Mattimeo (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Basil sniffed the dry air.

  ‘Useless trying to scent anything around here. Still, the tracks are clear enough. I can see them from here, runnin’ off in a straight line. They’re a day and a night ahead of us, I reckon.’

  He stood, stretching his long limbs, gazing out at the already shimmering horizon as it wavered and rippled with the fierce heat.

  ‘Right lads, quick’s the word an’ sharp’s the action, eh? Form up here and follow me. No lagging and sitting down on the bally old job. By the left . . . wait for it, Cheek . . . quick march!!’

  The little column trekked off into the unknown expanses of the desert ahead of them, leaving behind the final fringes of Mossflower.

  Slagar had driven both captives and slavers hard. Marching by night and resting by day, they had crossed the wasteland. Footsore and weary, Mattimeo and his companions helped each other along. Their mouths were dry and parched from lack of water, the manacles rubbed and chafed. Tess caught Cynthia Bankvole as she stumbled for the umpteenth time.

  ‘Up now. Stay on your paws, Cynthia. It’s daylight, so they’ll let us rest soon.’

  The volemaid licked dusty lips with a dry tongue. ‘I hope so, Tess. I can’t stand much more of it, though I don’t know which I’d prefer right now, a drink or a sleep.’

  Auma lent her size and strength, supporting them both with a paw at their backs. ‘Keep going. I can see something ahead, though I don’t exactly know what it is. Can you see it, Sam?’

  The young squirrel strained his eyes. ‘Looks like some sort of a black shadow with bushes and trees on the other side of it. Whatever it is, it has to be better than this wasteland. I think they’re planning to let us rest when we reach there. Keep going, it shouldn’t be too long now.’

  Distances in the drylands were deceptive. It was gone mid-morning when the slave line halted at the place which Auma and Sam had sighted. Cynthia Bankvole drew in a sharp breath and clapped a paw over her eyes, then sat down, dizzy with fright.

  They had arrived at the brink of an abyss!

  A huge rift in the earth opened before them. It was as if the world were splitting through its middle. Impenetrably black and endlessly deep, it stretched away in either direction as far as the eye could see. Though they were standing at its narrowest point, the distance across yawned many times the length of a tall beech tree. The captives stood wide-eyed in astonished silence at the awesome sight.

  Across the gorge a swaying construction of rope and wood stretched. It was secured at either side by thick stakes driven deep into the earth, but the centre of the rough bridge dipped perilously into the chasm.

  Jube buried his face against the dusty ground. ‘Ooooh! I’d as soon die as try to cross that!’

  A moan arose from the slave lines. Others felt the same as Jube, and even the stoats, weasels and ferrets who had come this far with Slagar began muttering among themselves.

  The masked fox stood leaning against the stakes, watching them. He had come across this problem before and was ready for it.

  ‘Frightened, eh? Legs turned to jelly, have they?’ he taunted them.

  ‘We never bargained for anything like this, Chief!’ Threeclaws gulped.

  Slagar strolled to where two weasels, Drynose and Damper, stood guard over the expedition’s food and water. Pushing them to one side, he took the three large water canteens and carried them to the head of the bridge.

  ‘What d’you mean “bargained”? You’re not here to bargain, you are here to obey orders. You, Skinpaw, show them how it’s done. A weasel like you isn’t afraid of crossing a bridge.’

  Skinpaw shook his head vigorously. ‘Ask me to do anything, Slagar, anything. March, fight, climb mountains, cross rivers . . . but not that!’

  The silken masked fluttered. The Cruel One seemed to be smiling beneath it. He turned to his slavers one by one.

  ‘You, Halftail, or you, Vitch? How about you, Scringe? Or Bageye there? No?’

  They remained silent, while Slagar spoke as if he were cajoling nervous young ones.

  ‘Oh, come on now, it’s only a little bridge across a gorge. Besides, do you see the bushes and trees on the other side? There’s a lovely little pool there, full of nice cold water. Just think, you can drink all you like.’

  Skinpaw eyed the canteens that Slagar held.

  ‘We’ve got water, Chief,’ he pointed out.

  The fox swung the canteens out wide, letting go of them. He leaned over, watching them disappear into the abyss.

  ‘Where? I don’t see any water. Now, you spineless toads, listen to me. You have a choice: either you cross this bridge and drink water, or you stay on this side and die of thirst!’

  Threeclaws was the first to go. He stepped gingerly out on to the swaying bridge, gripping the rope sides tightly. Carefully he tested each wooden slat before putting his weight on it.

  When he was a short way out Slagar called, ‘Fleaback, Scringe, pick that line up and start the prisoners going. Halftail, you go with them. The rest of you follow after they’ve crossed.’

  Encouraged by Threeclaws’ slow but sure passage, Fleaback and Scringe stepped on to the bridge, tugging the leadrope.

  ‘Come on, you lot. Step lively, and no hanging back or stumbling,’ Scringe chivvied them.

  Mattimeo could not shut his ears to the sobbing of Cynthia and Jube, who were in a state of frozen shock. He tore a strip from the hem of his habit and bit it into two pieces.

  ‘Here, Tess, put these around their eyes. Cynthia, Jube, listen. Hold on to Tess and Auma, and keep going. You’ll be all right.’

  The trick worked. Groping awkwardly, the blindfolded creatures held tight to Tess and Auma, who, though they were both frightened of the swaying, sagging bridge, found that a lot of the fear was taken out of the crossing by attending to Cynthia and Jube.

  Only Sam Squirrel was totally fearless about the bridge. At one point Tim had to remonstrate with him for making the structure wobble with his jaunty walk.

  ‘Hey, go easy, Sam,’ he called nervously. ‘There’s others on this bridge not as clever as you at crossing gorges.’

  ‘Oops! Sorry, Tim. Never mind, we’re nearly over now.’

  Mattimeo tried not to glance down into the bottomless depths. He dearly wished he had his paws on firm ground again.

  The crossing was made without incident. Safely on the other side, everybeast breathed a huge sigh of relief. Slagar led them a short way into the bushes.

  ‘There’s the pool. Drink as much as you like. Threeclaws, see they’re fed and watered, then secure the line. Halftail, come with me.’

  Slagar walked back to the edge of the gorge. While Halftail watched, he crossed back over the bridge. Then the masked fox got out flint and steel. It did not take long to get the dust-dry ropes burning. As soon as they were alight he bounded on to the bridge and crossed back with surprising speed and agility. Chuckling to himself, he watched the ropes burn through. The bridge swayed and collapsed with a clatter of wooden slats as it struck the wall of the chasm beneath them. Slagar took Halftail’s dagger and sawed through the taut ropes which held the weight of the bridge. He leapt back as the whole structure slipped away with a creaking, groaning snap. They waited awhile, but there was complete silence from the depths of the abyss.

  Slagar smiled. ‘See, completely bottomless. Nobeast can follow us now!’

  36

  A FULL-SCALE COUNCIL was in progress at Cavern Hole. Winifred the Otter winced as Sister May applied poultices and herbs to her deeply scratched back.

  ‘Aaahh! Go easy, Sister, that’s the only back I’ve got. Ouch!’

  Sister May went about her task, ignoring the protests. ‘Hold still, you silly otter! You were told not to cross Great Hall but you would not listen. Stop wriggling while I attend to this scratch on your ear.’

  ‘Ow! What are you trying to do, pull me lug off? That ear’s got to last me the rest of my life, you know!’

  Constance pointed to Winifred. ‘As you can
all see, she was injured merely trying to cross Great Hall. You must stay down here. Ironbeak and his birds are waiting in the galleries, and if one of us so much as shows a whisker outside Cavern Hole he or she will be slain. Winifred was lucky, she was swift enough to get away. Under no circumstances must you try to leave here. Besides, where would you go?’

  ‘Well, I for one would go to my little gatehouse cottage,’ Cornflower answered. ‘Or I might gather fresh fruit and vegetables and water. It seems to me we’re letting this Ironbeak have it all his own way.’

  There were shouts of agreement.

  The Abbot called for order. ‘Please! Our first concern is the safety of every creature here. We must stay where it is safe. There are plenty of stores. The cupboards and larders are well stocked, there is ample food in the kitchens and we have the entire stock of the wine cellar available. I have spoken to Brother Trugg and the only shortage will be fresh water. It must be used only for drinking. Bathing, washing and other uses are forbidden.’

  There was a lusty cheer from Rollo and some other young ones camped beneath the table.

  ‘I’m glad someone approves,’ Constance smiled. ‘Well, if that’s all we’ll just have to put up with the situation for a while.’

  ‘Put up with the situation indeed!’ John Churchmouse snorted indignantly.

  Cornflower laughed aloud. ‘Oh, John, you sounded just like my Matthias then.’

  At the mention of the Warrior’s name a silence fell.

  ‘I do hope our young ones are safe,’ Mrs Churchmouse fretted. ‘When I think of my Tim and Tess and Sam Squirrel and Mattimeo and Cynthia, where they may be now, or what those villains may do to them . . . Oh, I do hope Matthias brings them back safe to us.’

  She broke down in tears.

  ‘There, there, m’dear,’ John said, patting her gently. ‘Don’t you cry, they’ll be all right.’

  Baby Rollo began patting her skirt from underneath the table, clucking in an imitation of John Churchmouse. ‘There, there, me dear. Don’t oo cry, be all right.’

  Every creature laughed, and even Mrs Churchmouse managed a smile through her tears.

  Ambrose Spike lifted Rollo up on to the table. ‘That’s the stuff, old Rollo. You get all these wet blankets cheerful again. Right, what’s next, you little ruffian, eh?’

  The tiny bankvole wrinkled his nose, uttering a single word: ‘Plans!’

  The hedgehog shook his head in admiration. ‘There y’are, out of the mouths of baby beasts an’ innocent creatures. Plans! That’s what Matthias would have said if he were here, stiffen me spikes. He wouldn’t want us mopin’ an’ cryin’.’

  Cornflower stamped her paw down hard. ‘You’re right, Ambrose. Let’s get our thinking caps on. That’s if we ever want to walk freely around our own Abbey and pick our own fruit from our own orchard, or even just sit on the walls in peace and watch the sunrise over Redwall. I say; let’s not be beaten by a flock of birds!’

  Constance touched a paw to her snout. ‘Ssshh! Let’s do it quietly. You never know who may be listening.’

  While the badger was speaking, Winifred the Otter crept to the foot of the stairs that separated Cavern Hole from Great Hall, picking up a small turnip that Baby Rollo had been playing with. Tip-pawing halfway up the stairs, she paused a moment then flung the turnip as hard as she could.

  Bonk!

  There was a hollow noise of turnip striking beak, followed by a loud squawking caw.

  Winifred nodded with satisfaction. ‘Good shot! Let him go and tell old Irontrousers about that!’

  ‘If we are making plans, has any creature got a suggestion?’ the Abbot asked, keeping his voice low.

  ‘Ho urr, oi ’ave. If’n you can’t cross Gurt ’all or goo out Abbey, whoi doant me’n moi moles tunnel out?’

  There was no doubting Foremole’s logic, as Constance was first to agree.

  ‘Splendid idea. There’s no telling what we could do if we could tunnel out without Ironbeak knowing. However, I was thinking of what he said last night. If he means to conquer Redwall, he must attack us down here sooner or later. It will become fairly obvious to him that we have lots of food to keep us going, so in the event of not being able to starve us out, he’ll attack Cavern Hole. I think we should barricade the stairs to keep them out.’

  There was unanimous agreement for the tunnel and the barricade, and the busy Redwallers set about their tasks with a will.

  Out on the sunbaked wastelands, Matthias and his followers were slowed down from a brisk march to a shambling gait. Basil Stag Hare crossed his ears loosely over his head in an attempt to provide himself with some shade.

  ‘Whew! D’you know, I’ll never look a hot scone in the face again, knowin’ it’s come out of a jolly old oven as hot as this place.’

  Cheek tenderly pawed his dry nose. ‘Huh, quick march and follow me, lads. We should have travelled by night instead of listenin’ to you, flopears.’

  Basil brushed at his drooping whiskers. ‘I’d give you a swift kick if I had the energy young feller.’

  A broad black shadow fell across Matthias, but he carried on, enjoying the shade without thinking where it had come from.

  ‘Get down!’

  The warrior mouse was thrown flat as Jess tackled him from behind. As he hit the dust, Matthias felt a rushing breeze pass over him. He turned over and looked up.

  Two great buzzards circled overhead, wheeling and soaring as they waited for a chance to catch any creature off guard.

  Log-a-Log fitted a stone to his sling as he sighed wearily, ‘Heat, thirst, desert, big birds. What next?’

  The slings had little effect on the buzzards, as the great dark birds would see the stone coming and fly out of range with ease.

  Orlando called a halt to the slinging. ‘Stop, stop! You’re only wasting energy. Let’s ignore them. Well, not exactly ignore them, if you know what I mean, but keep an eye on them. Matthias, you take the front of the column, I’ll take the rear. If they get too close we might get the chance of a sword or axe strike, and that’ll put paid to them.’

  As if sensing what was going on below, the two buzzards grouped and attacked the centre of the band. They dived so speedily no creature had a chance to do anything. There was a scream, and the two great hunting birds rose into the air with a wriggling shrew pinioned between them. From out of the blue they were joined by a third big bird, who soared down with wings outstretched.

  ‘Look, there’s three of them now.’

  ‘That’s no buzzard, it’s attacking them!’

  Butting into the buzzards like a battering ram, the strange bird drove them downwards, causing them to drop the shrew, who bumped to earth in a cloud of dust. Clawing and biting, the other bird, who was stockier and shorter than the buzzards, battered away with wing and talon, screeching loudly until it drove them off. Circling to make sure it had driven the predators away, the bird dived and landed next to Orlando.

  It was Sir Harry the Muse.

  ‘Pray accept my apologies, sir,

  My conscience was bothering me,

  So I had to take to the air.

  And now I am back, as you see.’

  Matthias ran to greet the poetic owl. ‘Well timed, Sir Harry. Thank you for your help!’

  The owl blinked at the sun.

  ‘I’d sooner fly ‘neath the moon.

  I dread the hot afternoon,

  The heat’s infernal and owls are nocturnal.

  I hope the sun sets soon.’

  The shrew who had been caught by the buzzards was not badly injured. He opened his pouch and offered the owl half a shrewcake which he had been saving. Sir Harry accepted it gravely, bowed politely, then devoured it in a most undignified manner.

  ‘Mmmff, ’sgood, scrumff, ’slovely!’

  The poetic owl waddled along beside Matthias as the warrior mouse explained their position.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re very low on supplies. We could only manage to feed you with the same amount as we are rationed
to. Don’t tell me you really suffered from conscience pangs, Sir Harry. You must have another reason for flying all this way to be with us.’

  ‘I’d call that a very smart guess.

  In fact, you’ve called my bluff.

  My reason, I must confess,

  Is not for food and stuff.

  I get tired of being alone,

  Can I come along with you?

  I’ve heard you talk of your home,

  Could I live at Redwall too?’

  ‘Humph! Pesky bird would scoff us out of the blinkin’ Abbey!’ Basil snorted huffily.

  Matthias glared reprovingly at the hare. ‘Basil! Courtesy and good manners cost us nothing.’

  The old hare blinked grumpily and unfolded his ears. ‘Oh well, in for an acorn, in for an oak. I s’pose it’d be all right for him to live at our Redwall. Huh, save me gettin’ all the jolly blame any time a mouthful of food goes missin’, wot?’

  Sir Harry did a hop and a skip.

  ‘I knew you’d see things my way.

  It’s settled then, it’s done.

  And if food goes missing I’ll say,

  “Blame me, sir, I’m the one.”’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will, old chap,’ Basil muttered under his breath.

  Orlando reared up, shading his eyes with a big paw.

  ‘Remember that long black line on the map, Matthias? Well, I think I can see it. We should make it sometime about sunset.’

  Matthias pulled the map out. ‘Hmm yes, a sort of broad black band. I wonder what it is?’

  Basil was still muttering to himself, ‘Huh, soon find out, I s’pose. If it’s anythin’ to eat, I’ll bet that owl gets there first. Hmph, poetry indeed!’

  Orlando’s estimate was correct. It was just as the sun began dipping beyond the western horizon that they stood on the edge of the great gorge. They gazed awestruck at the massive fissure splitting the land asunder. Orlando and Matthias peered over the edge.