Eagle Warrior

by Roger Mortimer

  The old soldier smiled approvingly as Armand briskly loaded his rifle. ‘I shall be at the next window,’ he said, ‘and Benjamin will take the window to my right, overlooking the yard and the side of the barn. Bella!’ he called, as his daughter, dressed as usual in shirt and breeches and clutching a rifle, came running up the stairs. ‘You will stay with Dabo. Your mother will shoot alongside Benjamin and me. Only fire when you have a clear target. Make every shot count!’

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ asked Dabo, hastily ramming powder and shot into his rifle.

  ‘Defending the barn with Colin,’ said the General. ‘Tom spotted the soldiers from the hilltop and ran down at once. We don’t know what tactics they’ll use, so be alert!’

  ‘I think Father’s enjoying this,’ whispered Bella.

  Dabo thought that Bella was enjoying it too. But he was terrified. He knew what to expect. He peered out of the window. Below him, the garden basked peacefully in the morning sunshine; but in the orchard, four mice were moving stealthily beneath the trees...

  ‘They’re in the orchard! I’ve lost them now, in amongst the trees. They’re wearing camouflage, so it’s hard to... ah! One of them’s running across the garden! Quick, Bella!’

  They fired. But when the smoke cleared, there was no sign of the mouse, who had made it to safety and was crouching against the wall, invisible from the window. As Dabo reloaded with trembling paws, a volley crashed out from the landing.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Two of them tried to cross the yard to the barn,’ Quincy replied. ‘Didn’t stand a chance!’

  But even while he was speaking, Armand peeped cautiously through his window and saw four of the enemy sprinting into sight. They hugged the wall of the barn then yanked open the doors and dashed inside. Instantly, shots rang out.

  ‘We must help Colin and Tom!’ cried Armand, leaping to his feet.

  ‘Get down!’ barked the General. ‘We don’t know how many are out there. That attack on the barn may be a distraction. They know that in order to capture us they have to take the house.’

  Another soldier was sprinting across the lawn. Bella and Dabo leant out and fired. ‘We hit him!’ yelled Bella.

  ‘Well done!’ exclaimed Quincy. Bella’s eyes were dancing with excitement. Dabo felt sick. He knew that he must defend Armand against his enemies, but he took no pleasure in shooting them.

  More firing came from the barn. ‘It’s no good, Armand,’ said General Quincy. ‘We must hold our ground here.’

  A sudden loud bang – and a piercing scream as something flew overhead.

  ‘What in the world was that?’ demanded Mrs Quincy furiously.

  ‘A cannon, my dear,’ replied her husband, calmly.

  ‘What? Those murdering scoundrels using a cannon against my house? Lord of Light, I’ll – look out, husband! Here they come again!’

  Six mice had scrambled up from the stream and were pelting across the yard.

  From the landing windows, four guns blazed and two of the enemy fell, squealing and twitching as the bullets struck home. The four survivors dashed for the shelter of the dairy, a little, low building between the barn and the house.

  ‘Drat!’ exclaimed Mrs Quincy. ‘We can’t get at them in there!’

  ‘Nor can they get at us,’ replied her husband, who was studying the ground opposite through his telescope. ‘Ah! Got it! A field-gun, just —’

  Another bang, a screech, and a deafening explosion in the yard. Shattered cobblestones struck the wall and the front of the house was splattered with mud.

  ‘They’ve got us now,’ said Quincy. ‘Those were ranging shots. The next one will hit us.’

  ‘Where are they, sir?’ asked old Benjamin, peering along his gun-barrel.

  ‘Over the stream, on the edge of the trees. A lucky shot might bring down the gunner, but —’

  ‘Let’s try it, then,’ said Benjamin. He stood up and raised his rifle. Scarcely pausing to aim, he squeezed the trigger.

  His bullet found its mark and the gunner toppled backwards, jerking the lanyard as he fell. The shot went wide, screeched over the stream and slammed into the barn. The defenders watched in horror as the old building trembled and flames flickered through the dense, billowing smoke.

  In the darkness of the barn, Tom and Colin crouched at the edge of the hay-loft. They heard the opening shots of the battle, and shortly after, a roar of gunfire. ‘Watch that door!’ snapped Tom. ‘Any minute now!’

  The door was flung open and four mice were silhouetted in the sudden triangle of light. Instantly, the defenders’ guns blazed, killing one of the enemy but the other three made it to safety beneath the over-hang of the hay-loft.

  Silence... and darkness, as the door swung slowly shut. Swiftly, the defenders re-loaded, expecting shots to come screaming out of the darkness at any second. Gently touching Colin’s arm, Tom whispered: ‘Back.’

  They scuttled across the thin layer of hay to the trap door that opened on to the floor below. Beside it lay a coil of rope, fastened to an iron ring. Tom yanked open the trap door. Instantly, the mice pointed their rifles downwards, fired, and flinched at the answering roar from below; but the bullets thudded harmlessly into the tough old timbers of the hay-loft.

  Colin shoved hard at the coil of rope. As it snaked through the trap door, he swung himself down into the darkness, followed instantly by Tom. They left their guns behind. With no time for either side to re-load, the battle in the barn would be decided by close fighting.

  As Tom landed, he drew a knife and charged. The soldier swung his rifle like a club. Tom checked, ducked, then sprang forward, and the other mouse squealed as the knife went in. As his opponent had slumped to the ground, Tom turned and ran to where Colin, his back to the wall, was fighting desperately against two soldiers.

  Tom heard the explosion in the yard, then he leapt for the soldiers, who fell back in alarm at this sudden attack. Tom caught one of them off-guard, and as the mouse fell, Tom yelled for Colin – and saw a hunched shape on the ground.

  Tom knelt beside his friend. ‘Colin!’ he cried. The third soldier was running towards him but cowed away as Tom sprang to his feet, snarling, and lunging with his knife – and the far end of the barn dissolved in smoke and flame as the cannon-shot smashed into it.

  As the soldier fled, Tom gathered up Colin’s limp body and half-carried, half-dragged it into the yard. Instantly, he was hurled to the ground as a group of mice flooded from the dairy and pelted towards the stream and the safety of the woods. He heard a bugle-call, saw two more mice streak across the yard from the orchard, then the defenders of the house were all around him, his father shouting to Armand and Dabo to fetch water from the stream to douse the fire before it ran out of control.

  ‘Are you hurt bad?’ gasped Mrs Quincy.

  Tom felt battered and bruised all over. His whiskers were quivering and he leant, exhausted and trembling, against the barn.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘But Colin is.’

  That evening, Dabo and Armand stood guard on the hill. ‘Poor Colin,’ said Armand. ‘I suppose you’ll have to take over the milking until his shoulder heals. It was a nasty wound. He’s lucky to be alive. But we showed them, didn’t we, Dabo? They’ll think twice before they attack us again!’

  Dabo smiled. But he knew that the enemy would not leave them alone. And next time, he feared, they would be up against the Elite Guard and probably General Cambray himself.

  16. Sea-Battle!

  That night, Gideon, Conal and William sat tied to the mainmast, while the crew laboured to fill the ship with gold. When it was safely aboard, Bultivar yelled for wine and led his officers into the Great Cabin. Capturing the Lord of the Eagles called for a celebration!

  Eventually, as the night wore on, the sounds of drunken laughter subsided. The ship slept. William, exhausted by his terrible grief, slept too. Conal dropped into a light doze, knowing from long experience when to put up with what he could not alter. Only Gideon, bone-weary,
but incapable of sleep, stared into the night. How to get free? He could not imagine. But he refused to admit defeat Something, surely, would happen...

  In the morning, Bultivar came to gloat over his prisoners. ‘Pombal! Chuck a bucket of water over these rodents! They stink!’

  Gideon gasped as an avalanche of water hit him. For a moment, it revived his spirits; but he soon realized that when the sun had dried the ropes that bound them to the mast, they would contract and cut agonizingly into their paws and ankles. That, of course, was Bultivar’s intention.

  The captives passed a miserable morning. No one brought them food or drink, and they suffered agonies as the ropes sliced into their paws. But if Bultivar had hoped to hear them beg for mercy, he was disappointed. Not even William uttered so much as a squeak. Eventually, the Captain grew bored with them and sulked off to his cabin, leaving Pombal to get the ship ready for sailing.

  To the shrilling of whistles and the beating of drums, the sea-mice scampered up the rigging and crawled out along the spars while other heaved on the capstan to raise the anchor from the ocean bed. ‘Anchor’s a-weigh!’ yelled Pombal and as the sails caught the wind a great shudder ran through the ship. As the Bonaventure cleared the harbour, the wind blew more strongly and the ship lifted her bows to the sparkling sea.

  Gazing miserably astern, Gideon watched the island dwindle into the distance. Suddenly, he tensed. From the far side of the cliff, a tower of white had shimmered into view and a ship sailed clear of the island, on a parallel course to their own.

  The newcomer flew no flag. With all sails spread, she was rapidly over-taking the Bonaventure, while still keeping her distance some half a mile to starboard. Gideon could see a line of closed gun-ports below her upper deck. A war-galleon, then. But why no flag?

  A sudden yell from Pombal: ‘Sail on the starboard quarter!’

  Two officers staggered up to the quarter-deck. They were very much the worse for all the rich wine they had drunk the night before, and they stared blearily at the approaching ship. One of them called for Mutt.

  ‘Go and tell the Captain – strange sail to starboard!’

  Mutt crept to the Captain’s cabin. There was a yell of rage, followed by a crash, and Mutt came scurrying out, fleeing for dear life. Minutes passed. Eventually, Bultivar appeared.

  ‘What is it now? Can’t you ever leave me in peace, damn you?’

  ‘A sail, sir, on the — ’

  ‘I can see that, blast your eyes! So who is she?’

  ‘I – we don’t know, sir.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, blind? Can’t you see she’s flying Cambray’s flag?’

  Gideon, too, had seen it and he realized, with a sinking heart, that here was another of the General’s warships.

  ‘She’s altering course, sir,’ muttered one of the officers, his twitching paws almost dropping the telescope.

  ‘Probably got a message for us,’ growled Bultivar.

  They watched as the other ship swung gracefully towards them. In another quarter of an hour she would be alongside.

  ‘Shorten sail!’ yelled Bultivar. ‘Come on, you idle vermin, jump when I give an order or I’ll keel-haul the lot of you!’

  Gideon felt the ship slowing. He saw sails also being taken in aboard the newcomer. Gradually, the two galleons drew together.

  Suddenly, the other ship’s gun-ports flew open, the world exploded in smoke and flame, and the Bonaventure reeled in agony as the mighty broadside smashed into her.

  The prisoners flinched as splinters flew wildly across the deck. Great holes appeared in the sails as cannon-shot tore through them. Squeals of terror filled the air, while deafening crashes from below told of guns smashed or sent careering across the deck.

  When Gideon looked again at the other ship, he saw that Cambray’s flag had been hauled down and that the Royal Banner of Carminel now flew from the masthead.

  On the quarter-deck, Bultivar was screaming and lashing his tail. He had drawn his sword and was furiously trying to make his orders heard above the dreadful din.

  ‘Make more sail! Get powder and shot from below! Gun-crews! Open fire, you miserable, cowardly, stinking scum!’

  But it was too late. The royal galleon was turning, and Gideon saw her name, Janus, emblazoned in gold across her stern. As she bore down once more on the hapless Bonaventure, another murderous broadside crashed out.

  Gideon strained at his ropes until the blood ran. ‘We’ve got to get free!’ he yelled.

  ‘I’m trying, sir!’ said Conal. But it was no use. They could only watch helplessly as lines snapped and spars crashed to the deck, bringing down great tangles of sails which fell upon the miserable crew like shrouds.

  ‘Look out!’ screamed William, and they flinched and ducked as the foremast slowly toppled and fell, its great weight of sails, spars and rigging trailing over the side.

  The Janus’s bowsprit suddenly loomed above their heads. Through the smoke, Gideon could see figures crouching in the bows, waiting to leap aboard the crippled Bonaventure. Then, with a terrible screaming of timbers, the two ships crashed together. Instantly, the attacker’s bowsprit was alive with sea-mice, yelling and screaming, brandishing their cutlasses, all tumbling and leaping on to the Bonaventure’s quarter-deck.

  Those officers who had survived the bombardment threw down their swords, their tails twitching in terror. Pombal lay beside the tiller, struck dead by a huge splinter in his skull. Only Bultivar fought on, his eyes blazing as he cursed and hacked at the invaders, killing several before the others fell back amazed at his reckless defiance.

  A short, powerfully-built mouse leapt from the bowsprit. The invaders stood aside and made a pathway for him as, with drawn cutlass, he calmly approached the quivering Bultivar. ‘Strike your colours, Captain,’ he said quietly. ‘Your ship is beaten. If you surrender, you’ll be taken aboard the Janus as a prisoner. If you refuse, I shall kill you.’

  ‘Surrender?’ croaked Bultivar. ‘Never!’

  The other mouse caught the attack on the downswing and, with a neat flick of the wrist, sent Bultivar’s sword skittering across the deck. Bultivar pulled a pistol from his belt, but before he could fire it the cutlass had slashed him across the wrist. Howling in agony, he dropped the pistol. Darting aside, he grabbed another sword from the deck and attacked again.

  Again he was beaten back, until he stood against the side-rail. Leaping on to it, he swung a savage cut at his attacker’s head. Again, the cutlass deflected the blow, then swept down, cutting Bultivar on the thigh.

  It was not a mortal wound – but the sudden, searing pain was enough to unbalance the Captain. With a wild shriek of terror he toppled backwards into the sea.

  A shark, attracted from the deep by the smell of blood, had been circling the ships for some time. Satisfied by the feast of dead or dying mice flung overboard, he was almost ready to leave. But the sudden splash just in front of him, and the smell of blood from Bultivar’s wounds, persuaded him to take one last morsel. Opening his jaws, he did just that.

  Part Three: The Eagles Return

  17. Treason!

  Captain Gunter wiped his blood-stained cutlass on a scrap of torn sail-cloth, and turned to his second in command, a scrawny, tough-looking sea-mouse called Woyzek.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘No damage below waterline, Captain, so she’ll not sink. Gun-deck’s a mass of splinters, and most of the cannons destroyed, but the lower cargo hold’s intact. Casks of food and water – and two dozen crates of gold!’

  Gunter smiled as a cheer went up from his followers. ‘Right, Woyzek! Get the lads to work. All the gold across to the Janus, plus the water. Knowing the late Captain Bultivar, he’ll have fed his crew on muck, so find the officers’ supplies and we’ll take them. Should be some decent wine, at least. First, though, round up her crew. Put the officers, if there’s any left, in irons aboard Janus. All sea-mice who’ll join us, swear them in. Those who won’t will be marooned on the next island we visit. Te
ll them that, and they’ll soon see sense! I’m going back to the ship.’

  ‘One other thing, Captain. Three prisoners lashed to the mainmast. Won’t identify themselves. Wants to see you.’

  ‘Prisoners? All right, cut them loose and send them across. Now get working, Woyzek, and when you’ve finished, you can sink this wreck. She’s no use to us!’

  Bread, cheese, fruit and wine; all this, and more, was laid out on the table in the Great Cabin aboard the Janus. Behind it sat Captain Gunter, cleaning his claws with his dagger. Facing him, were Gideon, Conal and William: weary, filthy and ravenously hungry.

  Gunter poured wine, adding a dash of water to William’s glass. ‘Eat your fill!’ he said. ‘No mouse goes hungry aboard my ship. We’ll talk later.’

  ‘Well now,’ he said, when the three friends had eaten as much as they wanted. ‘Repay my hospitality by satisfying my curiosity.’

  Gideon described how they had been press-ganged aboard the Bonaventure. By the time he had finished the tale of their adventures, William was fast asleep but Captain Gunter was staring in astonishment.

  ‘Lord of Light!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a story! And you say the mine is worked by prisoners from the Battle of Barrowdown? That I never knew!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gideon. ‘And I want to set those mice free and take them back to Carminel.’

  The Captain’s eyes darkened. ‘And kill the goose that lays the golden eggs? That’s not good business, friend! Tell you what... I’ll take you three back to Carminel, if that’s your wish. But to attack the mine itself... oh, no.’

  Gideon stiffened in his chair. ‘But you fly the royal flag of Carminel.’

  Captain Gunter laughed. ‘Flag of convenience, friend, nothing more. I’ve a stack of banners aboard. We fly them appropriate to the occasion, as you might say.’

  Gideon’s lip curled in contempt. ‘So you’re a pirate.’

  ‘A buccaneer, mate! A sailor of fortune! I served the King once, till he were beaten. Then I served that old skinflint Cambray till I got sick of his meanness. Now I serves myself! And that’s the best service of all!’