Brome hastily rearranged his corsair gear. There was little difference in the ill-assorted rags worn by Clogg’s pirates and those of Badrang’s soldiers and in no time Brome looked every inch the hordebeast. Keyla did the same, improvising with Wulpp’s tawdry rags.
Minutes later, two ruthless hordebeasts marched straight past the guards and into the slave compound.
‘Stay at the rear and help any stragglers,’ Brome signalled to Yarrow. ‘Righto, listen friends, all you have to do is follow Keyla and me. If anybeast stops or challenges us, don’t you say a word, leave the talking to me. Stay in the shadows as much as possible, don’t hurry too much and above all, be silent!’
They set off towards the main courtyard with Brome and Keyla leading the group.
Badrang corked the flagon, shaking it well before he gave it to Gurrad.
‘See if they’re asleep, don’t chance it otherwise. If everything is all right, then sneak up close to Clogg. He’s usually sleeping near to the largest campfire. Place the flagon in his paw, or as close as you can get to it. That stupid plaited buffoon doesn’t care what he drinks. When he wakes in the morning the flagon will be the nearest thing to him. He’ll pop the cork and guzzle it right off. I know him of old. Go now. I’m trusting you to do the job right, Gurrad.’
Swathed in a dark cloak, the rat left the longhouse.
Standing in the shadows at the side of the longhouse was another cloaked figure. Oilback held his knife by the blade, ready to throw. The doorway area was illuminated in a patch of moonlight. His paw trembled a little from the tension of waiting and the enormity of his task. It was not just any common crewbeast that got to kill Lord Badrang, the Tyrant of Marshank. No, it was he, Oilback, the best knife-thrower in all Cap’n Clogg’s crew.
He heard the creak of the door as it opened. Tightening his grip on the blade, he closed one eye and took aim. A cloaked figure stole out, shutting the door carefully behind it. Oilback grunted with exertion as he hurled his weapon.
It was a good throw. The cloaked figure collapsed silently off the porch. Oilback hurried forward. Retrieving his knife from Gurrad’s throat, he wiped the blade, giving a low snarl of dismay when he saw the dead features of the creature he had slain. It was not Badrang!
His footpaw struck something – a flagon of wine. Never being one to pass up a free gift, he rammed it into his tunic and turned to run away. It was at that exact moment Brome was passing with the slaves. Oilback ran slapbang into Brome.
There was a moment’s silence as they confronted each other, then Brome said in a quiet but commanding tone, ‘What are you doing around here?’
Oilback answered hesitantly, thinking fast as he did. ‘Er, oh, I’m, er, getting’ rid of this dirty spy for Lord Badrang. He’s one o’ those corsairs. I caught ’im ’angin’ about ’ere!’
Brome nodded. ‘Good!’
He was about to turn away when Oilback became suspicious. ‘Just a moment, mate. What are you doin’ wid that bunch?’
Keyla stepped in boldly. ‘If it’s any of your business, we’re puttin’ them in the prison pit. Lord Badrang doesn’t want this lot escapin’ like the others, he wants ’em down the pit where he can keep an eye on ’em!’
The corsair was slightly taken aback by Keyla’s aggressive stance. ‘Oh, er, right. Well I’ll bid ye good night.’
Unfortunately they were both travelling in the same direction. Keyla and Brome were forced to walk along with Oilback, who was heading for the main gate, which lay in the same direction as the prison pit. They walked in silence with the slaves following.
Oilback glanced at the thirty creatures. ‘Yore gonna have a job on yer paws gettin’ all them down that pit. They’ll be standin’ on each other’s ’eads.’
‘Do em good!’ Brome sniffed officiously. ‘We’re not here to argue, we carry out our Leader’s orders an’ don’t ask too many questions.’
The searat nodded agreement. ‘Aye, that’s all the likes of us can do, eh, mate!’
Though the gates of Marshank were open to the corsairs camped on the shore, there was still a sentry posted on top of the wall. It was the ferret Bluehide. He saw the slaves being led to the pit and called down, ‘What in the name of frogfeathers are you doin’ down there?’
Oilback winked at Keyla and shouted back arrogantly, ‘What does it look like we’re doin’, takin’ a swim?’
Bluehide shook his spear. ‘Leave that gratin’ alone. All those beasts can’t fit down there. Besides, there was three escaped from that pit!’
Brome sighed wearily. Placing paws on hips, he called out in an insulting manner, ‘It’s none of your business how many slaves Lord Badrang wants us to put in the pit. And another thing, those three wouldn’t have escaped if the sentry that night had been keepin’ an eye on this grating. They broke out by movin’ it.’
Bluehide fixed his eyes on the grating, leaning his elbows on the walltop. ‘Well, they won’t escape from there tonight while I’m watchin’.’
‘You weren’t put up there to watch gratings, slophead.’ Keyla called out in a stem voice. ‘It’s your job to keep a close eye on those corsairs on the shore!’
Now Bluehide was completely confused. Keyla chuckled as he slapped Oilback heartily across the shoulders. ‘Ha ha ha! That showed him, eh, matey?’
Oilback continued on his way, laughing falsely as he answered. ‘Ho ho ho! It certainly did, mate. I’ll just take a look out there meself. You can’t trust corsairs y’ know!’
Keyla and Brome waited until Bluehide had his back to them on the wall top, then shifted the heavy grating to one side.
‘Whew, that was a close thing!’ the young mouse murmured under his breath.
Outside in the shadow of the wall, Oilback wiped sweat from his nose, muttering silently to himself. ‘Whew, that was a close thing!’
He uncorked the flagon and took a deep drink to calm his nerves.
Brome and Keyla ushered the freed slaves into the pit and then climbed in after them, pulling the grating shut over them once they were in.
An old mousewife called Geum started to complain aloud. ‘It’s stuffy down here. I’m stuck like a pea in a pod. Why did we have to come into this dirty place?’
Brome was thumping the walls to find the opening. ‘Hush, Mother, this is the way we’re going to escape. Keep your voice down.’
But Geum was not about to be quiet. ‘The main gate was open. Why didn’t we just go out that way? And don’t call me mother, cheekyface. I’m not your mother!’
Keyla clamped a paw across her mouth. ‘Silence, you old scold! Brome knows what he’s doing. We wouldn’t stand a lame sea bird’s chance of walking through Clogg’s crew to freedom. This way we’ll come up between some rocks beyond their camp. Have you found the opening yet, Brome?’
A shower of loose earth and some pieces of driftwood fell on to the heads of Keyla and Geum.
‘Hahah! Here it is,’ Brome cried excitedly. ‘For a moment I wasn’t sure I could find it. Good old Grumm, he did a great job disguising his tunnel. I’ll go first. Keyla, you and Yarrow help the others in and bring up the rear. We’ll have to move fast, there’s not many hours left until dawn. The last thing we want is to be caught out on the open shore.’
It took a considerable time to get all the slaves into the tunnel. They pushed up against each other in the darkness, infants began whimpering and Geum started to complain again.
‘Ugh! It’s dark and stuffy down here. I don’t like it!’
Yarrow shoved her further along from behind. ‘None of us are exactly joyful about being down here, old one. Just keep going, and put a latch on your lip. You’re upsetting the little ones.’
Geum’s dignity was offended. ‘Stop pushing me, you young rip, and mind how you speak to your elders. Oh dear, there’s sand falling on the back of my head.’
Brome crawled as fast as he was able to. Hearing Geum’s last statement added to his haste. He knew the tunnel was only a makeshift affair and could collapse
at any moment, particularly now, with the added disturbance of thirty-odd creatures blundering their way through it. Suddenly, just when he thought he was at the end of the tunnel, Brome found he could crawl no further. The young mouse let out a groan into the thick air.
The tunnel had caved in at the exit end. They were trapped!
25
ROSE WAS WAKENED by Martin’s cry and the great feathered bulk of the grey heron rolling over her. Something brushed by her. She felt slithering scales and kicked out at them.
Martin was locked in the coils of some reptilian creature, what it was he did not know. It felt like a snake, but it had more than one head and tail. Stabbing viciously with his short sword, he was rewarded by the sound of anguished hissing as the coils fell away from him. Nearby Grumm swung out with his ladle and caught something hard on the skull. It went limp. Pallum hung on grimly to a third sinuous shape as Rose battered it with a supply pack. Martin felt another reptile at his back. Swinging sharply, he slashed crosswise and stabbed down twice. The creature was instantly slain.
Rose was still hitting with the pack as she cried out in the darkness, ‘Fire, Grumm. Make fire!’
The mole fumbled for flint and tinder as Martin found Rose and Pallum in the darkness. Afraid to use his sword in such close proximity to them, he dropped it and went headlong at the creature they had been trying to tackle. Butting, punching and kicking like a mad beast, Martin rendered the thing senseless.
There were no more opponents to fight. They stood still whilst sparks flew and Grumm could be heard blowing on the tinder. Suddenly there was a small flame. The mole fed it with dry grass and twigs. In the ensuing firelight they viewed the attackers and the attacked. It was the two slowworms they had first seen on entering the marshes. They were both dead, slain by Martin, and lying stunned close by was an enormous grass snake and a young adder.
Grumm shuddered violently. ‘Surrpints!’
Pallum scrambled over to the limp figure of the Warden. ‘I think they’ve killed him!’
Rose was at his side instantly. ‘Let me take a look.’
As she inspected the big bird, Martin called Pallum and Grumm to help him. Between the three of them they heaved the bodies of the four reptiles into the deep ooze of the marsh.
‘Over here! This bird is alive!’
Rose was massaging the Warden’s long neck. His eyelids fluttered feebly as she rubbed skilfully. One of the heron’s eyes opened momentarily. ‘I am the laaaaaww!’ it managed to croak.
The mousemaid put a paw to its beak. ‘Yes I know. Be still now, those snakes nearly strangled you. Grumm, put some water on to heat and see if you can find some soft moss and herbs to make a poultice.’
As dawn broke over the little camp, Rose sat nursing her patient. The Warden was a fierce bird, quick to recover and hard to keep still. She had bound his neck with a warm soothing poultice of moss and herbs, checking the rest of him to assure herself that the young adder had not struck him.
‘You’ll be all right, the adder didn’t bite you. Warden, please lie still. Your neck was badly squeezed. Try not to move it.’
The grey heron tried to rise but fell back croaking hoarsely, ‘Snakes are lawbreakers. I will punish them. I am the law!’
Grumm looked up from the soup he was making. ‘Doant you’m never be soilent, burd? Close thoi gurt beak. Hurr!’
As they were held up by the Warden’s injuries, breakfast was a leisurely affair. Pallum roasted some vegetables, leek, pennycress, and shallots. Grumm made excellent wild celery and herb soup then experimented on some barley scones. The Warden became so fierce when Pallum tried to feed him soup that the hedgehog hid behind Grumm. ‘I don’t think he likes your soup.’
Grumm shook his ladle at the heron. ‘Doant be natural, creetur not loikin’ moi zoop. He’m never grow big ’n’ strong loik oi.’
‘I am Warden of Marshwood Hill. Warden does not eat zoop!’
‘Oh, goo an’ boil thoi ’ead, gurt burdbag!’
Rose was surprised at the Warden’s powers of recovery. Barely halfway through the morning he was up and walking as he conversed with Martin. The young mouse told him the story of what had taken place in the night. The big bird glared savagely at him.
‘I thank you. Martin is mouse warrior, but you must learn!’
‘Learn what?’
‘Learn to kill all lawbreakers. Two snakes not dead!’
‘But I threw them in the swamp.’
‘Next time kill first, then they will never break the law again!’
The Warden was inflexible when dealing with lawbreakers.
By noon they were back on the path again, travelling behind the Warden. Rose was mentioning to Martin that the mists were beginning to clear and sunlight was now plainly visible filtering through, when Pallum called, ‘Ahead, look up!’
There was the mountain. Rising above the mists into the summer day, it towered in solitary splendour, the lower slopes clad in verdant pine, rising to shrub and wild lupin, which gave way to naked dun-hued rock all the way to its majestic peak.
Grumm shielded his eyes with a digging daw, peering up. ‘Well, dig moi tunnel! Us’ns got t’ doimb yon gurt ’ill?’
The Warden halted, fixing them with his fierce eye. ‘You can see the mountain?’
Rose nodded her head, awed at the sight. ‘We surely can. Have we got to climb over it?’
The heron stood on one leg. ‘No, only halfway. Do you see the cave?’
The four friends searched the rocky mass, straining their eyes. Martin looked at Rose and shrugged before turning to the Warden. ‘We cannot see a cave, but if you say it is there then we believe you. Halfway up, you said.’
The Warden nodded. ‘Yes, halfway up. It is a tunnel through the mountain. Now I must leave you. These are my marshes. I am the law here. I stay.’
With an awkward hopskip he took to the air, wings beating until he caught a thermal. Swooping over them, the bird called out, ‘You saved my life. I will not forget this. You are not lawbreakers. Maybe I will be able to help you someday. I go now. Goodbye!’
As he swooped away, Rose cried aloud, ‘Thank you for your help. Besides the cave, is there anything else we should look out for when we climb the mountain?’
Wheeling in a half-turn, the heron called a final message, ‘Ask Boldred, the mountain is not mine. These are my marshes and I alone am the laaaaaaaawwwwwww!’
With that, the Warden of Marshwood Hill was gone, soaring above his domain of treacherous ooze and reptilian subjects.
In the late afternoon they came out of the marshlands. Crossing a stretch of dry scrub country, the four travellers stopped at the fringe of pines in the mountainous foothills. It was green and shady where Martin decided they would camp.
‘We’ll rest here until the morning before attempting to climb the mountain. A good meal and a long sleep is what we need.’
Grumm shook the food packs out, his homely face a picture of dismay as he took stock of their supplies.
‘Burr, ’ardly any vittles left!’
Two wizened apples, a few pawfuls of wheat flour, one or two candied nuts and three raspberry scones were all that remained of Polleekin’s good food. The mole shook their final canteen. ‘Lack a day, on’y arf full o’ mint cordial!’
Rose chuckled as she prodded her friend’s tubby little stomach. ‘Oh dearie me, Grumm Trencher, are you going to let us all starve and waste away to leaf shadows?’
Grumm polished his ladle vigorously with dry grass. ‘You’m a snip, Miz Roser, no mistake about that! Roight, oi’m taken charge yurr an’ now. Pallum, surch furr veggibles, zurr Marthen, an’ you’m, Miz Roser, lukk for water an’ gather wudd. Oi’ll see wot can be ’unted oop. Listen now, oi wants you’m all back yurr afore sunset. Be that clear?’
Pallum, Martin and Rose giggled as they whispered among themselves. Grumm waved the ladle at them. ‘Oi said, be that clear?’
They turned to him with serious faces, trying hard not to laugh as they st
ood stiffly to attention saluting.
‘To hear is to obey, Lord Grumm!’
‘We will not come back empty-pawed, O Mighty One!’
‘We are yours to command, for you are the law!’
They dashed off laughing, leaving Grumm polishing his ladle. ‘Oi doant see nuthin’ funny. Vittles be serious, ho urr!’
Twilight found the four friends seated around a cosy little fire. Their foraging had proved extremely fruitful: apples, early wild plums and some green acorns, parsley, dandelion, wild oats and a piece off honeycomb, which Pallum had found floating in a small rivulet of ice-cold mountain water. There were also a few mushrooms and some watercress which had been growing by the rivulet. Grumm borrowed Martin’s sword and used the blade to peel and chop. The others took their ease, laying back under a small spreading pine to watch him.
‘Hurr, mushrooms ’n’ cress goes with parsley ’n’ danneeline,’ the mole explained as he prepared supper. ‘Chop up they green acorns too. ’Twill make gudd zoop, a’most thick as stew.’ He paused to rap Rose’s paw with the ladle as she tried to steal a wild plum. ‘Gurroff, mizzy! Oi needs they, to put wi’ last o’ flour and woild oaters an’ hunny. Chop ’ee apples vurry liddle. Pass oi yon flat stone, oi needs it furr moi asperimend.’
Martin looked at Rose as he passed Grumm the flat thin rock. ‘Asperimend? What does he mean?’
‘He means experiment. Grumm is always experimenting with food. He’s very good, his experiments can turn out tasty.’
The soup when it came was savoury, and they blew on it as they sipped it from their scallop shells. Grumm had patted his mixture of wild plum, flour, oats, honey and apples into small round cakes that he cooked on the flat rock over the fire. The sweet smell wreathed round the camp as he turned off the first batch to cool in the grass. Taking one gingerly, he broke it, giving half to Rose. ‘Wot you’m think o’ that, mizzy?’
Martin The Warrior (Redwall) Page 19
