Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Martin sat up. There was no danger from the old one, but he was becoming very tiresome with his insults and rantings. The young mouse spoke sternly to him.

  ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, old one, and stop waving that stick about – or I’ll take it from you!’

  The hedgehog managed to get the stick loose from Rose and adopted a fighting stance. ‘Hoho, ye boldfaced mouse. So ye want to fight me now. Then so be it. Come on, have at ye!’

  He raised the stick just in time for Boldred to swoop in and pluck it from his paws. She landed, shaking her head. ‘Aggril, stop this. How many times have you been told the cherry trees do not belong to you? They are here for all creatures, not just for you!’

  The old hedgehog Aggril knocked the heads from some daisies with his footpaws, muttering rebelliously, ‘Young uns today have no respect for age. Yon mouse with the sword offered me combat, ’twere no fault o’ mine.’

  Grumm stood up indignantly. ‘Oo, ’ee gurt fibber. Marthen dood no such a thing. You’m a crafty ole beast, zurr, beggin’ yurr pardon, iffen oi do say so.’

  Immediately Aggril’s mood changed at the sight of Grumm. ‘Oh, a moley creature. Do accept my ’umble apologies, friends. Moleys are the nicest an’ wisest beasts alive. Do ye an’ thy companions have a liking for cherry cordial? Follow me!’

  The four travellers looked at each other nonplussed.

  Boldred shook with silent mirth. ‘Go on, follow him. He’s harmless really, just a touch eccentric. I’m mapping a stream course – see you later.’ She winged off high above the trees.

  Grumm started following Aggril, calling to the others, ‘Coom on, oi dearly wudd loik t’ taste cherry corjul!’

  The old hedgehog lived in a hollow oak, long dead but still standing, with a small door over a hole at its base. They followed him in. It was cool and dark. Stacked all around its walls were kegs, flasks and gourds of cordial. Aggril was very proud of his stock. He adjusted his glasses and peered closely at the labels on each receptacle.

  ‘Mmm now, here be a cordial fit for kings an’ queens, a score of seasons old, I lined the cask with honey myself to sweeten it.’

  There was pure white cheese and celery wafers to go with the drink. They sat on upturned casks as he issued them with wonderfully carved cherrywood bowls to drink from.

  ‘Cherrywood be the best of all trees to make bowls from. Taste this and see what thee think of my art.’

  It was absolutely delicious, dark, cool and sweet. Before they had finished he was opening a large gourd.

  ‘This was made by my mother, or ’twas made by my grandmother, I’m not sure, ’twas so long ago. Notice, ’tis a brighter red and a fizzy taste, more suited to eat with salads.’

  Gourds were opened, casks unbunged and flasks broached. Martin and Rose sat together in the cool dimness of the hollow oak, eating cheese and celery wafers and sipping so many different cordials, each with its own history, that they lost count. Aggril’s voice droned on like a bumblebee hovering round apple blossom, while outside the sun made leaf patterns in the still woodlands. Martin had never known such peace and happiness in all his life. He lay back and closed his eyes, the heavy fragrance of wild cherries scenting the air about him.

  It was night. Rose came slowly awake with the sensation that she was drifting, floating under the soft dark canopy of the sky, star-pointed and centred with a waning moon. The mousemaid lay at peace, feeling the swirl of water against silent paddles, hearing the gentle creak of timbers . . .

  She was on a boat!

  ‘Be still, liddle shipmate, an’ take yer ease.’

  The strong cheerful face of a big male otter appeared before her. Rose sat up slowly, trying to shake off the feeling of unreality.

  ‘Where am I?’

  ‘Aboard the good craft Waterlily an’ travellin’ on the great Broadstream. Lay back an’ sleep now, yore in safe paws, miss.’

  Martin, Pallum and Grumm were curled up nearby, their contented snores blending with the slight noises of the boat. The otter plied his oar with a hefty tattooed paw as he chuckled, ‘Ole Aggril certainly slipped you an’ yer pals a good measure of his special sleepin’ potion. Them three won’t know nothin’ about it until way into mornin’ light.’

  Rose felt helpless, a pleasant inertia stealing over her as she slumped gently back. ‘You mean to tell me that Aggril drugged us?’

  The otter grinned and winked at her. ‘Sure as my name’s Starwort. That ole hedgepig don’t like young uns noways. He reckons the cherry trees are his, an’ it’s good night to any beast that messes wi’ them. Lucky you was with Boldred, or Aggril might’ve sent you into a sleep you’d never wake from. As it was, he just popped you off temp’ry so’s Boldred could get you out of the way. We ’ad to sling you an’ yer pals into ’ammocks an’ carry you a fair way to get you aboard Waterlily.’

  Rose half tried to keep her eyes open, murmuring drowsily, ‘Where is Boldred?’

  The short-eared owl’s voice came from somewhere above her. ‘Perched nice and comfy up here on the masthead. Do as Starwort says, Rose. Go back to sleep.’

  The mousemaid could hear her own voice as if from a distance. ‘Back . . . to . . . slee . . . p.’

  The sun was up, and birds serenaded the new day from the thick foliage bordering Broadstream. The travellers sat with their paws through the midship rails, letting the water run through them. A crew of two dozen otters hauled the single square sail to catch the mild breeze, singing lustily as they heaved on the ropes.

  ‘Oh, the Broadstream comes from who knows where,

  It flows to who knows whither,

  And I sail with it here an’ there,

  Wand’rin’ yon an’ hither.

  The place of waters is my home,

  For I’m a fearless rover.

  Through calm an’ storm I’m bound to roam,

  Until my days are over.

  Roll, roll and flow, and let the seasons gooooooooo.’

  As the last deep bass notes died, a triangle’s discordant jangle rent the air.

  Grumm sniffed. His homely face lit up. ‘Hurr, ’tis zoop!’

  Small otters poured out of the forecastle cabin, leaping, somersaulting and banging ladles on wooden bowls. Starwort’s wife Marigold issued the four friends with bowls and ladles.

  ‘Were I you, I’d ’urry. Those nippers’ll lick the pot dry. They’re nought but stomachs on paws!’

  Over a charcoal brazier on the afterdeck, a fat otter called Stewer was dishing out soup, loaves of barleybread and a concoction the otters drank called scupperjuice. Stewer filled their bowls to brimming, cautioning them cheerfully, ‘Watershrimp, bulrush ’n’ hotroot soup, mates. It’ll give you fur like velvet an’ put a sparkle in yer eye. But drink plenty o’ that scupperjuice to cool yer gills!’

  Pallum’s eyes watered. He fanned his mouth with both paws and gulped scupperjuice greedily. ‘Phwaw! My poor mouth’s on fire. I never knew soup could taste so hot. Oh, my burning tongue!’

  Martin and Rose were suffering equally. The soup was delicious, but the hotroot pepper must have been ladled into it.

  Tossing aside his spoon, Grumm drank his soup with gusto. The heat of it did not seem to bother him. ‘Gurr, this be wunnerful zoop, ho aye. Furst clarss! Yurr, you uns ’ave moi bread an’ moi drink. Give oi yurr zoop.’

  Willingly they exchanged their soup for the mole’s bread and scupperjuice. Grumm slurped away merrily, watched by the entire otter crew and their families.

  Starwort shook his head. ‘I ain’t never seen a creature enjoy our soup so much in all me born days. We can’t even take it without drinkin’ scupperjuice to quench the burnin’. Grumm, matey, are you sure you’ve never ’ad this soup afore?’

  The mole wiped a bead of sweat from his snout tip. ‘No zurr, never, tho’ oi wisht oi ’ad. Think wot oi been a-missen all these seasons, hurr!’

  Streamsailing was a novel experience for the travellers. Under the otter crew’s helpful paws they learned to re
ef and tack, scull, row and steer. Boldred had flown on ahead to contact the shrews. The otters reckoned to meet up with them sometime in mid-evening.

  Grumm and Pallum took instantly to the nautical life. The Waterlily was so large and flat-bottomed that they forgot their fear of the water. Both the hedgehog and the mole adopted the otters’ rolling gait and streamslang.

  ‘Ahoy, Grumm matey. ’Tis a fair day on an even keel.’

  ‘Ahurr, Pallum me ’earty, coom an’ sit yurr midships an’ drop anchor ‘longside oi, you’m ole streamdog!’

  Martin and Rose clapped paws to mouths, stifling their giggles at the antics of the pair.

  Roach, tench, perch and the odd pike could be seen through the clear running stream, following the Waterlily for the scraps that were thrown overboard. Sometimes they would cruise where the bank was deepsided, enjoying the shade of the trees. Other times they would ride out on the broad swell, catching the breeze. Rose watched Martin waving at a kingfisher which hung over an inlet, whirring its wings in a ceaseless blur as it watched the water for small fry. It was an idyllic day.

  Early evening passed, colouring Broadstream’s banks a limpid green that gave way to gold-flecked cerise in midstream.

  They heard the chattering and squabbling of small gruff voices from around a sharp bend in the watercourse. Starwort shook his head despairingly as he manoeuvred the tiller.

  ‘Them Broadstream shrews, never stops arguin’ an’ disputin’, they don’t. I once saw two of ’em jump in the water an’ climb out to argue over who was the wettest. Reef yer sail, you two streamdogs. We’re roundin’ the point!’

  Pallum and Grumm attempted an otter’s footpaw salute.

  ‘Haye aye, steady as she goes. Reefin’ an’ furlin’ wi’ all paws!’ Pulling smoothly into the bank, they disembarked into a noisy chaos. The Broadstream shrews were odd little creatures, raggledy-haired and clad in baggy pantaloons. They all carried short rapiers, which they constantly drew and jabbed the air with when making a point. Boldred perched by their campfire, checking the charts and maps she had revised. The travellers sat alongside her, surrounded by a horde of curious shrews. She squinted her large round eyes in exasperation.

  ‘Shrews! They don’t even have a leader of this tribe, but each one thinks that they are in charge of everything. Listen to them!’

  ‘I’m not sailin’ tonight, we’ve been on the stream all day!’

  ‘I want to sail tonight, it’s the best time for voyagin’!’

  ‘We’ve done enough. I say we don’t sail for the rest of the season!’

  ‘Who asked you? Keep your opinions to yourself, rushmouth!’

  ‘Hah! Rushmouth is it? When was the last time you put paw to paddle, boatbottom!’

  ‘Boatbottom yourself. I vote we run the logboats ashore an’ careen ’em. The hulls are filthy with moss!’

  ‘A good voyage’d take the moss off ’em. You take my word!’

  ‘I won’t take your word, but you’ll take the back o’ my paw if you step on me tail again!’

  The otters stayed on the Waterlily, shaking their heads sternly at the bad behaviour of the little squabblers.

  Grumm had been nosing around the fire, tasting the food from the various pans and cauldrons. He pulled a wry face, whispering to Rose, ‘Gurr, no wonder they be ill-tempered. ’ee food tastes turrible, Miz Roser. Oi wouldn’t feed et to a dead frog, burr no!’

  The mousemaid took the foodpack from Martin’s shoulder. ‘I’ve just had an idea. Here, do as I do!’ Breaking one of Grumm’s sweet invention cakes, she gave them a portion each and began eating her own piece with huge enjoyment. ‘Mmmm, this tastes good!’

  The others followed her example. Boldred snaffled hers in one bite and began pecking crumbs from her talons. ‘Delicious, can’t afford to waste a single crumb!’

  ‘Hoo aye, ’tis vurry scrummy, ‘seedin’ly noice!’

  ‘Absolutely delightful, best I ever tasted!’

  ‘Oh yes, this is the stuff, pals. Great!’

  Gradually the shrews became silent, turning their attention to the friends as they praised the cake to the skies.

  A shrew stabbed the air with his sword. ‘Gimme some, I want to try that stuff!’

  Martin eyed him disdainfully. ‘Watch yourself, shrew. Don’t wave that sword in my face and make demands of me!’

  Rose wagged a stem paw at the offender. ‘Put that weapon away this instant and ask properly. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to say please?’

  The shrew was dumbstruck for a moment, then he put down his sword and lowered his voice. ‘Can I try your cake, please?’

  Pallum took a reflective nibble and turned to Grumm. ‘What d’you think, is our cake too good for the likes of these?’

  The mole licked a crumb from his chin. ‘Moight drive they’m mad, they’m on’y use to eatin’ drefful swill.’

  Several of the shrews looked beseechingly to Boldred. The owl looked as if she were about to say yes, then shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I would have given them all the cakes from our pack, but they’ve made up their minds not to sail tonight. You can’t make creatures go on the stream voyaging if they’re afraid of the dark.’

  The owl’s statement created uproar. Fights, scuffles and arguments broke out all over the shrew camp. Starwort bounded through the mêlée. Giving the friends a huge wink he roared out, ‘Ahoy, you can’t talk about river creatures like that. My mates the stream shrews’ll sail anywheres at anytime, ain’t that right, lads?’

  Immediately, the shrews stopped fighting and waved their swords. ‘Aye, we’ll sail anywhere, day or night!’

  Rose put her head to one side and imitated a gruff shrew voice. ‘Give us the cakes and it’s a bargain!’

  Boldred tossed the foodpack into a long shrew logboat. ‘You shrews drive a hard bargain. Those are the last of our cakes. But so be it, you’ve won the argument. Let’s go!’

  The short-eared owl had to take to the air to avoid being swept into the logboats with her four friends. In a very short time they were out in midstream, the shrews poling their canoe-shaped treetrunks hard, competing in a race between crews. The travellers barely had time to turn and wave at the cheering otters before they were swept out of sight. Water rushed by the bows of the six logboats as night fell. Grumm and Pallum gripped the sides tightly as the narrow craft shot along on the swift current, shaking and rocking from side to side. Rose held Martin’s paw, her face shining.

  ‘We’re travelling downstream. I recognize this part of the water. If we take a turn off to a side channel on the right we can be in Noonvale tomorrow afternoon!’

  As she spoke, the shrews backed water, wheeling their craft into an inlet and down a sidestream. It was narrower than the main water, but just as fast-running.

  Rose laughed aloud with joy. ‘Ha, ha! See those knotty old willows drooping into the water? I sat under them when I was a little one. I knew it, we’re going home to Noonvale!’

  32

  CAP’N TRAMUN CLOGG had finished filling in the prison pit. His paws ached with weariness and his tawdry finery was coated in dust. Pushing the barrow to a corner of the courtyard, he lowered himself gently into it and let the enormous wooden clogs slip from his footpaws as he heaved a melancholy sigh.

  ‘Harr, ’tis an ’ard life an’ no mistake, but at least Badrang ain’t got me stannin’ guard up on the wall like those fellers.’

  Clogg lay in the barrow, watching the guards on the walltop silhouetted against the early night sky, ruminating to himself. ‘Aye, ’is ’igh ’n’ mighty Lordship will be drinkin’ wine an’ dinin’ off fish an’ roasted fowl in that long’ouse, while I’ve got to bide ’ere til mornin’, waitin’ fer a crust an’ some water.’

  The corsair heard the thwock of the slingstones as the two wall sentries fell in a heap. He smiled wickedly in the darkness. ‘Hah, them slaves is learnin’ fast. Now iffen me an’ Badrang was still partners, I’d raise the alarm. But we ain’t, I’m only a slave, a
n’ raisin’ alarms is nought to do with slaves!’

  A volley of flaming javelins whooshed in over the walls. Clogg was well out of their range. He watched with great interest as they hit the longhouse, two or three missing, some falling flat on the roof. But the majority thudded into the timber walls, blazing merrily. Another wave of burning javelins streaked through the night sky like comets, finding the wooden palisade fence of the slave compound. A mighty roar rose from the shores outside Marshank.

  ‘Fur and freeeedooooom!’

  Badrang came tearing out of the longhouse, stood on a lighted javelin by accident and hopped about on one paw yelling, ‘Attack, attack! Stand to arms! Walltop stations!’ He grabbed two scurrying half-asleep soldiers. ‘Put that fire out, quick!’

  They stood undecided. ‘But we ain’t got water, Sire!’

  The enraged Tyrant knocked their heads sharply together. ‘Addlepates, use sand, earth, dust!’ He dashed off to the walltop, drawing his sword as he shouted orders to the horde milling in the courtyard.

  ‘Archers, slingthrowers, follow me!’

  Ballaw and Felldoh doused the fire they had used to ignite the javelins. They split up, each taking half the force, Ballaw to the back of the fort, Felldoh to the left side.

  Felldoh’s attackers flattened themselves against the earth and lay quite still. The squirrel passed the order along to his group. ‘After Ballaw’s troops send their javelins off, be ready!’

  Badrang peered out across the deserted shore. The archers and slingthrowers stood ready for his command.

  Crosstooth stood beside the Tyrant, watching. ‘They’ll be hidin’ behind those rocks on the shore.’

  Badrang could see what the fox said was true. He raised a paw. ‘Archers, put a volley or two over the back of those rocks. That should flush them out. Ready, fire!’

  The shafts clattered harmlessly off the rocks, leaving the beach still silent. There was a hissing noise in the air. Instinctively Badrang threw himself flat on the walltop. ‘Down! Get down!’