Mattimeo (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  The maddened badger went in like a battering ram. Rats who tried to back out of his way were driven over the edge of the ledge and plunged screaming into the green misted depths. Matthias was filled with battle rage. He tried hard to keep a level head, using all the time-honoured skills of the true warrior swordsmouse. Sweep, slice, cleave, thrust; he worked like a machine, relentlessly battling great odds. Jess was different, she leapt and bounded, stabbing left and right, blood flowing from her tail like a scarlet ribbon. Though the stabbing spears were unwieldy at any great range, they were proving effective at close quarters. None of the blackrobes spoke or shouted. They formed flying wedges, charging individual attackers, often breaking to surround them in a stabbing ring of spearpoints.

  Log-a-Log had been driven back twice. At the second attempt he fell, wounded in the throat by a spear. Basil Stag Hare leapt into the breach.

  ‘Righto, Guosim lads. Form three ranks over here. Front and centre now, look lively! Slings and bows only, fire, drop down an’ reload. Keep advancin’, that’s the style. Fire, drop down, reload, but keep movin’ to your front. Sharpish now. Good show!’

  The rats were forced to break their circle and came round to defend the front of the statue from Basil’s strategy. The hare was a veteran at manoeuvres. He gathered a small force of shrews carrying javelins.

  ‘I say, young Cheek, here’s your first chance at a command. Take these fellahs to the back of the ledge, work your way round that dirty great statue thing and come up behind those rodents facin’ us. Give ’em plenty of the old one-two, and don’t forget, m’lad, duck an’ weave!’

  Cheek saluted smartly, his fear diminished with the heat of battle. ‘Righto, Baz old sport!’

  Basil watched him go, shaking his head and smiling. Hardnosed young blighter, bit like m’self when I was a nipper, he thought. ‘Fire! Now drop down an’ reload, shrews. That’s the stuff t’ give the troops!’

  The battle raged back and forth as Nadaz pounded the war alarm. The booming drumbeats echoed around the rocks as arrows flew, slingers hurled and spears stabbed. Matthias looked wildly about amid the melee. His forces were vastly outnumbered and still rats were waiting on the causeway steps in droves. Breaking clear of the fray, the warrior mouse yelled aloud, ‘Retreat! Retreat! Take your wounded and get back to the passage we came in by!’

  The Guosim carried Log-a-Log as they hacked their way back to the mouth of the passage. Orlando, Jess and Jabez stood side by side with Cheek as Basil fought a fierce rearguard action. Matthias, weaving in and out of them, helped with the wounded.

  Finally they gained the passage, the drum stopped pounding and the rats fell back halfway across the ledge, protecting the causeway steps as their comrades swarmed up, spreading across the length and breadth of the rocky plateau. In the midst of it all, Nadaz stood rattling the mouse skull at the top of his sceptre, pointing at the woodlanders as if trying to cast some sort of spell over them.

  Orlando cleaned his axe and set about sharpening it against the rock wall.

  ‘Well, we gave them a good fight, even though we were outnumbered,’ he said consolingly.

  The warrior mouse sat with his back to the wall breathing heavily. ‘Aye, if we had the young ones now we could back up and go above ground. Trouble is, I haven’t seen them anywhere.’

  The badger licked a wounded paw. ‘Nor have I, or the fox, for that matter. I’m not leaving here while he still lives, then if I can’t find my Auma at least I’ll know he won’t enslave any more young ones.’

  Cheek stood at the mouth of the passage, pulling faces at the ranks of blackrobes gathered a short distance away.

  ‘Yah, tatty ratty! Your silly old statue isn’t worth a crushed acorn. It takes a horde of you to face real fighters, doesn’t it!’ he taunted them.

  Basil and Jess were trying to bandage the awful wound in Log-a-Log’s neck, which was deep and serious. Basil shook his head.

  ‘Will y’ listen to that young rip? Shortly we’ll all be slaughtered, and there he is calling names like a volemaid at a tea party. Haha, the little bucko, good for him! I say, old Log-a-thing, stay still. You’ll only make that scratch worse, y’know.’

  The shrew leader pawed at the wet bandage around his neck. He was panting hard.

  ‘It’s a bad one, mate, I’m out of it,’ he said, rasping harshly.

  Basil waggled his ears encouragingly. ‘Poppycock, old lad. We’ll have you as good as new shortly.’

  Log-a-Log pushed himself into a standing position and turned to Matthias. ‘Where’s Flugg? I must see him. Matthias, I’ve got to go up into the daylight. I don’t want to die down here in this dark place.’

  Matthias grasped his friend firmly by the paw. ‘I understand, Log-a-Log. You go up top and rest. You’ll be all right. Flugg, will you and some of the others take Log-a-Log up into the daylight? Easy now, mind his neck.’

  ‘Matthias, look!’ Orlando was standing on a protruding wall rock, craning his neck. ‘They’ve let a sort of a rope over the side of the ledge and there’s a large basket on the end of it. Looks to me as if they’re lowering something down. I wonder what it is.’

  Matthias shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Listen, Orlando, pretty soon now they’re going to attack. I can feel it. We might hold out for a bit, but we’ll end up being overwhelmed. I have an idea that might buy a bit of time for us, then if all fails at least our creatures might make a run for it and escape.’

  Standing out from the cave entrance, Matthias pointed his sword at Nadaz.

  ‘You there, rat, I challenge you to single combat!’ he shouted.

  Nadaz continued chanting and shaking his grisly sceptre. The warrior mouse tried again.

  ‘You’re afraid! It’s all right when you have your horde with you, but on your own, ha! You’re nothing but a coward. Send anybeast out, then. I am Matthias of Redwall, I am a warrior who does not know fear. Are there any among you like me, or are you all spineless scum?’

  The black-robed rats turned to look at Nadaz.

  ‘You’re not saving my acorns, Warrior,’ Orlando whispered fiercely. ‘I stay down here with you until the end. I’ll fight their champion!’

  Matthias smiled, shaking his head. ‘Orlando, you are the bravest creature I have ever known. No, my friend, they know you could beat any one of them; that’s why I offered to fight. There must be quite a few of them who’d fancy their chances against a warrior my size. But if you must stay, then so be it. When I fall, you can guard the passage and buy our friends a bit of extra time to escape.’

  Orlando placed a heavy paw upon Matthias.

  ‘Champion of Redwall, you may be a mouse but your heart is far bigger than mine. Look out, something’s happening over there.’

  Nadaz was now pointing his sceptre at the causeway. The rats on the steps made way, and they seemed to shrink back against the rock walls in fear. Matthias gripped his sword hilt tighter and his breath caught in his chest.

  It was a huge rodent, somewhere between a ferret and a stoat. The beast looked like a primeval throwback; it had no ears and practically no neck. The hulking head perched squat upon its heavy shoulders leered evilly through curved and stained teeth. Sinew and muscle stood out like great cords all over its body, and heavy spiked iron bands ringed its paws and waist. It carried a stabbing spear of fearsome size and a weighted net.

  Nadaz made an evil, sniggering noise.

  ‘Matthias of Redwall who fears nobeast, this is your challenger. The Wearet, the slavemaster!’

  47

  SISTER MAY AND Cornflower had tried to feed Stryk with Abbey fare, but the red kite was no vegetarian, so they finally compromised by giving the great hunting bird a net of water shrimp. Stryk had taken to the corner of the wine cellar, and she settled down to sleep on a pile of moss and sacking.

  ‘Stay out of Mr Spike’s wine cellar, little one,’ Sister May warned baby Rollo. ‘Never go down there alone. We can’t take chances with a bird like that one.’

  �
��Huh, hope it doesn’t get a taste for October ale or elderberry wine, great hulkin’ thing like that’d empty my cellar,’ Ambrose Spike grumbled into an apple and blackberry pie wedge.

  The Abbot looked over the top of his spectacles. ‘No quicker than the average cellar-keeper could empty a larder. You’re right, Sister May, Stryk is a fine big bird, but she is not used to our ways. Pity about her wing. She’s very proud. Did you see the way she got huffy when I remarked that it was broken? I’d like to take a look at it sometime.’

  Cornflower stopped Rollo roaming in the direction of the wine cellar and sat the mischievous infant on her lap.

  ‘Poor thing,’ Sister May said sympathetically. ‘Apparently she built her nest on a piece of branch sticking out from the mountain, then one night the branch rotted and the nest fell. She struck her wing awkwardly on a jagged rock and broke it. Stryk said that she lay in the ruined nest for many days, unable to move. She had no mate to defend her and she was attacked by other birds. Finally she forced herself to fly. Bit by bit she made her way across the western plain, looking for somewhere to shelter, and that was when she saw our Abbey.’

  Constance came in mopping her brow. ‘Still hot out there. Where’s the big bird? Asleep? What a size! I’ll bet she could almost lift me. D’you think she’ll ever fly again, Abbot?’

  ‘I don’t know, Constance. Maybe if we could look at her wing we’d be able to tell. However, big red kites aren’t our present worry, it’s ravens, crows and rooks I’m concerned with. Cornflower, you must stop this masquerade as Martin the Warrior. I know it annoys Ironbeak, but it isn’t getting us anywhere. There’s another reason also. That raven is no fool, and sooner or later he’ll be a bit quicker than us and he’ll catch you. There’s too much risk involved, you’ll have to give it up.’

  Cornflower became indignant. ‘But Father Abbot, when I get dressed up as the ghost I know it upsets Ironbeak, and that’s why I must continue. It has also started to demoralize his rooks. They’re scared, and the crow – wotsisname, Mangiz – he’s frightened of me too, I can tell. That crow is a very superstitious bird and the others take notice of him. Let me do it just one more time tonight. Please!’

  Mordalfus polished his glasses. ‘Cornflower, you’re a bigger mischief-maker than your son and a fighter as brave as your husband. Make tonight the last time that you haunt our Abbey.’

  Baby Rollo had dozed off, and Cornflower placed the sleeping infant in the Abbot’s lap.

  ‘I will, thank you, Father Abbot. Sister May, come on, we have work to do if the ghost is to walk again tonight. Come on, Constance, we need you for the voice of Martin.’

  The Abbot stroked Rollo’s head. ‘And I’m left holding the baby, as usual!’

  Ironbeak sat at the broken dormitory window and related his troubles to Mangiz.

  ‘Warrior mouse ghosts, big red birds; what next, my seer? The earthcrawlers are down in that Cavern place where we cannot get at them. I have conquered nearly all this great redstone house from the roof down and I cannot let it slip away from me. If I were forced to leave here, we would have to go back to the northlands. They are cold and hard, Mangiz, and it is all fight and no food. We are getting older and could not face many more winters in the north. Tell me, Mangiz, have your visions come back? Are you seeing anything in the eye of your mind again?’

  ‘My General, you were right,’ Mangiz said readily, glad that he was back in favour. ‘I see the ghost mouse was only a trick of the earthcrawlers to frighten us from here. As for the great rustybird, kachah! It was only the imagination of scared rooks. The heatwaves shimmer and dance in this country, and you could see more strange things than on a dark night in the northlands.’

  Ironbeak was heartened. ‘Well spoken, Mangiz, my strong right wing. What else do you see? Are the omens good for your General?’

  ‘The omens are good. It all becomes clear as water now. Ironbeak, you and I will live a good and easy life in this redstone house, the food will be plenty and the seasons good, winters cold will not harm us in this place surrounded by tall woodland. When the earthcrawlers get tired of playing their silly little games, we will catch them all out in the open, and that day they will be slain. Then there will be none left to oppose us. This I see truly, my General.’

  Ironbeak stood and stretched his wings, and Mangiz ducked to avoid being knocked out of the window.

  ‘Kachakka! This is good, Mangiz. I feel good in my feathers too. I think I will fly up and perch awhile on the roof of my big redstone house. Tell the rooks to rest well, and sleep yourself. You look tired and hot.’

  Ironbeak launched himself from the sill and spiralled up to the Abbey roof.

  Mangiz blew a great sigh of relief and settled down to nap in the hot sun. It was the first time he had lied to Ironbeak about his visions. They were still clouded by the warrior mouse, but the crow was not going to tell Ironbeak that. What the General did not know for the moment would not harm him, and compliments were better received than kicks.

  When night fell over Redwall and the Mossflower country, Cornflower began buckling on her armour. However, Sister May had a better idea, so she unbuckled it and listened. Constance covered her mouth and shook with suppressed laughter when the ruse was outlined to her.

  ‘Oh yes, let’s do it. I wouldn’t miss this for a midsummer feast!’

  The rooks perched in the dormitory, half dozing, half awake, none fully asleep since the General had issued the order for them to have the rest of the day off. Most of them had slept all afternoon, and they found it difficult trying to sleep in the night also. It was hot and airless for birds who had lived their lives in the cold northlands. A full moon beamed down through the dormitory window, bathing the entire room in pale bluish white light.

  ‘Leeeeave ooooour Abbeeeeeeeeey!’

  ‘Yaak! What was that?’

  ‘Death is neeeeear!’

  The rooks froze on their perches.

  ‘Death waits outside this rooooooom!’

  A black shadow cast itself across the beds and the floor. There was something at the window.

  The rook Ragwing turned his head slowly and fearfully until he could see the window.

  Framed by the broken pane, with cold moonlight surrounding it, was the head of the Warrior, the helmet with no face; pale grey mist hovered in place of the Warrior’s features. Ragwing and his companions were in a state of panic bordering on hysteria, and the words of the bodiless phantom were like some dread puzzle: ‘Leave our Abbey’. How could they leave the Abbey, knowing that the ghost had said ‘Death waits outside this room’? There was only the window, and the horrible head was floating about there. Even the bravest rook would not venture out that way. It was more than the terrified birds could stand, so they scrabbled underneath the beds, afraid to look or move.

  As they stole back to Cavern Hole Constance shook the window pole that had supported the ghostly head at Sister May.

  ‘One more giggle out of you, Sister, and I’ll have you put on cooking duties with Ambrose Spike!’ she said menacingly.

  Cornflower held a kerchief to her face, pretending to blow her nose. She was, in fact, biting the material to stop herself roaring with laughter.

  Constance waited until they were out of earshot in the tunnel, then she laughed.

  ‘Heeheehee! I took a quick peek through the window, and the rooks were underneath the beds trying to make themselves invisible.’

  Sister May shook her head in mock sympathy. ‘It’s no wonder. You didn’t give them much choice: leave the Abbey, but don’t leave the room. Really Constance, what made you think that one up?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I just lost my head. Hahaha!’

  Cornflower wiped tears from her eyes, realising that the fun had turned to sorrow and longing for her family.

  ‘My Matthias and Mattimeo would have appreciated a joke like that. Dear me, I can’t get them out of my mind night or day. Oh Matthias will be able to take care of himself, no matter where he is, b
ut what about my little Mattimeo, I wonder what he’s doing right now, I hope he’s safe and well fed. I’m sorry my friends, I’m an old wet rag these days, moping about like I don’t know what.’ Sister May began weeping herself.

  ‘There there, we understand, don’t you worry, your young one will be all right.’

  Constance sniffed loudly.

  ‘Of course he will.’

  48

  A SILENCE HAD fallen upon the ledge. Friend and foe alike were hushed as Matthias and the Wearet circled about. The warrior mouse, straight backed, moved lightly on his paws, the great sword of Martin held double-pawed against his right cheek. The Wearet crouched low, spear held pointing at his opponent, the loaded net making swift dragging noises as he cast it in small circles continuously. The eyes of the two fighters were locked as each tried to read the other’s thoughts, hoping one false move of a paw would give him the advantage.

  Matthias attempted to keep his back to the entrance, where Orlando and his friends waited, but the cunning skill of the Wearet forced him round until he could feel the rat horde at his back. The Wearet snarled viciously and shuffled forwards, jabbing at his foe. Matthias was concentrating on the spearpoint and the swirling net; not until too late did he feel the spear butt of a black-robed rat hit him in the back of his legs. The warrior mouse fell backwards. The Wearet hurled himself forward, spear first, but Matthias twisted to one side, caught the end of the net and gave a sharp tug, adding impetus to his enemy’s charge.

  There was a bubbling scream as the Wearet stumbled in his lunge, and the rat who had tripped Matthias with the spear butt staggered forward, impaled upon the Wearet’s stabbing spear. Matthias goaded his foe sharply across his hindquarters with the needlelike swordpoint. The Wearet foamed and screeched as he shook the fallen rat from his spearpoint, casting the weighted net back over his shoulder. The weights struck Matthias on top of his head. Blackness interspersed with coloured stars exploded behind his eyes, and he felt rather than saw the spear jab at his throat as the Wearet attacked on the turn. There was a ringing clang as the Warrior’s swordpoint countered the spear blade.