Mattimeo (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Further south down the river, Mattimeo and his friends sat at the centre of a huge log raft surrounded by slavers. Two thick ropes connected the ferry to the far shore.

  Slagar watched them rise and dip in the waters. ‘Your rats pull strong and well, Stonefleck. We will soon be across.’

  The deadpan expression did not leave Stonefleck’s face.

  ‘I have more fighters at my command than leaves on the trees, fox. Look behind you, on the shore over there. Your pursuers have made it through the pinewoods. They must be brave and resourceful. We will see just how brave on the morrow. My army could do with a bit of fun.’

  Slagar gazed into the darkened waters. ‘That’s if they make it across the river!’

  The confines of Cavern Hole became oppressive to John Churchmouse, although his wife actually enjoyed the close community, chatting with Cornflower and looking after baby Rollo. They were probably getting ready to rise and prepare breakfast with the Brothers and Sisters. John slipped out quietly, his recording books and pens in a satchel over his shoulder. He slid past Constance, who was sleeping on the stairs, crossed Great Hall and installed himself on a corner window ledge. It was a peaceful little niche where he often sat to write and morning sunlight flooded in, warming his face.

  John opened his recording book as he gazed out at a corner of the orchard, watching three magpies flap off heavily until they were out of his vision.

  By the fur! Those cheeky birds had a nerve. Occupying the Abbey roofspaces, and now filching supplies from the very orchard that the Redwallers tended so lovingly.

  The mood for writing left John. He closed the book and climbed down from the sill. Help would be needed in the kitchens.

  There was a disturbance at the top of the stairs between Great Hall and Cavern Hole. John broke into a run, the satchel bumping at his side. The crow they called Mangiz bowled him flat as he flapped off into the air towards the upper galleries.

  Constance blundered into John and tripped. She sat up, shaking her paw at the bird.

  ‘Scum, kidnapper, you filthy brute!’ she shouted.

  John stood up, dusting his habit off. ‘What’s happened, Constance? What is the matter?’

  ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, John. You’d better come down into Cavern Hole. This concerns you.’

  The Churchmouse followed the badger anxiously.

  The creatures who were up and about gathered round Constance as she flung three scraps of material down upon the table.

  ‘Look at this!’

  The Abbot picked them up. ‘Scraps of material. What are they?’

  Constance ground her teeth together angrily. ‘Pieces of Cornflower and Mrs Churchmouse’s aprons and a fragment of baby Rollo’s little habit. They’ve been captured by the birds.’

  Abbot Mordalfus shook his head in disbelief. ‘Impossible. Surely they were here last night, weren’t they? Did anybeast see them?’

  Foremole shrugged. ‘May’ap, but maybe not. Oi niver thought of a-looken for ’em.’

  John Churchmouse dashed his satchel to the floor. ‘My wife, captured by those filthy birds. Where have they got her?’

  He made a dash for the stairs and was stopped by Winifred and Ambrose. The churchmouse struggled furiously.

  ‘Let me go, there’s no telling what those murdering savages will do to her!’

  ‘John Churchmouse, be still!’ ordered Mordalfus. ‘Come and sit by this table, sir. Come on, do as I say. You aren’t doing anybeast a bit of good behaving like this. Let us hear what Constance has to say.’

  John looked up in suprise. It was seldom that the Abbot spoke harshly to any creature. The fight went out of him and he allowed Ambrose to lead him to a chair.

  Mordalfus turned to the badger. ‘Constance, tell us all you know of this incident, please.’

  ‘Father Abbot, there’s not a lot to tell, I’m afraid. Yesterday Cornflower and Mrs Churchmouse were in the bell tower. Rollo must have joined them later. Well, when I called all the creatures in and shut the Abbey door I must’ve locked them out. They probably didn’t hear me calling. There’s no entrance to the Abbey from the bell tower, so they must have tried later to cross the grounds. Those birds caught them in the open. The crow said that they took them to the roofspaces. General Ironbeak wants to see us outside at noon.’

  Sitting in a corner of the dimly lit roofspace, Cornflower and Mrs Churchmouse tried to make themselves as unobtrusive as possible, keeping baby Rollo quiet and still. General Ironbeak and his birds had returned from their dust bath on the path outside Redwall. It had done little good, and in the end they had resorted to wallowing in the brackish ditchwater to rid themselves of the sludge which clung to their feathers. It was not a great improvement; the stench still clung to them.

  Ironbeak glared ferociously at his captives. ‘Yagga! You and your friends will pay dearly for this insult.’

  Cornflower covered baby Rollo with her torn apron. ‘You great bully, you deserve all you got!’

  Mangiz had not been caught by the trap on the stairway, and he stayed slightly apart from his General, turning his beak to avoid the unpleasant odour.

  ‘Kraah! Silence, mouse! At noon you will get all you deserve. You should be pleading with the mighty Ironbeak to spare your miserable lives.’

  Mrs Churchmouse eyed the crow with distaste. ‘We would never grovel to ruffians like you. Slay us if you want, but you will never conquer Redwall Abbey.’

  ‘Brave words are like empty eggshells. You will beg when the times comes,’ Mangiz predicted.

  Rollo peered out from under the apron.

  ‘Gen’ral Pongo!’ he said, making a face.

  ‘Silence! Keep that small one quiet or we will kill him now.’

  ‘Oh, shut your beak, you coward!’ Cornflower called out indignantly. ‘Killing infants is probably about all you scavengers are good for.’

  Mangiz was about to reply when Ironbeak silenced him.

  ‘Mangiz, enough. We do not argue with mousewives.’

  Mrs Churchmouse rummaged in her apron pocket and found some dried fruit she has been using in the kitchens. She gave it to baby Rollo and sat with her paw about him.

  ‘I wish your Matthias were back, he’d know what to do,’ she whispered.

  ‘He certainly would, but don’t worry, your John and Constance and the Abbot will see we come to no harm. It’s Rollo I’m concerned about. They can do what they like with me, as long as they don’t harm a hair on that baby’s head.’

  Mrs Churchmouse stroked Rollo’s tiny ears. ‘Yes, bless him. D’you remember when your Mattimeo was this size? My Tim and Tess weren’t much older, and they were a trio of rascals, I can tell you.’

  Cornflower smiled. ‘Aye, but we had happy times with them. I hope, wherever they are now, that they’re safe and well.’

  ‘They’ll all come marching back up that road one fine day, I know it. Then the enemies of our Abbey will rue the day they were born.’

  31

  STONEFLECK’S ARMY WAS indeed a large one. Mattimeo had never seen so many rats. They swarmed through the bushes, trees and hillocks of the far shore, efficient and silent. Every rat carried a bow and arrows, and they gathered in groups, each under a leader who took his orders from Stonefleck the commander. The captives were secured among the trees, but Mattimeo could still see the river. He sat with Tim and Auma, listening to Stonefleck and Slagar conversing.

  ‘Let us see if your pursuers can make it across the river, Slagar. They are a determined band, but they have not met my longtail army yet. All they have had to contend with is a few slavers.’

  ‘I have a slave line to worry about,’ the Cruel One sniffed. ‘Open warfare is not my business. Besides, you have a mighty army.’

  ‘Aye, and every one of them an expert archer. I could deal with those woodlanders using only a quarter of my force.’

  ‘Huh, then why don’t you?’ Slagar challenged him.

  ‘Because I never leave anything to chance. Are you going to stay
and watch, just to make sure your enemies get slain?’

  ‘No, I will carry on south. If your army is as good as you boast, I should have no need to worry about being followed. Threeclaws! Form them up into line, we’ve got a full day’s march ahead.’

  Mattimeo and his companions were jostled and prodded by Vitch. ‘Say goodbye to your father and his friends, Mattimeo, they will be dead creatures before this day is through,’ the rat taunted him.

  The young mouse did not allow himself to be baited by Vitch, even though his heart sank at the thought of his father and the rest being caught out on the open water by the huge rat army that lay in wait on the shore of the river. He took a deep breath and smiled carelessly at the undersized rat.

  ‘Your master Slagar could not kill my father, neither will Stonefleck and his vermin. The warrior of Redwall has proved himself before now against rat armies, and he will live to free us. When that day comes, you and I have a score to settle. I’ll be looking for you, Vitch.’

  As they were herded away through the trees, Mattimeo allowed himself one last backward glance at the far shore beyond the river shimmering in the morning sunlight. Though he could not see his father, he murmured under his breath, ‘Martin keep him safe!’

  The sounds of axe and sword had been ringing through the pine fringe since dawn. Many of the trees at the edge had not been able to take proper root in the loose sandy soil of the banks, and some were only half grown. Orlando swung his mighty axe with long, powerful strokes, often felling a tree so that it took one of its weaker neighbours down with it. Matthias had cast his habit aside. He slashed and hacked at the branches of each felled tree, trimming it so that Cheek, Basil, Jess and Jabez could roll it down to where Log-a-Log was in charge of raft construction.

  ‘Flugg, bring those ropes over here,’ Log-a-Log ordered. ‘Gurn, soak that moss well and mix it with soil; I want good caulking that won’t leak. Garr, I need that trunk over here. You others, help him.’

  There was little the Guosim leader did not know about water-craft. Log-a-Log was a ferry shrew, the son of ferry shrews. He watched the flow of the river, pointing out his course to Basil.

  ‘We’ll take a wide sweep upriver, then I’ll bring about in midwater and land us on the other shore somewhere about there, see? That way we’ll be going due south again.’

  Basil dipped one ear. ‘Aye, aye, Cap’n, as you say. Bear in mind, old feller, that I wasn’t cut out for a nautical career. I’ll have to have a substantial meal first. No use bein’ watersick on an empty tummy, wot?’

  It was early noontide before the raft lay completed in the shallows. Log-a-Log folded his paws and shook his head.

  ‘Bit rough, Matthias. Best I could do at short notice.’

  Matthias passed him apples and shrewcake. ‘She’s a stout raft, Log-a-Log. I couldn’t ask for better. I know you’ll use all your skills to get us safely across. What are you so worried about, young Cheek?’

  The otter stroked his dry nose. ‘It’s er, well, er, d’you see. . . . Well, it’s the water, Matthias. I’ve always been a bit frightened of it. Oh, the odd stream and woodland pool aren’t too bad, but look at the size of that old river. I never saw anything so big and fast-flowing in Mossflower.’

  Basil flung an apple core into the river. ‘Haw haw! Well I’ve heard everythin’ now, a bally otter who’s frightened of rivers. Curl my whiskers, that’s a good un.’

  ‘Now, now, Basil,’ Jess chided the scoffing hare, ‘you’re not too fond of the water yourself. It’s bad form to make fun of another creature who feels the same.’

  Basil relented and flung a paw around Cheek. ‘Righto, point taken, Jess. Here, young otter m’lad, what say you and I stay together in the middle of the raft? We can hang on to each other and get into a fine old blue funk together, eh?’

  Jabez Stump trundled aboard the raft. ‘Ah well, we can’t hang about here all day. There’s a river to cross. You comin’ aboard, Warrior?’

  Matthias sheathed his sword and leapt on to the floating logs. ‘Keep your heads down when we reach the other side. No telling what’s waiting over there,’ he warned.

  Log-a-Log grasped the forked branch which served as a tiller. ‘All aboard! Cast off on shore, poles ready riverward, bring her round. Steady as she goes, we’re under way!’

  The raft bobbed and swayed out into the current. Blue waters reflecting the skies above rushed and danced to white foamy peaks spraying into the breeze.

  The eyes of Stonefleck’s rat army watched eagerly from the far bank as the little craft started its journey towards them.

  General Ironbeak landed skilfully on the path in front of the main Abbey door. He tucked his wings away neatly, parading up and down with a swaggering gait.

  The door swung open, and Constance and the Abbot stepped outside, followed by John Churchmouse. The Abbot nodded civilly.

  ‘Good afternoon. Do you wish to go inside?’

  Ironbeak cocked his head on one side, eyeing them boldly. ‘Yaggar! What I have to say can be said out here, earthcrawlers. I hold the upper claw today. Maybe if you had killed my fighters and me on the stairs yesterday, instead of playing your silly little games, you would have been the victors. It is too late now; we meet on my terms.’

  Mordalfus tucked his paws into the wide habit sleeves. ‘Then speak. What is it you want of us?’

  ‘Complete surrender, old mouse!’

  ‘I am sorry but that is impossible,’ the Abbot replied.

  ‘Nothing is impossible if you hold dear the lives of your creatures.’

  ‘We have lost Brothers and Sisters before now.’

  ‘Aye, but that would have been without choice,’ the General pointed out. ‘Step forward a bit and look up to the rooftop of this redstone house.’

  The three friends walked out on to the path. Shading their eyes, they looked up.

  Ironbeak gave a harsh cry and waved one wing.

  The three captives were forced to the roof edge, where they could be seen. John Churchmouse groaned aloud. Constance stood close to him and whispered, ‘Courage, John. We’ll get them back for you. Trust your Abbot, let him do the talking.’

  The tiny figures high above swayed in the breeze, skirts billowing out as they kept hold of baby Rollo, who was waving cheerily.

  ‘Karra! High, isn’t it.’ General Ironbeak preened his wing feathers as he spoke. ‘Oh, not to a bird, but to an earthcrawler it is as if your head were bumping the clouds. It’s a long way down too, if you don’t hit the sides or bounce off a few gutters. Who knows, you might even smash through one of those low roofs. Imagine all that happening to a baby mouse. There wouldn’t be much left to tell the tale when he hit the ground.’

  John Churchmouse bit his lip until the blood trickled to his chin.

  The Abbot disguised his true feelings and shrugged carelessly. ‘Then as far as I am concerned you have our surrender, but not completely. Unfortunately, I am only the voice of one, and this Abbey belongs to us all, not just me. We must have a little time to consider your offer, then a vote will have to be taken.’

  Ironbeak raked the path fiercely with his talons. ‘I will have your complete surrender. Now!’

  The Abbot sat upon the path. Plucking a blade of grass, he sucked it, shaking his head.

  ‘I am very sorry, but it is not my decision. Throw the captives from the roof if you must. All our creatures are not present, and it is not possible to give you a firm decision right now. We need time to discuss this and take a ballot.’

  Ironbeak kicked gravel left and right, realizing that if the captives were slain his bargaining power was lost.

  ‘You say you need time. How much time, earthcrawler?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh, at least three sunsets.’

  ‘That is too long. How do I know you are not planning something?’

  The Abbot looked old and frail, and he smiled disarmingly. ‘General, you give us too much credit. What could we do against you in the space of three sunsets? We are not warrio
rs, we cannot fly like you birds, we are only earthcrawlers. Besides, you hold the captives. What better insurance of our good behaviour?’

  The raven signalled Mangiz to have the captives taken into the roofspaces.

  ‘Two sunsets, not three.’ He clacked his beak decisively. ‘Two sunsets and no longer!

  Mordalfus stood up and bowed gravely. ‘Thank you, Ironbeak. You shall have our answer two sunsets from now.’

  32

  THE RAFT WAS proving successful. Though the water hammered it hard in midcurrent, it held together admirably. Log-a-Log was in his element, manoeuvring the tiller as he shouted out orders above the rush of the waters. The long poles they had used for punting were now useless as a means of propelling the craft, and they relied upon the steering skills of the shrew leader.

  Matthias stood at the forward end scanning the other shore, Basil and Cheek hung on to each other for dear life, with Jess, Jabez and Orlando near to paw, surrounded by shrews who packed the floating deck to its edges. They were past the midriver point when Matthias made his way across to Log-a-Log.

  ‘How is she handling?’

  ‘Oh, fine, Matthias, fine,’ Log-a-Log said airily. ‘As you can see, we’ve sprung a small leak or two, but nothing to worry about. I’ll make for that spot over there. It’s a curving inlet and the water looks almost still, so it must be by-passed by the main centre current. Are you all right, not worried about anything?’

  ‘Not exactly worried, just keeping my eyes, ears and wits about me,’ Mathias admitted. ‘That shore looks a bit too peaceful for my liking.’