Eagle Warrior

by Roger Mortimer

  ‘Out of the frying pan into the fire!’ exclaimed Conal. He scowled furiously at the Captain. ‘Do you not recognize the Lord Gideon?’ He slammed his paw on the table. William woke with a jump and wondered what was going on.

  Gunter stared at the furious Conal, who went on: ‘If you help us to rescue those poor wretches in the mine, you’ll create an army that’ll overthrow that butcher back in Aramon and gain an Admiral’s commission for yourself! And is that not better than risking your neck for a few miserable bars of gold, when you might be —’

  Slowly, Gunter rose to his feet. ‘You are Gideon of the Eagles? Lord of Light, I thought you was dead!’

  Gideon stood, tall and stately, every inch the warrior lord, despite his filthy rags. ‘I am Gideon. And what my friend says is true. Help us now and I swear you will be rewarded beyond your dreams.

  That night, as the Janus lay at anchor, Gunter told Woyzek about the plan to attack the island.

  ‘And when we’ve captured the mine,’ said Woyzek, ‘what then?’

  Gunter smiled. ‘What would you do?’

  The air in the Great Cabin was hot and sultry. Woyzek was sweating through his mangy fur. ‘Kill the guards at the mine. Replace them with our own mice. Then keep the miners working. King’s soldiers they may have been but they’ll not have any fight left in them. Not after all this time. Especially not when they see...’

  ‘When they see... what?’

  ‘When they see you... us... kill Gideon and his friends.’

  Gunter smiled. ‘Just so, friend. Just so.’

  Shortly after midnight, two cutters were launched from the Janus. Each held twenty mice and carried a swivel-gun. They dared not hoist sail, lest the guards should spot them, so they had to row.

  Conal, in Gunter’s boat, would guide the sea-mice to the beach marked by the tall cliff. There they would land and approach the mine through the tunnel. Meanwhile, Woyzek’s crew, with Gideon, would land on the opposite side and attack the guards’ wooden huts. They would then explode a massive charge of gunpowder against the great doors, link up with Gunter’s party and free the prisoners.

  But Conal felt uneasy. He did not share Gideon’s trust of the pirates, and was determined to keep an eye on Gunter... and on Woyzek.

  After an hour’s rowing, a ghostly mist rose from the sea, enveloping Conal’s boat in a clammy embrace. ‘They’ll never spot us in this!’ whispered Gunter.

  Conal was not so sure. He knew that the guards would be extra vigilant so long as Janus was on the prowl.

  ‘Ship oars!’ called Gunter softly. As the island loomed up at them, the weary mice obeyed and let the tide carry the cutter on to the sand.

  They hauled the boat up the beach, anchoring it in the firm sand above the tide-line. ‘Which way, mate?’ whispered Gunter.

  Conal pointed towards the ghostly outline of the tall cliff. His scalp was prickling. Surely the guards must be here! He inched forward, expecting at any second a volley of gunfire or an ambush from the silent forest. The mist played tricks on his eyes. The taste of fear filled his mouth, and he swallowed hard.

  The sea-mice huddled round as he pulled away the bushes. There was the entrance to the tunnel. Conal stared in dread at that evil place where poor Daniel had been killed. He did not want to go in. But he could not turn back now.

  The tunnel was silent. As they crept along its murky length, Conal saw once again that faint, distant glow.

  As they approached the final bend, Conal waved the sea-mice to a halt. He crept on all fours to the lip of the tunnel and peered over the edge.

  Smoky flares lit up the mine. But the long galleries were in shadow. The light glinted on the rails and caressed the gold that lay heaped in the trucks. There was not a guard in sight.

  Slowly, Conal rose to his feet. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to run away from this accursed place. His eyes flicked around the galleries. Nothing moved but the constantly shifting shadows. He raised his paw and waved the mice forward, out of the tunnel and down the steps.

  Conal led them past the trucks, into the open space beyond. Still no sound broke the ominous silence. Some of the mice stopped and stared open-mouthed at the gold. Most were so nervous that they huddled together and followed their leaders.

  Suddenly, Conal stopped and cursed himself for a fool. The mine had seemed deserted. But up in the galleries, an army could lie hidden! Conal seized Gunter’s arm to warn him, and at that moment a ragged mouse emerged from the darkness and stood on the edge of the lower gallery. His paws were tied and his ankles were chained.

  Before Conal could speak, the whole length of the gallery was lined with slaves, chained together and gazing down in despair. ‘Oh, Lord of Light!’ breathed Conal. ‘What a fool I am.’

  Up in the gallery, an armed guard stepped into the light. ‘All weapons on the deck!’ he ordered. ‘Now! The first one of you what starts anything, this lot cops it!’

  The pirates watched in dismay as other guards appeared. Each held a dagger that glittered at the throat of a ragged, helpless mouse.

  ‘How long before Woyzek’s party get here?’ Conal whispered.

  Gunter’s whiskers were twitching anxiously. ‘Should be here now. Something must have gone wrong. What do we do?’

  ‘Come on!’ yelled the guard. ‘What are you waiting for? Chuck them down! We ain’t got all night!’

  Conal ignored him. ‘There’s nothing we can do, though we might be able to keep them talking for a bit...’

  A cry of terror. Conal glanced up and saw a mouse, without even a rag about his poor, starved body, jerk back his head, a dagger pressing cruelly against his neck.

  ‘Right, time’s up!’ yelled the guard. ‘Chuck them down now, or that mouse gets it!’

  ‘Do as he says,’ ordered Conal.

  ‘That’s more like it,’ sneered the guard. ‘Now. Get back against that wall – all of you!’

  Miserably, the sea-mice obeyed.

  ‘Now then, you stinking oiks,’ said the guard, ‘me and my mates are coming down to give you a proper welcome. One that you’ll never forget!’

  Slowly, the guards advanced. As they approached, they bared their yellow fangs, and their eyes glittered in the torchlight.

  ‘Sergeant!’ hissed Gunter.

  Wearily, Conal turned to him. ‘Well?’

  Gunter’s mouth opened – but Conal never heard the words. The noise of the explosion deafened him then the blast hit him and hurled him to the ground.

  When Conal opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was William’s anxious face. ‘Conal! How do you feel?’

  Conal struggled to get up but his swimming head sent him reeling back against the wall. The cavern was a mass of swirling smoke, but he could dimly see the dawn light creeping across a pile of matchwood: all that remained of the great doors of the mine. The explosion had worked.

  ‘Lie still, Conal. The fight’s over. Most of the guards were knocked out by the explosion, and those who weren’t have surrendered. Gunter and Woyzek are taking them down to the jetty.’

  At the mention of Gunter, Conal’s fears of treachery came rushing back. ‘William! Listen!’

  William was bandaging Conal’s head. ‘It’s all right,’ he said soothingly. ‘Lie still. You’ve a nasty bump, but —’

  ‘Lord of Light! Things’ll be a lot nastier than that if you don’t warn Lord Gideon!’

  ‘Warn him? What about?’

  ‘Gunter! He’s plotting treachery. I’ve no proof, but I’m sure of it. And you can bet your life that Woyzek’s in on it as well!’

  William nodded. ‘Right. He’s bound to be somewhere in here. I’ll tell him.’

  But Gideon was outside, alone on the clifftop, high above the entrance to the mine. He was watching the cutter ferrying the last of the prisoners out to the Janus, lying at anchor in the bay. A narrow cliff-path led down to the jetty. At the base of the cliff, jagged rocks gleamed as the sea broke over them. Gideon stepped back from the edge. The
rocks were a long way down, and the grass was slippery.

  Gunter and Woyzek appeared at the top of the path. As they approached, Gideon’s smile of welcome froze. Their faces looked strained, their eyes were hard and menacing.

  ‘Kill him!’ snapped Gunter. But as Woyzek went for his pistol, Gideon drew his sword with a cry of ‘Treason!’

  Woyzek aimed his pistol, but Gideon’s sword slashed down. Woyzek cried in pain and the pistol flew over the cliff top. But Gunter had drawn his cutlass, and step by step, he was driving Gideon back towards the cliff’s edge.

  Gunter’s cutlass hacked and stabbed, Gideon skilfully parried, and, as Gunter swung his cutlass for a savage cut, Gideon lunged – slipped – and fell. As the edge of the cliff flashed in front of him, he made a frantic grab and held on. But his legs were dangling in space and Gunter was standing above him.

  The pirate’s face was distorted with hatred. He lowered his cutlass until its point was at Gideon’s throat. Gideon looked his killer in the eye, and prayed to the Lord of Light to receive his soul and to protect his friends.

  Suddenly, a shot rang out. Gunter yelled in pain, and in a moment of blind terror felt himself falling. Gideon released one paw, grabbed Gunter’s collar and held him fast. But the extra weight threatened to drag them both off the edge. Gideon looked down and wished he hadn’t. The rocks were like giant needles, and he felt the earth slipping away beneath his claws. As Conal’s face loomed above him, he let go – and gripped the Sergeant’s outstretched paw. With William holding Conal’s legs, and several of the miners hanging on to William, they gradually hauled Gideon and Gunter to safety.

  Never had Gideon been so terrified. But at the sight of Conal’s scared face, he forced a grin. ‘Thanks, Conal. What kept you?’

  Conal grinned back. ‘A slight headache, sir. Nothing to worry about. But you seem to have something nasty sticking to your paw. Allow me.’

  Gunter was kneeling on the grass, clutching his wounded leg. He yelled in agony as Conal hauled him upright and passed him over to the miners. These mice were furious at the attack on Gideon. Already, they were holding the whimpering Woyzek, and not very gently. As for the sea-mice, they stood in a huddle, totally bewildered by the turn of events.

  ‘Who fired the shot?’ asked Gideon.

  ‘I did.’

  All eyes turned to a small, mangy, down-trodden sea-mouse called Mutt.

  ‘I owe you my life, Mutt,’ said Gideon.

  The little mouse ducked his head. ‘It’s all right, sir. I wanted to make up for ... well, you know.’

  ‘Lord of Light!’ exclaimed Conal. ‘You’re the devil of a good shot!’

  ‘Well done, Mutt!’ exclaimed William. Mutt smiled. These were the first bits of real praise he had ever had.

  ‘I had a feeling those treacherous scum were plotting something,’ said Conal. ‘All that gold was just too much of a temptation! But I don’t believe the rest of the crew were in on it.’

  The Janus’s burly Bosun stepped forward, a gold ring glittering in his ear. ‘That’s right!’ he exclaimed. ‘Gunter and Woyzek were always greedy. But I

  never reckoned they’d sink as low as this! As for the rest of us, we may be pirates, but we’re all loyal King’s mice. And from now on, sir, we’re under your orders!’

  ‘Very well!’ cried Gideon, as the sea-mice loudly chorused their agreement. ‘Put these traitors in irons aboard ship. They’ll stand trial when we return to Aramon. But first, we must defeat General Cambray! Will you help us to do that?’

  The Bosun glanced round at his grinning friends. ‘You mean – go home? And fight for you?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘All right, lads?’

  To the wild cheering of his new army, Gideon led the way down to the jetty, where the cutter was waiting. Several sea-mice darted away to look for Gideon’s sword where it had fallen among the rocks. One of them found it and carried it back in triumph to his new commander.

  ‘Next stop Carminel!’ yelled William. ‘Come on, Mutt! We’re going home!’

  18. A Villain Returns

  In ‘The General Cambray’ Barboza was stumping round the bar, lighting candles. He wondered why he bothered. The inn was almost deserted. Business was bad and Barboza knew why. Aramon was under a reign of terror. Terror of Cambray and the Elite Guard.

  The General was almost mad with fury over his failure to find the Crown, and he had taken out his frustration on the city. Taxes were up again, and the Elite Guard patrolled the streets day and night, arresting or beating up any mouse who dared to criticize their master.

  Worse still was the dreadful rumour that Cambray had discovered where Prince Armand was hiding, and was preparing an expedition to capture him.

  Aramon was close to despair. Barboza wondered whether he would ever see Gideon and Conal again.

  Suddenly, the door was flung open and a party of Black Mice of Rastatt entered the inn. One of them strode to the bar.

  ‘Blessings on this house! We require food and wine, Landlord, at once!’

  Now what are they doing here? Barboza wondered. But at least he had some customers. ‘Pray be seated, Brothers, and I’ll fetch the wine directly. As to supper – ’tis only roasted hazelnuts, with taters and cabbage, but there’s a nice bit of Valladale cheese, and — ’

  His eyes fell on one of the monks. He was thin and stooping, and leant heavily on two sticks. His body jerked and twisted, and once he stumbled, but when one of the monks reached out a helping paw, the thin mouse pushed him off and his hood fell back to reveal his face.

  The monk’s fur was pure silver, and his eyes burned with a terrible rage. As recognition dawned, Barboza instinctively sniffed the air: but smelt only the sweet scent of burning logs. But even without the smell, he knew who this mouse was.

  Forstus was back.

  Later that night, Forstus sat in the General’s office, high in the Great Fortress.

  ‘Well,’ said Cambray. ‘At least you smell better. I suppose we have the Black Monks to thank for that. Gave you a bath, did they?’

  Forstus said nothing.

  ‘Lost your tongue as well as your stink? All right – you mucked up at the Abbey and paid for your folly. The slate’s clean. What do you want now?’

  ‘It is more a question of what you want, General,’ replied Forstus, and his voice cracked and trembled with the dreadful pain that still raged in his broken, twisted body.

  ‘Huh! And what might that be? Several things I want. Such as Gideon and his friends dead! Though how a cripple like you can help me to that, I don’t know! But I suppose you’ve got some scheme cooking in that evil brain of yours, so let’s hear it. And be quick about it. I’m busy and it’s getting late.’

  ‘Surely you are not wanting your sleep so desperately?’ whispered Forstus, with an evil grin. ‘Are you not haunted by the Cardinal’s angry ghost?’

  ‘Shut up! Don’t you dare taunt me, you mangy vermin. Say what you’ve come to say and get out!’

  ‘You can insult me as much as you like,’ hissed Forstus. ‘I’ve suffered far worse than that! And the slate is not clean, not clean at all. You owe me, General, for what I’ve been through. Thanks to that damned eagle, I’ll never stand or sit or walk or even lie in my bed without pain! Oh no, you’ll pay. And I have something you’ll gladly pay for.’

  ‘Well?’ asked Cambray sharply. ‘What have you got? I warn you, it’d better be good.’

  ‘Oh, it’s good, all right,’ murmured Forstus, with a twisted smile. ‘What do you want most in all the world?’

  Suddenly, Cambray understood. His jaws parted and his breath came whistling out as if he had been winded. ‘You mean – you know where it is?’ Forstus nodded.

  ‘Tell me!’

  Forstus slowly shook his head.

  ‘TELL ME! Or I’ll — ’

  ‘You’ll what! Torture me? Don’t you think I’ve endured worse torments than you could even dream of? And if you killed me, what then? My knowledge dies wit
h me. No, General. Give me what I want and I’ll give you the Crown. I did as King Auriol told me. I hid it away where I could easily get it again. It’ll be yours, with all its magical powers to give you authority – royal, legal authority. Well? Do we have a deal?’

  ‘What do you want?’ growled Cambray.

  ‘One hundred thousand gold pieces a year for life, plus power as your Chief Minister of State. That’s my price. Pretty modest, I’d say.’

  Cambray hesitated. But only for a moment. Of course, he did not have anything like the amount of gold that Forstus was demanding. Even when that scoundrel Bultivar returned, there would not be enough. But there was no need for Forstus to know that. And this cold-blooded, ruthless mouse would be useful. And when he had outlived his usefulness, or taken a step too far...

  ‘All right. How soon can you get it?’

  ‘In a few days. I shall have to make a journey. Give me an escort of Elite Guards.’

  ‘Oh, no! You can have your escort but I’ll lead them! I’ll need a few days to set things straight here, and then we’ll travel together, Master Forstus. Now

  that you’re such a valuable partner I don’t want to let you out of my sight!’

  19. Cambray Attacks

  Up on the hill, Tom Quincy was on watch. As far as he could see, the fields and moors lay peaceful and deserted. It was almost noon; time for Bella to take over. Good. Tom was hungry. And there was his sister, climbing the hill. Tom stood and stretched, taking a final look at the distant moor...

  What was that? A flash of sunlight? And that dark patch of green... it seemed to be moving. Could it be the shadow of the clouds? But the sky was clear.

  Tom hesitated no longer. He pelted down the hill, yelling to his sister.

  ‘Bella! Go back! Cambray’s troops – they’re coming!’

  Tom was right. Cambray and the Elite Guard had arrived.

  The General was feeling extremely pleased with himself. A couple of days before Forstus returned, a mouse from the Long Range Patrol had arrived with the news that Armand and Dabo were hiding at the Quincy farm near Barrowdown. An attack on the farm had failed to capture them. Cambray had been preparing to attack the farm himself when Forstus returned and told him that the Crown was hidden in the very same place.