Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  From his vantage point on the hilltop, Martin looked to his left. There in the distance he could see the northside wall of Marshank. Rose stared at Martin; it was as if she were looking at a strange creature. He was still as a rock, the blood rising behind his eyes as his paw whitened with the furious grip he had on his sword handle. The blade rose above his head and fell in a straight line, pointing at Badrang’s hated fortress. The horde went silent, staring up at the Warrior mouse, waiting on the word which rolled from his lips like steel striking stone.

  ‘Chaaaarge!!!’

  They went in a rush like a giant tidal wave covering the land, but none was more fleet of paw than the mouse Martin. He was out in front, teeth bared, sword still pointing as he tore through dune and foothill. Rose was swept along in the midst of the howling horde with Pallum and Grumm. Now and then, through the forest of spears, lances and swords, she could see him, a lone figure ahead of the rest. Her heart went out to him as she remembered her first sight of him, bound between two posts, left to die on Marshank’s walls, and recalled the words he had shouted into the stormy night. Now she heard those words as in a dream:

  ‘I am a warrior! Martin son of Luke! I will live, I will not give in and die up here! Do you hear me, Badrang? I will live to take back my father’s sword and slay you one day! Badraaaaaang!’

  Javelins stuck in the sand at their sides, the archers knelt and drew back their bowstrings full stretch. Ballaw strode the line, holding up his paw. Bowstrings trembled with the tension as the screaming horde dashed across the shore in a mass, bound straight at them.

  ‘Wait for it, chaps. Steady on, wait’ll you see the scum on their snouts. . . . Now!’

  The hail of arrows struck, hordebeasts fell and were trampled underpaw by those behind, but the horde kept coming.

  ‘Load and throw!’ Rowanoak cried to her line of slingers as the archers dropped back.

  The stones hit true, but not well enough to halt the relentless charge. Spears from the horde ranks cut down several of the Fur and Freedom Fighters. They backed up, retreating towards the sea as the horde pressed forward.

  Badrang stood on the walltop, unable to contain a thin smile of triumph as he watched the little army being battered remorselessly back to the Eastern Sea. He turned to Boggs. ‘Wait and see, we’ll get a few slaves out of this yet – those that aren’t drowned.’

  Boggs looked up at the sky. ‘Strange, I thought I could hear thunder.’

  Badrang also looked up. ‘Fool, how could you hear thunder when there’s not a cloud in the sky!’

  Boggs cupped paws around both his ears. ‘I’m sure it’s thunder, Sire. Comin’ from over there . . .’ Speechless with terror, he pointed at the thundering horde breasting a low hill to the north, heading directly for them.

  Even though he was practically numb with shock, Badrang found himself automatically giving out orders. ‘Call the horde back, Nipwort. Boggs, get the archers on to the north wall. I’ll hold the gates open until they’re back in!’

  Yarrow tripped and fell in the shallows. The front runners were in the water, grappling with Fur and Freedom Fighters when Crosstooth began shouting, ‘Retreat! Retreat! Back to Marshank on the double! There’s a horde headed to attack the fort. Hurry!’

  Ballaw sat down hard in the shallows and blew water from his nose. ‘Hold up, where are they bally well goin’? Great seasons, relief’s arrived! Hurrah! It’s a horde! A flood! A mob! A bloomin’ tidal wave of warbeasts attackin’ the fort!’

  Ballaw’s fighters let out a loud cheer of delight, leaping about in the shallows like mad creatures.

  The horde were streaming back to the fortress, leaving a bare dozen fighting in the sea. Swift javelin thrusts and throws found their way around pikes and spears, laying the hordebeasts low. Brome found himself standing, javelin poised, over a searat who lay wounded in the surf. He was trying to force himself to stab and slay the foebeast when the rat whined out pleadingly, ‘It’s me, matey, Wulpp. Don’t kill me!’

  Brome gasped. It was Wulpp, the searat whose injured paw he had treated when, disguised as a corsair, he had gained entry to Marshank. Brome thrust the javelin into the sea close to Wulpp’s neck. Leaning down, he muttered to the terrified rat, ‘Lie still. When we’ve gone, take off south down the beach. I never want to see you again. Good luck!’

  Turning, Brome picked up a spear and followed the triumphantly shouting fighters who were running towards Marshank.

  Now the battle was joined! Horde fought horde that day by the Eastern Sea. Martin’s army flooded around Marshank, surrounding its walls on all four sides. Slingstones, javelins, arrows and spears were loosed up at the walltops as roaring warcries rent the air.

  ‘Fur and Freeeedooooom!’

  ‘Broadstream for eveeeeer!’

  ‘Amballa Amballa! Kill kill kill!’

  ‘Maaaartiiiiin!’

  Badrang was everywhere at once, waving his sword as he shouted encouragement to his fighters massed thick on the high walls. ‘Crosstooth, more archers at the front. See the gates are defended! Boggs, tell those spears to stand ready on the northside. Slash any ropes and grapnels – don’t let them over! Frogbit, get boulders and rocks to the back wall. Crush them! Bluehide, take the south wall. Use long spears and pikes – throw fire down on them!’

  Badrang was an experienced battler. He found his confidence and shrewdness returning as the horde looked to him as their leader. Grabbing a passing ferret, he rapped out more orders.

  ‘Stumptooth, take thirty wounded, four groups of five to supply the walls with arrows, spears and slingstones. Get the other ten to carry the big fishnets to the walltops and drop them over on any large groups. That’ll slow ’em up. Come on, you fighters and hordebeasts, this is our chance to rule the whole country. Slaves, land, plunder, we’ll have it all!’

  Ignoring his sore and bandaged paws, the Tyrant snatched a spear from a searat, hurled it coolly and slew a shrew who was trying to climb the gates. ‘See, it’s easy. They die like other creatures. We’ll make the sands run red before nightfall!’

  Arrows zipped down from the walltops in dark clouds like angry wasps, tearing into the packed ranks that charged Marshank. Slingstones whirred like flights of small birds, clanging on armour and blade alike in their upward flight.

  Rose found Boldred and the Warden on a hillock out of weapon range. The two great birds stood waiting their chance. Boldred greeted the mousemaid.

  ‘We’d be shot out of the air in the middle of that lot. When it gets dark and the pace slackens, my friend and I will be able to fly in.’

  Rose looked out over the mêlée of battle. ‘Where’s Martin? I lost sight of him in the charge.’

  The grey heron pointed his beak towards the front gates. ‘He is over there with otters and hedgehogs. They have a piece of timber to batter the gates, but it is not big enough.’

  Ballaw came panting up with the remnants of his gallant force. Weary and battle-scarred, the brave hare slumped down in the sand. ‘Phew, what a day, chaps! Rowanoak and m’self pulled our little army out for a breather, wot. Let those other creatures have a crack at the foe, they’re a lot fresher than my gang!’

  Rowanoak sat with the owl and the heron, shaking her head. ‘You arrived just in time to save us from being slaughtered on the tideline; thank you. But your charge has been too furious. I am not a warrior or a commander, but I can see that they will never breach those walls by throwing themselves at them.’

  The owl blinked as she watched the assault on the fortress. ‘You are right, Rowanoak. Martin seems to be the only one who has any kind of plan, but he is unaware of others when his warrior blood is roused. We need a plan of attack. Badrang is not stupid, he has the advantage of the walls and is using them well. Other creatures less shrewd might have been panicked by our charge; not him, though. He is a cool one in a pinch.’

  Ballaw brightened up. ‘That’s it, a plan. Capital! What d’you suggest, marm?’

  41

  MARTI
N LET GO of the shattered remnants of the inadequate chunk of driftwood he and his allies had been using as a battering ram. Drawing his sword, he attacked the gates in a wild rage.

  Starwort and Gulba ducked into the shelter of the gates as missiles rained down from above. They tried to restrain Martin. ‘It’s no use, mate, the gates are too strong. Come away!’

  Martin hacked and hammered at the stout timbers, oblivious to everything about him. Rose pressed through the chaos, sided by Grumm and Pallum. They forced a way through to the gate. Martin halted at the sight of her, deflecting a broken spear haft with his short sword. ‘Rose, get out of here. It’s too dangerous!’

  She picked up the sharp pointed end of the spear boldly. ‘Not without you, Martin. Come with us, you are needed. Starwort, Gulba, you too. We need a proper battle plan, too many creatures are being killed needlessly. We won’t get inside Marshank by charging and milling about willy-nilly. Come!’

  It had turned noon when otter drums sounded over the fray. The attackers broke off their charging and retreated back to the sands around the low dune.

  Crosstooth shook his spear in the air jubilantly. ‘Yah, they’ve turned tail and run!’

  Badrang knew better. He had seen Ballaw’s fighters contacting the leaders – it was a calculated retreat. However, the Tyrant said nothing of this. Imitating Crosstooth, he waved his sword. ‘See, I told you it was easy. Look at them, running like frightened babies now that they’ve had a taste of real fighting from warriors like us, eh lads!’

  Gesturing and prancing on the walltops, the horde took up his cry. ‘Haha, had enough, have you? Cowards!’

  ‘Come back and fight me, I only slew ten!’

  ‘Ten? I slew two score and I’d have got more of ’em if they hadn’t scurried off in a fright!’

  Tramun Clogg left off his grave digging and clambered to the walltop. He sized the situation up immediately. ‘Burn me clogs, buckoes. Yore a bunch of strawheads iffen you think those fighters are runnin’ away. I’d save me breath fer more action iffen I was you lot!’

  Whock!

  Badrang dealt Clogg a ferocious blow across his head with a long pike he had snatched from Gruzzle. The corsair fell senseless in a heap. Badrang kicked him from the walltop, and Clogg’s unconscious form fell with a thump on to a heap of sand he had excavated. The Tyrant stoat learned on the pike, dismissing his former partner. ‘Don’t listen to that old fool, his brains are all in his clogs. Crosstooth, see that everybeast has extra rations. Stay awake, lads. Maybe they’ll get brave enough to give it another try. I certainly hope so, eh?’

  This announcement was greeted with raucous cheers.

  While the wounded were treated by Rose and Brome, food was divided up among the groups of creatures seated around the low hillock. Martin sat with the Council of Chieftains as they laid war plans. Rowanoak and Boldred were rocks of good sense, rejecting the wild schemes of hot-headed beasts, considering the suggestions of cooler and wiser creatures.

  Queen Amballa had several of her pigmy shrews drag a large square fishing net to the hill. It was made of strong woven kelp. ‘See, Martinmouse, wallbeast throw-this, snarl us up plentygood!’

  A Gawtrybe squirrel laughed scornfully. ‘Hehee, good game. They di’n’t catch squirrels, Gawtrybe’s too fast for nets. Heehee!’

  Martin sat up alert, the light of idea dawning in his eyes. ‘That’s it! We go in over the walls on two sides when night falls, and use the nets one side, say on the north, while the squirrels take the south wall!’

  Starwort’s wife Marigold put down the pitcher she had been drinking from. ‘An’ what’s Badrang’s crew goin’ to be doin’ while all this goes on, ’cos they won’t be sleepin’ or pickin’ their claws.’

  Martin pointed across to where the old Rambling Rosehip troupe’s fire-charred cart lay half buried in the sand. ‘Will the wheels on that thing still turn?’

  Ballaw shrugged. ‘What d’you think, Buckler old lad?’

  The mole gazed at it for a while before giving his verdict. ‘Ho urr, ’twere a gudd ole cart that’n. Oi wager oi’ll get ’er goin’ tho’ et woant go furr, Marthen.’

  The Warrior mouse shook Buckler by the paw. ‘It won’t have to go far, friend. Only from here to those gates, loaded with burning grass and wood, just to create a diversion!’

  Boldred blinked excitedly. ‘It could work! Hold back the attack until before dawn; that’s when they’ll least expect it. The Warden and I will fly the net and drop it over the north wall. Who’ll be going over there, Martin?’

  ‘Queen Amballa with her warriors and the big hedgehogs.’

  Trung thumped his loaded thong weapon gleefully into the sand, grinning at his wife as she nursed her immense warclub. ‘Y’hear that, me dearie? We’ll go over paw in paw!’

  ‘The Gawtrybe squirrels will help the otters to scale the south wall,’ Martin continued.

  Starwort winked at a nearby squirrel. ‘Eat plenty, mate, an get yer stren’th up. I’m no featherweight.’

  Martin eyed the cart grimly. ‘I’ll be in charge of that. All our hopes hang on it. Right, any more suggestions?’

  Grumm held up a digging paw. ‘Aye, Marthen, thurr be other molers yurr. Us’ns tunnel round ’ee back wall, gurt woid ’ole, given everybeast a chance to get insoides.’

  Old Barkjon stood up, dusting himself off slowly. ‘I’ll go with Buckler and the others to fix the cart up, then I’ll bury Felldoh.’

  Martin put his paw about the old squirrel’s shoulders. ‘We’ll come with you, Rose, Pallum, Brome, Grumm and myself. We all started out together, so we’d like to help put our friend to rest.’

  The Rambling Rosehip Players voted to accompany Barkjon too, all wanting to pay their last respects to their friend.

  Fleabane laughed against the walltop. ‘Boggs was right, mate, I can see them tryin’ to fix up that burnt cart. Betcha they’ll be gone by mornin’.’

  Rotnose peered out into the gathering evening. ‘Well, I won’t be sorry to see the back o’ them. They fought like madbeasts, an’ as fer that big squirrel, Fellow or whatever ’e was called, that one was a real madbeast. I never seen nothin’ like it!’

  Fleabane nodded. ‘Aye, well ’e won’t do no more slayin’. They buried ’im where ’e fell. I never want t’ be within a league of a warrior like ’im fer the rest o’ me days!’

  Badrang passed by them as he inspected the walltop troops. ‘Cut the gossip and keep your eyes peeled. No sleeping while you stand at stations.’

  When he had passed by, Fleabane muttered to Rotnose, ‘That stoat’s gettin’ to be a right ole worrywart, mate. Take it from me, they ain’t comin’ back fer more of what we give ’em t’day.’

  Rotnose propped his chin on a battlement. ‘Y’right there, matey. Listen, we only got a few hours shuteye last night an’ we been fightin’ all day. Now I’m gonna take a liddle snooze. You keep watch then you can ’ave second nap.’

  Badrang descended from the walls and went in company with some of his Captains to take supper in the longhouse. Boggs rubbed his paws together in anticipation as he walked with them. ‘I’d give me whiskers fer a good beaker of kelp beer!’

  A cracked voice came out of the shadows. ‘Badrang is the great Evil One, mates, leadin’ you all to yer doom. Steer clear of ’im. Foller me an’ dig graves – deadbeasts can’t ’arm yer!’

  Boggs shuddered. ‘Sounds like Clogg, though I don’t see ’im.’

  Crosstooth laughed harshly. ‘Ole Clogg isn’t right in the brainbox no more. May’ap it was that crack you give ’im with the pike, Sire. The daft ole beast’s been goin’ about like that since ’e came to, rantin’ an’ ravin’.’

  Clogg’s crazy laugh seemed to come from nowhere. ‘Haharrharrharr! Stay with Badrang the Evil One an’ yore all dead meat. Come an’ dig nice graves with me, mates!’

  Badrang paused with his paw on the longhouse door. Staring out into the gathering gloom he called aloud, ‘Stay clear of me, you crazy old coot, or I’ll
let daylight through your hide, d’you hear me?’

  ‘Haharrharr, ye can’t see me ’cos I’m invisible. I’ve got a nice dark hole waitin’ for ye, Evil One!’

  The Captains hurried inside. As Badrang slammed the door, the upturned wheelbarrow over a freshly dug grave moved. Clogg peered out from under it.

  ‘I’m arf a stoat an’ arf a mole,

  An’ I’ll bury youse all in a nice deep ’ole,

  Down, down where it’s still an’ cold,

  An’ y’never live to get old!’

  Every fighter had been fed. No fires glowed in the still summer night. It was warm and heavy. Martin sat awake with Rose as the camp lay in slumber. The mousemaid stared up at the stars which twinkled with pale fires in the midnight heavens.

  ‘Strange isn’t it, Martin, the same stars that shine on this terrible place with all its death and war, those same stars are shining over Noonvale, where all is at peace and war has never been. What are you thinking of, Warrior?’

  Martin smiled, nodding at the sight of Grumm, his small fat stomach rising and falling gently. ‘I wasn’t thinking of anything, Rose, I was just watching Grumm, flat out and snoozing with his ladle clutched in both paws.’

  The mousemaid relieved the sleeping mole of his ladle, placing it close to his side where he would find it on waking. ‘He’s the most friendly and loyal mole anybeast could wish to know. Grumm has always looked out for me, ever since I was a tiny mousebabe in Noonvale. When we go back there you’ll make lots of friends among our moles – you’re a hero to them.’

  ‘Me, a hero? What for?’ Martin laughed softly.

  ‘For bringing down that great dead sycamore. They’ve been at it for seasons, on and off, without much success. Then you came along and in a single day it was uprooted and fallen.’