Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  The mousemaid juggled it in her paws, blowing on it as she took several quick nibbles. ‘Oh, Grumm, it tastes wonderful. So sweet and sticky!’

  The mole wrinkled his snout in a satisfied manner. ‘Hurr, oi knew ’t would. Oi’ll make a couple o’ batches an’ we’ll pack they’m furr rations. Oi ’opes oi c’n amember moi asperimend when we reaches ’ome to Noonvale.’

  Grumm gave them a cake apiece to eat after their soup. He was packing the rest of them away when a cracking of branches coupled with screams and wild laughter sounded close by. Before Martin could retrieve his sword from Grumm, a dozen or more young squirrels bounded into the camp, screeching, scrabbling and fighting. One of the creatures tripped and stumbled over Rose. He snapped at her and pushed her roughly as he struggled to rise. Martin was across to him in a twinkling. He dealt the squirrel a hefty blow and sent him sprawling again. Now the camp seemed to be full of wild-looking squirrels. They wore sashes of gaily coloured barkcloth and had bird feathers fastened to their tails. Disregarding the four travellers, they fought and screeched all round them, ignoring the upset and discomfort they were causing. One creature grabbed hold of Grumm, using him as a shield to escape from another, who was trying, apparently, to steal the feathers from his tail.

  Martin had stood enough. He did not want to kill any of them as they had not directly attacked him or his friends, but he was determined that they should be taught a lesson. Seizing Grumm’s ladle, he dashed at the two who were whirling the mole about as one tried to catch the other.

  Whopp! Thock!

  Martin dealt out two stunning blows which sat the wild pair down flat on their tails. He brandished the ladle and roared, ‘Stop this! D’you hear me? Stoppit this instant!’

  The squirrels halted, panting heavily and grinning at each other.

  Martin shook the ladle, his voice stern and loud.

  ‘You hooligans, what d’you mean by dashing in and wrecking our camp like this, eh? Have you no manners at all? You’re like a mob of wild beasts!’

  One squirrel grabbed a feather from the tail of another and hopped nimbly on to a low pine branch. ‘Hah! ‘Snot your land, it’s ours. We’re the Gawtrybe, we do what we like. So there!’ He stuck his tongue out impudently at Martin.

  Pallum was quick. Leaping up, he caught the branch and twanged it, catapulting the squirrel on to the ground. The other squirrels thought this was hilarious and started doing it to each other, one leaping on a low branch as the other twanged it off.

  Rose was furious. Placing her paws on her hips, she yelled at them, ‘Do you want me to call the Warden of Marshwood Hill?’

  They stopped momentarily again, then started laughing as one of their number began imitating the grey heron’s sticklike walk and doing a passable impression of the bird.

  ‘I am the law, I slay all lawbreakers! Heeheehee, Warden can’t touch us, he only rules the marshland, never comes up here!’

  Rose drew herself up to her full height. ‘Then I’ll tell Boldred!’

  All activity ceased. They looked around nervously, then one of them pulled an impudent face. ‘Yah, you can’t, ’cos she’s not here, look!’ Jumping up and down, he chanted, ‘Boldred, Boldred, boulder-head old Boldred!’ Spreading his paws wide, he smirked cheekily, ‘See, she’s not here!’

  With a series of wild whoops the squirrels sprang off into the trees, leaving the camp at peace once more. Martin stood listening to them as they shrieked and shouted off into the gathering night.

  ‘The Gawtrybe, eh. I don’t like that crowd one little bit. We’d best post a sentry tonight. I’ll take first watch. Grumm, will you take second? You can use my sword.’

  The mole brandished his trusty ladle fearlessly. ‘Burr, this be all oi’ll need furr they rarscally beasters!’

  Rose placed damp wood on the fire to burn slowly through the night. She sat with her back against a pine and settled to rest. ‘Martin, did you notice how they stopped when I mentioned Boldred? I know they joked and downed a bit, but they’re obviously scared of her. I wonder who Boldred is and where we can find her.’

  Martin shouldered the small sword, his keen eyes questing around the night-cloaked woodland. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Rose. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of the Gawtrybe, though.’

  However, the night passed uneventfully for the four travellers, the wooded foothills remaining calm and peaceful. The following morning was presided over by a hot blue cloudless sky, promising even greater heat as the day progressed. They breakfasted sparingly on cold water and some of Grumm’s invention cakes before setting off to scale the mountain.

  Three hours after dawn, they left the forest, entering a country of sloping shale scree carpeted with shrub, fern and lupin. As they toiled upwards in the oppressive breezeless warmth, Martin gritted his teeth. Jibes and insults were coming at them from all around, though they saw no squirrels.

  ‘Heehee, I’ll tell the Warden on you!’

  ‘Bad-mannered hooligans, campwreckers!’

  ‘Heehee, still no sign of Boldred!’

  ‘Please, Boldred, save us from the Gawtrybe, heehee!’

  Pallum clapped a paw to his ear. ‘Yowch! They’re chucking pebbles at me!’

  A small stone clacked off Martin’s swordblade. He kept his eyes straight ahead, speaking in a voice strained by temper. ‘Ignore them, the stupid vermin!’

  ‘Ignore them, the stupid vermin, heeheehee!’ a voice echoed back at him.

  The young mouse was about to pick up a pebble and hurl it back in the direction of the voice when Rose halted. She muttered urgently to him out of the side of her mouth, ‘Look up ahead!’

  The way was blocked by about fifty Gawtrybe squirrels. One, larger than the rest and obviously some kind of chieftain, stood forward. He scuffed the ground with his paw and pouted like a naughty infant as he spoke. ‘This is Gawtrybe land. You’ve got to pay to pass through.’

  Martin eyed him levelly. ‘We have only some food for ourselves, nothing of any value. I am Martin the Warrior, this is Rose, Pallum and Grumm. Let us pass. We will be off your land by nightfall.’

  The squirrel leader did a mincing little dance, holding his paws together imploringly as he mocked, ‘Let us pass, please. Let us pass!’

  Martin noticed that more squirrels had come up behind them, cutting off any chance of retreat. The leader squirrel had more feathers in his tailbrush than any of the others. He arched the bushy tail skilfully towards Martin.

  ‘I am called Wakk, leader of the Gawtrybe. Give me your sword and I’ll let you pass.’

  The young mouse’s eyes were cold as he answered, ‘Nobeast takes this sword from me!’

  Wakk puffed out his chest and made his tail stand straight. ‘Then I will fight you for it!’

  Martin curled his lip derisively. ‘Oh, you’ll fight, my friend, backed up by all your bunch, I suppose.’

  Wakk did not sneer or joke. He held up both paws to show he was not armed. ‘No no, we two will fight together, just me and you. None of my bunch will interfere. Give your sword to the mousemaid, and let’s see how good you are without a weapon.’

  Instantly, the squirrels formed a large ring. As Martin passed the sword to Rose he had his back turned to Wakk.

  ‘Look out, Martin!’ Pallum shouted.

  He thrust the sword into Rose’s paws and whirled around to see Wakk hurtling through the air at him, teeth bared and claws outspread.

  26

  TRAPPED!

  The word ran back like wildfire along the creatures packed into the escape tunnel, and panic took over in the dark airless place.

  ‘We’re all going to die down here. Help!’

  ‘Ooh, I knew we should never have tried to escape!’

  ‘I can’t breathe. Let me out of here!’

  ‘At least we were alive in the stockade!’

  ‘It’s that Brome’s fault, the stupid young fool!’

  Something within Keyla snapped. Suddenly the young otter was crushing and pushi
ng, lashing out as he climbed over heads, squeezing and scraping past other creatures, bashing out with all paws and his rudderlike tail as he battled towards Brome at the blocked exit.

  ‘Gerrout of my way! I never came down here to suffocate an’ die. Let me by, you stupid snivellin’ moaners!’

  Bulling and pushing, kicking and shoving, the resourceful otter strove on through the packed airless tunnel until he felt Brome’s corsair rags in his paws. ‘Brome, what’s the matter. Why can’t we get out?’

  His face touching Keyla’s, Brome yelled in the darkness, ‘We were nearly out, I’m sure of it, but the exit’s caved in!’

  The otter pushed him backwards into the press of wailing slaves. ‘Get out of my way and give me space. I’ll get us out of here!’ With a surge of strength born of desperation, Keyla threw himself at the blockage, all four paws going like windmills. Despite the screams and cries of outrage from behind, he tore, bit, gouged, kicked, dug and flailed at the sandy earth as it sprayed around him in gouts and showers. His shouts could be heard throughout the tunnel as he flung his body forward.

  ‘Eeyaahhh! What d’you want? Somebeast to dig? I’ll show you how Keyla digs! Like this! And this! Wahoooooooooo!’ The otter’s nose fountained blood as it struck a large rock. Keyla wrapped his whole body around it and yanked, grunting and squeezing past the rock, he savaged the loose earth, scraping, biting and thudding until his head burst through into the hole on the shore between the rocks. Wriggling out, Keyla spat earth, and wiped his mouth out with a paw. Chuckling quietly, he shook with delight.

  ‘Haha, just shows what you can do when you feel like it!’

  Brome leapt from the tunnel, casting aside his disguise and hugging Keyla tightly at the same time. ‘Keyla, you rogue, you did it, you got us free!’

  Then it was Brome’s turn to act sensibly. As he helped the first slaves out of the hole he issued instructions to Keyla.

  ‘We were trapped down there quite a while. Time was lost, and it’s not long until dawn. I’m going to run to the camp and get Felldoh with some others to help. I’ll bring them back as quickly as I can. You must follow my pawprints, and move everybeast along as fast as you possibly can. Once the fortress is roused, Badrang will have his horde out after our blood!’

  Dawn was crimsoning the grey from the sky as the ebb tide lapped gently on the shore. It was Bluehide’s favourite time of day. He had catnapped most of the night through his sentry watch on the walltop of Marshank. Now he stretched gratefully in anticipation of breakfast and a sleep until noon. Shortly his relief arrived, another ferret called Stumptooth.

  Bluehide passed the sentry spear over happily. ‘It’s goin’ t’ be a scorcher of a day, mate. You’ll sweat up ’ere.’

  Stumptooth took the proffered spear and leaned heavily on it. ‘Aye, yer right there, Blue’ide. Tain’t fair, is it, me stannin’ up ’ere on guard all day while those boneidle slaves lie round the compound scratchin’ theirselves.’

  ‘Hoho, don’t you fret yer ’ead about the slaves, Stumpy.’ Bluehide began dimbing down a wall ladder. ‘They’re all down the prison pit. ’Alf of ’em will be dead afore the day’s through!’

  Stumptooth was pushing past Bluehide on the ladder. ‘Slaves in the prison pit? I never seen any an’ I looks down there every mornin’ when I passes!’

  Bluehide landed on Stumptooth’s head. They bumbled down the ladder to fall in a heap at the bottom. Scrambling on all fours, they both raced to the pit. Bluehide’s jaw went slack in dismay.

  ‘But, but, they was there last night,’ he began explaining. ‘I saw ’em go down with me own eyes. It was two of our horde put ’em down there . . .’

  Stumptooth was not listening. He was dashing for the longhouse, screaming, ‘Escape! Escape! The slaves ’ave escaped!’

  Badrang came thundering out, tripped over Gurrad’s body, picked himself swiftly up and kicked the carcass bad-temperedly. ‘Slaves escaped? How many? Where?’

  ‘From the prison pit, Lord!’

  ‘Prison pit, who put ’em down there?’

  ‘It don’t know, Sire. Blue’ide was on duty las –’

  But Badrang was not listening, he was dashing about the courtyard yelling, ‘Hisk! Fleabane! Get the horde together. Now!’

  Half-asleep weasels, ferrets and rats stumbled out, pulling their clothes on as they trailed weapons behind them. Badrang was in a towering fury. He lashed out with the flat of his sword.

  ‘You half-baked, slobberfaced slugs! Move! There still might be time to catch those slaves. Stir your stumps, you useless blatherbrained beasts. Filling your stomachs and resting your heads is about all you lot are good for!’

  Hisk and Fleabane scuttled about, echoing their master’s threats and insults, not quite sure of what they were supposed to do.

  The Tyrant returned to Gurrad’s carcass. Obviously Clogg had forestalled the assassination attempt. He would get rid of the body before Clogg saw it and started gloating. Grabbing a passing rat, Badrang snarled, ‘You, Nipwort, bring that thing and follow me.’

  Nipwort struggled along behind Badrang, dragging the limp figure as he tried to keep up.

  With a frenzied burst of energy, the Tyrant stoat dragged the grating from the pit. Lying flat, he thrust his head in and could not fail to see the escape hole. ‘Here, Nipwort. Leave the body there and climb into this pit. See that hole in the side of the wall? Get yourself in there and see how far it goes. Report back to me when you find out where the exit is.’

  Before going to attend his horde, Badrang watched the unhappy Nipwort climb into the escape tunnel. When the rat was lost to view, Badrang pushed Gurrad’s body into the pit and replaced the grating with a swift heave.

  Tramun Clogg had been up and about before Badrang that day, anxious to know the result of his murderous plan. When Gruzzle and Boggs reported the finding of Oilback’s body, Clogg knew the scheme had failed. Hastily they disposed of the poisoned rat, tossing him into the sea. Clogg had his crew stand by fully armed lest Badrang should come seeking revenge for the attempt on his life.

  Crosstooth the fox took a swift glance toward Marshank’s open gates. ‘Stand by, Cap’n. ’ere comes Badrang with trouble aplenty!’

  Tramun stood prepared as the Tyrant and his horde pounded out across the shore. However, his keen ears caught the drift of what Hisk and Fleabane were shouting.

  ‘Double quick, you lot. Come on there, Lord Badrang wants every last one o’ those slaves back!’

  ‘Aye, if you don’t catch those escapers you’ll find yourselves doing their work. So move!’

  Clogg sheathed his cutlass, chewing thoughtfully on a beard plait as an idea formed in his sly fertile mind. ‘Ho buckoes, put up yer weapons an’ foller me!’

  With a look of concern on his villainous face, the corsair ran towards Badrang, calling out aloud, ‘Ahoy, matey. Wot’s the trouble?’

  The Tyrant stoat halted, glaring suspiciously at Clogg. ‘Didn’t you know? The rest of the slaves escaped during the night!’

  Horror and indignation stamped themselves on the corsair’s features. ‘Why, the rotten bunch o’ scallawags! I’ll never get me new ship built now. Badrang, matey, let’s call a truce between us until we catch ’em. Which way d’you reckon they went?’

  Badrang could not waste time bandying words with his old adversary. He realized he would need all the help he could get to recapture the slaves. ‘They’ve probably headed south and to the cliffs. That’s the way we’re going.’

  Clogg stroked the braids on his chin thoughtfully. ‘Aharr, maybe that’s wot they wants you to think, mate. Maybe they went north to fool ye. I’ll take my crew that way.’

  Before Badrang could reply, Clogg had hauled out his cutlass and was running north along the shore with his corsairs. ‘Come on, you flotsam. If ye ever want to feel a deck neath yer paws agin, you’ll ’ave to find them scummy slaves!’

  Badrang led his horde off to the south at a lively run.

  Nipwort emerged from the e
scape tunnel. Dusting himself down, he climbed on to the rocky outcrop to get his bearings. The tracks were clear. Shading his eyes against the morning sun, Nipwort scanned the shoreline. He saw the unmistakable form of a group in the distance. They were hurrying towards the cliffs. Turning round, the rat could see Badrang and the horde running in his general direction. Jumping up and down, he waved frantically.

  ‘Over here, Lord! I can see them!’

  Ballaw, Rowanoak, Buckler and Felldoh, in company with ten or more of the most able-bodied free slaves, jogged along the clifftop behind Brome. Felldoh looked grim as he muttered to the hare, ‘What a reckless little fool Brome is. He could have been captured at Marshank or smothered in that tunnel!’

  Ballaw hefted his lance lightly. ‘Matter of opinion, old lad. If you fail you’re a bally fool, if you win you’re a jolly hero!’

  Rowanoak puffed along behind them, towing the cart. ‘Ballaw’s right. I’d say if he pulls this off he’s a reckless hero; who would have thought it, young Brome!’

  Brome stopped. Pointing down to the shore he yelled proudly, ‘There they are!’

  Felldoh’s eyes roved further afield. ‘Aye, and look who’s following on the double!’

  Rowanoak gave a great groan of dismay. ‘There’s far too many of them for us. Our only hope is to get those poor creatures on to the clifftop up here before the horde gets to them. Come on, let’s give it a try!’

  Stout vine ropes were anchored to rocks and thrown over the steep cliff slope. Ballaw roared to the slaves, projecting his voice magnificently, ‘I say, you chaps. Over here!’

  Felldoh and some others shinned hurriedly down the ropes on to the shore, and ran to help the stragglers. Buckler threw his paws about an old mousewife, glancing back at the pursuers. ‘They be comen on apace. Oi doant think us’ns ull make et!’

  Badrang’s paws slapped hard on the strand as he put on a great burst of speed, calling to his horde, ‘Come on, we’ve got ’em!’