The Bellmaker

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Majesty, we thought you were dead, but you live and all of Southsward is glad of this.’

  Gael raised the oldster up. ‘Weldan, my old friend, how did you find me here?’

  ‘Word is abroad of your escape. I have brought two hundred; they will not rest until you regain the royal house of Floret and the murderer Urgan Nagru lies slain, this I vow!’

  Serena was about to reply when drumrolls and shouting broke out behind the squirrels.

  ‘Make way an’ stan’ aside for the recruitin’ party!’ Bowly Pintips and his party marched up in grand style. Furpp gave an elaborate flourish of his broom, halting them in front of the royal family. Serena came forward and took the young hedgehog’s paws fondly.

  ‘Bowly, my young warrior,’ she said, ‘where have you been?’

  He swept a nonchalant paw at the dunes around. ‘Thither an’ yon, Majesty, recruitin’. Watch this!’

  To the north a dunetop suddenly bristled with hedgehogs brandishing warclubs. Another wave from Bowly’s paw and a crowd of yelling mice carrying long pikes appeared on a dune to the south. Serena clapped her paws with joy, ‘What wonderful recruiting!’

  Bowly tossed an oatcake into the air and caught it neatly. ‘Oh, that ain’t all, watch this!’ he cried.

  He took the broom from Furpp and waved it at a hilltop next to the one the mice stood on. An instant roar went up as masses of moles appeared, each one armed with mace and chain. Furpp took one of the mole drums and banged out an irregular rat-tat. Between the hills marched another fourscore moles carrying oaken mallets.

  Bowly and Furrp stood with the leveret squad as Gael and his family thanked them personally. The Squirrelking took the broom from Furpp and climbed the dune above the mole’s dwelling. He held the broom aloft, its twig bristles pointing at the sky.

  ‘Friends, good creatures all, I thank you for rallying to me, and this, your standard. It is only an ordinary broom, but it will be the symbol of our army. This will show those who try to conquer and enslave us that ordinary things can become very dangerous, like this broom. Where it is raised aloft you will follow and wait. When it falls with the broomhead down then we shall sweep! We shall sweep out the evil of Foxwolf and make Southsward clean to live in again!’

  Gael let the broomhead fall and the hills shook to a mighty roar.

  ‘Free Southswaaaaaard!’

  The army took off like a hurricane, headed for Castle Floret with Bowly in the vanguard. Racing alongside the tribal leaders were hedgehogs, moles, mice, otters and squirrels. With the broom waving high in his paws, Bowly yelled his warcries to the four winds. He was a warrior!

  31

  ANOTHER HEAVY BLOW to the gatehouse door caused it to tremble and splinter. Mariel stood with her back against the wall, knowing she was not going to refuse the two dumb creatures who stood staring at her pleadingly. She nodded towards the door, saying, ‘Somebeast ought to stop them smashing it in . . .’

  Lumba backed up the stairs, heading the group that carried the battering ram. He was confident that the next charge would burst a way through into the gatehouse.

  ‘Last time now, give it all you’ve got. One, two, charge!’

  Ten rats were carrying the ram. They sped down the stairs with the other forty close on their heels.

  Before they reached it the door swung open.

  Unable to stop, they went pounding through the doorway. Muta and Rab met them head on – the two berserk warriors were like eagles among pigeons. Spears were swept aside broken, shields bent double and armour crushed like autumn leaves. The badger seized a rat in each paw and used them as flails upon the others. Rab Streambattle was among them like a flame, his swordblade flashing as he hacked through armour and hide alike.

  Hooktail had carried on running as he entered the room. He dashed past Muta and was about to turn when a mighty smack from Mariel’s Gullwhacker sent him sailing through the window where he met an arrow before falling to the moat. The mousemaid spun her weapon, punishing every head or face that appeared before her. With two rats clinging to her back Muta fought on, the bloodlust hot in her eyes; horderats bounced off the stone walls as she whirled her huge paws like a windmill.

  Rab was out on to the stairs; dropping his sword in favour of a spear he went to it with butt and point, using the centrepole as a quarterstave until he made it to the top of the steps. Shaking off the two rats that clung to her like ticks Muta grabbed the fallen battering ram. A scream of pure terror came from the remaining horderats. Muscle and sinew stood out on the old badger’s scarred hide as she swung the ram, flattening rats against both walls. The rest broke and ran up the stairs, only to find Rab armed with a spear on the top step barring their way. They turned, but Muta was coming through the door with the battering ram pointed at them.

  Shutting her mind to the awful sounds, Mariel concentrated on unloading rats out of the window. One or two who had missed the wrath of Muta and Rab pushed past her and leapt howling into the moat. Mariel collected spears and began hurling them up at the archers on the battlements.

  The battle won, Muta and Rab returned exhausted to the gatehouse. But there was still work to be done. The door had been torn off its hinges in the attack. Quickly they turned it on its side and, using the battering ram and the remaining spears, made a barricade.

  Out beyond the plateau, Egbert the Scholar popped up unexpectedly out of the ground beside Meldrum and smiled apologetically.

  ‘You must excuse me,’ he said. ‘I could go no further because this large rock was in the way. My name is Egbert, how do you do?’

  Meldrum was lost for words. He sat staring at the mole. Egbert shook his head despairingly and launched into mole speech.

  ‘Bo urr zurr, oi’m Eggbutt ee mole, cumm to taken you uns out of this yurr place, burr aye!’

  As Dandin and Iris turned to stare at him also, Meldrum regained his composure and spoke.

  ‘Come to take us out o’ here, wot?’

  Egbert dusted earth from his paws impatiently. ‘That is correct. Hmph! Amazing the things one must resort to when attempting to communicate. Listen, I’ve come to take you out of here before you are all slain.’

  Dandin shook the mole’s paw warmly. ‘Well, I’ll go along with that in any language. We’re at your command friend, just lead on!’

  Meldrum waggled his ears reflectively. ‘Not so fast, laddie buck, some things are easier said than done. How can y’be so sure you can get us out o’here, eh, young molechap? Speak up, don’t be shy.’

  Egbert donned his spectacles and looked at Meldrum over the top of them. ‘Hmm, shyness would be a virtue in some creatures, though I doubt it is widely practised among hares. How do I propose to get you out of here? Well, I could sit here discussing it at length with you. Duck!’

  They crouched quickly as more arrows cut the air.

  Egbert continued as if nothing had happened. ‘Unfortunately I don’t intend sitting about here and being shot at all day. Listen, I got Mariel into that gatehouse, trust me. I can get you out of here and into Castle Floret if you do as I say. Are you willing?’

  Iris shouldered her bow. ‘We’re willing Egbert, always trust a mole, I say.’

  Meldrum the Magnificent had recovered his aplomb. Jamming his hat tight over his ears he winked at Dandin. ‘Trust a mole, that’s what I always say too. Even if the blinkin’ creature spouts like a library scroll, wot!’

  Nagru joined Silvamord on the battlements to see how she was faring. The vixen explained the position to him.

  ‘We’re keeping that lot in the valley pinned down well, but your gatehouse scheme has failed. Lumba and his troop ended up in the moat and now that scurvy mousemaid has blocked the gateroom window, my archers can’t get at them. Something has got to be done about the gatehouse. Come on, Foxwolf, where’s your cunning?’

  Nagru stared down at the boarded window hard and long, then his wicked eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Keep your archers trained on that window. Mingol, get rags, wood, straw, lots o
f straw. Damp it all down well.’

  A malicious smile lit up the vixen’s face. ‘You’re going to smoke them out!’ she crowed.

  Sicant pointed down into the valley. ‘My Lady, look! They’re breaking and scattering!’

  Silvamord’s smile widened as she looked over the battlements. ‘Well, well, what a pitiful little army. They’ve had a bellyful and now they’re running off home. See them go! Archers, fire!’

  Nagru swiftly countermanded her order. ‘Cease, hold your arrows! I’m going to teach those upstarts a lesson they won’t forget. You stay here and see that the gatehouse is taken. I’ll leave Grutch and some others to hold the gateway in case of ambush.’ He whirled and ran for the stairs.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Silvamord called after him.

  The Foxwolf shouted back as he ran, ‘I’m going to show ’em I’m not afraid to attack. I rule Southsward and they’ll know about it before nightfall!’

  Silvamord could taste victory. She threw back her head and howled. ‘Make an end of it, Nagru! Kill them, leave none alive! Sicant, go and tell Mingol to hurry himself – I’ll smoke them out of there or choke them slowly to death!’

  Benjy had scouted out a clear running stream, and Joseph and Finnbarr called a halt on its bank in the late afternoon. Log a Log’s Guosim shrews came in from foraging the hills and woodland bringing lots of apples, pears and wild plums, even some cherries and a variety of roots and vegetables. The crew sat cooling their footpaws at the water’s edge, Joseph keeping an eye on Wincey and Figgs as they paddled in the shadows.

  Finnbarr sunk his teeth into a large red apple. ‘Ahoy, Bellmaker, great country ’ereabouts, plenty of everythin’ just agrowin’ for the takin’.’

  Joseph and Benjy were sharing cherries, seeing how far they could spit the cherrystones into the stream. Log a Log stretched out on the bank next to Foremole.

  ‘Ah, this feels like home t’me, nothin’ like bein’ near a nice stream eatin’ a pear. Though I wish we could’ve had a fire, my cooks would make a great soup from those roots and vegetables.’

  ‘Hurr, oi loikes zoop zurr Log, tho’ oi dearly loikes a purr too, burr aye!’ said Foremole as he buried his face in a mellow pear with a squelch.

  Rufe, Durry and Fatch had found an old willow further upstream. They swung on a springy limb as it bobbed them up and down into the water. Rosie munched her way through a heap of dark purple plums as she watched the young ones enjoying themselves.

  ‘Y’know, we’ll have to watch those young uns if we get caught up in a skirmish of any great size,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t like to think of my leverets havin’ to fight battles.’

  Wincey had wandered up on to the bank. Joseph cut up an apple for her, setting it out in slices. ‘You’re right, Rosie,’ he replied, ‘I couldn’t bear to think of these little uns being hurt in any way. Hi Figgs, don’t go too far! Come back here this instant, d’you hear me, missie?’

  Finnbarr tossed an apple playfully at Joseph. ‘Yer a real ole mother ’en, Bellmaker. Stop fussin’ o’er the liddle maid, she’s an otter, ain’t she? I’ll wager Figgs can shift fer ’erself in water better’n you can.’

  The Bellmaker, however, was not convinced. ‘Figgs is far too little, Finn, she’ll get lost if she goes much further downstream alone.’

  Finnbarr grasped Joseph’s paw, pulling him upright. ‘Ho come on then, fussbudget, we’ll go an’ get ’er.’

  Together they waded downstream, past willow and red-berried rowan mingled with balsam and reed mace, the trees dosing in an arch over the streamwaters. Small clouds of midges flitted in and out of the sunpatterned shade, disturbed by the progress of the two wading creatures. Cupping paws about his mouth Joseph called aloud, ‘Figgs! Where are you, Figgs?’

  Finnbarr tugged the edge of the Bellmaker’s jerkin urgently. ‘Don’t turn round too fast, matey, she’s be’ind us.’

  Joseph turned slowly. Figgs was there, seated on the brawny shoulders of an otter, who with about fifty others lined the stream holding javelins menacingly. Finnbarr glanced over his shoulder to see a similar number appear apparently from nowhere, merging between foliage, sunshine and shadow.

  Figgs scrambled down from the otter’s shoulders and swam to Joseph. The Bellmaker ignored the javelins hemming him in on both sides and clucked disapproval at the otter babe. ‘Tch, tch, look at your smock and bonnet, they’re saturated.’

  This seemed to relax the otters. The big one spoke:

  ‘I am Blerun Downriver, what names do you go by?’

  ‘Joseph the Bellmaker. This is Finnbarr Galedeep, and there are more of us upstream.’

  Blerun leaned on his lance and nodded. ‘I know, we have watched you since you camped there. Do you serve Urgan Nagru the Foxwolf?’

  Before an otter could lift javelin Finnbarr’s twin swords had cleared their sheaths. He went into a fighting crouch, his single eye glittering hotly. ‘No, matey, we’ve come t’do battle with ’im, so if you’re on the Foxwolf’s side we’d best start the party right ’ere!’

  Blerun left his javelin sticking in the streambed and extended a paw towards Joseph and Finnbarr. ‘Your enemy is our enemy. We will fight him together, Finnbarr Galedeep.’

  So it was that the Pearl Queen’s crew began the final stage of their march to Castle Floret.

  32

  MORNING SUNLIGHT FLOODED a copse in the stillgreen depths of northeast Mossflower. Dewdrops hung heavy and bright on leaf and petal, plentiful as the tears shed by the former bosun of Pearl Queen, Blaggut. Exhausted after a night-time flight through dense woodland, Slipp had dozed a scarce hour when he was awakened by the sobs of his companion. Red eyed and irate, the searat Captain picked up the stolen badger chalice, and snarled, ‘Yew keep snottin’ an’ slobberin’ like that and y’ll rot yer eyes. Now stow that wingein’, d’ye hear?’

  Blaggut did not even try, his whole body shook as more tears poured forth. ‘Wot did yer kill the ole badger for, Cap’n, she never did us any real ’arm. You shouldn’t ’ave slayed ’er!’

  Slipp trampled the grass in a circle around Blaggut, speaking through clenched teeth. ‘I killed ’er cos she was tryin’ to kill me, can’t you get that through yer thick ’ead! Any’ow, she needed killin’, treatin’ me like some kinda wet-eared galley slave. Look, wotcher goin’ t’do, sit round ’ere cryin’ until they catches up with us? Come on, stupid, we got travellin’ t’do.’

  Slipp punctuated his words with the usual kicks at Blaggut. He sat unmoved, head in paws, still heaving with grief. ‘If I travelled for the rest o’me days it’ll still be with me, Cap’n. That pore creature lyin’ stabbed to the ’eart, the liddle uns screamin’ an’ ole Blind Simeon a wonderin’ what was goin’ on. You go without me, Cap’n, I’m no good to nobeast anymore!’

  Slipp seized Blaggut roughly and pulling him upright he began shaking him furiously. ‘Lissen, deadbrains, I’m still the Cap’n round ’ere, an’ if I sez yore goin’ then go yer will!’

  No sooner had Slipp released him than Blaggut slumped down and continued weeping. The searat Captain’s rage knew no bounds – he stormed about the copse, destroying flowers and tearing at the foliage as he gave vent to his anger.

  Blaggut carried on as if unaware of it all. ‘They’re good an’ decent creatures at the h’Abbey, I could ’ave been one too in time. Though a searat can’t change ’is colours they say, and mebbe that’s true. If we’d never stopped at Redwall everybeast’d still be livin’ there peaceful an’ ’appy, ’twas no place fer bad uns such as us.’

  Slipp could stand no more. Snatching up a thick branch of dead wood, he laid into Blaggut. ‘Up on yer paws, oaf. Leave the thinkin’ t’me, I’m the Cap’n an’ yore the fool! Come on, gerrup, you blitherin’ empty ’eaded, no account, washed-up gobbet o’ flotsam!’

  Blaggut got up.

  He came at Slipp with a strange light in his tear-stained eyes, paws outstretched and teeth bared, regardless of the blows that were being rained upon him. Slipp began backing a
way. The branch broke as he slashed and struck at Blaggut’s head and body. Slipp tripped and fell and Blaggut was on him, his paws tight about the Captain’s neck. The broken branch fell from Slipp’s nerveless grasp as Blaggut’s vicelike grip tightened. They lay face to face, the searat bosun’s voice coming in gasps as he shook Slipp like a rag doll.

  ‘Fool! Aye, yer right Cap’n, I was a fool, an oaf, an idiot, an’ all those other names you called me. That’s cos I took up with you Cap’n, yore bad right through, you’ll never change, that’s why I gotta do this. Sorry Cap’n!’

  It was well into noontide. The mourners stood around the flower-strewn heap of earth at the southeast corner of Redwall Abbey’s ramparts. Redwallers and Dibbuns alike gazed sadly at Mother Mellus’s last resting place. Simeon leaned upon the paw of his Father Abbot, who had gathered strength as the day progressed. At the start of the day Saxtus had moved about like a creature in a trance, doing things automatically. Gradually the realization of his position as Abbot took over. Duty could not be ignored, so with a great effort Saxtus pulled himself together. He patted Simeon’s paw comfortingly before turning to address the Abbey dwellers.

  ‘My good friends, the poems have been recited, the prayers all said. Mother Mellus has moved on to sunnier pastures, quieter noontides and more peaceful woodlands, though she will always live in our hearts. But I can hear her speaking to me now, guiding me as ever she did from the time I was a Dibbun, right through until I was chosen as Abbot. I always heeded the wise words of Melius, as I do now. She is telling me that Redwall life must continue.’

  Saxtus paused to smile and tweak a leveret’s ear.

  ‘Mellus says that there is fruit to be picked in our orchard, boats to be sailed on the pond, work and play for all. As the summer fades to autumn we will have a great feast one day, to celebrate the memory of our dear friend. Go now, think about this as you work hard and rest well!’

  There was a flash of sunlight and something glimmered through the air in a bright arc, falling to rest quietly on the fresh-dug earth of Mellus’s grave, where it lay unharmed.