Mattimeo

The battle beneath the ground raged back and forth. Mattimeo and his friends had joined forces with Orlando and the woodlanders. Heaving masses of rats pressed in from all sides, the double circle continued its deadly function, reinforced by the willing young ones. Jess Squirrel stood alongside her son Sam, but there was little time for happy reunions in the midst of a battle. Orlando and Auma lifted the door bodily between them, using it as a large flattener on the black-robed rats. Nadaz kept up his chant, wailing and screaming as he sent in wave after wave of blackrobes. Shaking his eerie bone sceptre, rattling the mouse skull, he pointed to the woodlanders.

“Die, die, you will all die here. Your bones will rot in the kingdom of Malkariss. The Voice of the Host has spoken!”

Basil Stag Hare and Cheek lifted a rat between them. The wildly struggling creature screeched as he was hefted above the heads of the hare and the otter.

“We’re goin’ to chuck you over to your boss,” Basil informed him. “Tell him t’ keep the howlin’ an’ yellin’ down. Bad form, y’know. Right, me old Cheek. One, two and away he goes!”

The rat flew through the air. Falling short of Nadaz, he landed on the spearpoints of the horde.

Basil tut-tutted. “Oh bad shot, sir, what’ve I told you about holdin’ your end up, Cheek? Never mind. Try, try again, that’s the spirit. Grab hold of that smelly chap to your left.”

Now Nadaz was standing on the big drum. He pounded it with both paws in a mad dance, and the noise rolled and boomed, encouraging the rats on the causeway steps to press forward onto the ledge.

Jube Hedgehog and Jabez his father were unassailable. They rolled into one tight ball, hurtling madly about, spiking rats over the brink of the ledge, deflecting spearthrusts with their needled armour casing.

Tess and Tim Churchmouse formed a trio of flailing chains with Mattimeo, and managed to gasp snatches of conversation as they pounded the rats with the swinging slave-chain manacles.

“Aye, there’s no end to them. Look down those steps. They’re pouring up four abreast!”

Matthias ran farther up the underground workings, dealing with any guards that were left and freeing slaves as he went. Climbing over piles of rubble and dashing through half-finished chambers, the mouse warrior swung his sword like an avenging pendulum, striking the chains of slavery to smithereens and dealing death to the oppressors. With both paws aching, he stopped and took stock of his surroundings: a long passage with a blank wall at one end. Through the semidarkness he glimpsed a vast carving on the rock wall. It was a frieze of woodland creatures chained together, dominated by a prominent relief of the statue on the ledge, surrounded by robed rats. Relaxing his guard, he laid aside the sword and studied the carvings. Obviously it marked the boundary of Malkariss’s evil kingdom.

Slagar stepped out from behind the mouse warrior. The Cruel One dealt Matthias a swinging blow with the metal weights of his three-thonged weapon, and the mouse warrior pitched forward, overwhelmed by the striking bolas. Grinning behind the silken mask, Slagar turned his victim over.

“You did well, mouse. I am saved the trouble of slaying Malkariss. When the horde has overcome your woodlanders, I will rule here. But first I must fulfill my oath of vengeance.”

Like a hunting pack, the slaves came through the rubble at the masked fox. He looked wildly about for an escape route, and his eye fell upon the carved mural a few paces away. The silken hood sucked back and forth wildly as he snatched up his bolas and leapt over the fallen Warrior. Gripping the outstretched left paw of the polecat image, Slagar twisted and pushed in the same way that Nadaz had done the previous day.

The stone polecat swung inwards. Slagar stepped through into the bottom of a deep well shaft with sunlight pouring in from above. He slammed the exit door back into place and mounted the pawholds to the surface, reciting an old woodland verse in a crazy singsong as he climbed:

“A fox who fights and runs away,

Lives to fight another day.

It is not over yet, Matthias of Redwall. I will live to take your sword, your son, and your life!”

Willing paws helped Matthias up. He shook his head groggily as the slave army packed in about him.

Elmtail gave the Warrior back his sword. “You’ll never believe this. The fox vanished completely into that carved rock wall. We were never allowed up this end of the workings, so the rats must have made that carving themselves. Anyhow, he’s gone. What are your orders? Where to next, Matthias?”

The warrior mouse shook off his dizziness. Waving the sword, he began running back up the tunnel.

“To the ledge. Let us finish this thing. Follow me and shout our battle cry so that my friends will know we are coming!”

Like a tidal wave beginning to build out upon the sea, the army grew. Creatures poured out of caves, passages and corridors, running with Matthias towards the causeway steps. They heard his war shout and echoed the wild cry until the caverns of Malkariss’s Kingdom rang with their voices.

Nobody had really missed Constance. As always, the creatures of Redwall were free to go or come as they pleased, and it was not uncommon for the badger to seek solitude and a place where she could be alone with her thoughts for a day or two. The Abbot was not exactly happy with the situation, for in times of trouble his great badger friend seldom left the Abbey. Mordalfus yawned, settling himself on a makeshift pallet by the tunnel entrance in Cavern Hole. Who could tell what was in a badger’s mind? He would probably awake the next morning to find Constance busy cooking breakfast for them all, he thought. He checked that the Redwallers were bedded down safely. Baby Rollo was squeaking in his sleep as he snuggled between Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse, and a night-light burned dimly in its wall sconce. The old mouse folded his spectacles away into his wide habit sleeve. Closing his eyes gratefully, he composed himself for a restful night’s sleep.

The fighting birds of General Ironbeak also slumbered peacefully on their dormitory perches through the warm summer night. Mangiz and the raven leader catnapped on the windowsill, awaiting the hour before dawn.

Inside the gatehouse, Constance had slept fitfully during the early evening. Now she was up and roaming restlessly about. Every aperture she had tried was checked and rechecked. The badger had reached the conclusion she had been locked in by a bird, and that the raven had some plan which he would put into operation quite soon. Picking up a fire iron from the hearth, Constance began working on the hinges of the heavily bracketed door.

As if summoned into wakefulness by some inner alarm, Ironbeak’s eyes snapped open wide and he surveyed the sky and the top of the outer ramparts.

Rousing Mangiz, he hopped down into the dormitory and began waking his fighters, talking to them in a low voice.

“Kurrah! Now is the time. Brightback, take two rooks and your brothers. Mangiz will show you what must be done. Bring the wood. Akahh! Careful now, do not drop it. The rest of you, follow me.”

A medium-sized plank of pine wrapped in sheets was picked up by Mangiz and his helpers. They slid it silently along the floor, taking great care not to let it bump against anything. They moved it slowly down the stairs and out into Great Hall. At a signal from the crow, they latched their claws into the sheets. It was hard work, but after a bit of wingspreading and flapping, the plank rose a short way from the floor. With Mangiz holding it steady at the front, they flew low towards the steps of Cavern Hole.

Brightback and Diptail settled the rear end of the cloth-covered wood securely on the third step down, and Mangiz and two rooks placed the front end on top of the barricade at the foot of the stairs, so that it formed a straight walk from the third step to the top of the table that formed the mainstay of the barrier. The crow tested it. Walking the length of the plank quietly, he ducked his head under the arch of Cavern Hole entrance. Ironbeak had worked it out well. A bird could pass into Cavern Hole easily this way.

Mangiz flapped one wing three times from the top of the stairs, and Ironbeak and his rooks materialized out of the shadows to join them. The General’s quick bright eye sized up the muffled plank on the third stair.

“Karrah! You have done well. We will pass inside as softly as a feather on the wind. Keep behind me and wait for my signal.”

The Redwallers slept on, oblivious to the feathered head which poked itself into their refuge.

The night-light guttered low as Ironbeak crept in, positioning himself on the inside of the barricade where he could assist his birds. One by one the rooks came through the opening, bobbing their heads as they passed the space between the plank end and the curved entrance arch. Ironbeak silently beckoned them to take up specific places he indicated; the tunnel entrance, the two steps at the far side which led to the kitchens with the larders and wine cellar beyond, and the edges of the barricade to prevent it being moved outwards as an avenue of escape.

Next came the magpies. He stationed them at the top of the barricade to stop any earthcrawler climbing out. Mangiz was last to come through. Together he and Ironbeak slowly climbed down until they stood firmly inside the final bastion of Redwall.

Mangiz could not help but admire his General. Truly Ironbeak was a conqueror. Despite false prophecies and fighters scared near witless, he had stayed in command and fulfilled his own visions. The redstone house would fall to his beak and talon.

Constance worked furiously with the bent and battered fire iron. Her hackles stood erect with an unmentionable dread, and some sixth sense drove her to greater efforts as she battered and bludgeoned at the unyielding hinges. Timber splintered and groaned as she struck the door; sparks flew as metal clashed against metal. The stouthearted creature crashed the fire iron into the door again and again, her paws numbed by the stinging vibrations. She had to break the door down, she had to get back to the Abbey with all speed to save her friends from the unknown danger which threatened.

A heavy talon raked the sleeping Abbot’s back. He arched into wakefulness with a grunt of pain.

“Yaggah! Wake up, my little earthcrawlers, this is the day I make you do the dance of death. Ironbeak has captured this great redstone house. Karragaaaah!”

Cavern Hole echoed to the triumphant harshness of the raven General and his fighters, mingled with the confused and terrified cries of shocked creatures.

Tim Churchmouse was wounded in the side by a rat spear. He fell as two of the blackrobes hurled themselves on him. Mattimeo battled his way through with Cynthia Bankvole screaming shrill war cries alongside him, and together they beat off the rats that beset Tim and hauled him upright.

Orlando and Auma stormed through, the big badger practically holding the door as a shield with one paw as he flayed his battleaxe left and right, while Auma was creating havoc with a billet of ashwood she was using as a club.

“Get Tim behind my father. Quick, take that, you robed vermin!” Auma shouted.

Orlando glanced anxiously at the causeway steps. “Here comes another wave. There’s more pressing up from below. Listen, they’re chanting something!”

Sam Squirrel vaulted across like an acrobat. He leapt to the top of the door as Orlando held it upright.

“It’s ‘Redwall’! They’re shouting ‘Redwall’! Mattimeo, it’s your father with an army of slaves!”

Orlando passed his axe to Auma. Grabbing Mattimeo, he lifted him high above his head.

“Yes! Yes! Redwalllll! No warrior can swing the sword of Martin like him. Father! It’s meeeeeee!”

Down below on the causeway stairs, Matthias heard the voice of his son rise clear over the pounding drumbeats and the noise of war. A great wave of shuddering joy swept over him, and he began fighting like a berserker. Rats dissolved in front of him as he battered his way madly up the steps. Nothing could stand in front of the Redwall Champion and his army.

Basil Stag Hare whooped with happiness as he struck out powerfully with his long limbs.

“Hoorah, Cheek old lad. Let’s show these rotters what a fight looks like. Right, you wicked bounders, look out. Here comes the hare for the job!”

Tess Churchmouse and Sam Squirrel flung themselves in like twin windmills of spinning chain.

“This is for the beating and the marching and the lashing and the starving.”

The woodlanders fought with renewed heart and hope. Black-robed rats went hurling over the ledge, they fell back down the steps, and for the first time they tried to escape by the tunnel entrance. Orlando hurried through and blocked their exit. He stood with his back against the door, wielding his axe.

The shrews fought like little demons under the leadership of Flugg, their new Log-a-Log. Leaping and stabbing, twisting and hacking, they were everywhere at once, shouting the Guosim war cry:

Nadaz saw the battle had gone against the creatures of Malkariss. All was lost. The purple-robed rat slipped quietly off the drum. Abandoning his bone sceptre, he weaved between the blackrobes until he was behind the statue of the white polecat. Only Tim Churchmouse saw him enter the statue. He remembered what he had just seen before leaping back into the fray.

Now Matthias and his slave army were near the top of the causeway steps. Behind them they left a trail of slain blackrobes. Others had leapt from the stairs into the void rather than face the creatures they had treated so cruelly, or the hot-eyed warlord who led them.

Basil and Mattimeo fought their way down the causeway until they met Matthias on the stairs. The old hare twirled his ears in the most curious manner.

The light of battle left Matthias’s eyes as he gazed upon his long-lost young one. He threw his paws round Mattimeo, hugging him fiercely. Tears sprang to the Warrior’s eyes as he pressed his face against his son’s ragged habit.

Basil nodded back towards the ledge. “Come on, chaps. There’s still a battle t’ be finished. Those blighters don’t want to give up. Gang of bally fanatics, if you ask me.”

Outside, the small wooded copse lay peaceful. Butterflies fluttered about the business of summer, grasshoppers chirrupped and small insects slept on mossy stones, oblivious to the carnage that raged in the charnel house beneath them.

A short distance from the copse, Slagar lay behind a rocky outcrop, the deadly bolas grasped firmly in his paws. Warm rays of golden sun beat down upon his torn and stained cloak, making the silken harlequin pattern tawdry against the emerald green of the grass. The hood fluttered and moved spasmodically as the Cruel One muttered to himself, his dreams of power shattered by the very creatures he had sworn vengeance upon. But Slagar would never admit defeat after all he had been through. His breath rasped harshly as he made insane promises to himself.

“Slagar will win in the end. Am I not the Lord of light and darkness? I never needed Malkariss or Nadaz, or anybeast. If the blackrobes win then I will rule them. If Nadaz lives I will slay him and say it was he who betrayed Malkariss. If the woodlanders are victorious then I will slay Matthias and take the sword. I know now, the sword of Redwall is magic, and whoever holds it is the leader.”

The defeated woodlanders were huddled against the walls of Cavern Hole. Ironbeak stared at them and wondered how a ragtailed little bunch of earthcrawlers managed to cause him so much trouble.

Under the fierce eye of the raven General, Cornflower drew baby Rollo close and hugged him.

Mangiz strutted up and down, his voice harsh with power. “Krakkah! Now, earthcrawlers, you will pay for your defiance. I am the voice of the great General Ironbeak, mightiest fighter in all the northlands. He does not wish to speak with scum like you. Think of all the silly little tricks you have played. You could not fight like real warriors. Filthy grease and dirt, drugging our magpies, stupid mouse ghosts. Who did you think you were dealing with?”

The hedgehog was forced to curl up defensively as he was set upon by vicious rook beaks. Winifred managed to fend them off. She helped Ambrose up, and he shook himself defiantly.

“They couldn’t hurt one of the Spikes. I’m all right,” he told the otter.

“Where is your great stripedog now?” Mangiz sneered. “She has run away in fright.”

Brother Rufus shook his curled up paw at the crow. “What have you done to our Constance, you villain?”

“Silence, mouse! Worry about your own fate. The great stripedog will meet hers in good time, but you, all of you, this day will be your last. You will die in this place!”

Abbot Mordalfus shuffled forward. “Let them go. It was none of their doing. I am Abbot here, and I alone am responsible for defying your leader. Take me.”

Ironbeak dashed forward and knocked the Abbot down. “Yagga! I am Ironbeak. I say who lives or dies, earthcrawler!”

Before anybeast could stop her, Sister May leapt at the raven leader. She kicked and bit, tearing plumage from the raven’s puffed-out breast.

His dignity lost for a moment, Ironbeak hopped about wildly until he had shaken the mouse sister off. As Sister May lay defenceless on the floor, the enraged raven began attacking her.

Cornflower and several other creatures were about to run in and help Sister May, when the thunderbolt struck.

A giant red bird came soaring through from the wine cellar into Cavern Hole and struck Ironbeak like a battering ram.

Feared fighter as he was, Ironbeak did not stand a chance against the ferocity of the mountain bird. There was a massive flurry of red and black feathers upon the floor of Cavern Hole. Over and over they rolled, with Stryk always coming out uppermost, her great powerful talons and beak tearing and rending.

The barricade fell with an earsplitting crash, and Constance was in the middle of the rooks like a striped whirlwind.

Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse managed to grab Rollo and the few little ones, and hurried them into the kitchens. Settling the infants under the kitchen table, they ran to peer round the archway into Cavern Hole and witnessed the liberation of Redwall Abbey.

Stryk Redkite fought Ironbeak across the shattered barricade and up the seven steps into Cavern Hole, where the two birds took to the air.

The raven had no way of escape. He flopped about, bouncing from the walls and windows, relentlessly pursued beak and claw by the red kite. She drove at him with her beak, raked and clawed him with her talons. Ironbeak tried every trick he knew, plunging and dipping. Whichever way he went, the kite was unshakably on top of him, around columns, over galleries, under roofbeams, glorying savagely in her regained gift of flight.

Ironbeak tried one last desperate attempt at escape. He winged straight up to the trapdoor leading to the place in the eaves, and he had actually set his claws into the ring of the wooden door when the kite struck full force.

Stryk Redkite circled the ceiling of Great Hall as the lifeless carcass of General Ironbeak plummeted down to hit the stone floor below in a ragged heap of raven feathers.

Mangiz tried to flee. He took wing and left the ground, flying for the stairs and the ruined barricade.

Constance was waiting. She stood with one paw swinging strongly upward. As the crow drew level with her, she batted out hard. The seer crow hit the far wall of Cavern Hole like a ripe fruit. Then he slid to the floor, never to rise again.

The remaining sparrows of Queen Warbeak’s command took care of a rook and a magpie between them. Winifred flattened two rooks with a big frying pan, and Brother Rufus and Sister May accounted for a rook between them.

Immediately, the fight went out of the remaining rooks and the two surviving magpies. Without their leader and Mangiz the seer, they lost heart. Constance pointed a blunt paw.

“Into that wine cellar, all of you. One squawk or false move while you’re down there and we’ll do to you exactly what you planned for us. Now get out of my sight double quick, before I change my mind and let the big red bird loose on all of you!”

Shepherded by Winifred and Ambrose, the birds fled hurriedly through the kitchens to the wine cellar.

Ambrose, armed with a soup ladle, threatened them, “Move along there! If one o’ you rotten eggspawn so much as looks at my barrels of wine and ale, I’ll chop off your tails and pickle the lot of you in a barrel of sourapple vinegar!”

Constance set the big table back in its former place. “No real damage done, except to your gatehouse cottage door, Cornflower. I’ll help you repair it. There! The old place looks nearly as good as new. Father Abbot, Redwall is yours once again. We await your word.”

The Abbot glanced up into Great Hall. “Our first problem is how to stop Stryk flying about. She’s making me dizzy, soaring and wheeling around the Abbey. John, you can make an addendum to the books on birds, concerning the remarkable healing powers of a great red kite’s wing. By the fur, that bird looks as if she wants to spend the rest of her life in the air.”

“When I was a young un I could never make a kite that flew properly. Funny how you learn as you get older,” he joked.

“Chop up a rook’n make a soup,

Send him to bed wivout any bread,

Dip his tail in ’tober ale,

An’ good ol’ magpie pie!”

The sound of happy laughter rang through Redwall Abbey from the wine cellar to the very roofbeams of Great Hall, where the big red bird soared gracefully.