Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  ‘Sit still, Grumm,’ Rose said in a husky whisper. ‘Don’t cry, there’s a good mole. Martin and I are here now.’

  ‘Hurrmm, Miz Roser.’ Grumm’s voice sounded muffled as he talked around the ladle. ‘They’m trapped oi daown yurr. Ooch! They stingen oi, not all at oncet, moind, just when they feels loik ’avin’ some fun with oi. Ooch!’

  Rose kept her voice low. ‘I’m sorry you’re being stung, Grumm, but sit still and we’ll have you out of there soon.’

  Martin spoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘Rose, they’ve got us trapped now. There’s as many behind us as there are in front, and they’re blocking our way out. Ow! I’ve been stung on the footpaw and they’re beginning to swarm on me. You can’t fight bees with a sword. Owch!’

  Rose looked at Martin then down at herself. ‘That’s strange, not a single bee has landed on me. Look!’ She held her paw forth. Not a single insect tried to land on it.

  Martin blinked in surprise. ‘How d’you do it . . .? Owch!’

  Realization dawned on Rose suddenly. ‘Martin, Grumm, don’t speak, don’t say a single word. I’ve noticed that every time you speak you get stung. Now, the bees aren’t stinging me, so it must be because they like the sound of my voice. I’ve got an idea. Listen, I’m going to start singing. If they like my voice when I speak, they’re sure to like it if I sing gently. As soon as you feel that it’s safe, then take my paws and we’ll walk out of here, or at least give it a try. Well, here goes. Let me sing a bit first.’

  Martin and Grumm remained still, like two statues covered by masses of slowly moving bees. Rose began her song.

  ‘You will find me at Noonvale on the side of a hill

  When the summer is peaceful and high.

  There where streamlets meander the valley is still,

  ‘Neath the blue of a calm cloudless sky . . .’

  Right away Martin noticed a difference in the behaviour of the bees. The buzzing diminished to a low background hum and the insects that were crawling over him ceased their activities.

  ‘It’s working,’ he whispered urgently to Rose. ‘Keep singing. I’m going to take your paw. Grumm, can you hear me? Reach out for Rose’s paw when she sings.’

  Rose continued, her voice like warm breeze on a soft night.

  ‘Look for me at dawning when the earth is asleep.

  Till each dewdrop is kissed by the day,

  ‘Neath the rowan and alder a vigil I’ll keep.

  Every moment that you are away . . .’

  Rose stretched her paws forth. Feeling Martin and Grumm take them, she turned and began walking back down the path with a slow, measured pace. Martin and Grumm trod carefully alongside the mousemaid. She continued singing, and as they went the bees began dropping off and buzzing lazily back to their hives.

  ‘The old earth gently turns as the seasons change slowly.

  All the flowers and leaves born to wane.

  Hear my song o’er the lea, like the wind soft and lowly.

  Oh, please come back to Noonvale again.’

  Pallum was waiting anxiously at the entrance to the path. At the sight of his friends returning he did a small dance of joy, coupled swith anxiety at the lumps and bumps raised by the bee stings.

  ‘Haha! There you are, thank the seasons! Oh, look at you, Grumm, all covered in swellin’s. What happened?’

  The mole smiled at his worried friend. ‘Bo urr, that be anuther story, Pallum. Move asoide so us’ns can set daown an’ rest us’ns’ weary bodies, hurr?’

  The three travellers slumped against a spreading sycamore. Martin shook his head in amazement, burying his short sword point down in the loam. ‘Thank you, Rose. That was marvellous. Who needs a sword to defend us? That’s the second time you’ve won a victory with your voice – first as a sea eagle, then as a singer. You know, the strange thing is that I hardly noticed the bees. All I could hear was your song. I could have listened to it for ever!’

  Pallum made poultices of dockleaves, nightshade and mud. ‘Sit still now while I put these on your stings to cool them. Best thing in the world for stings. How’s that?’

  ‘Ooh, you don’t know how good that feels,’ Martin sighed gratefully as the fire died from the stings under Pallum’s ministrations. ‘All we need now is another song from Rose.’

  Grumm spat away a bee sting that he had nipped out with his teeth. ‘Ho yurss, Miz Roser be the noicest songer in all Noonvale. ’er daddy an’ oi watched many a time whoil she singen ’ee burds outen ’ee trees.’

  Rose was all a-fluster. She jumped up and shouldered her pack. ‘It was only an old Noonvale song. Every young creature there can sing it as well as me. Come on you two, or are you going to sit there all morning?’

  The mousemaid set off down the path at a lively pace, with Martin and Grumm bringing up the rear as Pallum pulled stings from them.

  ‘That’s it, right there in the middle of my back. Ooh, that’s better. Get that one on the side of Grumm’s neck.’

  ‘Oochooch! Go easy, zurr ’edgepig. You’m wurser than ’ee liddle peskers as. put yon stingers thurr!’

  They made good progress that day, though the woodland grew high and gloomy as they traversed it. It was noontide, yet the sun could hardly be glimpsed through the high interwoven foliage canopy. Dim green light filtering down gave the path an eerie quality of unreality. Halting by a little brook, the four friends made an over-late lunch of applescones washed down with the cold sparkling water. When they had finished, Grumm and Pallum sat dabbling their footpaws in the brook, grunting and making small noises of happiness as the babbling water gurgled over their paws. Martin and Rose sat behind them, nudging each other and stifling silent giggles as they watched the pair enjoy their paddle.

  ‘I see you. Beware!’

  Quick as a flash, Martin leaped up, drawing his sword at the sound of a booming voice in the half-lit forest. He held up a paw, cautioning his friends to silence. They waited a moment, then the voice echoed out a second time.

  ‘Go back, small ones. Leave my path!’

  ‘Who are you?’ Martin shouted then, surprised at how the forest echoed and magnified his voice.

  ‘I am the Mirdop.’ The spectral sound rumbled about the treetrunks. ‘I see all. None can pass me. Go back!’

  ‘We mean no harm,’ Martin replied, keeping his voice friendly as possible. ‘We are only travellers trying to reach Noonvale!’ Leaning aside he whispered quickly to Rose. ‘Keep him talking. I’ll try and find out where he is!’

  ‘Be still, all of you!’ the voice rang out, hollow and angry. ‘For I am Mirdop, born in a storm at the night of winter’s moon! I see all! I slay all!’

  Placing her paws firmly together, Rose did a magnificent harsh grating voice which rang and echoed wildly.

  ‘And I am Martin the Warrior. I have slain more than the hairs on your hide! I have defeated Amballa and Badrang. Let us pass!’

  There was more silence, then the voice called threateningly, ‘One warrior is nought to a Mirdop. I will eat him up!’

  Rose resorted to her own natural voice as she answered, ‘There is more than one warrior here, there are four! I am Rose, the deadliest slayer in Noonvale. I eat Mirdops for breakfast. What say you, Pallum the Mighty?’

  Pallum swelled until his stickles separated and shrieked out, ‘Yahoooo! I am Pallum the Mighty. I carry a thousand swords! I too eat Mirdops, though generally as snacks! Stay clear of me and watch out for my friend Grumm the Growler!’

  ‘What is a Grumm the Growler?’ the mysterious Mirdop voice answered them. This time Rose thought she caught a note of hesitation in it.

  The mole shuffled forward, brandishing his ladle. ‘Oi be Grumm the Growler, a gurt moighty beast! Oi makes zoop out o’ Mirdops an’ sangwiches from they tails, ho urr!’

  ‘I care not who you be.’ The Mirdops voice sounded definitely unsure now. ‘Go back or die. Nobeast passes the Mirdop!’

  ‘Hurr, then they be allus a furst toime!’

  ‘Stan
d aside or we’ll go right over you!’

  Mirdop or no Mirdop, we’re coming!’

  ‘Stay back, keep away.’ The Mirdop voice sounded strained and frantic now. ‘I’ve fought foxes, battered badgers, whipped weasels, strangled stoats . . . Owooooaaahhheeeh!’

  ‘Over here, friends. Hurry!’ Martin’s voice rang out loud and clear.

  From somewhere up in front of them came a crashing and the most dreadful earsplitting screams and yells.

  Rose grabbed a fallen branch and shook it fiercely. ‘The Mirdop must have got Martin. Come on. Chaaaaarge!’

  The three travellers rushed forward along the path to where the horrible noises rose to a deafening intensity.

  18

  TULLGREW AND KEYLA threw themselves upon Felldoh, hugging and patting the brave squirrel.

  ‘Haha! Good to see your battered old face again, mate!’

  ‘Aye, yore a sight for sore eyes all right friend!’

  Felldoh winked at them cheerily.

  Helped by Tullgrew and Keyla, Felldoh battered aside two logs from the compound wall. It was difficult to keep the joyous slaves silent and orderly. Barkjon and Hillgorse hurried them through, encouraging and advising quietly.

  ‘You get through, marm. I’ll pass you the young un.’

  ‘Haha! We’re free, Barkjon. Free as the air!’

  ‘Not quite. Keep your voice down and hurry please.’

  ‘Hiligorse, can I take my bag of shells?’ They’ll make good cups and platters. I’ve collected them for three seasons.’

  ‘Leave them, we may have to run for it. You’d only be slowed down lugging that lot along.’

  Felldoh and Keyla had taken the two logs from the palisade, laying them against the back of the fortress main wall to form an easy way to the top. They lifted and pushed the slaves up to where Tullgrew waited with a stout kelp rope. One at a time she swung them out over the top.

  ‘Now I’m going to lower you down. Let go of the rope and jump as soon as you can. There’s bedding mattresses down there to break your fall. Hurry now, we need the rope for the others.’

  In the midst of the bustle, Barkjon found time to grasp his son’s paw. ‘Felldoh, I knew you wouldn’t let us down. Where’s Martin?’

  The squirrel hugged his father quickly. ‘That’s a story for another day. Come on, let’s free these slaves, old bushtail!’

  For the first time in many a long day Barkjon grinned happily. ‘Old bushtail yourself, whippersnapper. I’ll wager you don’t go over that wall faster than I do!’

  It was as they were laughing together that Druwp shouted, ‘The slaves are escaping, help, come quick, they’re escaping!’

  Badrang kicked over the banquet table. Hauling out the sword that had once belonged to Martin, he laid about him with the flat of the blade.

  ‘Get to the compound, quick! I knew something like this would happen. Come on, stir your stumps, you addlebrained scum. Move!’

  The Tyrant’s horde stumbled over each other, grabbing weapons as they rushed to do their master’s command. Badrang dashed about like a madbeast, using the flat of his blade as a rod, smacking heads and paws with numbing force.

  ‘Hurry, run! Are you deaf or stupid? Move, you mudworms!’

  Tramun Clogg sat on the overturned table, still drinking and eating, a sly smile hovering on his greasy lips.

  ‘Ho dearie me, the liddle slaves are all runnin’ off. ’Ere, Gruzzle, d’you reckon it’s ’cos they don’t like it ’ere?’

  The Tyrant cast a murderous glance at the corsair stoat. ‘This is all your fault, Clogg – you and your magic rabbit with his performing friends. They’ve got something to do with this, I’m certain of it! Well, aren’t you going to help?’

  Clogg slopped kelp beer down his whiskers as he drank. ‘They’re yore slaves mate, you see to ’em. I’m only a pore ’onest wavebeast who’s down on ’is luck.’

  Quivering with rage, Badrang pointed his sword at the corsair. ‘Don’t worry, I will. But you look to those magic friends of yours and hold them here until I get back. I’m holding you personally responsible for them!’

  The Tyrant dashed off after his horde.

  Ballaw glanced uneasily at Rowanoak. ‘D’you hear that, old gel, looks like we’re in for a spot of bother, wot? Plan number two I’d say, eh!’

  Brome tugged at Buckler’s tunic. ‘What’s plan number two?’

  ‘Hurr ’tis pretty simple, maister. When you’m be in trouble an’ they audience doant loik ’ee no more, then us’ns run fer it loik billyoh!’

  Rowanoak began singing softly to the Rambling Rosehip Players.

  ‘I think we’ll call it a day,

  Back to the cart I say.

  It’s exit left without any pay.

  We’d be better off far away!’

  The company began sidling unobtrusively towards their cart.

  Clogg staggered upright. Throwing his drink down, he began tugging to free the cutlass from his waist sash.

  ‘Ahoy, Tibbar. ’Old ’ard there. Where d’you think yore off to?’

  Completely unruffled, Ballaw made an elegant bow. ‘Love to stay, old Cloggo old stoat, but you know how ’tis. We need our jolly old beauty sleep.’

  Tramun tipped the wink to Boggs, Crosstooth and Gruzzle. In a trice they had the pirate crew surrounding the players.

  Clogg licked the blade of his cutlass and closed one eye. ‘An’ all the time I thought you was me mateys. It ain’t friendly like runnin’ off so soon. ’Ow’s about you doin’ one more bit o’ magic fer ole Tramun?’

  Ballaw gave the stoat a large toothy grin and a wink. ‘Why certainly, me old wave walloper. One more piece of magic, just for you, comin’ up right away. How’d you like to see me vanish the entire troupe, cart an’ all, presto, just like that!’

  ‘Vanish the ’ole crew of ye?’

  ‘That’s what I said, old sport.’

  ‘An’ the cart too, an’ all of this whilst yore surrounded?’

  ‘That’s the ticket, Cap’n!’

  ‘Haharr, ’tis impossible. But you carry on, matey!’

  Ballaw collected several hefty pieces of firewood and distributed them to the troupe. Meanwhile, Rowanoak harnessed herself to the cart shafts. The hare indicated by sweeping dramatic gestures that they all climb up on to the cart. When they had, he joined them,

  ‘Laydeez an’ gennelbeasts, watch closely! As you see, we are all holding a large magic wand each. That is, with the exception of my good friend the magic badger there. Now watch closely please, as my old uncle Flobbears used to say. The speed of the paw always deceives the eye, an’ more often than not blackens it. Are you ready? One, three, two four, whatever. Chaaaaarge!’

  The huge female badger threw all her weight and speed against the shafts, sending the cart forward like a runaway boulder on a mountainside. It smashed through the surrounding corsairs, sending them scattering like ninepins as the troupe flailed and thwacked away at searat heads with their large magic wands.

  Clogg was taken aback momentarily, then he was up and pursuing the cart as it headed for the open gate of Marshank.

  ‘Stop’ em. It’s a trick!’

  Ballaw caught Gruzzle a hefty blow, sending him ears over tail. ‘Of course it’s a trick, old lad. I told you it was!’

  Tullgrew gave a shout of alarm from the walltop as she saw the horde pounding towards the compound. ‘Lookout, Felldoh. They’re coming!’

  Only half of the slaves were over the wall. Felldoh looked around in desperation as Hillgorse and Barkjon came running to him. The horde were now pelting around the outside of the compound towards them.

  Barkjon groaned aloud. ‘There’s too many and we have no weapons!’

  Felldoh gritted his teeth. ‘At least half of us got away. Wait, this might hold ’em off a bit!’ Grabbing a chunk of rock, he called up to Tullgrew, ‘Throw that rope down!’

  Catching the rope, Felldoh secured the rock to one end of it and began swinging it as he advanced on
the horde. It took out several of them before they hurriedly backed off. The chunk of rock circled and whirred in a deadly blur as Felldoh roared, ‘Come on. Who’s next, you stinking bunch of cowards! Come on!’

  ‘Get him, you dolts! Rush him!’ Badrang howled with rage as he pushed his creatures forward.

  Grabbing a spear from a weasel called Rotnose, Badrang hurled it. Still swinging the rock, Felldoh leaped to one side. The spear missed him but took Barkjon through his shoulder. Immediately, Hillgorse pulled the spear from his friend. The hedgehog was powerfully built despite his age. Wielding the spear with a strength born of desperation, he launched himself at the horde of foebeasts, plunging and stabbing wildly. In the narrow space between stockade and wall they were driven back by the spear and the swinging rock. Hillgorse stuck the spear in the ground by Felldoh.

  ‘Give me the rope, young un. Take the spear and get your father away from here, he’s been wounded. Do as I say, quickly!’

  Felldoh grabbed the spear as he felt the rope taken from his paws by Hillgorse. Tullgrew had climbed halfway down the two log steps on the wall, and between them they hauled the semiconscious Barkjon upwards. Two arrows found Hillgorse as others clattered and bounced off the walls around Tullgrew and Felldoh, who had succeeded in gaining the walltop with the limp form of Barkjon held between them.

  Bravely Hillgorse swung the rock, his strength failing as he shouted at the walltop, ‘Get away from here, Felldoh. Save your father and the others!’

  Another arrow struck Hillgorse, and the rope slipped from his paws. The old hedgehog’s eyes were misting over as he gave a final roar and hurled his spiky body into the ranks of the enemy.

  Felldoh tried to scramble back down to Hillgorse, but Tullgrew hung on, pulling him back. ‘We must escape. He gave his life so we could be free!’

  Felldoh bit his lip until blood showed. He took one last look at the scene below. Badrang and his horde were beginning to mount the logs and scale the wall, and the slaves who had not managed to escape were forcing their way back into the compound through the gap they had made. Felldoh still had the spear in his paw when he noticed who the last of the slaves was and shouted his name.