Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘See how sharp an’ murderous is me blade.

  Who would like to see me kill the maid?’

  Immediately, there was a silence. Celandine looked so tearfully beautiful nobeast made a sound to condemn her. Except Badrang.

  ‘Run her through, rabbit, and be done with it!’

  Celandine shrieked and strove to get away as Rowanoak held her tightly, helpless before Ballaw. The hare held the dagger high.

  ‘Badrang, your name is feared throughout the land.

  My Lord, I kill this maid at your command!’

  He struck at Celandine. She screamed.

  ‘Aaaaiiiieeeeeee!’

  The blade appeared to bury itself full length in the squirrelmaid’s body, though it had collapsed secretly back into the dagger’s handle. Celandine took the handle in both paws as Ballaw let it go. She looked as though she were trying to pull it out of her, though she was really pressing it in. Ballaw turned, his face a mask of horror, paws quivering as he held them to his face.

  ‘Alas no more I’ll laugh or sing.

  I’ve murdered her, the pretty little thing!’

  Celandine staggered about, moaning pitifully.

  ‘Nor more I’ll see the dawning o’er the trees,

  Nor see the golden sunlight in the sky,

  The seasons change, the birds, the flow’rs, the bees.

  Alack a day, poor me who has to die!’

  Buckler stood close to her, banging on a small drum as he muttered out of the side of his mouth, ‘Coom on, miz, daunt ’ee make a banquet o’ it. ‘Urry oup an’ die!’

  With a final heartrending sob, Celandine flopped gracefully into Rowanoak’s paws and died, still clutching the dagger to her.

  As Rowanoak bore the squirrelmaid’s limp form around, some of the corsairs began muttering.

  ‘Shame, she were a pretty liddle beast.’

  ‘Aye, mate. That rabbit might be magic, but ’e’s fair ’eartless!’

  Cap’n Clogg took a huge draught of kelp beer. ‘Harr, Tibbar, matey. What’d you want ter croak ’er for? The show’s spoiled now. You gone an’ ruined a good night’s entertainment!’

  Ballaw twirled his magic rabbit cloak. ‘There, my good friends, speaks a stoat with a heart o’ gold; me old companion Cloggo. Just for you, I’ll bring her back to life.’

  Rowanoak laid Celandine on the ground. Ballaw knelt over her, chanting.

  ‘Here lies a young maid who’s been killed.

  With my own paw I thrust the knife.

  Without a drop of her blood spilled.

  See, I bring her back to life.

  Hocus pocus dumbeldum dreary, wackalup one two three four five,

  Gawrum pawrum cockalorum, maid rise up and come alive!’

  He took hold of the dagger and made a great show of pulling it out of Celandine, heaving and grunting until at last it stood free and shining as he waved it in the air.

  The young squirrelmaid sat up, rubbed her eyes and smiled prettily as she stretched. ‘Where am I? I must have fallen asleep!’

  There was great cheering and applause for the marvellous trick. Ballaw swiftly collapsed the dagger back into its handle, stowed it beneath his cloak and brought forth an identical one. This, however, was no trick dagger. The hare stuck it in the tabletop between Clogg and Badrang for their inspection.

  Tramun tested the weapon, slamming its point down hard into the table several times. ‘Tibbar, matey, yore the magickest rabbit I ever clapped eyes on!’

  Badrang never bothered testing the knife. He sat back, chin on paw. ‘Very good, rabbit. Can you do any more tricks?’

  Ballaw pointed at Felldoh in his ridiculous outfit.

  ‘More tricks, you say? Attend me here,

  My magic is no trick.

  Yon fox, I’ll make him disappear,

  With a wave of my magic stick!’

  Rowanoak whispered in Felldoh’s ear, ‘Now is the chance to free your father. Try to remember what you were told. You won’t get a second opportunity. Good luck.’

  The badger donned a massive black cloak as Buckler and Trefoil unloaded a box from the cart. Ballaw clapped Felldoh on the shoulder, haranguing him loudly as the stage was set.

  ‘Now then, young fellah, you cunning fox,

  How’d you like to disappear?

  Just place yourself inside yon box,

  And like a flash you’re out of here!’

  Felldoh backed off, his head flopping comically as he pleaded,

  ‘What? Vanish me, sir Tibbar, no,

  To what strange place would I then go?

  Under the sea, or maybe up there,

  To regions of the nether air.

  I pray you, sir, please let me be.

  Magic Tibbar, don’t vanish me!’

  Ballaw turned to the crowd. They were laughing at the comical fox’s plight. Assisted by the rest of the company, he got a chant going that was soon picked up by everybeast.

  ‘Where’s the best place for the fox?

  Locked up tight inside the box!’

  The entire company leaped upon Felldoh and dragged him yelling to the box. There was utter confusion as they thrust him in and he sprang out again. In, out, in, out he went, with the delighted hordes of vermin leaping about chanting louder and louder,

  ‘Where’s the best place for the fox?

  Locked up tight inside the box!’

  Ballaw ran to the fire shouting madly, ‘In! In! Get him in, I say!’

  He extended both paws to the fire.

  Whoosh!

  A great smoky gouting column of flame lit up the night. Red, green and brightest blue. There was a yell of alarm as creatures fell back, rubbing at their eyes in the blinding light.

  Felldoh concealed himself beneath Rowanoak’s huge black cloak. She moved swiftly away to the edge of the firelight and shook the brave squirrel free from the enveloping garment. Felldoh rolled deep into the shadows, flattening himself against the wall as he made his way to the slave compound. Buckler beat furiously on his small drum, secretly kicking away at the box so that it moved and shook. Trefoil stood at his side, her lips scarcely moving as she called out in a loud imploring tone,

  ‘O pity, gentle creatures, lack a day.

  Don’t leave a poor fox here all locked away!’

  Clogg nudged Badrang roughly. ‘Hoho that’s settled the fox’s ’ash. Tibbar’s got ’im stowed tight in that there box!’

  Kastern and Celandine paraded round, holding up a variety of big old-fashioned locks complete with keys and many lengths of tough seakelp rope.

  ‘Who will lock the fox up tight?’

  ‘Who will bind the box up right?’

  There was no shortage of volunteers. Searats and corsairs mingled with members of the Tyrant’s horde as they crowded round the box. Some proudly showed their skills in rope knotting, whilst others secured the locks through the box’s metal eyelets.

  Ballaw strutted round the secured box, nodding with satisfaction.

  ‘Lashed stoutly by good seafaring beasts,

  By honest soldiers locked firm,

  No creature could possibly get out of there.

  Not even the smallest worm.’

  Badrang plucked the long dagger from where it stood quivering in the table. He strode across to the box, his lip curling as he addressed Ballaw.

  ‘Has the fox disappeared from inside the box now?’

  Ballaw’s long ears twitched. He held up a cautionary paw. ‘Wait, Sire. Let me weave the spell.’

  He circled the box, gesturing and leaping.

  ‘Now you vanish, unfortunate one.

  A wave of my wand and you are gone.

  Others may search and seek in vain,

  But you will never be seen again!’

  By sleight of paw, Ballaw produced a hazel twig. He tapped the box sharply, once, twice, thrice, calling out,

  ‘Ongum bongum wollagum woe,

  Vanish, disappear, dematerialize. Go!’

  Turning to Badrang
, he panted in mock exhaustion and bowed. ‘He is gone, m’lord. The box is empty. Shall I show you?’

  The Tyrant smiled evilly, shaking his head. ‘No. Leave the box secured. But if the fox is really gone, I’m sure you won’t mind me doing this!’

  Darting forward, Badrang slammed the dagger down with furious energy straight through the box lid, up to its hilt. There was a horrified gasp from the onlookers, followed by a mad roar from Cap’n Tramun Clogg as he charged out, cutlass upraised.

  ‘Murderer! I warned ye, Badrang, none of these magic beasts was to be harmed. You treacherous scum!’

  Ballaw acted swiftly. Tripping Clogg, he grabbed the cutlass and ran the box through with it, using both paws. Turning, he helped the pirate stoat up and dusted him off.

  ‘Nay nay, Cap’n. If I say the fox is vanished, then you can be sure he’s gone. Hi there, you, Gurrad! D’you fancy throwin’ your spear at the box? Anybeast, come on, have a go!’

  There was silence for a moment, then Gurrad threw his spear. The heavy weapon crashed through the box, protruding from the other side. It was like a signal. Immediately, daggers, spears, arrows and even swords flew through the air. In seconds the box resembled a pincushion. When the missiles had stopped, Ballaw gave the box a mighty kick with his long hindpaws. It fell apart, showing everybeast that the fox had really vanished.

  The hare spread his paws wide, grinning. ‘You see, when Tibbar the magic rabbit performs magic, it is real!’

  Amid the hearty applause that followed, Druwp’s voice squealed out from the direction of the stockade.

  ‘The slaves are escaping. Help, come quick, they’re escaping!’

  17

  THE FOUR FRIENDS had trekked through the scrub woodlands all afternoon, their shadows lengthening in front of them heralding the onset of evening. It had been a still, hot day, and the going was slow in the heat. Rose wiped her brow as she caught up with Pallum. Martin had been clearing ahead with his shrew sword.

  ‘Phew, it’ll get a little cooler as night falls, but then we’ll lose our frontshadows in the dark.’

  They waited as Grumm caught up with them. The mole blinked as he wiped the moist tip of his nose. ‘Hurr, be cooler unnerground, us’ns a-goen t’ make camp soon, Marthen?’

  ‘Good idea, Grumm. We deserve a rest. Where d’you suggest we camp?’

  ‘Burr, oi dunno. Wot say ’ee, Miz Roser?’

  The mousemaid stood on tip-paw looking around. ‘Straight ahead, I’d say. It looks less scrubby and the trees are taller, like a proper forest. Let’s camp by that old dead oak.’

  A slow smile spread across Pallum’s face. ‘Do you mean that old dead oak with the three tops . . .?’

  Rose clapped her paws together as she recited the lines. ‘Follow your frontshadow, do not stop, till you reach the one with dead three top. Hahah, that’s it, an old dead three-topped oak. Come on!’

  They lay in a mossy hollow at the base of the long dead forest giant, eating supper and looking up at the night sky. Above the woody canopy countless stars bejewelled the dark velvet expanse, and a silent fiery-tailed comet flashed across the peaceful scene. Rose picked at a small carrot and turnip farl as she passed the canteen of mint and lavender cordial to Martin.

  ‘Well, we found the dead three top easy enough. Tomorrow we’ll look for the twin paths. Oh, I do hope Brome and Felldoh are all right. I’d hate to think of us lying here eating if they needed our help.’

  Martin took a sip from the canteen. ‘Trust Polleekin’s words, Rose. There’s nothing else we can do. Brome is young, but Felldoh will look after him – he’s a warrior.’

  The mousemaid looked at the short shrew sword sticking in the ground close to Martin’s paw where he could reach it quickly.

  ‘What’s it like, being a warrior?’

  ‘I don’t know really,’ Martin shrugged. ‘I won’t consider myself a warrior until the day I take my father’s sword back from Badrang.’

  Rose tossed a piece of her bread. It bounced off Martin’s nose. ‘Silly, of course you’re a warrior. Even Polleekin saw that. I know you’re a warrior because you protect others. Look at the way you’ve helped me and Grumm, and Pallum. And the way you dealt with that big seabird. Nobeast but a warrior could have done that.’

  Gentle snoring noises came from the mole and the hedgehog.

  Martin chuckled. ‘No good asking them, they’re sound asleep like I should be. Us warriors need lots of sleep, you know. Good night, Rose.’

  Long after Martin had gone to sleep, Rose lay awake thinking of her home in Noonvale.

  ‘Noonvale.’ She said the name in a whisper to the star-strewn night.

  To her it meant peace, happiness and security, filled as it was with family and friends. Noonvale, the secret place of the ancient northeastern forest. The young mousemaid closed her eyes and fell into a deep slumber, far from home. Noonvale.

  Dawn arrived soft as a feather on air. Martin opened one eye and watched two ants trundling off with the tiny piece of bread that Rose had thrown at him. He lay still, thinking of Noonvale. He had talked with Rose the previous day. As they walked, she told him about her home, with Grumm adding the occasional comment.

  The more Martin heard of the place the more he liked it. Maybe someday he could live there, with Rose and her family and Grumm and Pallum . . .

  ‘Coom on, zurr Marthen. You’m a-goen t’ loi thurr all season?’ Grumm prodded Martin with his little ladle. ‘Naow, wot’ll ’ee ’ave fer breffist. Oi c’n make zoop.’

  Rose sat up, rubbing her eyes. ‘No soup, Grumm. We’ll eat from the packs.’

  Martin stood and stretched. ‘Aye, best not light a fire in strange country.’

  Grumm wandered off, muttering to himself. ‘Burr, no force. Oi do loiks moi zoop of a mornen, leastways oi’m not a-goen wi’out fresh water. Oi’ll go an’ seek summ out.’

  Rose smiled as she dug apple turnovers out of her pack. ‘He’s a proper old grump some mornings. Should’ve been called Grump instead of Grumm. Here, have one of these turnovers. He’ll be back soon with fresh water. That’s another thing he insists on most mornings. Even in winter, he’ll sit out sucking icicles in the snow.’

  Pallum, Martin and Rose broke their fast with apple turnovers, some candied hazel and chestnuts and the remains of the cordial from the canteen. They sat enjoying the quiet woodland as the sun warmed the morning. Pallum kept some food out for Grumm as he repacked their provisions.

  Rose stood up, looking around anxiously. ‘Where has that mole got to? He only went for water. I’ll give him a shout . . .’

  ‘No, don’t raise your voice, Rose. If Grumm can hear it then so can others. Come on, we’ll take a quiet walk and look for him.’

  Martin could see that Rose was concerned for her friend. She kept shaking her head and murmuring under her breath, ‘He’s never usually gone this long. Grumm, silly beast, where are you?’

  They were not far into the tall trees when Martin stopped. Pointing ahead, he leaned close and whispered, ‘See the twin paths, beware of one Sweet as the spreading atop of a scone. There they are, Rose. The twin paths. Look.’

  Two definite paths twisted and curved away through the tall treetrunks, one to the left, the other to the right.

  ‘Maybe Grumm’s gone down one, but which one?’ Rose’s voice sounded small in the huge silent forest.

  ‘Neither, I ’ope. They both look pretty fearful. Maybe I best stay ’ere and wait in case Grumm shows up. You two can explore the paths. I’d only get in the way.’

  Rose could see that the hedgehog was afraid. She patted his prickles carefully. ‘Good idea, Pallum. Come on, Martin.’

  They ventured a short way along the path that ran to the right. It wound and curved but seemed safe enough. Martin shook his head. ‘Let’s try the left path.’

  Creeping stealthily forward, they explored the left path. It seemed more tangled and overgrown than the other and oppressively hot. Again Martin halted. He made a gesture towards his ea
r, indicating that Rose should listen. The mousemaid heard it right away. It was a thick, heavy humming, like nothing she had ever heard. Straining her ears, she caught a low, frightened whimper.

  ‘That’s Grumm!’

  ‘Aye, and it’s coming from round that bend. You stay here, Rose.’ Martin drew his small sword.

  ‘I’m coming with you. I couldn’t stay here, Martin.’ Rose caught on to his paw.

  ‘All right, but stay behind me and try not to make any noise.’

  They inched forward carefully. The humming grew heavier until it seemed to be part of the very air they breathed. There was an overpoweringly sweet smell everywhere. Martin brushed aside a wild dogrose and they rounded the bend.

  It was a very strange scene that met their eyes.

  Bees! There were literally millions of the insects. They swarmed on shrubs, bushes, trees and all over the ground. A fallen elm blocked the path completely, and gigantic hives stood everywhere along it – old hives, new hives, half-built hives and old broken ones. Honeycomb could be seen exposed in parts, thick, golden and wax-seamed. Amber nectar dripped to the ground and on to the heavy fungus that grew around the fallen tree. With his back almost touching the trunk sat Grumm, the small ladle held against his nose so that he could breathe. Rose stared wide-eyed. It was hard to distinguish Grumm from the bees that swarmed on him. They were all over his furry body, from footpaws to eartips, covering him completely and buzzing dangerously. Grumm had his eyes tight shut. Every once in while he would make a small frightened sound around the ladle that protected his nostrils.