Mattimeo

Chapter 36

A full-scale council was in progress at Cavern Hole. Winifred the Otter winced as Sister May applied

poultices and herbs to her deeply scratched back.

“Aaahh! Go easy, Sister, that’s the only back I’ve got. Ouch!”

Sister May went about her task, ignoring the protests. “Hold still, you silly otter! You were told not to

cross Great Hall, but you would not listen. Stop wriggling while I attend to this scratch on your ear.”

“Ow! What are you trying to do, pull me lug off? That ear’s got to last me the rest of my life, you

know!”

Constance pointed to Winifred. “As you can all see, she was injured merely trying to cross Great Hall.

You must stay down here. Ironbeak and his birds are waiting in the galleries, and if one of us so much as

shows a whisker outside Cavern Hole he or she will be slain. Winifred was lucky, she was swift enough to

get away. Under no circumstances must you try to leave here. Besides, where would you go?”

“Well, I for one would go to my little gatehouse cottage,” Cornflower answered. “Or I might gather

fresh fruit and vegetables and water. It seems to me we’re letting this Ironbeak have it all his own way.”

There were shouts of agreement.

The Abbot called for order. “Please! Our first concern is the safety of every creature here. We must stay

where it is safe. There are plenty of stores. The cupboards and larders are well stocked, there is ample food

in the kitchens and we have the entire stock of the wine cellar available. I have spoken to Brother Trugg

and the only shortage will be fresh water. It must be used only for drinking. Bathing, washing and other

uses are forbidden.”

There was a lusty cheer from Rollo and some other young ones camped beneath the table.

“I’m glad someone approves,” Constance smiled. “Well, if that’s all we’ll just have to put up with the

situation for a while.”

“Put up with the situation indeed!” John Churchmouse snorted indignantly.

Cornflower laughed aloud. “Oh, John, you sounded just like my Matthias then.”

At the mention of the Warrior’s name a silence fell.

“I do hope our young ones are safe,” Mrs. Churchmouse fretted. “When I think of my Tim and Tess

and Sam Squirrel and Mattimeo and Cynthia, where they may be now, or what those villains may do to

them…. Oh, I do hope Matthias brings them back safe to us.”

She broke down in tears.

“There, there, m’dear,” John said, patting her gently. “Don’t you cry, they’ll be all right.”

Baby Rollo began patting her skirt from underneath the table, clucking in an imitation of John

Churchmouse. “There, there, me dear. Don’t oo cry, be all right.”

Every creature laughed, and even Mrs. Churchmouse managed a smile through her tears.

Ambrose Spike lifted Rollo up onto the table. “That’s the stuff, old Rollo. You get all these wet blankets

cheerful again. Right, what’s next, you little ruffian, eh?”

The tiny bankvole wrinkled his nose, uttering a single word: “Plans!”

The hedgehog shook his head in admiration. “There y’are, out of the mouths of baby beasts an’ innocent

creatures. Plans! That’s what Matthias would have said if he were here, stiffen me spikes. He wouldn’t want

us mopin’ an’ cryin’.”

Cornflower stamped her paw down hard. “You’re right, Ambrose. Let’s get our thinking caps on. That’s

if we ever want to walk freely around our own Abbey and pick our own fruit from our own orchard, or

even just sit on the walls in peace and watch the sunrise over Redwall. I say, let’s not be beaten by a flock of

birds!”

Constance touched a paw to her snout. “Ssshh! Let’s do it quietly. You never know who may be

listening.”

While the badger was speaking, Winifred the Otter crept to the foot of the stairs that separated Cavern Hole

from Great Hall, picking up a small turnip that baby Rollo had been playing with. Tip-pawing halfway up

the stairs, she paused a moment then flung the turnip as hard as she could.

Bonk!

There was a hollow noise of turnip striking beak, followed by a loud squawking caw.

Winifred nodded with satisfaction. “Good shot! Let him go and tell old Irontrousers about that!”

“If we are making plans, has any creature got a suggestion?” the Abbot asked, keeping his voice low.

“Ho urr, oi ’ave. If’n you can’t cross Gurt ’all or goo out Abbey, whoi doant me’n moi moles tunnel

out?”

There was no doubting Foremole’s logic, as Constance was first to agree.

“Splendid idea. There’s no telling what we could do if we could tunnel out without Ironbeak knowing.

However, I was thinking of what he said last night. If he means to conquer Redwall, he must attack us

down here sooner or later. It will become fairly obvious to him that we have lots of food to keep us going,

so in the event of not being able to starve us out, he’ll attack Cavern Hole. I think we should barricade the

stairs to keep them out.”

There was unanimous agreement for the tunnel and the barricade, and the busy Redwallers set about

their tasks with a will.

Out on the sunbaked wastelands, Matthias and his followers were slowed down from a brisk march to a

shambling gait. Basil Stag Hare crossed his ears loosely over his head in an attempt to provide himself with

some shade.

“Whew! D’you know, I’ll never look a hot scone in the face again, knowin’ it’s come out of a jolly old

oven as hot as this place.”

Cheek tenderly pawed his dry nose. “Huh, quick march and follow me, lads. We should have travelled

by night instead of listenin’ to you, flopears.”

Basil brushed at his drooping whiskers. “I’d give you a swift kick if I had the energy, young feller.”

A broad black shadow fell across Matthias, but he carried on, enjoying the shade without thinking

where it had come from.

“Get down!”

The warrior mouse was thrown flat as Jess tackled him from behind. As he hit the dust, Matthias felt a

rushing breeze pass over him. He turned over and looked up.

Two great buzzards circled overhead, wheeling and soaring as they waited for a chance to catch any

creature off guard.

Log-a-Log fitted a stone to his sling as he sighed wearily, “Heat, thirst, desert, big birds. What next?”

The slings had little effect on the buzzards, as the great dark birds would see the stone coming and fly

out of range with ease.

Orlando called a halt to the slinging. “Stop, stop! You’re only wasting energy. Let’s ignore them. Well,

not exactly ignore them, if you know what I mean, but keep an eye on them. Matthias, you take the front of

the column, I’ll take the rear. If they get too close we might get the chance of a sword or axe strike, and

that’ll put paid to them.”

As if sensing what was going on below, the two buzzards grouped and attacked the center of the band.

They dived so speedily no creature had a chance to do anything. There was a scream, and the two great

hunting birds rose into the air with a wriggling shrew pinioned between them. From out of the blue they

were joined by a third big bird, who soared down with wings outstretched.

“Look, there’s three of them now.”

“That’s no buzzard, it’s attacking them!”

Butting into the buzzards like a battering ram, the strange bird drove them downwards, causing them

to drop the shrew, who bumped to earth in a cloud of dust. Clawing and biting, the other bird, who was

stockier and shorter than the buzzards, battered away with wing and talon, screeching loudly until it drove

them off. Circling to make sure it had driven the predators away, the bird dived and landed next to

Orlando.

It was Sir Harry the Muse.

“Pray accept my apologies, sir,

My conscience was bothering me,

So I had to take to the air.

And now I am back, as you see.”

Matthias ran to greet the poetic owl. “Well timed, Sir Harry. Thank you for your help!”

The owl blinked at the sun.

“I’d sooner fly ’neath the moon.

I dread the hot afternoon,

The heat’s infernal and owls are nocturnal.

I hope the sun sets soon.”

The shrew who had been caught by the buzzards was not badly injured. He opened his pouch and

offered the owl half a shrewcake which he had been saving. Sir Harry accepted it gravely, bowed politely,

then devoured it in a most undignified manner.

“Mmmff, ’sgood, scrumff, ’slovely!”

The poetic owl waddled along beside Matthias as the warrior mouse explained their position.

“I’m afraid we’re very low on supplies. We could only manage to feed you with the same amount as we

are rationed to. Don’t tell me you really suffered from conscience pangs, Sir Harry. You must have another

reason for flying all this way to be with us.”

“I’d call that a very smart guess.

In fact, you’ve called my bluff.

My reason, I must confess,

Is not for food and stuff.

I get tired of being alone,

Can I come along with you?

I’ve heard you talk of your home.

Could I live at Redwall too?”

“Humph! Pesky bird would scoff us out of the blinkin’ Abbey!” Basil snorted huffily.

Matthias glared reprovingly at the hare. “Basil! Courtesy and good manners cost us nothing.”

The old hare blinked grumpily and unfolded his ears. “Oh well, in for an acorn, in for an oak. I s’pose

it’d be all right for him to live at our Redwall. Huh, save me gettin’ all the jolly blame any time a mouthful

of food goes missin’, wot?”

Sir Harry did a hop and a skip.

“I knew you’d see things my way.

It’s settled then, it’s done.

And if food goes missing I’ll say,

‘Blame me, sir, I’m the one.’ ”

“Don’t worry, I will, old chap,” Basil muttered under his breath.

Orlando reared up, shading his eyes with a big paw.

“I see a black shadow. Maybe that is the black line on the map. We should make it sometime about

sunset.”

Matthias pulled the map out. “Hmm yes, a sort of broad black band. I wonder what it is.”

Basil was still muttering to himself, “Huh, soon find out, I s’pose. If it’s anythin’ to eat, I’ll bet that owl

gets there first. Hmph, poetry indeed!”

Orlando’s estimate was correct. It was just as the sun began dipping beyond the western horizon that they

stood on the edge of the great gorge. They gazed awestruck at the massive fissure splitting the land

asunder. Orlando and Matthias peered over the edge.

“By the fur and claw! Look at that!”

“How are we going to cross a gap that wide?”

Sir Harry sat back on his tail feathers.

“Tho’ I’m the most poetic of birds,

Right now I’m lost for words!”

Log-a-Log whirled his sling and shot a stone down into the abyss. There was neither sound nor echo

came back.

Orlando quoted the lines of the poem from memory:

“Shrink not from the barren land

Look below from where you stand,

This is where a stone may fall and make no sound at all. ”

Jabez shook his head in wonderment.

“So this is what a broad black band on a map looks like.”