Mattimeo

With the passing of the rains, hot sunlight lanced through the upper foliage, and white steam tendrils curled and wraithed, climbing between the golden sunshafts to escape on the warm thermals. Mattimeo grunted with exertion as he pulled his paws from a morass of earth and leaves which the dragging limbs of the column were laboriously pounding into thick mud. Chained paws, warm soggy habits and the driving canes of the slavers gave little relief to the caravan of young animals. The running chain snagged between branches, got caught around bushes and tripped them when they least expected it. Sam caught a quick drink of water trickling from the broad stems of wild rhubarb, and he managed to grab a pawful of cloudberries as he passed, signalling to the others where they grew so they could follow his example. Auma munched the pitiful repast as she conversed with Tim in low tones.

“I’ve lost all sense of direction. All I know now is whether it’s night or day,” she remarked.

Tim trudged stolidly on. “We’re travelling south. Where to, I don’t know. I’ve been watching the signs my parents taught me to look for if ever I got lost in the woodlands; moss on trees, the position of the sun, even the earth down this way is different, more stones in the soil. You can take my word for it, Auma. South it is.”

Mattimeo joined in the conversation. “I know we’re tired and worn out, but pass the word along. Keep alert for the chance to escape. Slagar and his band must be as weary as we are.”

Cynthia Bankvole listened to them talking and began to get very upset. “Please, don’t escape and leave me here, I couldn’t bear it.”

Mattimeo ground his teeth together. “Don’t worry, Cynthia. If we escape we’ll take you with us.”

“Oh, no, leave me here,” Cynthia begged. “Slagar would catch me and beat me and break my legs and leave me to die in a ditch. I’d be too afraid to escape.”

Mattimeo was about to ask Cynthia just what it was she really wanted, when he checked himself.

“Hush now, Cynthia,” Tess soothed her. “Don’t you fret, we won’t make you do anything you don’t wish to do. Listen, there’s probably a whole army from Redwall out searching for us. Who knows, they might not be far behind us.”

Auma became excited. “Of course! Mattimeo’s father is a great warrior. I’ll bet he’s gathered all his fighting friends together and is hot on our trail. I know my father will be searching, though he’s a plains badger and I’m not too sure whether he knows his way about in woodland.”

Mattimeo shook his head reprovingly at Tess. “Who’s being unkind now, eh, Tess? Don’t you realize we’ve had a couple of days’ heavy rain? Not even Basil Stag Hare could follow our trail through that, and we’re well clear of the Redwall area now. Another thing, I’d like to bet that Slagar has laid some sort of false track to put them off the scent. You’re only raising vain hopes by talking of things like that.”

“Come on, come on, less gabbin’ and more marchin’, you lot. The faster you march the quicker you’ll get to rest. Move yourselves now, step lively.”

He carried on up the line, urging others on. When he was out of earshot Sam spoke up.

“I think Mattimeo is right. We should be trying to help ourselves and not waiting for others. I know there’ll be a big search party out from Redwall, but it’d take a miracle to find us in this deep woodland after all that rain. The only thing I’d say is do the sensible thing, don’t try any silly moves, and if any creature sees the chance of an escape, let us know so that we can organize it properly. Cynthia was right when she said what Slagar would do to anybody he caught trying to escape.”

Vitch darted through the bushes. He caught Sam a glancing blow, which was partly softened by the young squirrel’s bushy tail.

“You talk too much, squirrel. Talking’s not allowed between slaves. Another word out of you and I’ll whack you proper!”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and he growled dangerously at Vitch. The undersized rat swung the willow cane at him. With a lightning-fast move, Sam snatched the willow withe and snapped it. He flung the broken cane at Vitch, his teeth showing white and sharp.

“One day I’m going to get free of these chains, rat,” Sam vowed. “When I do, all the canes in the forest won’t stop me getting you!”

The rat ran straight into Slagar. The fox cuffed him soundly and threw him to the ground.

“Stow the noise, addlebrains! The rest of you, get the prisoners between those two big firs over there and secure the line chain. Threeclaws, come with me. I saw something interesting a while back. Wartclaw, you and Badrag are in charge. Feed that lot and keep ’em quiet. Be ready to travel the moment I return. Got that?”

The captives found good dry grass to lie upon. It was nearing sunset now, and songbirds were shrilling their last plaintive tunes before nightfall. Cynthia Bankvole found some dried moss, which they stuffed between the manacles and their limbs. It was comforting and soothing. Tim shared some wild fennel and green acorns he had gathered on the day’s march.

Auma lay with her chin on her paws, staring into the forest ahead of them. She was very tired and thinking of nothing in particular when she found herself staring into the eyes of a large frilled newt. The creature winked at her with his flat moist eyes.

“Little stripedog all chained up. Sillybeast, why d’you lettem do that to yer?” he asked.

“We’ve been captured by Slagar and his band. Who are you?” Auma whispered urgently as she called the others with a wave of her paw.

Mattimeo prodded Cynthia. “Keep an eye on the guards. Let’s see what this fellow has to say.”

The newt crawled a little closer, lying low to keep his bright red underbelly from showing.

“Name’s Scurl Droptail. Too clever to lettem chain me up. See ’em pass here before, fox an’ weaselfellers.”

The newt blinked and wobbled his crest. “Why’ll Scurl help you sillybeasts? Not lendin’ yer my keys. Scurl got many keys, special keys, open any lock.”

“He’s got keys!” Tess murmured to Mattimeo so Scurl could not hear. “We must try to borrow them.”

“Scurl, you must realize our position. We’re in danger, we might never see our homes again. You must lend us your keys. I promise we won’t keep them. We only want to borrow them for a moment.”

The newt closed his eyes and shot his tongue in and out as if he were in deep thought. Then one eye opened.

“Wotchergot? Cummon, wotchergot, ’ey? It’ll cost you, oh yes, cost you. Scurl’s keys don’t borrow fer nothin’ no, no.”

Auma produced some pressed blue flowers. “They’re mountain flowers. My father used to find them for me. They might not be worth anything, but they’re pretty. Bet he’s never seen mountain flowers.”

Tim spat something out and dried it on his habit sleeve. “My lucky green stone, though it’s not brought me much luck. I’m always sucking it. Look, it’s quite flat.”

Tess took an object on a thong from about her neck. “This is my seasonday gift from Mum. It’s a carved beechnut shaped like a bell.”

Sam reluctantly undid something that was hidden by the long brush of his tail. He tossed it in with the pitiful collection. “Mum’s champion climber tailbracelet. It’s made from baked clay and reedgrass, painted three different colours too. I borrowed it to wear for the feast that night.”

Mattimeo unfastened his soft white habit girdle. “Suppose I’d better throw this in too. Dad said it belonged to old Abbot Mortimer before my time. It’s a nice one.”

“Let me do this,” Tess offered. She gathered the objects up and signalled to the newt.

Cynthia Bankvole hissed a warning, remaining frozen in her upright position on watch. Immediately the newt dropped out of sight and the companions lay flat as if asleep.

“Well, you ought to take lessons from your little pals yonder. Look, they’re snoozin’ like a pile of bees trying to last out the winter.”

Cynthia was too petrified even to look. She sat staring at Wartclaw with the cane pressing painfully into her throat. Wartclaw gave the cane a hard shove, sending Cynthia flat on her back, both chained paws clutching her neck.

“Get to sleep before I tuck you in with this cane, vole, and don’t let me catch you napping when we start to march again,” Wartclaw’s voice hissed close to her ear.

He strode off, chuckling to himself and shaking his head. “Must’ve had a featherbed life in that Redwall place before we got our claws on ’em. . . . Huh, can’t sleep, sir!”

Cynthia sat up partially. “He’s gone now. Oh, do hurry up!” she said, her voice trembling.

Scurl scampered swiftly up and seized the things the others had collected for him.

“Hmm, notmuch, notmuch. Funny bell, though. Nice ring, soft white rope, nice on Scurl.” He held the white habit girdle against his red underside.

Tess gave a look of mock admiration. “Oh, that does look nice on you. Now put the bracelet on your tail. No, like this. Let me see . . . oh yes, hang my beechnut bell around your neck. Very handsome. Tuck the blue flowers in the thong up by your frill. There! You can carry the green stone.”

The newt gave her a scornful glance. “Don’t carryem. Huh, wouldn’t carryem, gotter go for em.”

Scurl stood upright, his eyes wide and a dignified expression upon his face. “Stripedog, you be no woodlander, right?”

Auma nodded glumly. “No, I’m from the western plain. I’m a flatland badger.”

“I be woodlander, tellem ’bout woodlander rule, mouse.” Scurl smiled disarmingly.

Tess turned to Auma. “He’s right, we have a woodland code. All honest and true woodlanders are pledged to help each other and never to harm a living creature.”

Scurl removed Auma’s paw and patted it in a friendly way. “You see, stripedog.”

Before anyone could lay another paw on him, Scurl was away like a streak. He dashed back into the long grass, far from where the chained-up captives could reach him. They could see the red flash of his underside as he danced and pranced about.

“Sillybeast, sillybeast, trusting me.

Made you think I had a key.

Stupid you, clever me,

Scurl has pretty gifts for free.”

It struck Scurl, knocking him flat. The crested newt lay for a moment then pulled himself up, spitting out gritty black earth and rubbing soil from his eyes.

“Might have adda key, might have letcher free, but you’ll never know now, willy er.”

Slagar and Threeclaws stood over the captives. Between them they had a small hedgehog. Threeclaws stooped to manacle the hedgehog to the running chain.

Tim grunted wearily. “Oh, nothing really. That great lump of a badger was rolling over in her sleep and pulling me about on the chain.”

Slagar kicked at Auma. “Well, you won’t have to worry about sleeping right now, we’re marching again.”

A groan arose from the prisoners. Threeclaws ignored it, and glanced across his shoulder into the woodlands.

“Come on, let’s get moving. We can be well away from this place by morning,” he said.

Slagar called Vitch. “You and Browntooth stop at the rear and cover the tracks. I don’t want that hedgehog’s family knowing which way we’ve gone.”

Sleepily they ploughed onward through the night-time woodland. A crescent moon above winked at them through the softly swaying treetops. Mattimeo caught a glance of Tess. She was brushing away a tear.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Only that seasonday present was the last thing I had to remind me of Mum and Dad and Redwall. Do you think we’ll ever see them again, Matti?”

Mattimeo suddenly felt grown up and responsible. “Of course we will, Tess. Take my word for it, I promise you.”

“Thank you, Mattimeo.” Tess managed a small smile. “The word of the Redwall Warrior’s son is good enough for me.”

The little hedgehog nudged Auma. “Where are they taking us? Do they always shout like that?”

“Hmm,” the badger yawned. “They’re always shouting about one thing or another, though where they’re taking us, well, your guess is as good as mine. I’m Auma. What’s your name?”

“Glad you like it. I don’t. It’s short for Jubilation. I’m the only male in a family of ten females. You should see my sisters, great big bullies they are. When I was born Mum said to Dad: ‘It’s not a female. What’ll we call him?’ My old dad was so pleased he shouted: ‘O Jubilation!’ But you can call me Jube. I’d dearly hate to be this Slagar fox when my family catches up with him and these rascals.”

For the first time in a long while the friends found themselves chuckling at the young hedgehog. He seemed quite unconcerned that he had been made captive, looking on it as only a temporary measure until his family caught up with the slavers.