Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Felldoh was still holding on to the oar as the fish temporarily lost interest in the boat and charged at the oar. The squirrel saw the wide mouth gaping through the water. Rows of pointed white teeth and a cavernous pink interior whooshed through the sea towards him. Felldoh let go of the oar and submerged. He felt a thump on his back as the giant creature seized the oar and made off with it, frolicking and leaping, sometimes half its own length above the surface. Suddenly it dived and was gone.

  The hull of the upturned boat struck his head as Brome leaned over and seized his ears. ‘Gotcha, matey!’

  Scrambling and kicking, Felldoh managed to haul himself on to the upturned keel, where Brome was clinging with all paws.

  ‘Whew! That was a close call. Still, fair exchange is no robbery. The fish can have the oar, we’ll keep the boat.’

  Felldoh wiped dashing rain from his eyes. ‘Let’s hope that monster doesn’t feel playful again and come back for the boat after he’s chewed our oar up. Hang on to my tail and steady me, young un. I’m going to take a look around for the others.’

  With Brome clinging to his tail, Felldoh stood gingerly and surveyed the stormy scene. Sunlight shafted down through the cloud masses, which were showing areas of bright blue sky between them. The wind whipped the wavetops into white foam, sending massive rollers combing across the main.

  ‘Any sign of ’em?’

  Felldoh shaded his eyes from the rain with a paw. ‘Not a glimpse, but there’s a dark splotch on the horizon that must mean land. It must be floodtide – we’re headed straight for it.’

  Brome was not sure whether it was rain or tears in his eyes. ‘Thank the seasons for that! I wouldn’t become a seafarer at any price. Leave the water to the fishes, I say.’

  The morning wore on, but the rain showed no signs of abating.

  Grumm clung to the oar, half asleep, with Rose hanging on to his footpaw. Martin paddled doggedly on, pushing the oar in front of him, his body numbed from the cold of the sea and the driving rain. The sun was now colouring the sea in glorious tints. Rose stared at it through salt-rimmed eyes, lost in its beauty for a moment until Martin’s voice cut into her reverie.

  ‘The sun sets in the west, doesn’t it?’

  Rose nodded. ‘Hmm, suppose it does.’

  Martin’s voice became suddenly hoarse with excitement. ‘This is the Eastern sea. If it were morning the sun would rise on its horizon. Don’t you see what that means, Rose?’

  ‘I’m too tired to work it out, Martin. Tell me what it means.’

  ‘It means that we have to face inland to see the sun in the afternoon. So if we can see the sun in front of us now, we are travelling towards land!’

  Rose came fully awake, hauling herself up on Grumm’s back she gave a loud yell.

  ‘Land!’

  It was still distant, but it was definitely land. Dark cliffs showed against the sky. She patted her mole friend’s wet back heartily.

  ‘Land, Grumm! It’s land ahead!’

  ‘Oi woant berleev et until these yurr diggen claws c’n scrape it, mizzy, an’ then iffen et be so, thiz yurr beast woant never even be caught drinken water agin, never moind a-swimmen in et.’

  Martin found renewed strength and kicked out harder towards firm ground.

  10

  HISK THE WEASEL Captain watched the bankvole rummaging about near Badrang’s longhouse. Sneaking silently up, he pressed a dagger against the unsuspecting creature’s back.

  ‘Be very still or you’re a deadbeast!’

  Druwp did not move, nor did he show any surprise. ‘My name is Druwp. Kill me and you’ll answer to Skalrag. I’m his spy.’

  Hisk moved the dagger point up to Druwp’s neck. ‘You’re lying. I think I’ll kill you anyway.’

  ‘Do as you please, Captain,’ Druwp shrugged. ‘But I have valuable information.’

  ‘Like what, for instance?’ Hisk curled his lip contemptuously.

  ‘Like the three prisoners in your pit, for instance. They’re not there any more. They’ve escaped.’

  Hisk spun Druwp around to face him. ‘You’re lying. Nobeast could escape the prison pit!’

  Druwp let a sly smile cross his lips. ‘Then go and see for yourself. If I’m lying, you can always kill me later. I’m not going anywhere.’

  Hisk grabbed Druwp by the neckfur and held the knife to his throat. ‘Then I’ll go and see for myself. If you’re lying, I’ll come back and kill you. Skalrag won’t save you – or didn’t you know, he’s been missing since last night.’

  Badrang was on the walltop when Hisk sidled up and whispered in the Tyrant’s ear, ‘The three beasts we had in the prison pit are gone.’

  Badrang narrowed his eyes. ‘Gone? What d’you mean? They’ve died or been killed?’

  ‘No, Sire, they’ve escaped.’

  ‘Rubbish, nobeast escapes my prison pit.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, Sire, but they’re gone sure enough. I went down and checked myself. The strange thing is that there’s no sign of escape. The grating was locked tight and the pit was secure.’

  ‘How did you find out they were gone?’

  ‘A bankvole slave, name of Druwp, told me. Said he was Skalrag’s spy.’

  Badrang toyed with a lethal-looking dagger, tapping it against his teeth. ‘Hmm, he may be useful to us. Have him brought to my longhouse tomorrow. Make sure none of the other slaves know.’

  A cry rang up from the shore. ‘Badrang, ole messmate! Sing out, ’ave you ’ad enough?’

  ‘Is that you, Clogg, me ’earty?’ The Tyrant smiled thinly as he slipped back into the old corsair language. ‘I’m the one should be askin’ you that question. I’ve burned yer ship, stoved in yer boats an’ left you with nought but the sea behind yer and me wid me fortress an’ me horde in front of yer. What d’ye say t’ that?’

  Cap’n Clogg’s irrepressible laughter rang out of the darkness. ‘Haharr harr! But yer a few beasts short. My bullies slew a good number o’ yours, an’ I’ve got yer ole messmate Skalrag, trussed up like a fowl ready fer the pot. Oh, and some of yer darlin’ liddle slaves ’ave escaped. Did ye know that?’

  Badrang tapped the dagger against his teeth before he replied. ‘Out wid it, Tramun. Wot d’ye want?’

  ‘A truce an’ a parley wid me ole one-time shipmate.’

  ‘Oho, there’s a change of tune for yer. Why should I parley wid the likes of you, yer great plaited seaswab?’

  ‘Cos iffen yer don’t, I’ll lay long siege to yer great palace. It don’t cost nothin’ to camp right ’ere on yer doorstep an’ fish yer waters, an’ plunder yer fields. Me an’ my buckoes ain’t goin’ noplace. I could keep a war goin’ until yore dim in the eye, long in the seasons an’ white in the beard. Then you won’t get no fancy empire built, an’ sooner or later yer horde’ll starve. So be a good cove an’ parley wid me.’

  Badrang considered the offer for a moment. ‘Give me until mornin’ to think about it, Tramun. Meanwhiles, ’ow about you returnin’ Skalrag as a sign o’ good faith?’

  ‘Haharrharrharr! You allus was a canny one, matey. So be it, then. Open yer gates an’ we’ll let the fox go.’

  Now it was Badrang’s turn to chuckle. ‘The gates stays shut an’ locked. You ain’t goin’ to get ’em open with a batterin’ ram or a fox. I’ll ’ave some o’ my beasts let down a basket on a rope, and we’ll hoist Skalrag in wid that.’

  ‘Hoho, ain’t you the suspicious one, an’ me comin’ ’ere in all good faith. Righto mate, we’ll play yer liddle game. Boggs, Growch! Loose the fox an’ point ’im ’omewards. Good night to ye, Badrang, an’ may the sunny seasons hover round yer bunk.’

  Badrang sheathed his dagger. ‘An’ good night to you, Tramun. May the gentle breezes allus fill yer sails wid the scent of southern roses.’

  An hour later, Badrang had Skalrag on the torture rack extracting information from him.

  Brome and Felldoh got on all fours and kissed the damp sands several times. It was sweet to be on land, whethe
r damp or dry.

  The squirrel took stock of their position. ‘I know exactly where we are, Brome. You see all this charcoal on the tideline?’

  Brome’s paws crunched on the stuff as he bent in the darkness and picked up a piece.

  ‘Hmm, it’s burnt wood, half waterlogged. Wonder where it’s from?’

  Felldoh pointed out into the bay. ‘Right there, mate, where the corsair ship burned and sank. Over yon hills lies Fortress Marshank, so we’d best go quietly.’

  Brome grasped Felldoh’s paw firmly. ‘Where you go I go, mate. By the way, where are we going?’

  ‘To Noonvale, eventually. But first we must look for our friends. We’ll find somewhere to hide up for a bit and dry out. Then we’ll see if we can lay our paws on some food. We can’t do a thing until it’s light, except rest and eat.’

  They walked south across the beach, towards the cliffs. Brome chattered incessantly.

  ‘Rest and eat, that sounds like a good idea. I’ll bet an acorn to an eggshell that’s exactly what Rose and Martin are doing right now, lying back and feeding their faces. Grumm’ll be doing the cooking. Next to my mama, he’s the best cook in Noonvale, once he starts stirring stew or soup with that little ladle he always carries. Mmmm! It smells so good. Why, I’ll even bet that he’s found so –’

  ‘Hush, Brome. What’s that sound?’

  The squirrel had clamped a swift paw across his garrulous young friend’s mouth. Both creatures stood stock still, listening. The sound carried on the night breeze. Instruments were playing and somebeast was singing. Brome pointed to a faint glow emanating from a crevice in the cliff face. When they were closer, the friends both bellied down and crawled the rest of the way cautiously.

  It was a type of lean-to tent, erected between a two-wheeled wagon and some rocks. A fire glimmered, throwing the creatures inside into grotesque silhouetted shadows against the canvas. Brome and Felldoh lay in the darkness listening to the song.

  ‘Oh, we’re the Rambling Rosehip Players,

  And we please both old and young.

  O’er field serene and forest green

  Our praises have been sung.

  We’re the Rambling Rosehip Players,

  And we’ll take on any part,

  Bring a tear to your eye to make you cry

  Or joy to the saddest heart.

  Though the road be tough and the patch run rough

  And weather be cold or grey,

  With a smile and a song we’ll travel along

  On our Rambling Rosehip way. Hey!’

  A heavy voice boomed out as the song finished ‘No, no! Ballaw, you’re supposed to catch Celandine as the last line is sung. You did it far too early and she wasn’t there to take the fan from Gauchee. It’s not good enough. Let’s try it again from the beginning. One, two, Ooooh, we’re the Ram . . . Ballaw! Will you stop eating that pastie and take up your position. Here, give me that confounded thing. You’ve had quite enough!’

  A half-eaten mushroom pastie was flung from the lean-to and struck Felldoh squarely between his ears. The pastie was followed by a hare, who dived on. it, jumping on Felldoh’s head in the process.

  ‘Bad form that, chuckin’ a chap’s supper about, Rowan. Hey there! There’s a bally squirrel here, tryin’ to use me pastie as a hat!’

  Confusion followed. Brome leaped on the hare, trying to wrest him off Felldoh. The squirrel was hanging gamely on to the hare’s whiskers, trying to avoid the long flailing legs. Mice, a mole and two squirrels came pouring out of the lean-to, tripping and falling into the confusion of paws, legs, ears and tails. Pandemonium reigned as the jumble of creatures squeaked, grunted and howled. Felldoh was a seasoned fighter. Scrambling from under the others, he climbed to the top of the heap, about to set his teeth into the tail of whoever was headlocking Brome.

  ‘Here, what’s all this about? Come out of it this instant!’ Felldoh was swung aloft by a massive paw to find himself staring into the stern dark eyes of a big old female badger. She growled fiercely at him.

  ‘Clamp those lips and put those teeth out of sight, otherwise I’ll do a bit of biting – and I’ve got bigger teeth than you!’

  With her other paw, the badger cuffed out, sending creatures rolling this way and that. Catching sight of Brome, she hoisted him high off the ground in her other paw and shook him.

  ‘Behave yourself, you little wretch! What’s your names, both of you, and what’re you doing hanging around our camp?’

  Felldoh reached between his ears. Disentangling a bit of pastie, he tasted it and nodded approvingly. ‘Hmm, mushroom pastie. Wait, don’t tell me, it’s been fried with spring onion gravy. Very nice!’

  The hare picked up the remains of the pastie from the ground. Wiping it off, he ate it, speaking through mouthfuls.

  ‘If y’ wanted some of our tucker, old lad, you should knock on the wagon an’ ask politely, wot? ’Stead of sneakin’ round.’

  Brome waggled his paws indignantly from his position in the air. ‘We weren’t sneaking around, we saw your firelight and heard you singing so we came over to investigate. Oh, by the way, I’m Brome, only son of Urran Voh, and this is Felldoh, late of Marshank. Hello!’

  The badger set them gently down as the hare made a very elegant leg. ‘Pleased t’ meetcher, I’m sure. Allow me to introduce us. We, sirs, are the Rambling Rosehip Players. I am Ballaw De Quincewold, actor and tragedian. My large friend here is Rowanoak. She is our cart puller, props mistress and principal baritoness. The two young squirrelmaids there are Trefoil and Celandine, soubrettes, sopranos and acrobats. The mole Buckler is our juvenile lead, comedian and catcher. The two mousemaids, Gauchee and Kastern, are balancers, chorus and general company cooks. There you have it, m’ friends. Er, would you like supper?’

  Brome pulled at his slack belt. ‘Indeed we would, sir. My backbone was just talking to my stomach about food. They tend to stick together when I’m hungry.’

  The hare nodded admiringly, his floppy ears waving to and fro. ‘Well said, young feller. A creature of infinite jest, wot?’

  Inside the lean-to it was snug and warm after the stiff night breeze on the shore. The Rambling Rosehip company were kindness itself to Felldoh and Brome. They were given cloths to dry off their sea-damped fur as they sat round the fire sipping carrot and celery broth from scallop shells. Rowanoak brought out two tunics similar to the ones the rest of the Rosehips wore, quartered gold and crimson with a green border and black tie belt.’

  ‘Here, you’d best put these on, though I’ll have to let yours out a touch when I have time, Felldoh. You’re quite a sturdy sort for a squirrel.’

  Celandine stroked Felldoh’s strong bushy tail. ‘Hmm, I’ll say you are!’

  Felldoh coughed nervously and accepted a hot mushroom pastie from Buckler. The friendly mole passed Brome a sizeable wedge of pie.

  ‘Yurr, maister. ’Unny an’ blackb’rry. Speck you loik summat sweet.’

  The young mouse took a bite and rolled his eyes. ‘Mmm, do I ever. Sweet things are good for the voice, you know.’

  Gauchee was nibbling an apple and a carrot together. ‘Are they? I never knew that. I only eat apple ’n’ carrot myself. Do you sing much, Brome?’

  Without warning, Brome let forth a swift yodel with his piercing tenor voice. ‘Tralalalalalalarrr! Do I indeed! Try and stop me, Gauchee.’

  Ballaw picked up a small harecordion and tuned it. ‘Good f’ you, young feller. D’you know the Bobble O riddle song?’

  Brome winked. ‘You play it and I’ll sing it.’

  Ballaw played the introduction and Brome began singing, with Rowanoak providing a fine baritone harmony line. It was so catchy that the entire company, even Felldoh, clapped their paws in time with the lively melody.

  ‘Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O,

  If you know, tell me where I do grow.

  High above the lowly earth,

  And yet I flourish for all I’m worth.

  Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O,

 
Tell me now if you think you know.

  I hang between the earth and sky,

  Green or brown as the seasons pass by

  As around me all the birds do fly,

  and just before winter away go I.

  Bobble O Bobble O Bobble O-ohhhh

  Tell me true, I’d like you to try!’

  There was long applause and Brome had his back patted so heartily it began to ache.

  ’excellent, top hole, young un!’

  ‘You’m gorra foin voice, zurr Broom!’

  ‘Oh, it was the best I’ve ever heard. You never missed a beat!’

  ‘Well done. I wish we had a tenor who could sing half as good!’

  Felldoh scratched his head. ‘What was it?’

  Brome took a bite of his pie. ‘What was what?’

  ‘The thing in the riddle song, green, brown, growing in the sky and then flying away before winter with the birds. What was it?’

  Ballaw nodded towards Brome. ‘That’s for the singer to tell, old lad.’

  Brome winked at Felldoh. ‘What else could it be but a leaf?’

  Rowanoak sat down between the two friends. ‘Now, tell me about yourselves. Where are you from and how did you come to this place?’

  Outside, the wind whistled across the bleak Northeast Sea. The rain had stopped and a quarter-moon showed between the scudding night cloud formations, throwing down a moving pattern of dark and silver across the shore. Snug in the crevice of the lowering cliffs the company crouched in their makeshift tent. Inside the lean-to, Felldoh and Brome sat around the fire, eating and drinking as they related their story to the new-found friends they had made, the Rambling Rosehip Players.

  11

  WHEN THE RAIN stopped, Martin felt his footpaws touching solid ground beneath the water. He stood upright with the sea lapping his neck, shaking Rose and Grumm, who had both fallen asleep.