Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Barkjon struggled to get up. ‘But what if she’s captured, son?’

  ‘Then I’ll free her, or die trying!’ Felldoh’s strong face radiated anger and hatred. He strode off, leaving Brome and Barkjon gazing after him.

  The old squirrel shook his head. ‘Let him go, Brome. There is a great rage in my son against all that Marshank stands for. You were only there a short while, he has spent most of his life as a slave. I know how he feels.’

  Soon the news was all over the camp that Celandine was either lost or captured. Ballaw posted Buckler on guard with Juniper. He conferred with Rowanoak awhile, then they both went to talk with Felldoh.

  The squirrel was sitting by the fire. At his side lay a pile of short heavy driftwood lances. He was hardening their points to needle sharpness by burning and rubbing them on a rock. Felldoh was intent on his work and he did not even bother to look up as the hare and badger approached.

  ‘What ho, treejumper. Looks like you’re armin’ yourself up to start a one beast war there, wot?’

  Felldoh continued sharpening the short lances as he replied, ‘Whatever it takes, I’ve got scores to settle at Marshank.’

  Rowanoak squatted alongside him. ‘Need any help, Felldoh?’

  He pulled another lance from the fire and began grinding it to a point on the rock. ‘It’s not your fight. I got your troupe into this, and it’s time I did a bit myself without endangering others.’

  Rowanoak nodded understandingly, realizing Felldoh was in no mood to be argued with. She watched him awhile before picking up one of the lances and weighing it in her paw. ‘How far can you throw one of these things?’

  Felldoh took the lance and stood up. ‘Far enough. My muscles are stronger than most after seasons working in Badrang’s rock quarry.’ He threw the lance from the clifftop. It sailed out over the beach a fair distance before burying itself point first in the sand.

  ‘Not bad at all.’ Rowanoak winked at the hare. ‘Ballaw and I can throw a short lance twice that distance.’

  ‘I’d like to see you try!’ Felldoh laughed humourlessly.

  Ballaw sought around until he came up with a piece of driftwood not quite as long as the lances Felldoh was making. Taking a knife, he cut a deep notch across one end of the wood, then hefted it and made several throwing motions. A few more adjustments to the wood with his knife and Ballaw nodded with satisfaction.

  ‘That’s about right, old chap. Pass me a javelin – any one’ll do.’

  Felldoh selected one of the short heavy javelins and gave it to Ballaw. The hare laid the javelin flat along his piece of wood, point forward and the other end resting against the notch he had cut. With the weapon lying flat on the wood against the notch, he drew back his arm, took a short hopskip and flung out, holding on to the wood. The javelin soared away, passing Felldoh’s weapon on the beach, travelling onward and finally splashing down into the water on the tideline, almost out of sight. Felldoh gasped as Ballaw gave him the piece of wood.

  ‘Here, old lad, you have it. Simple device, eh wot? Makes your throwing arm twice its length and gives you double the distance.’

  Felldoh looked at the javelin launcher as Ballaw continued, ‘We’ve won many a supper at tribe gatherings in the south with one of those. There was always some big brawny beast wagered he could throw a javelin farther than me or Rowanoak.’

  The badger offered her paw to Felldoh. ‘Now do you want our help?’

  Felldoh grasped the big paw, his eyes alight with resolve. ‘Let’s go and see if they’ve got Celandine at Marshank!’

  Accusations flew thick and fast at Marshank, Clogg and Badrang blaming the whole thing on one another in the wake of the confusion at the rear wall. While the remainder of the slaves were under heavy guard, the other corsairs and horde members gathered in the courtyard, to witness the argument raging between their leaders. It was a fine show of rage, spleen and insults.

  ‘Hah, Lord ’igh an’ mighty Badrang, is it? Can’t ’old on to arf a passel of defenceless slavebeasts. Yore a lobstertail!’

  ‘I’d sooner be anything but a complete idiot who lets the enemy into Marshank and has the gall to call them friends. You always did keep your brains in your clogs, Tramun, you buffoon!’

  ‘Buffoon yerself. Ye blown up pollywoggle! There was me an’ the crew nearly catchin’ those creatures, an’ wot did you do? Jumped off the wall on to our ’eads, you jellyfish!’

  ‘Jellyfish? You’re the one who started all this mess, addlebrain!’

  ‘Oh, is that so? Then who set fire to my ship and who let the slaves escape? You’ve brought bad luck on both of us, fiddlebrain!’

  ‘Shut your mouth, you pigtailed poltroon, or I’ll shut it for you!’

  ‘Haharr, now yore flyin’ yer true colours, jugnose. I’m not stoppin’ round ’ere to bandy words with the like o’ you, I’m off to do somethin’ useful. Gruzzle, Boggs, form the crew up fully armed.’

  ‘Hold hard there, woodenpaws. Where d’you think you’re off to?’

  ‘Well, clean out yer mucky lugs an’ lissen whilst I tell yer. Those slaves that escaped last night is now free beasts, you got no jurisdiction over ’em anymore, Badrang yore Lordship. So, if any beast were to recapture ’em, then they’d belong to the finder, an’ that’ll be me if yer please. Come on, lads. Away, boat’s crew!’

  Badrang watched Clogg and his crew march off through Marshank’s front gates.

  ‘Shall we form the horde up and stop ’em, Lord?’ Gurrad whispered anxiously to the Tyrant.

  Badrang gave the rat a withering glance. ‘Stop them, what for? Let me do the thinking, Gurrad. If Clogg recaptures the slaves, where’s he going to take them, what’s he going to feed them on, where’s he going to keep them penned up?’

  Gurrad looked puzzled, ‘I don’t know, Lord. Where?’

  Badrang tapped a paw against his skull. ‘That’s why you’re a hordebeast and I’m a leader, Gurrad. What else can Clogg do but bring them back here. When he does, I’ll take them from him. So, what could be simpler than allowing Cap’n Tramun Clogg to be our slave chaser.’

  Gurrad sniggered gleefully, rubbing his paws together. ‘You’re a clever one, Sire. A real clever one!’

  Badrang buffed his claws on his fir and inspected them. ‘I could buy and sell an oaf like Clogg anyday. He’ll soon find that out to his cost.’

  Celandine was lost. When she tripped and fell while running through the night with the cart, the young squirrelmaid had cracked her head and passed out on the spot. Dawn had broken a full hour before she came to. Celandine’s first reaction was to sit and cry, and she did so. Sobbing and wailing broken-heartedly, she lay on the clifftop, kicking her footpaws and nursing a bruised lump, just below her ear near her jawline. At regular intervals she would stop and sniff, calling out the names of Ballaw, Rowanoak, Buckler and Felldoh. Hearing no reply, the pretty squirrelmaid would throw herself back full-throated into a bout of copious bellowing and weeping. Why did no one come? There was always somebeast round to dance attention when tears flowed down her beautiful face. It took quite a long time for Celandine to realize that she was totally alone, so she set about doing what she did best, preening herself and attending to her looks. She brushed, licked, dusted and primped, holding her head coyly on one side so that the curve of her bushy tail hid the unsightly bump she had suffered. Then she sat again and bemoaned her fate aloud to the bright morning air.

  ‘Owwww! Why doesn’t somebeast come for me? My head’s aching and I must look a dreadful sight. Owww! I’m hungry and thirsty and dusty and dirty and now I’m lost. Owoooh!’

  The weasel Floater had been scouting ahead. He made his way back to where Clogg was leading the crew.

  ‘No tracks of the carts, Cap’n. They finish over yonder. Musta been somebeast coverin’ the trail.’

  Clogg looked at the ground, chewing one of his beard plaits. ‘Covered, ye say? Bad fortune fer us, matey. Lookit, ’ere comes ole Crosstooth. May’ap ’e ’as some news.’


  The fox pointed at a tangent to where the cart tracks had finished. ‘Found a set of pawprints goin’ thataway, Cap’n, but ’tis only one beast.’

  Clogg spat the plait out and scratched his nose. ‘One beast is better than none I allus says mate, lead on!’

  They had not gone far when the sounds of Celandine’s lamentations reached their ears. Tramun Clogg signalled for silence. Bellying down, the corsairs breasted a low hill. They peered over at the weeping squirrelmaid.

  Gruzzle shook his head sympathetically. ‘Ain’t she pretty, Cap’n. It’s enough t’ break yer ’eart!’

  Clogg chewed at a dandelion still attached to its stem. ‘Aye, ’tis sad, matey, an’ even sadder when I thinks of the way I’m goin’ to make that liddle beauty wail when I tickles some information out o’ her with me cutlass point.’

  Celandine was still crying and talking aloud to herself.

  ‘Oh, why don’t any of the troupe come and find me? Owww! Oh dear, I mustn’t weep so much or I’ll look all ugly and puffy.’

  ‘Ho, that ye will, me liddle weepin’ willow. Come on now, dry yore eyes an’ give ole uncle Clogg a big smile!’

  Celandine looked up in terror. Standing not ten paces from her was the corsair stoat and his villainous crew. She choked out a small frightened whimper as Clogg drew his cutlass and advanced on her, grinning wickedly.

  21

  MARTIN AND HIS friends were captured so quickly it made their heads whirl. One moment they were sleeping peacefully, and in a twinkling they were dragged up on to their footpaws. Tough vine ropes secured their paws tight with nooses that locked around their necks. The dark slithering shapes of lizards were everywhere, slinking around the treetrunks and writhing over each other, making no other sound than a sibilant hiss.

  With his paws pinioned to the sides of his head by the vine that encircled his neck, Martin struggled to get loose and reach his short sword, shouting to Rose and the others.

  ‘Rose! Are you all . . . gaaaargh!’

  The big red-frilled lizard pulled savagely on the vine, choking Martin into silence. The young mouse tugged either side of his neck, striving to loosen the vine so he could breathe properly. Then they were off at a headlong run, pulled along cruelly with countless lizards flanking them and shoving from behind. Splashing through marshwater, cludging through mud, crashing through nettles, they rushed through the night.

  Rose sobbed for breath. Tripping on a root, she fell flat in some ferns. The speeding reptiles did not stop or even slow, they continued their mad stampede, dragging her along thumping and bumping across the soggy earth. How she fought her way back upright Rose never knew, but she was certain she would have been dragged to her death had she not done so.

  Grumm’s short legs battered the earth as he was dragged and swept along in the midst of the lizard throng. Somewhere close he could hear Pallum’s ragged gasps as his friend fought for air on the end of a strangling vine noose.

  Battering through evil-smelling liquid and bubbling marsh gases, they pelted onward, mud flying everywhere as lizard tails waved and scaly legs leaped high in the reptile stampede. Martin lost all count of time or distance until, like his three Mends, he passed out from lack of air and was dragged along by the neck.

  Morning in the marshes was overcast with wraithing grey mist tinged with yellow sulphurous wisps. The four bodies that lay tied to stakes were practically unrecognizable as a mole, a hedgehog and two mice. They were completely covered in thick caking mud and day from the wild run.

  Martin stirred and coughed. His throat hurt aborninably.

  ‘Martin, are you all right?’

  It was Pallum. The hedgehog resembled a round ball of clay.

  ‘Pallum. I’m alive at least. How are you?’

  ‘Be much better when my old neck stops hurtin’. I’ve been awake an hour or more, but I lay still. Didn’t want to attract attention from those creepy lizards – they’re all round us.’

  Martin strained his neck slightly. The vine was still looped around it, though now his paws were free. Lizards were everywhere, just sitting and staring at them. He noticed the large red-frilled leader had the short sword lying on the ground in front of him.

  Martin crawled across to Rose. Loosening the vine on her neck, he patted her muddied cheeks, calling her name. ‘Rose, Rose!’

  A jumble of lizards dived on him, pulling the noose tight as they dragged him away from Rose. Martin fought back as best as he could, shouting through the scaly bodies that enveloped him, ‘I was only trying to let her breathe, you scaly villains. Let me go. We weren’t trying to escape!’

  The big red-frilled lizard stalked slowly across. He kicked the others off Martin and dragged the young mouse back to his stake. Hissing softly, he gave the vine a final sharp tug, indicating that Martin should stay in that spot. Flicking his serpentine tongue, he turned and slid gracefully back to his former position.

  Pallum looked across at Martin and shrugged. ‘Don’t say much, do they? We’d best sit tight and wait for Rose and Grumm to come around.’

  Both Rose and her mole friend revived some short time later. They sat massaging sore necks, easing the tight vines off to enable easier breathing. The big red-frill gave the vines a tug when he thought they had messed enough with them. He hissed softly and sat watching the four captives.

  After a while, they got to know the rules. They were allowed to talk, but only in quiet tones. If they talked loudly, or pulled at the nooses, the lizards would yank hard, tightening the vines, and hiss soft warnings at them.

  Grumm picked burrs and mud from his face. ‘They’m sloimy vurmints, aroight. Soilent, tho’. Nary a word do they’m lizzyards be a-speaken.’

  ‘Hush now, Grumm,’ Martin muttered quiet and urgently. ‘They’re coming over here!’

  Silently a group of lizards came to each of the prisoners and deposited by them four large gourds of water. The reptiles retreated and sat watching.

  Rose tilted one of the gourds and sipped, then she drank deep gratefully. ‘It’s water, good clean and fresh. I never knew it could taste so nice.’

  They drank their fill, dashed some in their faces to wash away the dirt and grime, then sat waiting. Next to come was a great wooden pan fashioned from a section of lime trunk. The red-filled leader indicated that it be placed in the centre of the area between the four stakes, where the captives could reach it. Again the reptiles retired to watch.

  The vessel was filled with a warm cream-coloured mixture. Pallum ventured a dip into it with his paw. He licked at the stuff and shrugged.

  ‘Food. Tastes like some kind of porridge. Not much flavour in it, though. Hmmm, yes. I think it tastes a bit like mushroom.’

  They all tried some and agreed it was palatable enough, but had hardly any taste.

  Grumm shovelled a pawful into his mouth. ‘Hurr, tain’t zoop or nothink noice, but et ain’t bad, burr no.’

  Rose had taken several mouthfuls. She splashed a little water on her paws to cleanse them. ‘Huh, it’s not very good either. I’ve had enough of that tasteless mush, thank you.’

  The red-frill stalked sinuously over to her. He tugged the vine sharply, indicating that she should carry on eating.

  Rose sighed and looked across at Martin. ‘Old frilly neck won’t be happy until we’ve eaten all our dinner up like good little creatures. I suppose I’d better try some more.’

  Martin licked his paw and dug in again. ‘Mushroom porridge. It’s deadly boring.’

  ‘Huh hu huh!’ Pallum chuckled as he spoke through a mouthful. ‘D’you think they’re trying to fatten us up a bit?’

  Suddenly they stopped eating. The horror of what the hedgehog had just said dawned on them.

  ‘What was it Mr Mirdop said,’ Rose whispered in a hushed voice. ‘Cannibal lizards!’

  Twice that day more bowls of porridge and gourds of water were brought to them. If they showed signs of refusing to eat, the big red-frill would tug on the vines until they began choking.

&nb
sp; Grumm groaned as he noticed several of the reptiles scraping ashes from a long pit at the edge of the lizard settlement. Others began laying charcoal and dry wood in it.

  Martin seethed silently. If only he could break away and reach his short sword, but it was impossible – they were watched by scores of gaping lizards who seemed to have little else to do but sit and look at them. The young mouse lay back, his mind racing furiously against the insurmountable problem.

  A dipper appeared on a low branch nearby. The little bird nodded its head from side to side, ruffling its handsome browny red plumage and preening at its fawn-coloured breast. It made a twittering noise and Rose looked at it strangely.

  ‘Martin, that bird is talking to us.’

  Noting that the lizards were still watching, Martin kept his voice to a quiet conversational level. ‘Can you understand it, Rose?’

  ‘I think so. It’s said the same thing twice now. Ganna aitcha ganna aitcha. I’m pretty sure it’s saying, Going to eat you, going to eat you, meaning the lizards are going to eat us.’

  ‘You’re right, Rose.’ Martin trembled with excitement, trying hard to keep his voice under control. ‘The lizards must not be able to understand it or they’d have chased it off by now. See if you can get it to carry a message to the Warden of Marshwood Hill.’

  ‘Ganna alpiz, ganna alpiz?’ Rose made a strange noise halfway between a whistle and a chatter.

  The little dipper nodded, pecking at the branch. ‘Alpichoo alpichoo!’

  Pallum had been listening. ‘What did it say?’

  ‘I tried to ask it for help.’ Rose explained. ‘Ganna alpiz, sounds a bit like going to help us. It replied, Alpichoo, which sounds like help you!’

  Grumm came in on the conversation. ‘Ho urr, but ’ow you’m goin’ t’ say Warden o’ Marshywood ’ill?’

  Rose pondered a moment. ‘Right, how does this sound?’ She made a lilting sound. ‘Whoa hoo din alpiz! Whoa hoo din alpiz!’