Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  Too late. Three hordebeasts fell to the javelins that sped in over the back walls. Propelled by the throwing sticks, they smashed and splintered on the fort side of the walltop.

  Badrang was up and running around the rampart. ‘The slimy tricksters, they’re round the back. Come on!’

  Felldoh crouched low, watching the walltop, his javelins and slings ready. ‘Here they come. Wait for it now, let them get to the middle of the wall. Wait for it, steady, steady. . . . Now!’

  The javelins and sling stones whirred off into the night, wounding three and slaying a further two. Felldoh’s troops immediately fell flat, blending with the landscape in the night.

  As soon as they had launched their javelins, Ballaw’s command dashed off to the right side wall and lay low. Badrang had left half his arches to fire at Felldoh’s fighters, leading the other half around to the back, only to find the rear landscape deserted. He banged his sword handle hard against the wall.

  ‘The scum, they’ve probably backed off into the marshes. Cringing curs, why don’t they show themselves and fight!’

  Boggs the ferret had served long in Clogg’s crow’s-nest. He had the keenest eyes of any beast. Peering hard into the darkness, he stood stock still, straining his eyes. ‘There’s creatures out there. I’m sure of it, Sire!’

  ‘Where, Boggs? Can you see ’em?’ Badrang’s voice was low and excited.

  ‘Aye, I can now, Sire. They’re a good distance off, but comin’ this way. Looks to be about six, no, five of ’em!’

  Badrang took a bow from a nearby rat. ‘Give me your arrows. You there, give Boggs your bow and arrows. The rest of you archers, notch up your shafts and lie low. Don’t fire until I give the word!’

  Plastered with mud, hungry and boneweary after trekking the country, lost since emerging from the marshes, Hisk and four survivors staggered through the darkness. The weasel Captain rubbed dirt from his tired eyes. Peering at the shape that loomed ahead in the night, he gasped in sheer relief, ‘It’s Marshank! The fortress! We’re safe. Come on!’

  They broke into a shambling run, cheering hoarsely.

  To Badrang it appeared that the five figures were charging. Mistaking them for enemies, he drew back the shaft on his taut bowstring. ‘Let ’em get a bit closer. Wait!’

  Ballaw and his throwers released a salvo of javelins from over the right side of the fort.

  The force on the left walltop had an idea where Felldoh and his troop were lying, they kept them well pinned down with arrows and slingstones. Ballaw’s javelins caused disarray among them, and a weasel shrieked as he was struck in the side.

  Young Juniper leaped up calling triumphantly, ‘Haha, that stopped ’em, they aaaargh!’

  He fell with an arrow protruding from his chest. His friend, a young mouse named Yarrow, stood up, completely in shock. ‘They got Juniper. Look, there’s an arrow sti –’

  Keyla tackled him low around the footpaws. Yarrow fell, staring in amazement at the arrow that pierced his paw right through.

  Felldoh was grim-faced as he dragged Juniper’s body to him. ‘Keep your heads down! Keyla, we’ve got to get out of here. Help Yarrow, I’ll carry Juniper. Now all of you, crawl fast and stay low. Follow me!

  Badrang crouched below the parapet, straining the arrow against his taut bowstring as he watched Boggs scanning across the walltop. The ferret dropped down by the Tyrant’s side and nodded.

  ‘They’re very close now. We can pick ’em off like daisies!’

  Badrang glared along at the archers ranged in a crouching row. ‘We’re not taking any prisoners. Kill them. Now!’

  The five creatures went down like stones as the hail of barbed shafts hit them. Two more volleys followed, thudding into the bodies to make sure they were truly slain.

  Badrang was shaking with exhilaration. ‘I only wish it had been day, then I could have watched the looks of surprise on their stupid faces!’

  Ballaw took his fighters around the front and along the beach, meeting up with Felldoh and the others at the foot of the cliffs. The hare was in high good humour. ‘Top hole, wot! I think I could get to like this soldierin’ life. We gave them a bally good lesson an’ not one of us was harmed. How did it go with you, squirrel m’lad?’

  Felldoh nodded towards the limp form on the ground. ‘Juniper was killed, Yarrow is wounded.’

  The exhilaration of victory left Ballaw and his command. ‘Poor little chap. Here I’ll carry him.’

  It was a sad procession that made its way along the clifftops back to camp.

  In the dawn light a group of horde soldiers gathered round the five carcasses shot full of arrows. Clogg watched the venomous look on Badrang’s face and laughed humourlessly.

  ‘You did well last night, matey. Slayed Hisk an’ four of yer own. Still, you could be forgiven fer the mistake. They’re so covered in marshmud they could’ve been anybeast.’

  The Tyrant’s paw shot to his sword, but then he thought better of it. Turning on his paw, he barked out an order as he stalked off. ‘Fleabane, Wulpp, make that slave dig five separate graves and bury that lot. Don’t spare the rod, keep him busy!’

  Rowanoak stood over the small grave that Felldoh and Ballaw had dug, as near to the cliff edge as the rocky ground would permit. Brome put the finishing touches to a herbal dressing and bandage on Yarrow’s paw.

  ‘There, as good as new. How does that feel?’

  Yarrow lifted his paw up and down, wincing slightly. ‘Thank you, Brome. It still hurts a bit, but I’ll live with it. Not like poor Juniper.’ He wiped away the bitter tears that flowed afresh on the bandage.

  Brome threw a comforting paw around the young mouse. ‘Come on, let’s go and say our farewells to him, Yarrow. Ballaw and Felldoh made him a nice resting place that will always stand free to the sunshine and wind, in sight of the sea.’

  The entire camp gathered round the grave. After a short ceremony, summer flowers were placed on the fresh filled-in earth and Barkjon said some words.

  ‘It is always sad when a young one who has not seen many seasons is taken from us. Juniper was such a mouse, cheerful and well loved by all. But he did not die in vain. This young one gave his life fighting tyranny, so that others in the seasons to come may live in peace and freedom. That is all I have to say. Would anybeast like to add a word or two?’

  Felldoh stepped forward. He laid Juniper’s sling and stones amid the flowers. ‘You were a brave fighter, Juniper. We will never forget you. Badrang and his horde will pay tenfold for your death!’

  As the Fur and Freedom Fighters drifted away from the grave, Yarrow sat alone by the flowers, gazing numbly at the resting place of his friend. Brome caught up with Felldoh and motioned him to one side.

  ‘That was not a goodbye to Juniper, it was an oath of vengeance. How many more must die before you’re satisfied?’

  Felldoh’s eyes were like rainswept pebbles as he answered, ‘As many as fate decrees, myself included. I will not rest until Badrang is dead and Marshank brought down!’ He strode off in search of fresh lancewood.

  Kastern watched them parting before going across to Brome. ‘Do not blame Felldoh, he feels for Juniper as much as you, Brome.’

  The young mouse shook his head. ‘No he doesn’t, all he feels is that he must take revenge and carry on killing. He was my hero once, but now it’s like talking to a strange beast. I don’t know him any more.’

  Kastern watched the lone figure of Felldoh in the distance. ‘He is a warrior, and that is the way of warriors, just like the mouse Martin you are always talking about.’

  Brome shouldered his healing kit. ‘If Martin is a warrior like Felldoh, then may the seasons help my sister Rose if she is still with him!’

  33

  IT WAS AS if the very air were enchanted. Martin, Grumm and Pallum followed Rose through serene woodlands quiet and high in the sun-warmed afternoon. They had thankfully left the shrews in a backwater tributary of Broadstream. The creatures were arguing and squabbling over the re
mainder of the food and drink which Rose had given them because she wanted to travel fast and light. It was a forest as old as time, with a special feel about it, cool in the dark green shade, carpeted with a many flowered floor, shafted with golden rays casting their light on fern and bush. Velvety green moss was soft underpaw, and melodious birdsong was the only sound to filter through the variegated canopy of emerald and viridian green. Rose halted by a conical timeworn rock.

  ‘Rose, what is it?’ Martin felt his own voice ringing strangely in the stillness.

  She stroked the monolithic stone and pointed downwards.

  ‘Noonvale!’

  Through the trees, Martin saw the land dip down into a huge valley. The blue smoke of cooking fires rose in a lazy spiral above the foliage, and small thatched rooftops could be seen here and there. An aura of time forgotten hung over the beautiful scene. The softly coloured patches of flower gardens mixed with the unmarked boundaries of brightly hued orchards, whilst the light and sparkle of a stream cascaded into full bloom of a waterfall below. High above them, Boldred circled and wheeled on the thermals, casting her great wingshadow over them as she soared gracefully downward.

  ‘See you in Noonvale, friends!’

  They stood looking at one another for a moment, happiness brimming between them.

  Grumm waved his ladle. ‘Hurr, we’m made et. C’mon!’ He broke into a run, went head over paws through the loam and rolled down the valley side chortling happily, his three companions’ paws thrumming the ground as they took off in a dash after him.

  Urran Voh was not an old mouse though he was completely grey and wore a beard. As the Patriarch of Noonvale he was an impressive figure, dressed in a flowing green robe with a thick cream-coloured cord at its middle: His wife Aryah stood beside him, beautiful and motherly in a lilac gown embroidered with green leaves. Rose threw herself into their welcoming paws breathlessly.

  Both mice hugged their daughter affectionately. Aryah’s welcome for Rose was interspersed with anxious enquiries about her son.

  ‘Oh, Rose, my Rose, you’re home. Did you find your brother? My, you’ve grown taller, slimmer too. That rascal Brome, did you see him? Did he mention his mother and father? Noonvale has been quiet without your singing, Rose. Is Brome following along? Will he be here soon?’

  Rose’s heart sank. Brome and Felldoh had not found their way to Noonvale! She could only hope that they were safe, somewhere . . .

  Rose began gasping out her story, but Urran Voh held up a paw. ‘Later, it is enough for now that you are safely home, Rose. No doubt you’ve risked life and limb several times to help your brother. You must realize that Brome is a born wanderer, never content and stubborn to the last word. Well, that young mouse is getting big enough to look after himself. But if you’ve agreed to meet up here, I expect he’ll turn up sooner or later. Maybe someday he’ll have sense enough to stay in Noonvale and not go dashing off every time the mood takes him. Ah! Grumm Trencher, you good mole, greetings. Who are these two young creatures?’

  Grumm introduced them. ‘Yurr be Pallum an’ Marthen ’ee Wurrier, zurr. They’m wunnerful gudd friends to oi an’ Miz Roser.’

  Rose’s mother Aryah cut short the introductions busily. ‘We can talk later. You must be starving. Rose dear, show your friends where they can wash and find clean robes, then bring them to the Council Lodge. I must prepare a homecoming party for you!’

  Sometime later Pallum and Martin stood at the entrance to Council Lodge. It was an immense, homely old thatched building, its foursquare banquet tables dominating the centre beneath smoke-darkened rafters. Rose and Grumm led Pallum and Martin in. Bathed in blossom water and clad in a clean faded purple tunic, Martin held Rose’s paw, standing slightly behind the mousemaid. The Lodge was packed with the inhabitants of Noonvale. They stood, cheering Rose and Grumm heartily.

  Rose tugged Martin’s paw. ‘Come on, take a bow, Martin.’

  The young mouse bowed formally amid the applause. Urran Voh waved him up with the other travellers to their places at table. Everybeast stood as the Patriarch raised his goblet. ‘Good food, good friends and peace for ever in this place!’

  ‘May the seasons always be kind to Noonvale!’ a multitude of voices answered as one.

  They sat, and the welcome party began.

  Throughout his life the memory of that happy day stayed locked secretly in Martin’s heart.

  He sat with Rose between her parents, speechless at the sight of the abundant tables. Flowers trailed everywhere, from the rafters, walls, windows and table edges. Roses, lilies, vines and blossoms festooned the whole place, twining around the urns of strawberry cordial, dandelion and burdock cup, mint and lavender water, chestnut ale, blackcurrant wine and cider. Platters and trays were heaped high with salads, cheeses, breads and pasties whose contents he could only guess at. Babies and little ones seated on their parents’ laps gazed longingly at the array of trifles, flans, puddings, pies and tartlets, each with its honey-covered contents peeking through mounds of cream.

  Grumm chose a deep slice of cherrycake glazed with candied nuts. Allowing the tiny mole sitting with him to take a huge bite, he chuckled. ‘Burr hurrhurr, doant boite off more’n you’m can chew, Bungo!’

  It took a while for the infant to swallow it all. He tugged at Grumm’s snout. ‘Hurr, then get oi some stawb’rry drink, Nuncle Grumm. You’m wouldn’t loik oi to purrish o’ thirst!’

  A friendly hedgehog maid sat next to Pallum, offering him various savoury delights. ‘Try our leek and chestnut pastie. Here, let me pour some thyme and radish sauce on it for you.’

  Pallum dug in gratefully. ‘Thank you, marm. Most kind of you, marm.’

  ‘Marm? What do you think I am, some old spikemaid?’ she laughed. ‘My name is Teaslepaw. Have you tasted our chestnut ale? My family brews it.’

  Pallum flushed beneath his spikes, burying his snout in the beaker. ‘It’s very tasty, marm, er, Peasletaw, Pawseltea, er, marm!’

  Martin and Rose chose a damson and hazelnut flan topped with mintcream. They attacked the plate from both sides, meeting in the middle of the platter. Rose wiped cream from Martin’s nose with a napkin.

  ‘What’ll we try next, cherrycake?’

  Martin shook his head vigorously. ‘No thanks, I don’t want to go to sleep yet!’

  They both laughed, remembering the sly Aggril.

  Boldred was slightly too large for any seat. She perched on a windowsill, demolishing a wild plum and apple pudding, watched by a group of admiring youngsters.

  ‘Can you eat all of that by yourself, Missus Boldred?’

  The owl raised a large talon. ‘I can eat three of these without stopping. This is excellent!’

  The onlookers’ eyes grew even wider. ‘Three plum ’n’ apple puddens. Great seasons!’

  The party went on until late into the night. Nothing was stinted, there was an abundance of everything for every creature. The guests sat back, sipping mint and lavender water as a quartette of otters performed an acrobatic dance, while a band of mice and moles accompanied them, playing a lively slipjig on reed flutes and drums. At a nod from Rose, Martin excused himself quietly, and followed the mousemaid and her parents to their cottage.

  Urran Voh relaxed in his favourite chair. Aryah took out her embroidery. She sewed slowly as they listened to Rose tell of their adventures.

  Martin sat at a window seat, letting Rose do all the talking. As Rose described the evil and cruelty of the slaves’ lives at Marshank, her parents’ faces became more and more grave.

  Rose came to the end of the tale. Her father nodded, ‘You did well to return home, Rose. While there is such evil you should be here with your family. If only Brome could see this too. I am sorry that he and his friend Felldoh are not here safe, as you are. Let us hope he has the good sense to see that the outside world is not for him and he returns to us before the autumn.’

  Martin took a deep breath. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I agree that Noonvale is a haven of peace. Would tha
t we could all live in such. But outside there is evil, and I cannot rest here knowing that those I lived with in slavery are still under the heel of Badrang. I came here for help. Will you allow me to ask for that help among the folk of Noonvale? There may be some here who would join me in a quest to free my friends from slavery.’

  Urran Voh’s face was serious. ‘You ask a great deal. Our creatures have never seen war, they are dedicated to our life of friendship and peace.’

  His wife said quietly, ‘But my dear, where there is such pain and hardship for so many innocent creatures, surely we could let Martin speak to our folk. Any who wish to help can decide for themselves.’

  Urran Voh turned to Martin. ‘My wife speaks wisely. I do not wish for evil to become part of our lives here, but maybe we can prevent the wickedness from spreading. Very well, Martin, ask my creatures for help – and good fortune go with you.

  ‘I see that you carry a blade. We do not have such things here. For the time you are with us you must not stay armed. Give me your sword, Martin.’

  The young mouse placed a defensive paw on his sword handle. ‘I am sorry, sir, I cannot do what you ask.’

  Urran Voh’s eyes were stern in the awkward silence that followed.

  Aryah intervened between the Patriarch and the Warrior. ‘Martin, I know my husband’s feelings, but I think I also know yours too. You have seen suffering and evil in your life. There is none of that to be found at Noonvale. Would you do something for me? I am not asking you to give your sword to Urran. Take it and hang it on the peg by the door. Do this yourself, no one else will touch your blade.’

  Without a word Martin drew his sword. Going over to the door, he hung the weapon upon a peg protruding from the wall, balancing it by the hilt. It hung there, small and lonely-looking. The young mouse could not help thinking of his father’s blade, big and worn, but a proper warrior’s weapon, now in the paws of the Tyrant. He would take it back someday . . . somehow.