Jess Squirrel chattered her teeth angrily. ‘Trap! I’ll give them trap if I lay paws on the filthy scum.’

  Matthias silenced them with a wave of his sword. ‘Keep your voices down, sound echoes in a place like this. We’ll push forward fast and see if we can’t spring our own ambush, but Jabez is right, stay together.’

  A half-moon threw its pale light down into the hilly canyon, making eerie shadows as it played with the breeze stirring the stunted trees that grew amid the rocky foothills. Matthias marched silently in the lead, the fur at the back of his neck rising stiffly with the feeling of hidden danger. Orlando dropped to the rear and walked with a sideways shuffle, checking behind them as he gripped his huge war axe low on its haft, ready to swing like a deadly scythe at any back stabbers.

  Perched high on the tor of the hill beside a large mound of rocky rubble, Slagar whispered to Bageye, ‘Where are they now? Can you see them?’

  The stoat nodded. ‘I can make out the shape of their group. They’ve entered the canyon now, see, by those juniper bushes, and they’re heading this way.’

  The Cruel One pulled the eyeslit of the silken hood wide around his eye. ‘Ah yes, that’s our little friends, all right. Now keep perfectly still and have those poles ready to paw. When I give the order, follow my lead.’

  Skinpaw crouched behind Slagar with his paw resting on the long pole that was lodged beneath the rocky pile.

  Without looking back Slagar hissed. ‘Get your scurvy paw off that pole, you idiot. I don’t want even a speck of dust to fall and betray our position.’

  The weasel withdrew his paw swiftly.

  Down in the canyon, Cheek made a bound forward. Jess grabbed him by the tail. ‘Where are you off to, little waterdog?’

  ‘It’s a river. See the moonlight glinting off it? Lemme go.’

  Basil wagged an admonitory ear at the garrulous otter. ‘Steady in the ranks there, young Cheek. This is no time to go swimmin’. Where d’you think you are, at an otters’ divin’ gala?’

  Jabez cast around by the river’s edge. ‘They camped here, for sure. See, some of the damp pawmarks are still visible. Now, let’s see where they’d be movin’ from here.’ The untidy hedgehog rummaged about, snuffling and grunting quietly. ‘There! Yonder cave is the perfect place to stay the night.’

  Matthias peered at the dark cave entrance silhouetted against the lighter hillside scree in the thin moonlight.

  ‘You’re right, Jabez. The good thing about it is it looks as if there’s only one way in or out. We’ll get as close as we can, then rush it. Be careful how you strike in there, we don’t want to injure any young ones. Cheek, you could come in useful there. Do you think you could get the captives out of the cave, away from the battle?’

  The otter withdrew his tail from Jess’s paw and gave a salute. ‘Of course, I promise you they’ll be safe, Matthias.’

  Basil nudged Orlando. ‘Very good, top-hole, wot? Our Cheek shaped up like a proper warrior to that. I knew in me heart there was somethin’ good about that young rip. I was right, give him somethin’ positive t’do an’ he turns up trumps. Mentioned in dispatches, Cheek, m’laddo!’

  Orlando turned to Matthias, his eyes beginning to glint red. ‘The masked fox is mine, warrior.’

  ‘Only if you find him first, friend.’

  ‘Agreed. What are we waiting for?’

  ‘Not a thing. Let’s go!’

  The great sword of Redwall and the battleaxe of the Western Plain swung aloft like twin cold fires in the moongleam.

  ‘Redwaaaaaalllll!’

  ‘Eulaliaaaaa!’

  ‘Mossflowerrrrrr, give ’em blood’n’ vinegar!’

  Three things happened at once.

  The searchers’ war party thundered into the cave, swinging and yelling.

  Seven fugitive heads popped up out of the water at the sounds of their parents and friends.

  Three pairs of enemy paws heaved the poles upwards, sending a landslide of earth, rock, scree and soil hurtling downwards over the mouth of the cave.

  21

  BEESWAX CANDLES GLIMMERED late in Cavern hole.

  Cornflower, Winifred, Foremole and baby Rollo sat at table with the Abbot and Constance. The slim stone tablet lay on a folded towel to
prevent any damage.

  Over a supper of mushroom soup, apple and celery slice, hazelnut bread and hotspice herb beverage, Cornflower had related the strange tale, not forgetting the part baby Rollo had played.

  Abbot Mordalfus shook his head in wonderment. ‘Marvellous! You found the tomb of our Founder, Abbess Germaine, thanks to baby Rollo. Sometimes the gift of an inquisitive nature to the young can be greater than that of the wisdom which comes of age. I trust you put the stone back when you left.’

  Foremole tugged his snout respectfully. ‘Hurr, ’deed oi did zurr, she’m all shut in again naow.’

  ‘Pity, I’d have loved to see it, just once,’ Mordalfus sighed.

  Constance indicated the tablet with an impatient paw. ‘Please, can we get on with this? What does the writing say on the stone?’

  Winifred threw up her paws in despair. ‘It says nothing, blow me sails! There’s only a lot of funny scratches on it.’

  The Abbot studied the strange marks, focusing through the small square spectacles perched on the end of his nose. ‘Wonderful! Amazing! A perfect example of ancient Loamscript.’

  Constance scratched her headstripes. ‘Loamscript, what in the name of fur and feathers is Loamscript?’

  ‘Tut, tut, Constance,’ Mordalfus said, without taking his eyes from the stone tablet. ‘I see you have forgotten all the history lessons you learned as a young one. Who was your teacher and what were you told about the beginning of Redwall history?’

  Constance frowned. She drummed paws on the tabletop and looked at the ceiling for inspiration. It was not too long in coming. ‘Er, er, it was Sister Garnet. No, it was Methusaleh. Ah yes, good old Brother Methusaleh. Haha, he used to look at me over the top of his glasses just the way you do, Abbot. I remember he often tweaked my whiskers if I dozed off on a sunny afternoon at lessons in the orchard. Ah, but that was more seasons ago than I care to remember.’