Mattimeo

Baby Rollo screamed. The raven had him tight by the nightshirt, and he wailed in terror as the big bird tugged and pulled, shaking its head fiercely from side to side.

Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse momentarily froze with horror at the awful sight.

But not little Sister May. She went immediately into action. Rushing to the stairs, she sprang up and grabbed baby Rollo, at the same time sinking her teeth into the raven’s foot, which she bit clear through to the bone.

The bird promptly let go of his prize. He gave a loud, agonized squawk and fell flat upon the stairs. Rollo yowled, Sister May screamed, and they both tumbled down the spiral staircase. Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse dived in. Clutching Sister May and little Rollo, they hurried downstairs towards Cavern Hole, all four shouting aloud:

Like a great grey furred juggernaut, Constance came bounding out of Cavern Hole, closely followed by Winifred the otter, John Churchmouse and Foremole.

Between them, the three mice gasped out the story of what had happened. Rollo had got over the fright quickly. He kept pointing a chubby paw over his back to show them all the tear in his nightshirt where the big bird had seized it.

Constance wasted no time. She got the little group safely back to Cavern Hole and issued emergency orders.

“Brother Trugg, sound the alarm bells. Winifred, Ambrose, Foremole, Brother Sedge, gather staves and light some torches. We must find out more about this strange bird. Cornflower, tell the Abbot where we have gone. The rest of you, stay down here. Don’t go wandering off alone.”

Torches shone on the darkened spiral stairway as Constance led the party. They had searched the dormitories, the sick bay and all the first-floor passages, and were now on the second-floor staircase which led to the gallery overlooking Great Hall. Foremole went snuffling along to an old side staircase, a straight flight which ran up to the disused chambers on the east wing of the third floor. He held up a paw and called out, “Yurr, over yurr. Lookit oi found.”

A faint trace of bloodspecks spattered the bottom steps. Constance held up a torch to investigate.

The shadows leapt back to reveal a large raven standing on the top stair, together with a crow and six rooks. Boldly the badger climbed the stairs until she stood one step below the intruders.

“Who are you and what are you doing in our Abbey?” Constance demanded, never one to mince words.

The crow strutted forward imperiously. “I am Mangiz the Seer, General Ironbeak’s strong right wing. Bow your head and show proper respect when you speak to me, stripedog.”

Constance promptly batted Mangiz beak over tailfeathers in one mighty sweep of her powerful forepaw, then with a roar she charged in among the rooks.

Ironbeak and his fighters retaliated instantly. They were on Constance, pecking, scratching and tearing. Winifred and Ambrose ran to her rescue. Belaboring furiously, they whacked away at anything feathered with their stout staves.

The fight did not last long. Ironbeak and his fighters were driven back by the fast onslaught of the Redwallers. They retreated to a boxroom, slamming the door and locking it from the inside.

Constance shook blood from her muzzle as she banged on the door. “You in there, Ironbeak or whatever you call yourself, get out of this Abbey and take your birds with you. We do not allow trespassers at Redwall.”

The reply was instant and bold. “Yaggah! I am General Ironbeak, greatest fighter in all the northlands. This is my redstone house, and I will slay you all if you do not leave.”

The Abbot came hurrying up, accompanied by Brother Dan and Sister Agnes. He motioned Constance to be silent. Though the badger was obviously fuming with temper she bowed to the Abbot’s wish.

The old mouse rapped lightly on the door. “Hello in there. I am Mordalfus, Abbot of Redwall. I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding. We mean you no harm, we are a friendly order of creatures. If you wish to stay the night then you may. We have food and treatment for any creature who is sick or injured. Hello, can you hear me?”

This time it was Mangiz the crow who replied. “General Ironbeak’s word is the law. This place is his now. We are in your roof spaces, and there are many of us, all seasoned warriors from the north. There were some sparrows when we arrived, but they have all been slain. You too will be slain if you do not leave the redstone house.”

The Abbot shook his head sadly as Constance pulled him gently away. Foremole struck the door with his staff. “Yurr, burdbags, Redwall be ours. Better wurriers than you’m ’as troid to take it offen us an’ failed mizzuble, so they ’ave.”

Winifred shouldered her stave. “Sounds as if they’ve gone. We’d best get back to Cavern Hole and decide what we are going to do.”

There was a loud hubbub and clamor in Cavern Hole, and sleep was forgotten. Sister May was the heroine of the hour after Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse told how she attacked the big bird single-pawed to rescue Rollo.

Sister May was a simple and modest mouse. “Well, mercy me, I may be only the infirmary Sister, but I couldn’t let that great bully harm our Rollo,” she told them. “Poor little mite, he was frightened clear out of his wits, and so was I. Do you know, I’m still not sure it was me who attacked that bird.”

Foremole and Constance were whispering together in a corner when the Abbot banged a wooden bowl upon the tabletop.

“Quiet. Quiet, please! Well, eight seasons of peace since the Great War and now one summer strewn with trouble. First the fox and his band, now this!”

Constance’s heavy paw shook the table. “Silence, listen to your Abbot!” she ordered.

Foremole raised a paw. “’scuse oi, me an moi moles got wurk t’do. May us be ’scused, zurr?”

The Abbot looked over the top of his spectacles. “Certainly, Foremole. Now, the rest of you listen to me. Wherever Matthias is now, or Jess Squirrel, or Basil, I’m sure they would wish us to get on with this problem and help ourselves.”

“Thank you. I must say a word regarding Sister May. What she did tonight was very brave—”

“Aye ’twas that,” Ambrose Spike piped up. “Maybe she’s after our Warrior’s job instead of mindin’ that old infirmary.”

Sister May blushed to her whiskertips. “Oh, what a naughty thing to say, Mr. Spike!”

“Perhaps Ambrose is right, maybe we do need a Warrior in a situation like this. Can anyone suggest a suitable candidate?”

The badger stood up. “First, I suggest you all bed down here for the night. It doesn’t look too safe up in the dormitories at the moment. If you must leave Cavern Hole, let Winifred or Ambrose know. Do not wander about alone, especially out in the open. I will sleep on the steps between here and Great Hall tonight. Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do about the raven and his crew.”

There was a great bustle of activity. Some of the infants thought it great fun to be sleeping in Cavern Hole and they made blanket tents from the edge of the table to the floor.

“I’m at a bit of a loss to say, Abbot. They must have been watching the Abbey, because they wouldn’t have found it so easy to occupy the roofspaces with Queen Warbeak and all her warriors at home.”

“Aye, now it’s up to us to make ’em see the error of their ways and send ’em packin’, gurt cheeky birds.”

“The hedgepig and the waterhound too. We underestimated these earthcrawlers, Mangiz. They will have to be taught a lesson.”

“Aye, tomorrow will be their dying day,” vowed the crow. “Oh, you are bleeding, my General.”

Ironbeak was glad he had been alone when Sister May attacked him. It would not do for his fighters to see their leader vanquished by a small female mouse. He shook blood from his talon.

“Yaah! It is nothing, a scratch. As you say, my Mangiz, tomorrow will be the dying day of these earthcrawlers. Post sentries at the eaves, and watch for Quickbill and his brothers bringing in supplies.”

Dawn was long past at the foot of the high cliffs. Matthias and the searchers had reached the cliffs after dark, and ever since daybreak they ranged far and wide. Everywhere they were faced with sheer inward curving expanses; nowhere was there a way up to the plateau. It was just before midmorning when Matthias sat on a small mound with Basil and Cheek. The old hare shook his ears mournfully.

“Bollywoggled. That’s what we are, old lad, flummicated! Blow me, there’s no way to the top of that cliff unless we sprout wings.”

“We need a big ladder. That’d be better than wings,” Cheek sniggered impudently and ducked Basil’s paw.

Jabez Stump marched up with a huge brown owl waddling behind him. “Matthias, meet Sir ’Arry the Muse.”

Matthias bowed courteously in return. “Good morning, Sir Harry. I am called Matthias, Warrior of Redwall, this young otter is Cheek, by name and nature. Last but not least, allow me to present Basil Stag Hare, retired scout and foot fighter.”

Basil made an elegant leg. “Ah y’service, sah. But why are you called the Muse?”

“Why, pray, do you suppose?

I’m master of poetry and prose,

No equal have I in field or wood,

No creature a smidgeon, a fraction as good.

And if you need a poet, why, here’s one to choose,

This Owl. . . . Sir Harry the Muse.”

Matthias leaned on his sword. “Well said indeed. Unfortunately, we are not looking for a poet at the moment, Sir Harry.”

“Then tell me what you need.

Someone to perform a deed?

A mummer perhaps, or a singer of songs?

A champion, a righter of wrongs?

A companion, maybe, to stand at your side?

For my talents are varied and wide.”

“We’re looking for some creature who’s too modest for words, haha.” Cheek anticipated Basil’s paw this time, and dodged to one side.

Matthias nodded towards the clifftop. “We need someone who can get us up there.”

Sir Harry preened his feathers, averting his eyes from Matthias. “Cake, have you any cake?”

“Because this is business. Verse is for conversation and pleasantry. Business is business, straight speaking.”

“Business for goodness sake,

Perhaps we can find some cake.

Maybe, my friend, we will bring to you

A shrewcake baked by a shrew.”

At first Sir Harry looked undecided, then he stamped his talons and clacked his hooked beak in approval.

“Not bad, not bad at all.

At least it made me smile.

For a Warrior, I’d say quite good,

You have a certain style.”

Matthias sheathed his sword. “Wait here, sir. I’ll be back in a short while, then we can talk business.”

“I beg you listen to me,

I’m a fellow spirit, you see.

I was once considered a champion poet.

I just thought you’d like to know it. . . .”

“I beg, I implore you, sir,

Stick to being a hare!”

Basil twiddled his ears huffily. “Hmph! Some chaps wouldn’t know a rhyme if you chopped it up and served it with custard in a bowl. Stick to being a hare, huh!”

Matthias reappeared with Log-a-Log. The shrew leader was carrying a flat white cake, its sides oozed honey, and dark specks at its middle were definitely some kind of dried fruit baked into it. He presented it to Sir Harry.

The owl looked it over dubiously. He pecked at the cake, made small noises of approval, then gobbled it up greedily. Crumbs of shrewcake still clung to his beak as he nodded in satisfaction.

“Excellent! Didn’t look like much, but it tasted wonderful. How many more of these have you got?”

Matthias shrugged. “As many as it takes. The Guosim are good cooks. All they need is a small fire, a thin slab of rock and their own ingredients. But first I want to know more about that plateau. Is there a way up?”

“Of course there is,” Sir Harry snorted, spraying crumbs over Cheek. “Nothing moves around here that I don’t know about. I watched the fox and his band taking a slave line up there yesterday. There are rope ladders on the top. They pulled them up so you couldn’t follow. How many shrewcakes in a batch?”

“That many? Good! I’ll fly up and drop the ladders down, but don’t ask me to do any more. I stay well clear of the toplands normally. It’s a strange world, too much death.”

Sir Harry did a short ungainly run and took off into graceful flight. He circled and wheeled, then flew up to the cliff top.

Log-a-Log called the shrews together, issuing orders to the two on cooking duty. Basil and Matthias marshalled the rest into lines ready for the ascent.

Jess Squirrel watched the top anxiously. “Look out, stand back, here come the rope ladders,” she reported.

Bumping and unfurling their way down the cliff face, the twin ladders unravelled, stopping just short of the place where Cheek stood.

Jess sprang on to one, scuttling up with all the agility of a champion climber, calling out as she went. “Wait there, I’ll go to the top and make sure all is secure.”

Sir Harry came winging down. He stood counting the shrewcakes as the cooks laid them on the grass to cool. Satisfied the total was correct, he turned to Matthias.

“Our business is concluded,

You’ve paid me what I’m due.

The journey ahead is perilous,

Good fortune go with you.”

Jess waved all clear from the top. Matthias and Log-a-Log mounted the rope ladders and began to climb.

“Good luck and good eating to you, Sir Harry,” the warrior mouse called back. “I hope we meet again.” The poetic owl bit into a shrewcake. He burned his tongue on the hot liquid honey but carried on eating and muttering,

“Those that venture upward,

Are only the brave and insane.

Though I hate to predict,

From the path that you’ve picked,

I doubt that we’ll meet again.”

Matthias was too far up the rope ladder to hear. He was intent on reaching the plateau, regardless of what lay in store.