Mattimeo

Chapter 14

Mattimeo sat in frightened silence as Slagar undid the drawstring of his silk-patterned harlequin headcover.

“Watch, little one. Before I begin my story you must see this!” With a flick of his paw the fox whipped

off the hood.

The young mouse swallowed hard. It was the most horrifying sight he had ever witnessed. Slagar’s

head was that of a normal fox, on the left side. His right side was hideous! Only the eye was alive and

unwinking in the dead half of the sly one’s face, the rest was scabrous furless flesh, with the side of the

mouth twisted upward into a fiendish grin. Greenish gums and yellowed teeth hung out of the frozen jaw,

and the skin beneath showed a mottled black and purple, hanging in folds, loose and lifeless.

Mattimeo was revolted, but he could not tear his eyes away from the awful sight. Slagar laughed, a

short breathless cackle which trickled damply from the dreadful mouth.

“Look at me. Aren’t I the pretty one?”

Mattimeo’s stomach heaved queasily. “H-h-how did that happen?” he gasped.

Slagar hid the injured side of his face by holding the silken hood to it. “A long long time ago, or that’s

what it seems like. Anyhow, it was before you were born. I was a wandering healer fox. Me and my

mother, Sela the Vixen, knew many secrets of healing arts and the herbs, nostrums, potions and remedies of

the forest. Eight seasons ago your Redwall creatures fought a great war with the rats from the north. It was

woodlanders who betrayed my mother to the rats. They speared her and she was left to die in a ditch. I was

wounded and captured by those at Redwall. They held me prisoner in a room called the infirmary. Oh, they

said it was only until I got well, but I knew better. A prisoner is a prisoner, no matter what they call the

place where they keep him from his freedom and deny him liberty. So one afternoon, while your father’s

precious creatures were about their business, I escaped!

“Haha, no creature can keep me locked up for long,” he continued. “As payment for my troubles I took

some baubles from Redwall with me, silly little things, bits and pieces. As I ran from the Abbey I was

stopped by some silly old mouse, some buffer called Methuselah, so I killed him. It was no great fight; his

head cracked the wall and that was that. I was forced to flee for my life, with that great badger and a horde

of woodlanders behind me. Deep into Mossflower I ran. I knew it well in those days. There was a hiding

place, a small cave beneath the stump of a tree, and I hid there. If I had not been forced into hiding I would

have escaped unharmed. Anyhow, there I was, hiding while half of the stupid Redwall creatures crashed

around Mossflower trying to find me. I did not know that there was another creature in the darkness of that

little cave with me, but there was. It was a serpent, a huge adder. I must have touched it in the darkness

because it struck and sank its fangs in me, right here.”

Slagar pointed to his disfigured face, just under the jaw. “Any other creature would have been instantly

slain,” he boasted. “Not me, though. I must have lost consciousness, because when I awoke it had dragged

me through the forest to its lair. I was in burning agony, deep paralyzing pain. Somewhere near me I could

hear the snake sleeping. Silently I dragged myself away from that terrible snake’s lair and out of that place

of death. I hid out in Mossflower for two seasons. All the autumn and winter I lay in a den, treating myself

with every herb, root, cure, poultice, medicine and nostrum I knew. Sometimes the pain was so great that I

thought I must surely die, but I kept myself alive with secret remedies known only to healer foxes. Magic

passed on to me by my mother, combined with the thought that one day I would grow well and strong

enough to take my revenge upon Redwall, kept me alive better than herbs. I stayed alive to wreak

vengeance upon those who had caused this injury to me, to make them weep bitter tears for my pain.”

With a quick movement Slagar donned his hood and fastened the drawstring.

“You lie!” Mattimeo protested. “The creatures of Redwall would never hold or imprison an innocent

creature who had harmed nobody. Our infirmary is for the sick, not for captives. You have not mentioned

my father. What harm has he ever done to you?”

The Sly One leapt up, kicking Mattimeo hard.

“Silence! Who are you to dare talk to me? I am Slagar the Cruel. My revenge is against all Redwall, and

your father is the very symbol of all it stands for. He even robbed me of my revenge against the serpent by

killing it with his magic sword. He will learn the meaning of pain. Not a bodily pain as I have suffered, no,

this will be a far more worrying agony, the loss of his one and only son. Halftail! Take this slave back and

chain him with the others.”

As Mattimeo was led away Slagar called after him, “Tell your friend the squirrel that you have talked

with the Son of Sela.”

The young mouse’s friends had not slept. They lay half in and half out of the pelting rain, miserably

wondering where Mattimeo had been taken. Suddenly Auma nudged Tim, pointing to the two figures that

materialized out of the downpour. They breathed a sigh of relief, seeing it was Mattimeo with one of the

guards.

Halftail pushed them aside roughly as he linked the young mouse back onto the running chain. “Move

over, you lot. Make space here, your little pal’s back.”

They wriggled back, as far under the bushes as they could. It was a bit drier there. Tim, Tess, Auma and

Sam listened intently as Mattimeo related Slagar’s story. When he had finished, Sam gave them the real

version of what had happened that night long ago.

“I remember what took place. Tim and Tess wouldn’t, they were only tiny infants, and you weren’t

even born then, but I was a season and a half old. Though I couldn’t talk much, I could see and hear well

enough. If that fox is the son of Sela, then his name is Chickenhound, or at least it was then. He and his

mother were traitors. Posing as healers, they acted as spies for the rats, but they tried selling information to

both sides. Like all traitors, they were discovered. The rats speared him and his mother and left them in a

ditch. Sela died, but Chickenhound was only wounded. He dragged himself to Redwall, so we took him in

and cared for him. He repaid our hospitality by stealing a sackful of the Brothers’ and Sisters’ possessions

and murdering old Methuselah, our recorder. Chickenhound ran away and was never heard of again, until

now.”

Mattimeo lay back in the damp grass. “What a pity that the snake didn’t finish him off. He’s still a sly

fox, but completely insane. The snake poison and his desire for revenge have twisted his mind until he

actually believes his own story and really thinks he is in the right.”

Threeclaws poked his ugly head under the bushes at them. “Hoi! Get to sleep in there and no talking,

or I’ll lay a cane across your backs!”

Tiny streams leapt and gurgled, rivers overran their banks, the rain poured relentlessly down on

Mossflower Woods, rattling off the leaves, slopping in the undergrowth, spattering summer flowers until

they bent their heads under the weight of water. Beneath the shrubbery between the oak and the beech

trees, the young prisoners chained on the slave line slept fitfully, knowing that in a short time they would

be brutally roused and forced to march again.

Midafternoon found Matthias, Basil and Jess still striking east into Mossflower. They were constantly

finding evidence that the cart had travelled in this direction, such as crushed leaves, broken branches and

bruised bark, but Mathias noticed that Basil did not look too pleased with the situation.

“What’s the matter, Basil? We’re on the right trail, aren’t we?”

The lanky hare pawed rainwater out of his left ear, shaking his head. “Oh, we’re on some sort of trail,

old mousemate, but there’s quite a few things I’m not happy about, doncha know. One is this infernal rain.

I was built for dry sunny flatlands, not great soppin’ forests. Then there’s this cart. There’s supposed to be a

band of slavers with at least three captives, though I’d say a bunch more if they’d been out robbin’ young

uns. Doesn’t it strike you as peculiar that there are very few pawtracks about? We’ve only seen the odd one,

or maybe two at the most. Now, they can’t all travel in the cart, ’cos there’s nothin’ to pull it, except

themselves. Got me? And if they were pullin’ it an’ walkin’ alongside it, there’d be a lot more tracks of

pawprints, mud churned up and so on.”

Matthias agreed with Basil’s shrewd observations. “You’re right of course. That suggests two things:

either we’re walking into a trap, or it’s just a ruse to lure us away from the real trail that the fox and his

band have taken.”

Just then Jess Squirrel tumbled down from a sycamore. She was holding a paw to her mouth for silence.

“Ssshh! I was climbing a few trees to get my bearings and guess what? I’ve spotted the cart up ahead.”

“Where?” Matthias asked.

“About half a short march away on the bank of a stream. There doesn’t seem to be any beast with it,

though. No sign of our young uns.”

Matthias drew his sword. “Let’s go carefully. They may be somewhere about, so keep low. Jess, you

lead the way.”

Silently as rain mist the three slid through the trees and bushes, their senses alert, ready to spring into

action at the turn of a leaf. Matthias grasped the great sword of Redwall tight in both paws. Holding it

upright, he peered across its double-edged blade, hoping fervently for a single glimpse of Slagar the

masked fox.

Crouching low, they skirted a small grove of evergreens, the falling rain covering any slight pawnoise

that was made. Jess quietly blew raindrops from her whiskers as she beckoned them to stop.

“See, over there, to the left of the rowan tree.”

Sure enough, there stood the cart, its gaily painted wheels and sideboards spattered with mud and

scratched by branches. Over the top they could see the coloured canvas lying heaped upon the cart bed.

“Waitin’ orders, sah. What do we do now, old scout?” Basil murmured.

Matthias weighed up the situation. “Well, we’ve got it covered from this side, and the stream’s at its

back. Let’s just lie here a moment and keep our eyes open for any signs of life.”

“Signs of life? Say no more, old warrior chops. That bally canvas on the old cart is movin’.”

There was a muted growling noise from the cart bed as the canvas twitched and bulged. Matthias

issued orders.

“Jess, you take the right, Basil, the left. I’ll go in front and center. Careful now, if it is anything

dangerous then be sure to give me room for a good swordstroke. Come on.”

The warrior mouse gave Basil and Jess a moment to slip off and take up their positions, then he stood

upright and walked silently to the cart, sword held at the ready.

Basil and Jess arrived at opposite ends of the cart at the same time as Matthias arrived in front of it.

Taking up a stance with the deadly blade held ready for a thrust and slash, the warrior mouse nodded to

his companions.

Simultaneously Basil and Jess grabbed opposite ends of the canvas and swept it off with one sudden

heave. Matthias bounded onto the cart with a mighty leap, swinging the sword and roaring.

“Redwaaaallll! ”

At the last moment Matthias swung the sword away. It struck the iron seatbar, sending sparks

showering as a fat little otter lay in the cart with his bottom in the air and his head covered by both paws.

“Strike me rudder I didn’t steal your rotten old cart. I only wanted to play on it shiver me masts I ain’t

messed it up or broke nothin’, on me affydavet I ’aven’t,” he shouted in a continuous babble.

Having said his piece, the otter bounded over the side of the cart towards the river, but Jess leapt with

him and caught him by the scruff of his neck. The sword had sprung from Matthias’s smarting paws upon

impact with the metal, and stood quivering in the earth, a hair’s-breadth away from Basil’s injured paw.

Matthias jammed his paws into his mouth. Sucking furiously, he did a small dance as vibrating pain

lanced through them.

Jess shook the fat little otter soundly. “Be still, you little wretch, or I’ll run you up a tall oak and drop

you off the top!”

Basil sniffed disdainfully, stepped around the sword and confronted the captive. “A little water pirate,

eh? Right, laddie, name, rank and number. Quick as y’like now and no fibs, what’re you doin’ in that cart?

Where’s your slaver band got to? What’ve you done with our young uns? Speak up, you blinkin’

rapscallion!”

The small otter reached behind him and tickled Jess suddenly. She let go of him with a whoop. He

looked at Matthias and nodded towards Basil.

“Stow me oars, ’e’s a funny rabbit, that’n. Talks nice, though.”

Matthias and Jess burst out laughing at the creature’s impudence.

Basil stalked off towards the stream, muttering to himself in a huff, “Funny rabbit, indeed. No manners

at all, these water-wallopers. Shouldn’t be surprised if his mother’s tattooed and chews shrimp a lot.”

Matthias sat down in a dry spot under the cart and beckoned to the otter.

“C’mere, young un. Come and talk to me. I’ve got a son about your age. Come on, you’ve no need to be

frightened.”

The little fat otter laughed. He flung himself under the cart and kicked at the axles and wheel spokes.

“Heehee, this is better’n playin’ on top of the cart,” he giggled. “My name’s Cheek. What’s yours?”

“Matthias of Redwall. What are you doing here, Cheek?”

“Oh, just playin’ and sportin’. I like playin’ and sportin’. D’you?”

“I did when I was your age. Tell me, were there any other creatures with this cart when you first saw

it?”

“Stow me oars, I’ll say there was. Two wicked old weasels, they called theyselves Deadnose an’ Fengal.

I stowed meself in the bushes an’ watched ’em, so I did.”

Basil and Jess came to join Matthias when they heard this. Cheek looked from the squirrel to the hare.

“What’s your names, you two?” he asked.

“Cheek’s the right name for you, me laddo,” Basil snorted. “You tell us what those two weasels were

saying.”

Cheek giggled again. “Heehee, tell you nothin’ ’til you tell me your names.”

Matthias nudged Basil. “Tell him your name and let him get on with his information.”

“What? Oh, righto. Allow me to introduce meself, young Cheek. I’m Basil Stag Hare, veteran scout and

retired foot fighter, doncha know.”

Cheek giggled yet again. He was an inveterate giggler.

“Barrel Stick Chair? Silly name. Who’s the mouse with the brush on her tail?”

Basil went a peculiar shade of red around his ears and cheeks. He was about to give Cheek a piece of his

mind when Jess interrupted.

“My name is Jess Squirrel. How do you do?”

Cheek rattled a twig around the wheelspokes. “I’m fine, Jeff. How are you?”

Jess was about to grab the young otter and teach him some manners when Matthias gave her a wink

and signalled his haversack.

“Mmmm, I’m about ready for a late lunch. What d’you say to a vegetable pastie and a drop of cider,

Jess?”

Jess opened her pack. “I think I’ll have a bilberry muffin and some cheese.”

Basil undid his haversack. “Er, lessee, I fancy a few slices of nutbread and some candied chestnuts. Yes,

that should be just the ticket.”

They pulled out the food and began eating with much munching, slurping and satisfied sighs. Cheek

reached for a candied chestnut, but Basil slapped his paw.

“I’m ’ungry,” the little otter said, giving them what he thought was a pitiful look.

Basil licked crumbs from his whiskers. “So you’re ’ungry, eh? That’s funny, I thought you were Cheek.”

Cheek attempted a half-giggle. “H’hee, no, I mean I want food.”

Matthias nibbled the end of his pastie. “Ah good, we’re acting sensible at last. Right, information first,

food later.”

Cheek eyed the food longingly. “Well, them two weasels I was tellin’ you of, they said to each other:

‘Let’s dump the cart here and get back to the others.’ That was Fengal, of course. Then Deadnose, he says:

‘Right, mate, I’m sick of trailin’ this old thing around the forest in the rain. If we dump it here and now we

can be back with Slagar and the rest by tomorrow night.’ Then they just leaves it ’ere an’ off they goes. An’

that’s all I ’eard, so where’s me vittles?”

Jess covered the food with her haversack. “Not so fast. Which way did they go and how long ago was

that?”

Cheek waved his right paw. “Straight that way, must ’ave been about midmornin’ or so.”

Basil stopped him as he made for the food again. “Just two more things, you little blot. What’s my name

and what is that good lady squirrel called?”

Cheek looked seriously hungry. “You’re Basil Stag Hare and that squirrel’s called Jess.”

“Aye, and don’t you forget it, young rip. Come on, tuck in.”

Cheek went at the food like a savage wolfpack. What he couldn’t swallow he packed into his cheeks like

a hamster, and what he couldn’t pack into his cheeks he tried to grab with his paws. Chuckling, Basil rolled

him from under the wagon.

“I’d sooner keep you a day than a season, Cheek. Go on, be off with you now, back to your mum and

dad.”

Cheek swallowed enough to allow himself to speak. “Mums’n’dads? Cheek doesn’t ’ave mums’n’dads. I

want to go with you.”

Matthias shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s a long and dangerous journey. You might get hurt.”

Cheek giggled and rolled under the wagon again. “Cheek doesn’t get ’urt. Take me with you if I give

you some more information, good information, somethin’ that only Cheek knows at the moment,” he

begged.

They looked at one another. Basil and Jess nodded. Matthias thought for a moment, then he too

nodded.

“Go on then, Cheek. Give us your good information and maybe we’ll let you come with us,” the

warrior mouse agreed.

Cheek sprang from underneath the cart and spread his paws wide. “It’s stopped rainin’. ‘ow’s that for

good information?”

Basil clapped his paws together. “Absolutely top-hole, Cheek old lad. Top marks for ingenuity.

Matthias, I think we need a brainy feller like this if we’re to get anywhere. What d’you say?”

The warrior mouse picked up his sword. “Aye, top marks for sheer cheek. Well, come on then, sir,

seeing as you’ve no mum or dad, but behave yourself.”

The sky had ceased its weeping over Mossflower. Grey clouds started rolling back to reveal a powder-blue

vault above, and warmth began seeping through to dry the woodlands as the sun continued its journey into

summer. White feathery steam rose in banks off trees, grass, flowers and shrubs as the four companions

stepped out on the track the two weasels had taken.

Toward evening, Mrs. Churchmouse led the members of the original search party back through the main

gates of Redwall Abbey. She made her report to Constance and the Abbot, showing them the empty food

bag they had found on the road.

“We travelled north until midday, then we turned back for Matthias, Basil and Jess, wondering what

had become of them. When we reached the spot we had rested at in the morning we found this.”

Abbot Mordalfus turned the bag over and read the wording that had been written in charcoal. “East

thro’ woods, signs of cart. B. S. Hare.”

Constance inspected the bag. “Good, they’ve found tracks. If ever there were three who could follow a

trail, fight an enemy and bring the young ones back, it’s Matthias, Basil and Jess.”

Mrs. Churchmouse’s lip quivered. “Oh, I do wish I could have gone with them, just to see my Tim and

Tess again.”

Constance patted her paw. “There, there. Don’t upset yourself. We all would have liked to have gone

with them, though you had more right than most. Those three won’t rest until the young ones are safe,

you’ll see. Why, one day pretty soon now I wouldn’t be at all surprised to hear banging on the gate and

find Matthias, Basil and Jess standing there with the young ones looking hungry as hawks and ready for

supper. Why don’t you go and see how baby Rollo is? He’s been asking after you, and Cornflower will

have a nice bowl of mint tea waiting for you. Look in on Mr. Churchmouse too. You’ll find he’s a lot

better.”

Mrs. Churchmouse sniffled a bit, then smiled. “Thank you, Constance, you are so kind and thoughtful.

My my, just look at all the mud and wet on these clothes. I’d better go and put some nice clean dry ones

on.”

When Mrs. Churchmouse had departed, Constance turned to the Abbot.

“Gone east, eh,” she mused. “Seems funny, taking the north road and then turning east. Why didn’t

they just leave through the east gate and go direct through Mossflower? It would have got them to where

they were going a lot quicker if they really were travelling east.”

The Abbot sat forward in his chair. “Exactly! If they really were travelling east. I don’t like it, Constance.

Foxes were ever the sly ones. Who can tell what goes on in the mind of a thief and a trickster. I am not at

all happy about this whole affair, though I’ve no doubt that Matthias, Basil and Jess will sort it out and win

through eventually. But suppose they are following a false trail?”

“What could we do about it?” The big badger shrugged. “We are in Redwall, they are out there,

somewhere. Goodness knows where; Mossflower is a big country.”

The Abbot touched a paw to the side of his head. “They are the doers, we are the thinkers. Do not

forget, this Abbey was built by doers, but it took thinkers to conceive the plans.”

“I agree, Father Abbot, but how do we go about helping them by thinking?”

The Abbot rose from his chair and picked up a lantern. “Sleep, my old friend. Dreams are a good

starting place. Dream and think, of Redwall, of Matthias and our friends, of the young ones taken captive

and of the evil ones who hold them in bondage. Come and see me in the morning. We will breakfast

together and tell each other what we dreamed and thought.”

Constance smiled. The old Abbot made it all sound so simple, but the best answers were the simplest,

when all was said and done.

The evening sun sank slowly in the west as the bells tolled out over Redwall, heralding the calm after

the storm.