Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Grumm scrabbled his way on to the ledge, not daring to look down at the crowd far below, still standing silent and waiting. ‘Oi doant moind unnergrounds but oi bain’t too fond of oop yurr!’

  Pallum nearly tripped and fell backwards on the final ledge. He was windmilling his paws as he teetered perilously at its rim. Acting quickly, Rose swung the foodpack. The hedgehog caught the shoulderstrap, and she hauled him back to the safety of the ledge. Now the Gawtrybe were beginning to chant and dance again, eager to be on the chase. The four friends stood on the ledge which Martin had nominated, watching them. Martin took the pack from Rose and shouldered it.

  ‘Are we ready?’

  They nodded. Pallum spat on his paws and rubbed them together. ‘Right, Martin. Give them the signal!’

  The young mouse stared down at the dancing hordes below. ‘Look at them, mad, cruel beasts, playing games with the lives of other creatures. I wouldn’t waste my breath shouting signals to the scum. Let them guess whether or not the game has begun!’

  The four friends took off as fast as they could, up the mountainside to the cave high above.

  It took several seconds for the dancing, yelling mob to realize they had been cheated, Martin had not shouted the signal for them to start chasing. With a concerted howl of rage, the masses of squirrels dashed for the mountain, waving their axes. From the heights the four friends paused to glance down. Martin had been right: Gawtrybe squirrels were strong and fleet of paw. They were climbing at an amazing rate, every one agile and swift.

  The game for the lives of the travellers had really begun!

  BOOK THREE

  The Battle of Marshank

  28

  BROME AND KEYLA, together with Felldoh and the Rambling Rosehip Players were the heroes of the hour. The thirty or so slaves who had escaped from Marshank with their aid cheered wildly, towing them round and round the camp on their cart. Being actors, the Rosehip company enjoyed applause in any form.

  Ballaw took outrageously leggy bows, clapping his ears together comically. ‘Thank you dear creatures, thank you one and all!’

  Rowanoak smiled benevolently, waving a huge paw. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t really, it was nothing!’

  Buckler, with one paw bound up against his injured shoulder in a sling, bobbed his furry head up and down. ‘Thankee, thankee. Oi’ll be roight as rain in a few days!’

  The rest of the company took their adulation gracefully, with the exception of Celandine, who fluttered her eyelashes constantly and blew outrageously sloppy kisses. ‘Wasn’t I, marvellous, dears? I’d like to thank the rest of the troupe and all the other little creatures who helped me!’

  Brome was up on the cart with the rest, but Felldoh was unused to such admiration. He wandered off alone from the camp, enjoying the warm evening as he savoured the heady feeling of freedom.

  Back at camp, the liberated slaves were marvelling at the ample larder kept by the troupe. A mouse called Purslane led her husband, Groot, and their baby, Fuffle, through an inventory of the contents.

  ‘Look, Groot, dried fruits and maplecream. How many seasons since we tasted maplecream, I can’t remember. Oh my! Will you smell these violet crystals and candied mintleaves!’

  Groot opened a box, shaking his head fondly. ‘Nuts preserved in honey, chestnuts, beechnuts and acorns! D’you recall when you used to do them in late autumn, dear?’

  Purslane brushed away a tear as she laughed. ‘Do I? You were the one who kept eating the nuts and licking the honey ladle. You were like a great babe. Fuffle, put those nuts down, they don’t belong to us!’

  The baby Fuffle gurgled around a mouthful of nuts. ‘Tasters nishe Fuffle likesum!’

  Purslane was prising the nuts loose from his little paws when Rowanoak, who had deserted the victory parade, swept Fuffle up in a huge paw. She smiled fondly. ‘You eat as many as you like, little un. What is ours is yours.’

  Purslane and her husband thanked the badger profusely, but Rowanoak would hear none of it.

  ‘Now that’s enough of that, good creatures. Purslane, did I hear Groot saying that you could preserve nuts?’

  Purslane gazed at the huge larder and its contents, longingly. ‘Preserve nuts? I could cook, bake, stew, make soups, salads, flans, cakes, tarts, trifles . . .’

  Rowanoak held up a paw. ‘Trifles! That’s one thing the Rosehip Players can’t do, make a decent trifle. My dear, you don’t know how many seasons I have dreamed of trifle. But listen, don’t stand there telling me how good a cook you are. Why not get cracking and make a victory feast? I imagine there are others from Marshank who’d love to try their kitchen skills again.’

  Purslane, Geum, Ferndew and a hedgehog goodwife called Burrwen washed their paws and went to work. Night fell over the Rosehips’ camp. The fires blazed merrily and old songs were brought forth to sing, as everybeast helped with the preparation of a great liberation meal. The young mouse Hoopoe, wearing a ridiculous hat woven from sedge grass, led the singing, conducting with a long onion shoot.

  ‘Hey, give me cake and bring me ale,

  And pudding ripe with plums,

  Some cider, dear, so cool and clear,

  To swill round teeth and gums,

  Some round and golden mellow cheese,

  And light brown nutbread, if you please,

  With honey made by happy bees,

  And I will be contented.

  O fie the creature with long face

  Who nibbles small and can’t keep pace

  With tartlets filled full berryfruit

  And yellow meadowcream to boot,

  Or soup with pepper and hotroot,

  And burdock ale to quench it.

  Oh, eat up, neighbour, drink up, friend,

  May good fortune have no end.

  Success to all that you intend,

  And leave the pots till morning!’

  The feast was one to remember, particularly since the freed slaves had young ones who had never attended a banquet, or even seen some of the dishes, let alone tasted them.

  Old Geum sniffed as she passed Rowanoak a farl of hot barley bread filled with brown onion gravy and mashed turnip. ‘Just look at that little un, dipping strawberry tart into his soup. It’s not right!’

  The baby Fuffle was seated on Rowanoak’s lap, enjoying himself immensely. The badger chuckled as she stroked his ears. ‘If it tastes nice to him and he likes it, then where’s the harm? You eat up, you little rogue.’

  The two mice Yarrow and Hoopoe had purple lips and noses from drinking blackberry cordial, and yellow meadowcream tipped their ears, from where they had both been eating the same pudding out of a basin without using spoons or paws.

  Celandine wiped her mouth daintily on a flimsy kerchief. ‘Oh goodness me, I don’t think I can manage another bite!’

  Ballaw eyed her plate, heaped high with summer salad and cheese. ‘I was just saying to Kastern and Gauchee the other day that you’re lookin’ a touch plump these days, m’ gel, wot!’

  The vain pretty squirrel pushed herself away from the food. ‘Am I really? Tell the truth, Ballaw. I’d hate to be plump!’

  Ballaw pulled her plate across and emptied it reflectively, speaking between bites. ‘Well, er, chomp chomp, a touch more exercise, bit of firewood choppin’, munch munch, and you’ll be back to your former lovely slim self, m’ dear, grumpff grumpff. I wouldn’t worry too much.’

  Gauchee and Kastem sat gazing sadly at a beautiful damson flan topped with crisp thin pastry covered in whiterose cream and decorated with candied mintleaves and nuts. They were poised over it, holding a wooden spoon apiece, sighing regretfully,

  ‘Golly gosh, it does look lovely. Far too nice to eat!’

  ‘Hmm, I agree with you. It’d be a shame to spoil it, really!’

  ‘But some other creature will if we don’t.’

  ‘True, true. I know, let’s do it gently!’

  Brome sat next to Buckler, sharing a beetroot and mushroom pastie, an enormous thing, swimming in leek
gravy. ‘Burr, oi c’n feel et doen moi shoulder a power o’ gudd!’

  ‘Huh, there’s nothing wrong with your other shoulder, it’s doing the work of two. Stop shovin’ me out of the way, you great hungry beast!’

  Trefoil had an apple baked in honey. Each time she looked away, a piece of it went missing.

  Rowanoak winked at the baby Fuffle as he licked honey from his paws. ‘Good, eh, mate!’ Fuffle winked back with both eyes. ‘Good for Fuffle!’

  Old Barkjon accepted a platter of summer fruits from Geum. He picked at them as he gazed at the other revellers. ‘I don’t see my son. Have you served him with food, Geum?’

  ‘He was hanging around at the edge of the camp before dark,’ the gossipy old mousewife sniffed. ‘Never sat down to eat with the rest. I suppose we’re not good enough for him!’

  Brome left his pastie to Buckler and spoke up in defence of his friend. ‘Don’t you speak about Felldoh like that, old one. If it weren’t for him and Keyla, you’d still be a slave!’

  Geum bustled off in a huff. Barkjon smiled at the young mouse. ‘Well said, Brome. You are a true friend to my son. Have you seen him?’

  Brome gathered up some food – a wedge of plumcake, a hunk of brown nut cheese, a small fresh-baked wheat farl and a jug. ‘I haven’t seen him, sir, but I know where he’ll be: doing a lone patrol and keeping watch for foebeasts while we sit here filling our bellies. I’ll go and find him with this food. He must be hungry wandering the cliffs by himself.’

  Felldoh laid his javelins and thrower down. He sat with his back to a rock at the cliff’s edge, staring out at the calm sea and the star-strewn sky. Though he was savouring freedom, the sturdy young squirrel was fighting down a rage that burned deep inside, against the seasons he and his father had spent in captivity. Hatred of Badrang and all the Tyrant stood for gnawed at him. The sound of somebeast dose by drew his paws swiftly to the weapons on the ground.

  ‘Felldoh, is that you, mate?’

  The squirrel sighed as he relaxed his hold on the javelins. ‘Brome, what are you doing out here?’

  The young mouse sat beside him and laid out the food. ‘Brought you a bite of supper. Are you hungry?’

  Felldoh accepted the food gratefully. ‘Well young Brome,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that was a reckless, foolish thing you did, but no one can deny that you showed great courage. No one can deny that.’

  ‘Redcurrant and roseleaf cordial. I hope you like it.’

  Felldoh balanced the jug on his elbow. ‘Like it? Does a fish like water!’

  They sat together watching the sea and the night sky. Brome sighed and voiced aloud the thought that tormented him constantly, whenever he looked out over the deep waters of the main. ‘I often look at the sea these days and wonder if Martin, Grumm and my sister made it to land. I’d hate to think of them lying somewhere out there underneath the waves.’

  ‘What a silly notion!’ Felldoh chuckled as he punched Brome’s paw lightly. ‘Huh, they probably made it to land while we were still floundering about thinking of the idea. Listen, mate, if your sister and Grumm are with Martin, they’re safe as a deep-rooted oak. That mouse has more warrior spirit in his left ear than most creatures I’ve ever come across. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised to see them come marching across these cliffs right now, with the Noonvale army behind them!’

  Brome looked out along the cliffs as if taking Felldoh at his word. Suddenly he pointed north. ‘Look, there is somebeast coming. About a dozen of ’em, I’d say!’

  The two weasel trackers, Bugpaw and Flink, knelt to scan the ground in the moonlight. Hisk watched them impatiently. ‘What’s the matter with you two? Surely the two wheel tracks of a loaded cart are clear enough to follow?’

  Bugpaw looked up at the Captain. ‘The cart has been along here more’n once, Hisk. We’re lookin’ for the freshest set of tracks.’

  Flink traced the rutted outlines with his paw. ‘Buggy’s right, an’ it’s double ’ard in the night. We could be follerin’ our own tails. Why don’t yer knock off an’ rest up, it’d be a lot easier trackin’ in daylight, Hisk.’

  There was a concerted murmur of agreement from the others.

  The weasel Captain took a pace back and brought his spear up. ‘What’s all this, a mutiny? Dig the dirt out yer ears an’ listen to me. I’m Lord Badrang’s Captain. If you disobey me you’re disobeyin’ him. The orders is to follow the cart tracks an’ find out where they goes, an’ that’s what I intend doin’. Right, does anybeast want to argue it out with Lord Badrang when we get back to Marshank?’

  There was a shuffling of paws and some sullen muttering.

  ‘All right, Hisk, you’ve made yer point,’ a voice from the group called out. ‘Let’s gerron with it.’

  Hisk gave a humourless laugh. ‘I’m glad you see it my way. Oh, and by the way, only Lord Badrang calls me Hisk. It’s Captain Hisk to you lot. Remember that!’

  Felldoh picked up his javelins. ‘They’re Badrang’s creatures. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but anybeast with half an eye could see that they’re tracking the cart, trying to find out where our camp is. Here, take this javelin and follow me, Brome. Keep low and stay quiet.’

  The two companions headed back south along the clifftop, in the direction of the camp, scurrying on all fours as Felldoh followed the imprint of the cart tracks. Judging that he had gone far enough, Felldoh halted. ‘Do as I do, Brome. Cover the tracks until I tell you to stop.’

  Brome did not question his friend. He realized the urgency of the situation. Scuffing and brushing with their paws, they obliterated the twin ruts of the wheel-marks from the loose sandy earth.

  Felldoh took a quick look around. ‘Good, that should do. Now take one of these javelins, and hurry!’

  Dashing back to the spot where the cart tracks ended, Felldoh set the blunt end of a lance in the ground and began a swerving furrow towards a low hill in an inland direction. Realization of the plan dawned on Brome. They were going to lead the trackers off on a false trail. Scoring the ground with his lance end, he caught up with Felldoh. Away the pair went over the low hill, leaving in their wake two grooves.

  Bugpaw halted and stood upright. ‘Look ’ere, clear as daylight an’ fresh as a daisy. These are good tracks. Looks like they took on extra weight.’

  Flink sniffed the ground and nodded. ‘That’s right, Captain Hisk. I can’t smell badger anywheres near these ruts, and I can sniff badger a mile off. That means the big badger must’ve hurt its paw and had to ride up on the cart. The tracks are slightly deeper. Look!’

  Hisk puffed out his narrow chest, satisfied he was back in control. ‘Good work, you two. Keep it up. Come on, let’s go!’

  The tracks led west, over the low hill and out across some furze land, through a patch of damp sandy flats and into an expanse of reedgrass. Hisk and his soldiers followed diligently, the weasel Captain issuing whispered orders as they dogtrotted across the patchy moonlit landscape.

  ‘Don’t forget, silence at all times. When we find the camp we make a note of its position and head right back to Marshank. Lord Badrang’ll take care of the rest.’

  Brome and Felldoh dragged the javelins behind them as they scurried into a heavily bulrushed area. The squirrel’s paw squelched deep. He stopped, checking Brome as he did. ‘Halt, swampland! Let’s hide over there, where the rushes are thickest. Here, take some more javelins. I’ll cut you a throwing stick while we’re waiting on Badrang’s vermin. Hisk is their leader. Leave him to me – I’ve got scores to settle with that scumnosed blaggard. He bent many a rod over my back!’

  Hisk shook his spear triumphantly. ‘The marshlands. that’s where they’re hiding. No wonder they thought they were safe. Who’d follow anybeast into marshes? Well, their secret hiding place isn’t a secret any more. Keep your eyes peeled for a campfire among these bulrushes.’

  As he was talking, the trackers bypassed him and went ahead. Eager to complete their mission, they raced along with the tracks clear in the soft hea
vy ground. Flink pawed at a broken rush, noting the way grass had been trampled. ‘’S funny, the ground’s pretty soft here. They must have found a firm path to get a loaded cart into marshland, eh, Buggy?’

  ‘Waah! ’elp, I’m sinkin’. ’elp me, mates!’

  Hisk hurried forward. ‘Shuttup, loudmouth, d’you want them to know we’re here!’

  Flink stared at the dark patch of smoothness beyond the rushes. ‘It’s Buggy. He’s gone!’

  Hisk grabbed Flink and shook him. ‘I told you to keep your voice down, idiot! Now, what d’you mean Bugpaw’s gone?’

  ‘S – s – sw – swamp!’ Flink’s teeeth chattered with fright. As he was speaking, both he and the Captain had started to sink. Hisk pushed Flink away from him as the tracker grabbed wildly at his spear. Flink fell over backwards and the ooze gripped him and engulfed him. The weasel Captain pulled one footpaw free. Stabbing his spear deep into the firmer ground, he hurriedly hauled himself out. The others bumped into each other as they fought in the darkness to distance themselves from the swamp edge.

  A rat called Fraggun stood on tip paw, peering into the patch where Bugpaw and Flink had been a moment before. ‘Where did they goooooo . . . oh!’

  The javelin had filled his mouth, flashing out of nowhere like dark lightning.

  Brome had never seen a creature killed at close quarters before. One moment the rat had been alive and shouting. Then in a flash he was slain. The young mouse was no killer. He stared in horror at Felldoh, who had just thrown the javelin. The squirrel’s face showed little emotion as he fitted another javelin on to his throwing stick and whipped his arm back. Sighting on a shape in the darkness, he flung the missile and was rewarded by a gurgling scream. ‘Got him!’