Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  4

  THE SHIP SEASCARAB at anchor in the bay as four longboats were beached above the tideline. The pirates had come ashore. Surrounded by his savage ragtag crew, Cap’n Tramun Clogg strode into Fortress Marshank. Badrang had the way lined with heavily armed soldiers. They gripped spears tightly, scowling at the ill assorted mob from the Seascarab.

  With a great clatter of clogs Tramun hauled out his cutlass and roared playfully as he made a mock dash at Badrang’s soldiers. They drew back in alarm and Clogg winked roguishly at them.

  ‘Haharr, caught yer nappin’ there, mateys. You’ve all gone soft playin’ at bein’ landlubbers. Ho there, Frogbit, Nipwort, an’ you, Fleabane. Been a bit o’ water passed under the keel since we sailed t’gether. Yore lookin’ plump an’ prosperous these days.’

  Swaggering up to the Tyrant’s wooden longhut, Clogg booted the door, ‘Anyone ’ome t’receive a pore seadog who’s down on his luck?’

  The weasel captain Hisk swung the door open and announced in a dignified manner, ‘Enter, Cap’n, my master awaits your pleasure.’

  ‘Oh do ’e now, well ain’t that pretty!’ a searat called Oilback sniggered at Hisk.

  Badrang knew he was playing a dangerous game, but slyness and treachery had always been the order of the day between himself and Clogg. The idea was for neither stoat to show he was afraid of the other and to keep up a pretence of being old friends. With this in mind Badrang rushed at his former partner, hugging him tightly as he dropped into corsair slang.

  ‘Well well, burn me bilges if it ain’t Cap’n Tramun Clogg. How are yer, ye ole wavedog?’

  Tramun pounded the other’s back, grinning widely. ‘Badrang, me messmate, stripe me but yore lookin’ fit as a fish an’ spry as a wasp. Oh, it is good for me ole eyes t’see ye agin, me ’earty. Look wot I’ve brought fer you!’

  At a signal from Clogg two searats upended a cask upon the table. They smashed in the head and scooped out two beakers, which they presented to the stoats. Badrang brought the drink swiftly to his mouth, halting slyly as Clogg took a great gulp of his. It flowed down through the pirate stoat’s chinplaits as he swigged noisily.

  ‘Damson wine, matey. The best on earth – an’ all fer me’ n’ you!’

  Badrang took a drink that was more of a sip than a gulp. ‘Prime stuff. You allus knew a good barrel o’ drink, you rascal.’

  Clogg released Badrang and slumped down in the Tyrant’s thronechair, resting his clogged footpaws noisily on the tabletop.

  ‘Just like in the ole days, eh?’

  Badrang seated himself on the edge of the table, smiling. ‘Aye, just like in the ole days, mate!’

  ‘Ow long is it since we was last t’gether, d’you reckon?’ Clogg took another swig, grinning and winking.

  Badrang took a sip, pursing his lips. ‘Too long, I’d say, Tramun. It’s good to see you agin.’

  They continued to play the game, this time with Clogg’s paw straying close to his cutlass, whilst Badrang toyed with the bone handle of a long skinning dagger.

  ‘I recalls when we was last together, you left me stranded on a reef whilst you sailed off wid twoscore slaves, half o’ which was mine by rights.’ Now the pirate’s voice began to carry a menacing undertone.

  Badrang’s face was the picture of injured innocence. ‘Me sailed off ’n’ left you? More the other way round, as I recall. There was a mighty storm an’ we were blown off course. My vessel was wrecked an’ the slaves lost, all of ’em. When you never turned up to ’elp me, I trekked off overland an’ ended up in this place.’

  In a trice the time for merriment and reminiscence was over. Clogg hurled his beaker at the wall and stood up.

  ‘Aye, an’ lookit you now, Lord Badrang if yer please! Surrounded by a fine fortress an’ a passel o’ slaves, I’ll wager. Well, I wants what’s due ter me, I’ve come fer my share!’

  Badrang leaped up, confronting his enemy eye to eye. ‘I worked too hard to get what I’ve made ’ere, Clogg. Yore share is nothin’ an’ that’s what y’ll get!’

  ‘Do yer hear that lads?’ The pirate stoat drew his blade. ‘Let’s show this black-’earted swab that we ain’t ’ere to beg. We’ve come to take a full complement of slaves to row the Seascarab from all three decks!’

  With a wild roar, Clogg’s crew unsheathed their weapons and stood ready for slaughter.

  ‘Make a move an’ yer Cap’n’s a dead un!’

  The Tyrant made his move like lightning. Kicking aside Clogg’s blade, he grabbed the stoat’s plaited beard. A dagger appeared in his other paw, dangerously close to Tramun’s throat.

  ‘This blade is poisoned. One nick is all it takes. Hisk!’

  ‘The archers have surrounded these quarters, Lord,’ the weasel Captain called from the doorway. ‘They’re standin’ ready with poisoned shafts. None of this scum will leave alive.’

  Clogg held up a paw to his crew. ‘Wait, hold yer rush, lads. Put those carvers up.’

  He was still smiling, but Badrang could sense the animal rage behind Clogg’s grinning features as the pirate addressed him.

  ‘You win, matey, though I never thought you’d use a dirty trick like poisoned weapons against an ole shipmate. Put up yore blade. I’ll go peaceful like, back to me ship.’

  Badrang stood at the main gates until every last corsair was out of his fortress. The Tyrant was satisfied he had outwitted his foe without bloodshed, which would have been considerable on both sides if a fight had broken out inside Marshank. The archers had their shafts trained on Clogg as he jabbed a warning paw at his enemy.

  ‘That’s twice you’ve crossed me, Badrang, but the third time I’ll win. I’m goin’, but ye can take an oath I’ll be back, so don’t rest easy, matey. One dark night I’ll slip in when yore least expectin’ it. Then I’ll slit yer gullet, take the slaves an’ burn this fancy place down round yore dead ears. That’s a promise!’

  Owing to the heightened tension and upset of the pirates’ visit, it was not until late night that the prisoners were fed. Armed with a bowl of kitchen scraps and accompanied by Gurrad, a young male otter named Keyla stood dropping the leftovers through the grating to the prisoners below. Gurrad drew his cloak close against a chill breeze from the sea. He wanted to be back by the fire, eating roasted fish and drinking the damson wine that Clogg had left.

  The rat shoved Keyla sharply. ‘C’mon you, stir your stumps. It’s cold out ’ere!’

  Keyla shrugged as he sat down on the grating, poking scraps between the bars one bit at a time.

  ‘Cold, sir? I think it’s quite warm out here. Still, you do look a bit drawn and peakish. Maybe you’re coming down with fever.’

  ‘Fever? I ain’t got no fever.’ The rat shuddered and sniffed.

  Gurrad was quite taken aback when the young otter stood up and tucked the cloak more snugly around him.

  ‘You never know, sir. Those searats bring all kinds of illness ashore with them. Why don’t you take yourself indoors by the fire and have a nice beaker of wine? I’ll see to these idiots. Huh, they’re only making things harder for us other slaves, behaving the way they do. Dim-witted fools. You run along now, sir. I’ll take care of feeding these three.’

  Gurrad hesitated a moment then shivered as a fresh wind blew around him. That seemed to settle the issue.

  ‘Listen, I’m getting inside where I’ll be warmer. Don’t be too long out here and report straight back to the compound guard when you’re finished, d’you hear?’

  Keyla threw the rat a smart salute. ‘Don’t you worry, sir. I need my sleep, I won’t be long. Better hurry now, your eyes look a bit cloudy to me.’

  Gurrad needed no further urging. He scurried off shivering and rubbing at his eyes, convinced he was sickening for fever.

  Giggling quietly to himself the otter pressed his face to the grating and called down, ‘Felldoh, are you all right?’

  The squirrel stood upon Martin’s shoulders and drew himself up so he was close to the bars.

  �
��Keyla, my friend, listen carefully. Here’s what I want you to do.’

  Rose and Grumm stood on the tideline, watching the silvery wake of Seascarab as the craft headed out, veering on a southerly tack into the open sea.

  ‘Yurr Miz Rose, worr’m you surpose ’ee villyuns wanted?’

  Rose tossed a pebble into the shallows. ‘I’ve no idea, Grumm, but whatever it was they didn’t seem too happy leaving here.’

  The two companions walked back to the fortress walls, to the spot beneath the main gates where Rose had conversed with Martin. The mousemaid looked up at the twin posts with rope ends blowing loosely from it in the night wind.

  ‘I hope Martin is all right. Trust Badrang to think up something cruel like that, binding a poor creature up there in the middle of a storm –’

  Grumm held up a paw for silence. ‘Shush naow, Roser. Do ’ee ’ear that? Somebeast a-singen’.’

  Keyla had a fine deep voice that carried well. Rose and Grumm listened to his song as it drifted over the walls to them.

  ‘I know a mouse called Martin,

  And a young un who’s named Brome,

  Captured by some vermin scouts

  As he strayed from his home.

  So if you’re out there list’ning,

  I’ll pause awhile and wait,

  For I’ve been singing half the night

  On this side of the gate.’

  Rose almost wept for joy. She was answering in an instant, being both a good singer and balladeer. Grumm grunted softly as she hugged him tight with happiness, her clear voice ringing out plaintively on the night breeze.

  ‘My name is Rose of Noonvale,

  The tribe of Urran Voh,

  My only brother is called Brome,

  And Martin’s name I know.

  We’re here so we can help them,

  So please, friend, tell to me

  What we can do to aid those two

  And try to set them free!’

  Immediately a hurried few lines rang out clear in reply.

  ‘A vermin guard approaches.

  Quick, get yourselves from sight.

  I’ll try to get back to you

  This time tomorrow night!’

  Heeding the warning, Rose and Grumm withdrew swiftly to the rocky outcrop where they had hidden earlier that day.

  Fleabane and Rotnose the weasels came striding forward and grabbed Keyla roughly.

  ‘What’s all the singin’ for, otter? You ain’t got nothin’ to sing about.’

  ‘Yeah, slaves don’t sing. What were you singin’ about?’

  ‘Well, you see, Gurrad thought he had fever,’ Keyla explained, ‘so he went inside and left me to feed the prisoners. When I finished giving them their food I thought I’d better sing an old otter charm to keep the fortress free from sickness.’

  ‘Singin’ charms, what a load of ole nonsense!’ Flea-bane sneered.

  Rotnose was superstitious and terrified of sickness. ‘No it ain’t. Come on, otter, let’s hear you sing it.’

  Keyla obliged, making up the words as he went along.

  ‘O spirit of the seasons

  Who rules the land and sea,

  From crabby claws and runny snouts,

  Good spirit, keep us free.

  From tummy ache, soretail and sniffs,

  From grunge and whisker cramp,

  From wobbly paws, and flurgy twinj,

  O keep all in this camp.’

  ‘Hah! Grunge and wobbly paws, rubbish!’ Fleabane scoffed aloud. ‘And who’s ever heard of flurgy twinj?’

  Keyla looked aghast at the weasel. ‘You don’t know what flurgy twinj is?’

  ‘No, and I don’t care!’

  Keyla leaned close to the two guards whispering confidentially, ‘I knew a fine big strong hedgehog long ago, he laughed at flurgy twinj. Poor creature, he never laughed again!’

  The young otter looked so serious that the weasels were taken aback.

  ‘Take no notice of Fleabane, young un. He’s a fool,’ Rotnose apologized in hushed tones. ‘You carry on singin’ yore charms, an’ sing an extra one fer me.’

  The two guards carried on their patrol arguing among themselves.

  ‘Wobbly paws and grunge, I still don’t believe it.’

  ‘Listen you, don’t scoff at what yer don’t know about. Lookit that mark on yer ear – that could be the start of grunge.’

  ‘Where? What mark?’

  ‘There, that sort of yellow mark on yer left ear. Can’t yer see it?’

  ‘Loafbrain, how c’n I see me own ear? Er, does it look serious?’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t there at the start of the season. I think we’d best learn the words of that charm. How does it go?’

  ‘From flurgy paws and grungy tummy,

  Spirit keep us free.

  Wobbly whiskers an’ dah de dah . . .’

  ‘Dah de dah yerself, boulder bottom. They’re not the right words!’

  Keyla laughed aloud as he made his way back to the compound.

  5

  BADRANG ORDERED A wallguard to be posted night and day against the return of Tramun Clogg. He harboured no doubts at all that the pirate would be back, doubly bent on revenge and conquest. Extra guards were put to watch the slaves when they were quarrying stone, fishing, or tending crops to feed the horde.

  Felldoh’s father Barkjon had wheedled himself on to kitchen duty. He kept his old eyes and ears open, gathering all the information he could. In the slave compound at night he discussed it with others. Since Martin’s open defiance of Badrang and Felldoh’s rock throwing, a new mood was beginning to make itself felt among the captives. Keyla, Barkjon and a hedgehog named Hillgorse were a little bolder than the rest. They soon became the ringleaders of a rebellious little group that met each night around the compound fire. Barkjon was a squirrel with a wise old head, and everybeast listened when he talked.

  ‘We must do all we can to help Felldoh and Martin escape, and the other little mouse Brome. If they can make it to freedom, I know that they will do all in their power to defeat Badrang and free us all. Felldoh and Martin are the only ones ever to defy the Tyrant, I am certain that if they were on the outside they would not leave us here to rot in captivity.’

  There were murmurs of agreement from the creatures that crowded round to listen at the meeting. A mouse called Purslane, who sat with her husband and babe, called out, ‘Tell us what to do, Barkjon. We’re with you.’

  ‘Get them extra rations to keep up their strength,’ Keyla answered for the old squirrel. ‘Shellfish or shrimp if you’re out with a fishing party, crops or fruit if you work in the fields. They need to be fit if they’re to escape.’

  A female otter named Tullgrew spoke up. ‘What if you work in the quarry like I do? How can I help?’

  ‘Hinder, hamper, work as slowly as you can,’ Hillgorse answered her. ‘If at all able, try to steal anything that can be used as a weapon – tools, sharp rock shards, anything. They may all be needed someday.’

  ‘Don’t listen to them. You’ll only land us all in trouble.’

  Barkjon stood up and gazed out over the slaves. ‘Is that you, Druwp?’

  A surly-looking bankvole who was trying to hide behind others lifted his head. ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  Tullgrew grabbed him and stood him upright. ‘Then don’t hide at the back muttering, stand up and speak up face to face with others instead of slinking about.’

  ‘Go on, Druwp, have your say.’ Hillgorse nodded towards the bankvole.

  It was clear whose side the bankvole was on when he spoke. ‘We’re slaves, and it’s better to be alive than killed trying to do foolish things. Badrang and his horde are too strong for us. If you start stealing fish and crops and tools we’ll all be punished. I don’t want to be suffering for the foolishness of others. Count me out of your plans!’

  Purslane threw a piece of firewood at Druwp. ‘Shut your snivelling little trap. I’ve seen you hanging around the guards and carrying tales. You’re
a sneak, Druwp, a toady!’

  Angry murmurs arose from the crowd. Barkjon held up a paw for order. When there was quiet he confronted the bankvole.

  ‘Unfortunately, we cannot count you out of our plans, Druwp. You are one of us, therefore all we do affects you and anything you choose to do must affect us. Together we can be a stream, coursing its way powerful and silent. Even a small stream can wear away large rocks. But separate us and we become as single droplets of water, ready to be scattered by the flick of a paw. You are either on our side, or you are with Badrang and his horde.’

  Druwp lowered his eyes avoiding Barkjon’s gaze. ‘I am alone, I side with nobeast. Leave me to live my own life as I see fit.’

  Barkjon silenced the angry murmurings of the slaves with a growl. ‘So be it, Druwp. No creature is forced to join us. You may stay alone. But let me warn you, bankvole, if one word of our business reaches Badrang and his creatures, I will hold you responsible. When that happens you will be a deadbeast. I promise this!’

  Druwp slunk out of the crowd to a deserted corner of the compound. The silence that followed was eventually broken by Keyla.

  ‘Oh well, if that’s all for tonight I’ll be on my way. Feeding time for the prisoners, you know.’

  Rose and Grumm lay behind the rocks, watching Fortress Marshank, helpless and unable to approach the gates because of the two sentries who stood on the walltop keeping a lookout for the return of Tramun Clogg.

  The mousemaid shook her head despairingly. ‘With those two up there we won’t be able to communicate with our friend. What can we do, Grumm?’

  ‘Oi says we sit’n toight an’ wait. You’m friend be a cleverbeast, ’ee’ll think o’ summat, miz, you’m see, hurr aye.’