Martin The Warrior (Redwall)

by Brian Jacques

  The young mouse passed her a cloak Trung had given him. ‘You look tired, Rose. Better get some rest. Go on. I’m not sleepy, I’ll sit here close by.’

  Rose draped the doak lightly about her, and she was soon asleep. Martin sat up, thinking of many things as he felt the night hours slip slowly by.

  42

  BALLAW WAS WAKENED by a shake from Martin. It was still dark, though the night was on the wane.

  ‘Come on, it’s time!’

  The camp was stirring quietly into life. Grumm had taken off with Pallum and Rose and a lot of others; they travelled in a wide semi-circle, round to the back walls of Marshank. Boldred and the Warden stood ready, the big kelp net clutched tight between them. Queen Amballa and her pigmy shrews grouped with the big hedgehogs on one side, whilst Starwort and his otters mingled with the Gawtrybe squirrels. Martin, Ballaw and Rowanoak inspected the cart. It was flimsy in the extreme and wobbly on its wheels, piled high with grass, driftwood and brush.

  Buckler patted it fondly. ‘Hurr, she’ll do a gurt last run, oi’ll stake moi name on et.’

  Amballa raised her paw to Gulba and their joint forces moved off. Starwort gave the squirrels a stern nod to set them on their way. Now there were only fifty archers under Martin’s command left in camp. At his signal, Buckler set flint to tinder and Rowanoak braced herself in the fire-blackened shafts.

  ‘Nearly curtain time, chaps,’ Ballaw whispered. ‘Here we go!’

  Gruzzle was dreaming. In his dream he was back on board his old ship. Someone had lit a fire on the deck and creatures were dancing around it shouting. The searat felt drowsily happy. He wanted to join in with them and dance around the flickering flames. He moaned luxuriously and shifted. Slipping off his spear-handle, Gruzzle cracked his chin hard on the battlement, thrusting him into wakefulness and horrifying reality. The blazing cart plunged madly over the shore towards the fortress gates.

  ‘Owch! Wha, er, ’ey, y’can’t do that! Fire, fire, ’elp!’

  In seconds all was chaos and mad confusion. Most of the soldiers on the walltops were sound asleep. They came awake tripping and bumping into each other. The longhouse door flew open and Badrang dashed out with his Captains stumbling behind. Hearing the shouts and seeing the bright glow against the darkness, the Tyrant drew his sword and yelled mightily, ‘Front wall! The gates! Hurry!’

  He raced up the wall ladder, with Clogg’s voice ringing over the alarm shouts. ‘Haharr, ’tis the ghost of me burned ship come back to take revenge on ye, Evil One. You should ’ave listened t’ me, Badrang!’

  The heat of the roaring conflagration scorched Rowanoak’s cheeks as she pushed the blazing cart along. Martin and the others ran after her, having been driven from the sides of the cart by the searing flames. At a sharp shout from Rowanoak they halted, notching arrows to their bows. The badger continued running with the cart. Putting her every last ounce of strength into the act, she gave one mighty final push and fell flat. Crackling and hissing with tails of flame like a massive comet, the cart careered madly into the gates of Marshank.

  Whoom! Crumph!

  It struck the gates, blossoming like a monstrous fiery flower as the whole thing burst on the timbers, sending showers and cascades of angry red sparks upwards in a mushroom of smoke.

  Ballaw already had the archers in three lines. He was in his element, ears quivering as he rapped out smart commands.

  ‘First rank, shoot and drop!’

  A volley of shafts hissed through the night.

  ‘First rank, reload! Second rank, shoot and drop!’

  Another hail of death followed in the wake of the first.

  ‘Second rank, reload! Third rank, shoot and drop! Ready, first rank!’

  Unable to see because of the bright light burning in their eyes, the walltop troops were hit hard. Amid it all Badrang was knocking the bows from fighters’ paws. ‘Slopheads! Never mind shooting arrows, the doors are burning. Get sand, get water, put that blaze out!’ He grabbed hold of Rotnose. ‘Did you hear me, muckears. Put the fi–’

  The weasel slumped forward with a barbed arrow in his skull.

  Boldred and the Warden released the net. It fell accurately, draping one end over three battlements while the rest of it trailed down the wall. Queen Amballa gave it a quick tug to make sure it was secure.

  ‘Allbeast gonow, upupupupup!’

  Gulba and Trung were alongside her as the net suddenly became alive with hedgehogs and pigmy shrews.

  Ten Gawtrybe squirrels had made it to the top of the south wall. Six stood by on the narrow catwalk, fighting off hordebeasts as the other four let down ropes with sticks tied across them ladder fashion. Starwort wound his sling about his waist and grabbed one of the ropes.

  ‘Come on, mates, just like climbin’ up the riggin’!’

  Grumm and the moles waited until they heard the screams and shouts of combat on the other side of the wall.

  ‘Roight, molers. Show’m ’ow to go a-tunellen!’

  Powerful digging claws tore at rock, sand, earth and grass as the hole began to sink deep and wide.

  Pallum stood close to Rose. ‘I never was in a war, is it always this complicated?’

  Rose shrugged as she twirled a sling. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Pallum. I was never in one either!’

  Standing on the darkened beach, Martin could see the confused figures in the light of the gates. He fired off his arrow, seeing a searat fall with it in his throat, as Ballaw bade his rank drop and reload their bows.

  The firecart had done its work well. Despite copious doses of sand and inaccurately thrown water, the flames licked hungrily up the woodwork, eating into the timber until they were well established.

  Rowanoak came crawling, belly down, across the sand to Martin and Ballaw, joining them in time to see a ferret on the walltop beating wildly at his burning cloak.

  ‘One badger reporting back. Mission successful – what’s next?’

  Martin cast aside the bow and drew his sword. ‘I’m going round to climb that net on the north wall!’

  Ballaw and the others went with him. Rowanoak heaved a sigh and sat down with a bow and arrow. ‘I’ll stop here and practise my archery. I could’ve climbed that net though, when I was younger, and slimmer!’

  The burning gate was a lost cause. Badrang sent a platoon of long pikes to stand in the courtyard and repel anybeast that tried to gain entrance once the gates fell. Dividing his walltroops into two groups, he gave charge of the north wall to Crosstooth and the south to Fleabane. Dashing down from the walls, he ran into the longhouse. For the first time in his life the Tyrant felt the icy claws of terror grip him. With an awful certainty, he knew he was defeated: Marshank would fall. He stifled a sob of fear in his throat as he looked around frantically.

  What to do?

  He was trapped inside his own fortress, surrounded by a determined horde of fighters. Some of them had been slaves of his, slaves that he had starved, beaten and ill-treated. His paws began to shake. Suppose he was captured by those same slaves? Striving desperately not to think what they would do to him, he climbed out of the back window of the longhouse. He was facing the north wall, and the sounds of fighting above him were loud and furious. Badrang looked up. In the red glow from the blaze he saw his troops being pressed back by a growing multitude of small shrews and large fearsome hedgehogs. Bodies hurtled from the walltops amid wild battle shouts and war cries.

  Suddenly the Tyrant’s blood chilled, his mouth went dry with fright. There illuminated in the light from the burning gates stood a warrior on the battlements. Badrang recalled him in a flash. This was the one called Martin, the young mouse who had defied his authority, the one he had tied over the gate and imprisoned in the pit. The mouse warrior fought like ten beasts. Reckless of caution, he was everywhere at once, teeth bared, eyes glittering as he threw himself into the fray. Hugging the wallshadows, Badrang whimpered and ran for his life, before he was seen and identified by the fearless avenger.

 
Starwort and Marigold left the savage Gawtrybe squirrels to deal with the troops on the south wall, laughing crazily as they wielded their stone-headed axes against sword, spear and dagger. Heading their contingent of Broadstream fighters, the two otters descended the wall ladders to the courtyard. They charged straight into the platoon of pikebeasts who had been left to defend the burning gateway. With lightning agility the otters were in under the pikeshafts before the surprised foe had a chance to retaliate. Swinging stone-loaded slings, the fighting otters battered their enemies to the ground with startling speed. As the last one fell, there was a sagging and creaking of timbers, and the gates began caving slowly inwards.

  ‘Gangway, the doors are openin’!’ Marigold yelled out urgently.

  Otters scattered left, right and back, as the gates buckled and groaned, collapsing inwards with a crash of dust, fire, smoke and sparks.

  Starwort picked himself up from where the scorching air had bowled him over. ‘Stan’ aside, mates. Badger comin’ through!’

  Rowanoak came at full tilt, sand flying from her paws as she galloped straight at the inferno. With an ear-splitting roar, the big badger leaped over the fallen gates. It was an awesome sight. Sailing through the flames, she landed square on all four paws inside the courtyard. The otters crowded round her, beating out the smouldering patches on her fur.

  ‘There now, I wasn’t as old as I thought,’ Rowanoak laughed, shuffling her paws to cool them on the ground. ‘Still life in the old stripes yet!’

  Crosstooth fought his way along the north wall to the rear, hoping to reach the back wall, which offered quietness and a chance of escape. The fox was a seasoned battler, and cut his way through several pigmy shrews with the long-bladed spear he carried. Thrusting hard, he sent a shrew spinning from the walltop, knocking another flat with his spearhaft as he did.

  Queen Amballa wriggled away from the questing spearpoint as the fox sought to skewer her, striking out valiantly with her small shrew sword. Martin came in with both footpaws first, catching Crosstooth in the lower back and sending him sprawling. Amballa was quick; she dispatched the foebeast with a single thrust as he fell forward upon her. Pushing her way free of the body, she leaped upright.

  ‘Martinmouse save Ballamum!’

  But Martin was not listening. He ran past her, along the walltop to where he had caught sight of Badrang down below, scurrying from the wall shadow to the burnt-out slave compound.

  Lying low, the Tyrant peered through the ash-blackened stakes of the compound to the base of the rear wall. Moles, squirrels and mice were climbing out of a sizeable tunnel which had been dug through from the outside. Badrang saw his one chance of escape.

  ‘Badraaaang, I am here!’

  The Tyrant heard the challenge over the mêlée of battle. Casting a swift glance over his shoulder, he saw Martin dashing along the walltop. It was now or never. Badrang broke cover and ran for the tunnel, slashing viciously with his sword at anybeast who barred his way. Brandishing a ladle, a mole leaped growling at him. Badrang swung his sword. It caught the side of the ladle, sweeping Grumm away as his own ladle was smashed against the side of his head. A mousemaid threw herself on him, battering at his face with a pebble loaded in her sling. Once, twice, thrice she struck. Taken aback by the ferocity of the attack, Badrang tasted blood from a mouthwound. The loaded sling caught him hard in his left eye. Snarling with pain and rage, he grabbed the mousemaid. Lifting her easily, he flung her savagely from him. Rose’s head struck the wall heavily, and she slid down like a broken doll.

  Roaring and screaming like a wounded wolf, Martin threw himself from the walltop. Badrang leaped into the hole, only to find Pallum in a needletight ball blocking his way. The burned palisade of the slave compound saved Martin, breaking his fall as it exploded in a cloud of black ashdust to the dawn-streaked sky. Badrang had time to hack at Pallum only once before the Warrior was on him. He was heaved bodily from the hole, arching his back in agony as the flat of Martin’s small sword whipped him.

  ‘Get up, you scum! Up on your paws and face me!’

  Badrang scrambled up. Holding the long sword of Luke the Warrior before him with both paws, he rushed Martin. The onlookers gave a cry of dismay as the sword raked Martin’s chest. Heedless of it, the Warrior began striking back. Steel clashed upon steel as the young mouse with the short sword battered Badrang round and round the ruins of the compound. Badrang flailed out in a panic, catching his enemy on the shoulder, arm and paw. They locked blades and stood with their noses touching, Badrang’s eyes wide with horror as he stared into the face of the snarling, unstoppable Warrior who was forcing him backwards as he gritted out, ‘I told you I would return someday and put an end to you!’

  Wrenching his face away, the stoat bit deep into his foe’s shoulder, only to find himself lifted bodily and hurled hard against the wall. Martin flung the shrew sword from him, locking both paws around Badrang’s grip on the sword. The Tyrant wailed as he felt the Warrior’s inexorable power turning the weapon until its point was hovering close to his heart.

  Badrang’s nerve deserted him. ‘Don’t kill me,’ he sobbed. ‘You can have it all, the fortress, everythi –!’

  The Tyrant of Marshank’s mouth fell open and his head lolled to one side as he fell forward, carrying Martin to the ground underneath him. With his last vestige of strength, the young mouse pushed the slain foebeast from him and tugged his father’s sword loose. Lying on his side with sand crusting the blood of his warwounds, Martin saw dawn’s light beam across the face of Rose where she lay close to him by the wall.

  The merciful darkness closed in on him as he murmured to her, ‘Rose, we could have chopped the sycamore down with this.’

  43

  THE SUN ROSE in summer splendour as Starwort’s drum beat out a victory roll. Unaware of certain events, a large crowd stood cheering in the smouldering gateway that lay open to the sun-warmed shore and the sparkling sea. Rowanoak strode slowly up, placing a restraining paw on the jubilant otter Chieftain. ‘Silence the drum, friend. Our battle was won at a bitter price.’

  Brome worked away dry-eyed on the wounds of the unconscious mouse warrior, binding and staunching as he applied herb poultices, all the time talking to himself. ‘It was all my fault, if I had stayed at Noonvale and not gone wandering I would never have been captured by Badrang’s creatures and none of this would have happened. I am to blame!’

  Ballaw sniffed. Bending down one ear, he wiped his eyes. ‘There, there, old lad. There’s only one beast t’ blame for all this and that’s Badrang. Martin settled the score with him for good; the evil has gone from this land for ever.’

  Grumm stumbled up with a large dressing on the side of his face and neck. Deep rivulets carved their way down his face where the tears flowed constantly, and he made several small gestures with his paws before Buckler sat him down with a large kerchief. ‘You’m ’ave to ’scuse Grumm, Maister Brome, him’n losed ’is voice through a-grieven. We’m puttin’ fallen uns t’ rest. . . . Wot abowt Miz Roser?’

  Brome left off ministering to Martin’s senseless form. He took a huge breath, letting it out in a shuddering sigh. ‘Thank you, friends, but I’m taking her home to Noonvale with me.’ Reaching out, he tucked in a corner of the simple white linen cloth that covered his sister’s pitiful body. ‘Rose would have been alive today but for me, you know.’

  Buckler shook his head. ‘You’m not to blame, maister, nor Marthen, nor nobeast yurr.’

  Rowanoak looked bleakly around at the ruined, smoke-stained walls of Marshank, where not one foebeast had been left alive. ‘I don’t know where we’re all bound, but let’s get away from this place!’

  Boldred seconded the badger’s wise words. ‘Rowanoak is right. There’s been too much death and grief here, it seems to be part of the very stones. We’ll leave what’s left of Marshank standing as a reminder to any bad ones of what free and peaceful creatures can do when they’re driven to it!’

  Helped by Marigold, Brome placed Martin
on a stretcher. He stood upright and addressed the multitude.

  ‘Some of you, like the otters and the shrews of Broadstream, have homes to return to. Those of you who have no homes, listen to me. Noonvale can be your home, a place of peace to live happily in for all seasons. Put aside your weapons if you wish to go with me to Noonvale.’

  A pile of javelins, swords, daggers, bows and arrows lay at the centre of the deserted compound that had once held Badrang’s slaves. On the shore outside the fortress, comrades who had fought together now took their leave of each other. Like a stern father, the Warden of Marshwood Hill shepherded the wild and wayward squirrel tribe back to their mountain foothills beyond the marshes. Boldred watched them go. ‘He’ll keep his eye on those rogues. Come on, let’s get Martin away from here.’

  Bound to the stretcher, and still clasping his father’s sword tightly, the unconscious young mouse was carried south along the beach by Pallum, Grumm, Boldred and Rowanoak.

  Ballaw turned to the remainder of the Rambling Rosehip players, who stood alongside others bound for Noonvale. ‘Old Rowanoak’ll join us once Martin’s safe, wot! Right ho, Starwort, lead us to your vessel, my good otter!’

  Queen Amballa stood with her pigmy shrews. They were the last to leave. One of the shrews had picked up the sword she had once given to Martin. Waddling behind Brome, she called out, ‘Waitmouse!’

  Brome halted. He watched as the Queen of the pigmy shrews signalled the otters carrying Rose’s bier to lower it. Placing the small sword beside the mousemaid’s still form, Amballa spoke in her curt vigorous manner.

  ‘Rosemouse bravemouse! We remember hername allseasons!’ She waved to the pigmy shrews and they set off south along the shoreline for their own territory.