Mattimeo

The evening bells tolled out across the countryside at Redwall. It was a windless summer twilight; not a leaf stirred on branch or bough, the earth and grass were still warm from the hot afternoon. The Abbey dwellers ceased their daily tasks and went indoors for the evening meal. Mole cooks had baked a traditional tater’n’turnip’n’beetroot deeper’n’ever pie. There was fresh fruit and cream, mint wafers and cider. A garland of yellow flowers graced the table center in honour of the season.

When the sun was at its zenith, General Ironbeak and his raiders had flown up as high as they could, hovering on the high thermals far above Redwall, then they quietly plummeted down. Four by four they came, each bird entering under the high eaves from a different point. The General led the secret attack, swiftly and silently dealing death to the few old sparrows and late nestlings who were unable to fly. The dreadful deed was accomplished with quiet efficiency; Ironbeak and his birds were seasoned warriors.

Mangiz perched in the crossbeams next to his General while the rooks searched through the pitifully empty sparrow nests. One cackled harshly. Ironbeak swooped down and felled him with a savage peck.

“Silence! The great redstone house is not yet ours. I do not want those creatures below to know we are here. Quickbill and his brothers will bring in food soon, when night falls. Until then you must all be still and make no noise.”

He flew back to perch with Mangiz, but the crow seemed somewhat disturbed. Ironbeak noticed his seer was not his usual self.

“No, the strange thing is that my vision is clouded. The eye within my mind has been blurred since we came here today. Whatever I try to see becomes difficult. It is an earthcrawler, a mouse dressed strangely; he carries a sword and seems to bar all my visions.”

Mrs. Churchmouse chased after baby Rollo, but he ducked beneath the table and began singing.

“I wrestle a fish upon a dish,

Cut off his ’ead while he’s in bed,

an’ take a rat an’ make him dead,

for goooooood ooooooold cideeeeeeerrrrrrr!”

Sister May and Cornflower helped Mrs. Churchmouse. They scrambled under the table and chased Rollo out into her waiting paws.

“Please, Rollo, be a good fellow. Tell you what, if I come up with Cornflower and Sister May and we sing songs, then will you go?”

Rollo chuckled until his little fat body shook. “Yep, yep. Singa singa song f’ Rollo.”

The three mouse ladies took the infant bankvole up to the dormitory on the floor above Great Hall, where he was dutifully put into a cot.

After several songs, Cornflower held a paw to her lips. “Ssshhh, he’s asleep. Come on, quietly now.”

Rollo opened one eye. He watched them tip-paw out. As soon as the door was closed, he pulled his nightshirt above his paws and scrambled out of the cot.

Halfway down the stairs, Sister May heard the dormitory door slam. “Mercy me, the little rogue has escaped. Quickly!”

They bounded back up the spiral staircase, reaching the landing in time to see Rollo climb another curving flight of stairs.

Cornflower stamped her paw down hard. “Back to bed, baby Rollo, this instant!”

Rollo turned and giggled, then he waved to them. Mrs. Churchmouse heard a slight noise on the stairs above Rollo, and was about to call out to him. Suddenly a large raven poked its villainous black head round the spiral and seized Rollo by the nightshirt in its wicked beak.

Darkness had fallen when Matthias and his new-found army reached the foothills. They were forced to camp there for the night until morning light revealed their position. Shrew fires glimmered, and the chatter and noise of the argumentative little beasts made Matthias wish Log-a-Log had never offered the help of the Guosim. The warrior mouse sat alone on the brow of a small rise, then he was joined by Orlando and Jabez Stump.

The hedgehog nodded towards the cliffs rearing high overhead. “Puzzles me as to ’ow any creature ’ceptin’ a bird could get to the top of there. You’re sure they went this way?”

Basil Stag Hare sauntered up out of the darkness. “Sure? You could bet your summer spikes on it, old lad. They’ve scaled the bally heights all right, though how they did it beats me. One clue though, I’ve just stumbled over the carcass of one of those stoat fellers. Either he thought he could fly or he missed his paw hold. Ugh! Nearly put me off m’supper, it did.”

“It must have been pretty grim to banish thoughts of food from your mind, Basil,” Matthias chuckled. “The question is, how do we get up there tomorrow?”

Orlando tested his axe blade against his paw. “And when we do get up there, d’you think they’ll have laid some sort of trap? Maybe the fox is waiting until we’re halfway up to start hurling rocks and boulders down on us.”

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Matthias shrugged, “though I don’t think Slagar knows we’re alive. He’ll probably press on to get his captives to their destination, wherever that is.”

The old hare squatted down beside Matthias. “I picked up the tracks of that young shrew Skan and his cronies this afternoon. They were making for this point well ahead of us. I think the bally old fox knows we’re still alive and kickin’, one way or another.”

Mattimeo and his companions on the slave line were being driven hard and fast. Evidently there was to be little rest that night. Slagar and Stonefleck led the column. Before they set out, the masked fox had addressed them:

“Tonight you must move swiftly and silently. I tell you this because there is no other way. Stonefleck here will guide us, he knows the paths to take. When we reach the forest, there is danger, so be silent, travel fast, and you will come out unharmed. Now get moving!”

It was difficult going. They were forced into a stumbling dogtrot; the chain manacles and the heavy slave line were a great handicap for the prisoners. Surprisingly, the slavers helped them all they could. Sam was baffled.

“Matti, Tess, why haven’t they got the canes swinging? Usually we get beaten and bullied, but all of a sudden they’re being almost nice to us.”

Auma caught Tim as he stumbled. “They’re not shouting and yelling at us either. I’d say they look pretty frightened themselves.”

“There’s a forest up ahead,” Jube called back to them in a loud voice. “D’you suppose that has something to do with it?”

“Please, don’t shout or you’ll get us all killed!” Drynose the weasel guard had an almost pleading whine to his voice.

The forest, when they reached it, looked eerie and forlorn in the dim light. Old gnarled trees spread their knotted branches wide and low, there was little grass on the floor, and no flowers were to be seen anywhere. Mattimeo saw the withered and bleached skeleton of a rat dangling from a bough halfway up a tree, and there were other bones too, scattered here and there throughout the branches. The young mouse decided to keep quiet about them; no sense in panicking his friends, chained up as they were.

“I’ve noticed those bones too,” Auma whispered in his ear. “We’d best keep quiet. If anybeast gets attacked it’ll probably be us, who have no chance of making a run for it.”

Bending low to avoid hanging branches, they pushed onward as fast as possible, following Slagar and Stonefleck. Occasionally Mattimeo could hear guttural noises up in the trees, and now it seemed that everyone had spotted grisly remains hanging in the boughs, though no creature made mention of it.

Tess Churchmouse shuddered. She had never been in such a sinister place. Catching up with Mattimeo, she grasped the back of his robe and clutched it tight. The young mouse patted her paw in the darkness.

“Don’t be frightened, Tess,” he whispered. “We’ll make it. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Hold tight and look straight ahead.”

Marching half the night, pawsore and exhausted, they carried on, driven by fear of the unknown. Stonefleck nudged Slagar. He pointed ahead to a break in the trees. The forest was thinning.

At that very moment, Browntooth the stoat, who was marching on the left flank of the slave line, received a sharp jab in the eye from an overhanging branch which Halftail had brushed to one side. The springy branch swished back into place just as the unfortunate stoat drew level with it. The spell of silence was broken by his screams.

Slagar broke into a fast sprint, shouting as he went, “Run for it, follow me, to the shore, to the shore!”

The slavers dashed off, leaving the captives to fend for themselves. They ran, tripping and stumbling, scrambling over their fallen comrades in an effort to get out of the woods.

“Pick up the rope, keep in line, run as fast as you can,” Mattimeo shouted to the slave line. “Help the others. If one of us falls we’re all done for!”

They went pell-mell, pulling their stumbling comrades up with the line as they ran, and the back runners were virtually dragged along. Suddenly the air was full of harsh cries, and a number of dark shapes descended upon them. It was a fierce onslaught on slaves and slavers alike. The screams of the injured echoed round in the forest. Auma felt sharp claws strike back at her back. She bared her teeth, snapping at the thing that was attacking her.

Caught by several of the strange attackers, Skan the shrew began to rise into the air. He screamed and kicked for dear life. Tim and Mattimeo felt the slaveline straining and dragging them back as Skan was pulled upwards. Auma turned and grasped the rope in her teeth. Aided by Tim and Mattimeo, she tugged sharply. Skan fell to earth with a bump, but even this quick action had not saved him. Auma seized the limp form and swung it across her broad back.

Rushing from the forest, they found themselves on the broad shores of a wide river, it glimmered and waved in the starlight. Slagar stood by a broad trench covered with boughs urging them on.

Gratefully they threw themselves under its protection. Most of the slavers had already arrived, and they sat shivering and breathless. Slagar was the last to enter. “Scringe, Vitch, cover each end of this trench,” he ordered. “Keep yourselves awake, and keep an eye on those woods. Threeclaws, did all the slaves make it?”

“Then unchain him and sling his worthless hide out. What about you lot, are you all right? Anybeast missing, Halftail?”

“Two of ours, Chief; Browntooth and Badrag. I saw ’em go meself. It was ’orrible, screamin’ an’ kickin’ they were. By the claw! What are those things that attacked us?”

Stonefleck squatted impassively. “The painted ones,” he said, his voice flat and matter of fact.

Slagar moved aside as two slavers carried the dead Skan out. “Look at that, a good slave lost to those devils out there. It’s just as well Browntooth got taken. I’d gut him myself if he was here, screaming and yelling like that.”

Auma rubbed a paw across her bleeding back. “Painted ones, I’ve never heard of them before.”

Slagar paced the slave line. “You lot can have a long rest. It’s too late to cross the river now, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow night. Right, Stonefleck?”

The rat strung his bow. Selecting an arrow from his quiver, he poked it through a gap in the boughs which covered the trench and fired straight up into the night sky. The arrow gave a shrieking whistle as it sped upward.

There was a moment’s silence, then an answering whistle from an arrow fired on the other side of the river. Stonefleck unstrung his bow.