Mattimeo

Chapter 23

In the summer peace of the beautiful old Redwall Abbey orchard, a group of creatures sat taking alfresco

breakfast among the fruit trees. Abbot Mordalfus presided.

“Let us put our minds together, friends. If we wish to help Matthias and our young ones, we must solve

the riddle of this poem.” The Abbot tapped the stone tablet. “Where does the poetry end and the clues

begin?”

John Churchmouse put down his bowl of mint tea and placed his paw in a very certain manner between

two lines of verse.

“Right there, I’m sure of it. Listen:

‘ Through the seasons here I lie,

’neath this Redwall that we made.

Solve the mystery, you must try…. ’ ”

John tapped his paw down decisively. “There, right there. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about it. Here’s

where the real clues begin:

‘ Graven deep it will not fade.

Somewhere ’twixt our earth and sky,

Birds and gentle breezes roam.

There’s a key you might espy,

To that place I once called home. ’ ”

The Abbot toyed with a slice of apple. “I think you’re right, John. In fact, part of the answer leapt out at

me as you recited those words. It was the line that went: ‘ To that place I once called home. ’ Right, if this was

written by old Abbess Germaine, then the place that she called home before she built Redwall was

Loamhedge. However, that was all so far away and long ago in our history that the location of Loamhedge

had been forgotten long before my time and that of many Abbots and Abbesses before me.”

John nodded agreement. “Of course, old Loamhedge. That must be the place where the fox is taking our

young ones, there or somewhere in the Loamhedge area. I can recall asking Brother Methuselah where

Loamhedge was, but even he didn’t know. How are we supposed to find it?”

Cornflower pointed at the stone tablet. “Obviously the answer is in the rhyme, because it says: ‘ Take this

graven page and seek. What my words in stone could mean. ’ Surely that’s a start.”

“Burr, ’scuse me marm, oi thinks it be afore that, even: ‘ Somewhere ’twixt our earth’n’sky, burds an’ gentle

breezes roam. ’ Whurrs that?”

“That’s where we might espy the key, accordin’ to that there,” Ambrose Spike chuckled. “Best look

about for a key floatin’ round in midair. Silly, I calls it.”

John looked severely over the top of his glasses. “Silly it may sound, but it’s a serious business, Spike.”

“No need to get huffy, dear,” Mrs. Churchmouse interrupted hastily. “Let’s all look up and see what we

discover between earth and sky.”

Winifred Otter summed it up in a word, “Treetops.”

They sat looking at the treetops. Mrs. Churchmouse was just beginning to regret her foolish idea when

Cornflower said, “The top of our Abbey, maybe?”

A slow smile spread across the Abbot’s face. “Very clever, Cornflower. What better place for our

Founder to leave a clue than at the top of the very building she designed. So, I’m looking up at our Abbey.

Tell me, somebeast, what am I looking for?”

The answers came back.

“Something graven deep?”

“Words in stone?”

“Something that can’t fly but has a beak?”

“How about mixed-up letters evergreen?”

“Two Bees and two Ohs?”

“What does an Oh look like?”

“Well, I know what two bees would look like.”

John Churchmouse banged his beaker upon a wooden platter. “Quiet! Quiet, please! All this shouting is

getting us nowhere. Cornflower, will you kindly stop baby Rollo playing with that stone tablet!”

Cornflower sat upon the grass with Rollo, who was running his paws over the slim stone.

Mrs. Churchmouse tried to pacify her husband. “Don’t shout, dear. I’m sure Rollo won’t harm it.”

Cornflower was shaking with silent laughter. John was not amused. “I’m sorry, but I fail to see what’s

so funny about it, Cornflower.”

“I’m not laughing at you, John, I’m laughing at baby Rollo. Here we are puzzling our brains out and

Rollo has found the answer again.”

“Where?”

“Right here on this stone,” Cornflower explained. “Come and look. I didn’t notice it until I watched

Rollo passing his paws over the writing. Watch him, you’ll see he stops his paw every time he finds a letter

in green.”

The Abbot hurried over to watch Rollo. “By the fur, you’re right, Cornflower. Good baby, Rollo. Mixed

up letters evergreen. Come on, little one, show me. Your eyes are better than mine. John, get that charcoal and

parchment. Take the letters down as I call them out to you.”

Obligingly Rollo began dabbing at various letters with his chubby little paw. Mordalfus relayed them to

John Churchmouse. “First one letter B, second one letter B.”

Ambrose Spike scratched his snout. “Will somebeast tell me what in the name of acorns is going on

here? Two green bees, letters graven in stone, I always thought bees were yellow and brown.”

The Abbot looked skyward patiently. “Come here, Ambrose, let me show you. Look at the poem. Can

you see that certain letters have been filled in with green vegetable dye? Right. I’ve just given John the first

two. They are letter Bs not actual bees. See, here are more green letters.”

It was still all a bit above Ambrose. He stared at the letters, shook his head and trundled off. “Huh, I’ve

got work to attend to in the cellar. I can’t hang about playin’ word games. You can’t drink stone messages,

but good October ale, that’s a different matter. You lot’d look sick without my casks of berry wine, mark

my words!”

John Churchmouse glared over the top of his glasses at the retreating cellar keeper.

“Now, where were we? Two letter Bs. What’s next, Abbot?”

“Two letter Os, John. Wait, I think Rollo has found more. Yes, there’s a letter C. Well done, young un.

Any more?”

Baby Rollo was enjoying himself. He waved his paw dramatically, stabbing it down as the Abbot called

out the letters he indicated. “Take these down, John. T, A, P, W, E, R, and a letter Y. There I’ve translated

the old letters pretty well. Is that the lot, Rollo?”

The infant waved to them and pursued Ambrose to the wine cellar.

“Aye, that’s it,” Cornflower chuckled. “What have we got, John?”

“B, B, O, O, C, T, A, P, W, E, R, Y. Twelve letters in all, though they’re fairly well jumbled. I can’t make

head nor tail of it. Why couldn’t Abbess Germaine have written what she meant clearly?”

The Abbot stood up and stretched. “Because then it would not have been a secret. Those letters are the

key. Once we get them in the right order, we’ll know what the next move is to be.”

In the darkness of the cave, Orlando choked and coughed as he sought wearily about until his paw touched

Matthias.

“Listen, friend,” Orlando said, keeping his voice low so that the others would not hear, “I don’t know

how much rubble has fallen across this cave mouth, but I think we both know it’s far too much for us to

move. We’re becoming weaker, Matthias. The air is running out in here. I keep feeling dizzy and wanting to

lie down to sleep.”

Matthias clasped the big badger’s paw. “Same here, Orlando. But don’t let the others know. Young

Cheek will only panic and Basil will start jumping about trying to think up schemes to get us out. I know

it’s hard, but we’ll just have to sit here and try not to fall asleep.”

“Do you think there’s anybeast outside?”

“The only ones I can think of are Slagar and his gang. We’d be in no condition to fight them, even

supposing we could get out.”

“I wish we had a strong mole with us.”

“Aye, and if wishes were fishes there’d be no room in the river for water.”

“I’m sorry, Matthias. I was only thinking aloud.”

“Pay no heed to me, Orlando. It’s this terrible darkness, the heat and the lack of air—”

“And this confounded dust in me ears, laddie buck!”

“Basil! You were listening to us.”

“Say no more, old lad, say no more. Backs to the wall and all that, I say, I don’t suppose anyone’s got a

bite to eat stowed on ’em?”

Even young Cheek managed a faint laugh. “Trust you to think of food at a time like this, mate.”

“Sorry, Basil, we left the supplies outside so they wouldn’t hamper us in the ambush,” Jess Squirrel

called from the far side of the cave.

Jabez Stump yawned. “Some ambush, eh? We’ve got ourselves rightly scuttled, you mark my spikes.

Best thing is to sit quiet, think hard and breathe light.”

A gloomy silence fell as they acted on the hedgehog’s good advice.

Mattimeo dug and scrabbled wildly at the huge ever moving landslide. The sun was reaching its zenith and

the digging was becoming more heated and futile. Grunting with exertion, he straightened up and passed a

paw across his brow as a pile of loose earth rattled around his ears. Mattimeo’s quick temper snapped. He

seized a pawful of pebbles and flung them at Tim, who was digging higher up the pile.

“By the fur! Can’t you stop loading muck down on top of me every chance you get?” Mattimeo

grumbled.

Tim straightened up. “Sorry.”

“Sorry’s not good enough,” Mattimeo snorted. “Just watch where you’re chucking that stuff, will you!”

Tess passed Mattimeo a broad leaf containing water she had scooped from the stream. “Here, drink this

and cool down. We’ll get nowhere yelling at each other.”

Mattimeo dashed the leaf from her paw, his face livid with anger. “It’s all right for you to talk, your

father isn’t buried in there, is he? Where in the name of the claw has that hedgehog got to? It’s going to take

him half a season to find a branch so we can lever these rocks out—”

“Over here, little hero. We’ve got your friends over here!”

Bageye and Skinpaw had Jube and Cynthia tied by their necks on a rope.

Still flushed with temper, Mattimeo grabbed a chunk of rock. “Come on Auma, Sam, let’s charge them!”

They had reached the lower edge of the rubble when Slagar’s voice rang out mockingly behind them,

“My, my, aren’t we the bold ones? Go ahead, try it.”

Mattimeo whirled about to face Slagar and half a dozen others who had circled round to join him. They

were all heavily armed. The young mouse, still driven by rage, hurled a rock. Slagar dodged it easily and

drew out his fearsome weapon. The three leather thongs whirred as he swung them in a circle, the metal

balls at the ends of the thongs clacking together viciously. The masked fox pointed at Tess Churchmouse.

“Drop that rock, mouse. Any of you runaways make a move and I’ll smash little missie’s skull to a

pulp. I never miss.”

Tess closed her eyes tight and clasped her paws together. “Run, Mattimeo! Run for your life back to

Redwall. Bring help!”

“Go on, do as she says,” Slagar sniggered with glee. “After I’ve killed her, I’ll kill you. To slay the

Warrior of Redwall and his son in such a short time would make my revenge complete.”

The rock fell from Mattimeo’s open paw. Hot tears sprang to his eyes as he hung his head in defeat.

They were roughly herded together by Bageye and Skinpaw. The rope was looped about the neck of

each of the friends as Bageye bound their paws in front with thongs.

Slagar nodded towards the south woodland fringe. “Right, let’s go. Oh, you can take your time now,

there’s nobody following us anymore. Hahahaha!”

Auma made a strangled noise, halfway between a growl and a sob. Dragging the captives with her, she

fell back upon the huge mound of rubble and began digging furiously. It took all the slavers to drag her off.

Beating with canes and rope ends, they bludgeoned the little group off along the south trail through the

summer woodlands.

Realization of what had taken place hit Sam Squirrel like a bolt, and tears trickled from his eyes. They

all cried.

All except Mattimeo. His eyes were dry. Jaws clenched tight, he strode upright, ignoring all about him

but Slagar. Never once did his gaze leave the figure of the masked fox.

Slagar dropped back a pace to talk to Skinpaw.

“How far off are the others?” he asked.

“Within two marches of the great cliffs. I’ve told them to wait at the foothills until we arrive, Chief.”

“Good. It shouldn’t be too difficult to catch them up. What are you staring at, mouse?”

“You should have killed me back at the canyon.” Mattimeo’s voice was flat and contemptuous.

Slagar eyed the bold young mouse and shook his head. “I’ve killed your father. His sword is buried

with him. That’s enough for one day’s work. You, I will let live to suffer.”

Mattimeo stopped marching. His friends stopped also. The young mouse’s eyes were hard with scorn.

“Then you’re not only a cowardly murdering scum, you’re a fool. Because from now on I live with one

purpose only: to kill you.”

Slagar was taken aback by the determination and loathing that emanated from Mattimeo. He glared

savagely at him, trying to frighten the young mouse into submission. Mattimeo glared back, completely

unafraid. He was a different mouse altogether.

Snatching the willow cane from Skinpaw, the Cruel One struck out, lashing Mattimeo several times.

The cane snapped. Slagar stood shaking, breathing hard through the silken mask.

Mattimeo curled his lip defiantly. He had not even felt the blows. “Get yourself another cane and try

harder, half-face!”

“Skinpaw, Bageye! Keep this one marching up front with you. Move!”

Mattimeo was dragged off to the front of the column. Slagar marched behind, visibly shaken, glad that

he could not feel the young mouse’s eyes boring into him from behind.