Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Martin almost forgot his aching paws as he thumped away at the wall. ‘Does she cook anything nice?’

  ‘She cooks everything nice,’ Brome sighed longingly. ‘Mushroom and chestnut stew, wild onion and leek soup, spring vegetable pasties, nutbread, oatfarl, wheat-cob, all piping hot from the ovens. She bakes blackberry and apple tarts, plum maple pudding, elderberry pie with yellow summercream, gooseberry preserve scones, hot with buttercup spread –’

  Felldoh massaged his shrunken stomach as he wailed aloud. ‘Stop, stop! I can’t stand it. All that beautiful food!’

  ‘Mushroom and chestnut stew, plum maple pudding, oh my aching teeth!’ Martin wiped a paw across his dripping mouth.

  Brome gave a loud chuckle as he mischievously continued tormenting his hungry friends. ‘My father helps the moles and the hedgehogs. They brew all our drinks – dandelion ale, strawberry cordial, chestnut brown beer –’

  ‘Owoooh! Chestnut brown beer. Stop, you little fiend, stop!’

  Martin and Felldoh beat their footpaws harder against the wall.

  Grumm backed out of the hole, pushing a mound of earth before him. Rose cleared it away, helping the mole out into the late afternoon sun.

  ‘You seem to be making good progress, Grumm.’

  Rattling his digging claws against the rock to clean off the loose sandy soil, the mole blinked his eyes against the sunlight.

  ‘That oi be, miz, hurr aye. Oi be a-goin’ the roight way too, bo urr. They beasts be a-bangen loik two drummers at a winter fayre, guidin oi straight to ’em. Hurr hurr, et woant be long naow, Roser. Afore midnoight, oi’d reckern.’

  Rose wriggled excitedly. ‘Midnight! Wonderful. It should be fairly easy to get clear of Marshank under cover of darkness. Oh, Grumm, you’re a dear!’

  The mole made his way back to the tunnel, murmuring to cover his embarrassment, ‘Oi bain’t no deer, oi be a mole, an’ doant ’ee fergit it, mizzy!’

  7

  A SLIVER OF moon appeared, like a slice of lemon rind suspended in the soft star-strewn darkness. The tide was at full flood, without a wind to drive it. Small silver-tipped waves lapped shyly on the shore, gradually devouring the coastland up to the tideline. Little sound was heard, save for the muted splash of muffled oars and the hoarse muttered curses of Cap’n Tramun Clogg as he urged the four longboats through the dark waters.

  ‘C’mon, bend yer backs, ye bottlenosed bandits. Yer might’ve broken yer mothers’ ’earts but ye won’t break mine. Pull, me bullies, pull!’

  Clogg’s ship was beached around a point south of the headland. The wily stoat was planning a surprise attack on Marshank. The corsairs rowed steadily as Clogg kept watch.

  ‘Harr, there ’tis, me buckoes. Badrang’s fine castle! May’aps it won’t look so fine when I’m done with it. Oilback, Wetpaw, keep those ropes an’ grapplin’ ’ooks close by. Poison arrers, eh. I’ll give that schemin’ stoat a night to remember. ’ere, but wot am I talkin’ about? Deadbeasts don’t ’ave no memory, an’ that’s what ’igh ’n’ mighty Badrang’ll be when I lays sword to ’im. Dead!’

  The four boats pressed on through the night waters, laden with hardened ruffians all armed to the teeth with bows, arrows, pikes, spears, daggers, slings and a variety of swords.

  Lumpback and Stiffear were on the walltop keeping guard. The two weasels lounged against the timber posts. Lumpback was not in the best of moods. He prodded Stiffear with his spearbutt.

  ‘Stop drummin’ yer paws. It’s gettin’ on me nerves!’

  Stiffear had been half asleep. He grabbed his spear, bristling. ‘I’m not drummin’ me paws, slobberchops. Look, they’re still!’

  ‘Watch who you’re callin’ slobberchops, you. Something’s drummin’. Can’t yer ’ear it, like a sorta soft tappin noise?’

  ‘No I can’t, an’ if you prod me once more with that spear I’ll shove it up yer snout. Huh, drummin’ noises. It’s prob’ly yore tiny brain drummin’ round in yer thick skull!’

  They jabbed their spears at each other and snarled a bit before going back to watching the sea.

  ‘I can ’ear it, drummin’ away,’ Lumpback started muttering again, ‘only softlike, but I know I can ’ear it. Stiffy, see that rock out there on the shore, that one yonder – I could swear I saw a pile of sand bein’ chucked up in the air above it!’

  ‘First drummin’, now it’s piles o’ sand!’ Stiffear blew a long sigh of impatience. ‘Wot’s the matter with you, toadbrains? Did you eat some bad fish for yer dinner?’

  Lumpback pointed with his spear. ‘Hah, there! I saw it again, like sand bein’ tossed up in the air, right above that rock, see!’

  Stiffear stared hard at Lumpback, shaking his head pityingly. ‘That’s the crabs ’avin’ a dance. They do it every few nights y’know, kickin’ the sand up with their liddle claws an’ jiggin’ away like billyo.’

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish!’ Lumpback curled his lip in a sneer.

  Stiffear lost his temper then. ‘Yore the one talkin’ rubbish, y’fool! Next thing, I suppose you’ll be seein’ the shore swarmin’ with corsairs. . . . Garrgh!’ He fell forward with a long barbed arrow protruding from his neck.

  Lumpback screamed as the dark shapes hurried towards the fortress walls.

  ‘Attack! Attaaaaaack!’

  Rose had seen the corsairs first. She was about to empty more rubble away when the soft thud of paws on sand reached her ears. Turning towards the sea, the mousemaid could see the four boats on the tideline and a mob of dark shapes scurrying across the shore towards Marshank. She jumped down into the shaft Grumm had dug and held her breath. Fortunately, nobeast saw her. They dashed past swiftly, intent on reaching the fortress.

  Anxiously she crouched at the tunnel entrance, murmuring under her breath, ‘Grumm, where are you? Oh, hurry, Grumm, please!’

  Brome had fallen asleep. He lay between Martin and Felldoh as they slapped their feet wearily against the prison pit wall. Exhaustion was overcoming them both, and they grunted with exertion as they tried to continue.

  ‘Can’t keep this up any more, Felldoh. How about you?’ Martin gasped.

  The squirrel nodded droopingly. ‘Me too, mate, the young un could be right. Maybe his mole friend has tunnelled in the wrong direction.’

  Suddenly Martin’s frustration boiled over. With a wild effort he kicked the wall fiercely, shouting between each thud, ‘We’re not going to die down here!’

  Without warning both his footpaws shot through the side of the wall and a muffled cry rang out from the hole.

  ‘Bo urr, zurrs. ’Old ’ard, tis oi, Grumm!’

  Badrang leaped from his bed as Gurrad roused him with a panicked squeak.

  ‘Lord, it’s Clogg an’ his corsairs. They’re attackin’!’

  Throwing on a chainmail vest and grabbing his sword, the Tyrant pushed his frightened henchrat to one side.

  ‘Of course he is, addlebrain. I wouldn’t expect him to do anything else. Come on. Are the horde positioned on the walls?’

  Gurrad scurried along at Badrang’s side. ‘Aye, Lord, they were up as soon as the guard shouted a warning.’

  ‘Good. I’ll be at the main gate. Send Skalrag to me right away!’

  Moments later Skalrag came hurrying down from the walltop. ‘Sire, they’re pressing hard, but we’re holding ’em off!’

  ‘Where’s Clogg’s ship? On the tideline or in the bay?’ Badrang yelled to the fox above the clash of battlesound.

  ‘There’s no sign of it, sire. They came in longboats.’

  Badrang pondered a short moment then rapped out orders. ‘He’ll have come in from the south – he sailed off that way. The ship is probably beached or anchored round the other side of the headland. Right, listen hard now, Skalrag. Take ten good archers, get oil, tinder and flints, find Clogg’s vessel and burn it to ashes with fire arrows. Leave over the back wall while the thick of the fighting’s at the front. Go, and don’t fail me!’

  As Skalrag hurried to do his master’s bidding,
the Tyrant dashed up the ladder to the walltop and joined the mêlée.

  Arrows whistled through the night from both sides. Clogg was trying to keep up heavy volleys of shafts and slingstones to make the defenders keep their heads down. Badrang seemed to be everywhere at once, hacking at grapnel ropes, hurling boulders and roaring orders.

  ‘Don’t let them grapplers get ahold, slash the ropes! Push that siege ladder over! Hisk, get to the north corner, use the big spears and long pikes to stab downward! You there, take four more and get down into the courtyard. Reinforce the gates with anything – rocks, timber, sand – anything you can lay paws on!’

  Cap’n Tramun Clogg howled aloud at his archers and slingthrowers as he awaited the upside-down longboat that was being trundled over the beach towards him.

  ‘Give ’em blood an’ brokenbones, ye black-livered flotsam! Growch, keep those arrows a-flyin’ an’ make every one count! Haharr, Badrang, I’ll soon be wearin’ yer guts fer garters! Bring that longboat t’me, ’earties. We’ll knock on the Tyrant’s door, haharrharr!’

  The longboat’s keel was plated with a heavy sheath of copper that culminated in a lump at its prow. Upside down, it made a battering ram. Twenty or more vermin stood underneath the boat, using it as an umbrella against missiles from the walltop. Tramun Clogg joined them, heading the operation, roaring orders gleefully.

  ‘Straight ahead as she goes, buckoes. Pound that ole door to splinters, mates. Charge!’

  Paws grasped the undersides of the craft tightly as they raced madly across the shore. Arrows, spears and rocks bounced vainly off the plated keel, unable to stop the corsairs’ battering ram striking Marshank’s gates with tremendous force.

  Whump!

  Most of the ram crew fell flat under the impact as thick copper plate met door timber with a splintering crash. Paws a-tingle from the reverberation, they hoisted the boat aloft under Clogg’s triumphant commands.

  ‘Hoho, cullies. Back ’er off an’ let’s do it again! Gruzzle, Dedjaw, Floater! Up front ’ere with me. Arf a dozen whacks like that’n an’ we can use yonder gates fer toothpicks at our victory feast! Nothin’ can stop wavebeasts such as us mates. Chaaaaaarge!’

  Gurrad slashed at a climbing rope with his cutlass. Feeling the walltop shudder slightly as the ram struck once more, he looked anxiously towards Badrang. The Tyrant had a stack of light javelins at his side, and he was throwing them with deadly accuracy, snarling with satisfaction each time he was rewarded with the screams of another searat impaled by his good aim. Pausing momentarily, he grabbed a passing ferret.

  ‘Tailwart, get down below and see that the gates are well shored up with rock and rubble. Clogg can batter our doors until his whiskers turn grey. If there’s enough packing behind ’em he’ll never break through.’

  The battle raged on into the night, its infernal din of roaring clangour overriding the hiss and swell of the restless sea.

  Brome was last to enter the escape tunnel. Grumm hauled the young mouse in alongside him.

  ‘Gudd to see you’m, maister. You be looken fitter’n a bumblybee.’

  Martin and Felldoh pounded the mole’s furry back joyfully. ‘Well done, friend. Brome was right, you are a champion digger!’

  Grumm wrinkled his nose modestly. ‘No more’n moi job, zurrs. You uns get along naow. Oi’ll bide yurr awhoil an’ patch up yon ’ole so’s nobeast be a-knowen ’ow him’n excaped. Hurr hurr, ’twill give they Bardang vurmint sumthen to puzzle o’er, a hempty pit wi’ no marks o’ breakout, hurr hurr.’

  The three friends crawled on all fours through the darkness, Felldoh’s tail touching the tunnel top and brushing down a light drift of sand. Closing their eyes, they pushed forward in the eerie underground silence, their bodies quivering with the anticipation of freedom. It was the battlenoise and a soft breeze tickling his whiskers that told Felldoh they had made it. He sneezed and rubbed fine sand from his eyes as Rose helped him out.

  ‘Up you come, treejumper. Is Grumm with you?’

  The squirrel rolled to one side as Martin pulled himself from the tunnel. Together they hauled young Brome out as Martin answered, ‘He’ll be along shortly when he’s blocked off the hole. Phwah! I’ve swallowed so much sand I’ll be spitting it out all season.’

  ‘Here, wash it out with some cold mint tea.’

  Martin rubbed dust from his eyes and stared at the mousemaid as he accepted the canteen of liquid. He was thunderstruck.

  ‘You must be Martin.’

  He stared silently into the most gentle hazel eyes that ever reflected starlight, lost for words as a quiet smile spread over the mousemaid’s serene features.

  ‘Drink up, Martin. Your friend and my brother are waiting their turn.’

  He took a quick mouthful, suddenly finding his voice as he did. ‘Yurn b’rosty nose!’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Her laughter was like a summer breeze among bluebells.

  Martin took another gulp and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. You must be Rose.’

  Felldoh grinned as he grabbed the canteen from his friend’s faltering paws. ‘Aye, she is. Remember me? I’m Felldoh, and this other creature is Brome. Your name’s Martin and the beast whose head you’re standin’ on is our rescuer Grumm.’

  Martin hastily shifted his footpaw, mumbling an apology as the mole levered himself from the tunnel.

  ‘Thankee, maister. Hurr, et be gurt ’n’ noisy out ’ere wi’ they vurmin a-killen each other o’er yonder.’

  Suddenly Martin became aware of the battenoise around Marshank. It shook him out of his daze and he began thinking clearly.

  ‘Oh er, right! Well, I think our best bet is to put as much distance between ourselves and that lot right away!’

  Felldoh bristled slightly. ‘I can’t leave until my father is free. I’m staying.’

  Martin gripped his friend’s paw. ‘We won’t be a bit of help to anybeast if we get killed or captured in the midst of a battle. Listen, Felldoh, I’m with you. One day we’ll free all the slaves from Badrang’s clutches, but right now we’re only five, too few to stand against the Tyrant’s horde. I say we should go to Noonvale. Brome and Rose’s father is a Chieftain, and surely he will tell his tribe to help us. Then when we are strong in numbers we can return and defeat Badrang and all his vermin, wipe them from the face of the land and free our friends. What do you say?’

  Brome shook his head. ‘My father Urran Voh is a creature who goes his own way. He will never leave Noonvale. As for our tribe, well, they generally do what he tells them to.’

  Rose spoke up. ‘Aye, brother, our father is as stubborn as you – that’s why the two of you always quarrel. But maybe I can persuade Mother. She’d ask him to help you. I know she would.’

  Martin held the squirrel’s paw tighter. ‘What do you say, Felldoh? Shall we give it a try?’

  There was a moment’s silence, then Felldoh nodded. ‘I’m with you. If we can raise an army at Noonvale then one day I’ll return to dance on Badrang’s grave!’

  Martin’s eyes shone at the thought of it. ‘And I’ll be dancing with you, friend, holding the sword that once belonged to my father!’

  Rose, Brome and Grumm clasped their paws with Martin and Felldoh over the escape hole.

  ‘We’ll do it, friends together!’

  8

  CAP’N TRAMUN CLOGG was beginning to feel discouraged. No matter how hard and long he beat at Marshank’s gates with his battering ram, they seemed to hold up. Gruzzle, Dedjaw, Floater and the rest were seated on the shore beneath the upturned boat, blowing for breath as they massaged weary paws. Clogg struck the side of the boat with his cutlass.

  ‘Wot’s the matter, yer lily-livered seascum? Weary already? Come on now, ’earties, up on yer paws an’ give it one more go. She’s splinterin’, I tell yer. Why, a couple more bangs an’ we’ll be through inter the fortress!’

  Gruzzle sucked noisily at a skinned paw. ‘Ahh, Cap’n, I thought you said one more go arf an hour back, an’ we’re still chargin’ t
hose gates like madbeasts.’

  Clogg cocked a fierce eye at the complaining sea rat. ‘Yore grizzlin’, Gruzzle, always grizzlin.’ Now up off those hunkers, mate, an’ charge that gate, afore I charges you wid this frogsticker!’ He waved his cutlass threateningly.

  There was a knocking on the outside of the boat.

  ‘Cap’n, it’s Wetpaw. Come quick an’ take a look out ’ere!’

  The boat was lifted and Clogg poked his head from underneath. ‘Lookit wot, mate?’

  The ferret pointed to reddy-orange glow illuminating the sky beyond the headland. It took a moment for realization to sink in, then the pirate stoat let out an agonized wail and began tearing at his braided beard, the clumsy wooden clogs clicking together as he performed an anguished jig on the shore.

  ‘Whaaaagh! The slime-coated villain’s burnin’ me ship! Yarrggh! Me luvverly Seascarab, pride o’ me ’eart! Badrang, yer rotten foul-nosed worm, stinkin’ screw-tailed stoat, warp-eyed snotty-snouted shark!’

  The corsair crew looked on in dismay as their Cap’n gave full vent to his spleen. Hurling himself at the gates, he hacked with his cutlass, kicked with his clogs, even gnawed savagely at the woodwork with his teeth as he yelled between mouthfuls of splinters, ‘I’ll rip yer liver ’n’ lights out an’ feed ’em to the crabs. I’ll cut off’n yer ’ead an’ throw it in yer face. I’ll string up yer tripes fer riggin’. I’ll pickle yer tail in burnin’ brine. I’ll . . . I’ll. . . . Yaaahaaagh!’

  Skalrag and his archers stood paw-deep in the sea, the water scarlet and gold with reflections from the blazing vessel. They blinked as ashcloth from the sail drifted sootily by on the breeze. The Seascarab was settling down in flames on the shallow bay bed, and timbers crackled as blazing pitch bubbled from seams. Two rats who had been left on watch were draped limply in death over the gunwales, blazing arrows extinguishing themselves in their backs. With its great green sail burned away, the mast stood like a fiery beacon against the star-studded night. It cracked and broke, falling in an avalanche of sparks. The vessel heeled over, listing at a crazy angle as sea water met flames with a loud steaming hiss.