The Abbot smiled fondly at Constance. ‘Then let me refresh your memory, you dozy badger. Redwall Abbey was founded after the war of the wildcats by Martin the Warrior, who came from the northlands, and Abbess Germaine, who travelled with a band of woodland mice from a place called Loamhedge. Apparently they were driven from there by some sort of plague. Old Methusaleh had a book written by one of Germaine’s followers in Loamscript. Now, as I remember there was only one other creature who was clever enough to learn Loamscript from Methusaleh. A little churchmouse named John. . . .’
Cornflower sprang up. ‘What? You mean our John Churchmouse, our recorder?’
The Abbot folded his spectacles away into his wide sleeve, chuckling. ‘The very same! Cornflower, do you think you could go and rouse him?’
Winifred picked up the snoring form of baby Rollo from his chair. ‘I’ll come with you,’ the otter volunteered. ‘It’s time this bundle o’ mischief was tucked away for the night.’
They hurried off to the dormitories.
John Churchmouse came down with Cornflower and Winifred. He nodded almost apologetically to those around the table.
‘Couldn’t sleep, y’see. I don’t sleep much these nights, thinking of my Tess and Tim and wondering if Matthias and the others have found them yet.’
Mordalfus slid the tablet across to him. ‘Sit down, John. Here’s something that may help to bring your young ones back. It’s written in Loamscript. Can you read it?’
John stroked his whiskers. ‘Well, it’s a long time since I read any Loamscript. Many, many seasons ago. Haha, that was when Methusaleh used to tell me about this sleepy young badger in his class, what was her name now. . .?
Constance tapped the table with a blunt paw. ‘Never mind, prize scholar. Get on with it.’
John winked at Cornflower. ‘Righto, I’ll give it a try. Could I borrow your glasses, please, Father Abbot? I left mine by the bedside.’
With the Abbot’s spectacles perched upon his nose, the churchmouse picked up the stone tablet, and moved a candle nearer to help him. His lips moved silently and he stroked his whiskers a lot. Sometimes shaking his head or nodding it knowingly, he traced the strange-shaped writing. Finally he placed the tablet down on the table. Cupping his chin in his paws, he stared dreamily off into space.
Five voices enquired aloud with impatience, ‘Well?’
‘Oh, ah, yes. Sorry, funny how it all comes back to you, isn’t it? D’you know, when I first looked at the stone it didn’t mean a thing to me, it might well have been written in butterflyese. Then suddenly it was clear as a stream in spring.’
The Abbot leaned forward until his nose was near touching that of the churchmouse. ‘John, you can be a singularly annoying creature at times. Would you please read us the translation. Now!’
Immediately, John adjusted the glasses, coughed and began reading.
‘Through the seasons, here I lie,
‘neath this Redwall that we made.
Solve the mystery, you must try.
Graven deep it will not fade.
Somewhere twixt our earth and sky.
Birds and gentle breezes roam.
There a key you might espy.
To that place I once called home.
Take this graven page and seek
What my words in stone could mean.
What can’t fly, yet has a beak.
Mixed up letters evergreen.
Two Bees, two Ohs
One Sea, one tap.
And weary without A.
Leave me now to my long rest.
Good fortune on your way.’
Around the table they sat in silence, awed at the beauty and mystery of the ancient verse, until Cornflower shifted her chair noisily and destroyed the mood.
‘Thank you, Mr Churchmouse. Very pretty, I’m sure, but what does it all mean?’
Constance rubbed her weary eyes. ‘It means we’ve got a long complicated riddle to solve. Not tonight, though. I’m all for sleeping at this late hour.’
John Churchmouse returned the Abbot’s spectacles. ‘I’ll second that. It’s all very exciting, but I think we’d best sleep on it. Tomorrow morning will bring clear minds with a fresh approach.’
The Abbot rose slowly, stretching and yawning. ‘Tomorrow morning, then, out in the orchard where there’s sun and shade. Goodnight all.’
After they had gone, Cornflower remained sitting at the table with the stone tablet in front of her. Carefully she turned it this way and that, studying the curious Loamscript, tracing it carefully with her paw. Some secret instinct deep inside her said that there was more to the thin stone slab than John had discovered in the writing.
But what?
22
A MASSIVE SLIDE of earth, soil, shale and scree mixed with huge boulders that had torn away a section of the hillside from top to bottom lay squarely across the cave entrance, trapping Matthias and his friends tight inside the cavern.
On top of the hill, Slagar and his cohorts were surprised and shaken by the scale of the landslide they had caused. Clouds of choking dust arose in the silvery moonlight around them. Bageye and Skinpaw buried their faces against the earth, scared to move. The masked fox lifted the bottom of the hood and spat gritty dust. He was about to howl his triumph at the night sky when Mattimeo and the escaped captives heaved themselves from the water and dashed towards the mound of debris with shouts of dismay.
Slagar grabbed Bageye and Skinpaw by their tails and dragged them swiftly back, down the opposite side of the hill.
‘Ow! Ouch! Leggo, Chief!’
‘Arrgh! Yer pullin’ me tail off!’
The Cruel One cuffed them soundly about the ears. ‘Silence, idiots! Where did they come from?’
‘Where did who come from?’
‘Mattimeo and his lot. They’re down there now, trying to unblock the cave entrance.’
‘I never saw ’em, Chief.’
‘You wouldn’t, muckbrain. You and your crony were too busy kissing the ground.’
‘They must’ve escaped. We’ll go down there and round them up, eh, Chief.’
‘Blockhead, there’s not enough of us to capture ’em all. They’d scatter away like a shot. How could three of us catch seven of them, idiot! Listen, I’ll stay here and keep an eye on them, you two get running and catch up with the others. Tell Threeclaws and Halftail to chain the prisoners up and stay with ’em, then bring the rest back here. Do it quietly, and we’ll surround our little friends down there so none of them will escape a second time.’
‘Righto, but what if they manage to dig their friends out of that cave while we’re away?’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ Slagar sniggered. ‘Nothing on earth could move that lot. It isn’t a cave any more, it’s a grave. Now get going and bring the rest back here quickly. When you get back, lie low, stay silent, and wait until I give the signal.’
Bageye and Skinpaw trotted off into the moonlit forest.
Slagar ripped off his patterned silk headmask and breathed deep, his mutilated face twisting into an insane smile as he listened to the young ones on the other side of the hill trying desperately to reach their parents and friends through an impenetrable mass of earth and rock.
Inside the cave the dust had settled. Matthias felt about in the inky blackness until he found his sword. All around him there was spluttering, coughing and confusion. The warrior mouse wiped dusty earth from his mouth and called out, ‘Is everybeast all right?’
‘Alright? Steady on, old sport. A feller can hardly be all right when he’s buried up to his middle in rocks and whatnot.’
The warrior mouse groped about slowly in the dense gloom. ‘Stay where you are, Basil. Don’t move. We’ll get you free. Now, are the rest of you safe and unharmed?’
‘I’d be all right if this hedgehog didn’t keep a bumpin’ into me—’
Cheek the otter’s grumbling was cut short by Orlando’s rumbling growl. ‘Then stay still and stop bobbing about. You’ve run into me
twice. Here, whose bushy tail is this?’
‘Mmmmm, ooohhh! What hit me?’
Matthias moved to where the voice came from. ‘Jess, are you all right?’
‘I think so. A great slab of something got me from behind. No damage done, though. It just knocked me flat for a moment or two. What happened?’
‘Kaaachoo!’ Jabez Stump sneezed. ‘I don’t think this hillside would stand still for ages then suddenly decide to slide one night for no good reason. Seems to me as if we’ve been lured into here and trapped.’
Matthias and Orlando had crawled over to where Basil lay buried and were trying to dig him out. The old hare bore up bravely, helping them where he could.
‘I think you’re right, Stump old lad. Ha, here’s a pretty thing, a bunch of seasoned campaigners caught like shrimp in a barrel, wot? I’ll bet a salad to a soupbowl it was old slyboots, the masked thingummy, what d’you say, Matthias?’
‘I say keep still, Basil. Orlando, can you put your back to this rock and push it away from him? One of you grab his paws and start pulling while I dig the loose stuff away.’
Cheek sprang forward and tugged Basil’s paws with gusto. ‘Heave ho, old Sir Hare. Out you come, now.’
‘Yaggh! Beastly young blighter, you’re standin’ on me ear!’
Orlando put his strong back against the rock that was trapping Basil. He gave a mighty grunt as he threw his weight against it. ‘Grrumph! That’s it. Hurry now, I can’t hold this much longer.’
Jabez and Jess helped Cheek. As Matthias dug furiously, they gave a good long heave. Basil popped out like a cork. The big badger let the rock go. There was another cloud of dust and a rattling of pebbles as the heap of hillside rubble settled.
Basil stamped his paws experimentally. ‘Bit stiff an’ all that. Still workin’ hunky dory, though. Well, what a load of old ninnies we are, eh, lettin’ ourselves get bamboozled like that.’
‘Let’s not start blaming ourselves,’ Matthias cut in sharply. ‘What we did seemed a good idea at the time. The thing now is, how do we get out of this fix? Has any creature got flint or tinder to make light?’
Jess squirrel wiped a paw across her brow. ‘Not a very good idea, Matthias. Haven’t you noticed it’s getting quite warm in here? That means we’re using up the air. If we start making fire we’ll use it up double quick and suffocate.’
Orlando slumped back against the cave wall. ‘You’re right, Jess. Those slavers meant this to be our tomb and they’ve done a good job of it, worse luck. Give me a moment or two to rest, then I’ll see if there’s any possibility of digging our way out, or at least making a small hole so that fresh air can come in.’
‘It’s this dark I can’t stand, not bein’ able to see anything, all hot an’ covered in dusty muck with a whole hillside on top of us. I can’t even see me paw in front of my eyes!’ Cheek’s voice sounded close to panic.
Basil patted him firmly. ‘Now then, young otter m’lad, chin up. There’s nothin’ to get in a funk over. When I was with the border patrol we were in lots of tighter places than this one, wot? Never say die, Cheek. Ha! I’ll betcha we’ll be out of here before the night’s over. Don’t worry young waterdog, you’ll be wallopin’ about in the river by tomorrow night.’
Cheek sat close to Basil and waited while Jess and Orlando took first shift to dig a way out of the landslide.
Around the friends the air seemed to grow darker and heavier as they lay trapped in the bowels of the hill.
On the outside, Mattimeo scrabbled furiously at the loose shale and earth, alongside Auma. The others dodged around the heap, trying to find a likely spot to dig. Auma grunted and strained as she tried to dislodge a huge boulder.
‘It was my father, Orlando the Axe,’ she told Mattimeo. ‘I’d know his battle cry anywhere. Oh, please let him be all right.’
Mattimeo stopped digging for a moment as he watched the loose earth slide swiftly in to take the place of the boulder Auma was moving.
‘I saw my father, and heard him too. Even in the night, I think I recognized Jess and Basil. There were a few others too, but it was all over too fast to see who they were. Bah! We’re getting nowhere like this. Look, every time you dig out a bit, the earth slides in and fills the gap again.’
Cynthia Bankvole sat down and let the loose earth run through her paws. ‘It’s no use, what can we do against all this? It would take ten teams of moles a full season to move all this earth, and some of these boulders look as big as a cottage.’
Sam Squirrel shouldered her roughly aside. ‘Doesn’t matter. My mum’s in there, so we’ve got to keep trying. Come on, Cynthia, up on your paws and get digging.’
‘Jube, look about for a big branch or something I can use as a lever against these rocks,’ Auma called out. ‘How are you doing, Matti?’
Mattimeo straightened up. ‘Not very well. I suggest we all dig in the one spot.’
Tess came hurrying over. ‘Look, I’ve found some flat slatey pieces. They’ll do to dig with.’
Dawn’s first light glimmered in the east, a soft rosy glow dispersing the night from the deep greenery of Mossflower Woods. The sun rose steadily, drying the dew from leaf and flower as the young woodlanders dug wearily in the shifting mass of debris.
Slagar lay on top of the gorge, watching them as he murmured, ‘Keep digging, my little slaves. Tire yourselves out so that you won’t run and dodge. I can see my slavers threading their way through the forest yonder. They’ll soon be here. Dig away, you young fools. You’ll never see your friends or parents again.’
23
IN THE SUMMER peace of the beautiful old Redwall Abbey orchard, a group of creatures sat taking alfresco breakfast among the fruit trees. Abbot Mordalfus presided.
‘Let us put our minds together, friends. If we wish to help Matthias and our young ones, we must solve the riddle of this poem.’ The Abbot tapped the stone tablet. ‘Where does the poetry end and the clues begin?’
John Churchmouse put down his bowl of mint tea and placed his paw in a very certain manner between two lines of verse.
‘Right there, I’m sure of it. Listen:
“Through the seasons here I lie,
‘neath this Redwall that we made.
solve the mystery, you must try. . . .”’
John tapped his paw down decisively. ‘There, right there. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. Here’s where the real clues begin:
“Graven deep it will not fade.
Somewhere twixt our earth and sky,
Birds and gentle breezes roam.
There’s a key you might espy,
To that place I once called home.”’
The Abbot toyed with a slice of apple. ‘I think you’re right, John. In fact, part of the answer leapt out at me as you recited those words. It was the line that went: “To that place I once called home.” Right, if this was written by old Abbess Germaine, then the place that she called home before she built Redwall was Loamhedge. However, that was all so far away and long ago in our history that the location of Loamhedge has been forgotten long before my time and that of many Abbots and Abbesses before me.’
John nodded agreement. ‘Of course, old Loamhedge. That must be the place where the fox is taking our young ones, there or somewhere in the Loamhedge area. I can recall asking Brother Methusaleh where Loamhedge was, but even he didn’t know. How are we supposed to find it?’
Cornflower pointed at the stone tablet. ‘Obviously the answer is in the rhyme, because it says: “Take this graven page and seek. What my words in stone could mean.” Surely that’s a start.’
‘Burr, ’scuse me marm, oi thinks it be afore that, even: “Somewhere twixt our earth’n’sky, burds an’ gentle breezes roam.” Whurrs that?’
‘That’s where we might espy the key, accordin’ to that there,’ Ambrose Spike chuckled. ‘Best look about for a key floatin’ round in midair. Silly, I calls it.’
John looked severely over the top of his glasses. ‘Silly it may sound, bu
t it’s a serious business, Spike.’
‘No need to get huffy, dear,’ Mrs Churchmouse interrupted hastily. ‘Let’s all look up and see what we discover between earth and sky.’
Winifred Otter summed it up in a word, ‘Treetops.’
They sat looking at the treetops. Mrs Churchmouse was just beginning to regret her foolish idea when Cornflower said, ‘The top of our Abbey, maybe?’
A slow smile spread across the Abbot’s face. ‘Very clever, Cornflower. What better place for our Founder to leave a clue than at the top of the very building she designed. So, I’m looking up at our Abbey. Tell me, somebeast, what am I looking for?’
The answers came back.
‘Something graven deep?’
‘Words in stone?’
‘Something that can’t fly but has a beak?’
‘How about mixed-up letters evergreen?’
‘Two Bees and two Ohs?’
‘What does an Oh look like?’
‘Well, I know what two bees would look like.’
John Churchmouse banged his beaker upon a wooden platter. ‘Quiet! Quiet, please! All this shouting is getting us nowhere. Cornflower, will you kindly stop baby Rollo playing with that stone tablet!’
Cornflower sat upon the grass with Rollo, who was running his paws over the slim stone.
Mrs Churchmouse tried to pacify her husband. ‘Don’t shout, dear. I’m sure Rollo won’t harm it.’
Cornflower was shaking with silent laughter. John was not amused. ‘I’m sorry, but I fail to see what’s so funny about it, Cornflower.’
‘I’m not laughing at you, John, I’m laughing at baby Rollo. Here we are puzzling our brains out and Rollo has found the answer again.’
Mattimeo (Redwall) Page 14