Mattimeo

Chapter 30

Foremole and his crew erected a barrier across the corridor next to the first-floor dormitory. The industrious

creatures had brought lots of special mole equipment with them, and they began laying a surprise for any

intruders who ventured down the spiral staircase towards the barricade. Foremole smiled and chuckled as

he supervised.

“Yurr, Jarge, lay it on good’n’eavy across yon stairs. Rooter, you’m sprinkle aplenty stonedust o’er the

top. Hurr, slap ’er on, Gaffer, doant be stingy with it. Ho arr, oi’d dearly loik to see anybeast put paw or

claw atop o’ that liddle lot.”

Shaking with glee, the moles stood back to admire their work. The bottom six steps had been liberally

smeared and coated with a thick layer of Blackmole Tunnel Grease and Rockslide Burgoo mixture, a

combination which often proved invaluable to tunnelling moles when they encountered immovable stones.

Over the top of this was sprinkled a fine layer of sandstone dust. To the casual eye it looked exactly like a

normal sandstone stair. Fine blackened tripwires had been stretched across the stairwell on the seventh and

eighth steps. Immediately in front of the barrier, facing the stairs, two green saplings were fixed in wall

torch brackets, bent back and held by a restraining rope, between them was tied an old blanket loaded with

a mixture of stones, soil and a special vegetable compound, mainly stinkwort and wild garlic pounded

together with dogs mercury plant.

Foremole covered his nose as he patted the huge catapult gently. “Ahurr hurr, we’m woant ’ave to

lissen for ’em after this!”

Rooter wiped tears of merriment from his eyes. “Boi ’okey we woant, ee’ll smell ’em a gudd day’s

march off, hurr hurr.”

Outside on the grass in front of the Abbey, Constance was covering for the mole activities with a decoy.

Any creature who could twirl a sling or fire an arrow was brought out to help.

Ironbeak and Mangiz had come out onto the bell tower roof with some rooks. They basked in the warm

morning sun, watching the pathetic attempts of the fighting squads below.

Ambrose Spike marched up and down in fine military fashion with baby Rollo in tow twirling a tiny

sling.

“Right, troops, here’s the drill. I want to see how many decent archers and slingthrowers we can

raise….”

Baby Rollo echoed the last words of each phrase. “Flingthrowers ’e can raise….”

“Now, when I give the command, fire and sling away at the bell tower. But mind, keep an eye on those

missiles. What goes up must come down.”

“Go up mus’ come down.”

“Be careful you don’t get a stone on your head or an arrow in your paw!”

“Narrow in y’paw!”

“Just a moment, Sister May. Point that arrow the other way, please, marm, otherwise you’ll end up

shooting yourself in the nose.”

“Shooten inner noses!”

Ambrose raised his paw. “Redwall defence volunteers. Ready, aim … fire!”

Most of the stones and arrows did not go even a quarter of the way up the bell tower. They fell short,

clattering off the solid masonry of Redwall Abbey.

General Ironbeak was amused at the puny efforts of the creatures below. He sat enjoying the spectacle

while his birds danced jibingly upon the roof, cawing and cackling insultingly.

“Yakka. Hey, earthcrawlers, we’re up here!”

“Cawhawhaw! What a bunch of ninnies.”

“Look at that old mouse, he’s slung himself on his back!”

“Cahaha! Please shoot me. Look, I’m standing with my wings spread to make an easy target.”

“Rakkachak! See that baby mouse, he tossed a rock up and it came down right between his ears!”

Ironbeak paced the stone guttering, hopping neatly on to a gargoyle spout.

“Fools! Why do they waste their energy like this, Mangiz?”

“Who knows, my General. Maybe it is anger at the death of the sparrows which drives them to do this.”

“Ha, idiots! Some too young, others too old, none trained in the way of the warrior.”

“True, Ironbeak. There is only the big stripedog who is dangerous. How can they hope to defeat us like

this?”

“Kaah! You worry too much, Mangiz. Let them waste their energy. It is a fine summer day and the sun

will grow hotter. We will stay here and let them try to redouble their efforts. When they are tired out, we

will strike. I have a plan. Listen, my fighters. When you see me spread my wings, then dive as fast as you

can and go in pairs. Kill if you must, but try to pick one or two up. I want to see what the others do if we

are holding some of them hostages. Maybe then they will see it is no use trying to defy General Iron—”

Bong! Boom! Clang! Bongggggg!

The Matthias and Methuselah bells directly beneath the bell tower roof tolled out vigorously. The noise

was deafening to Ironbeak and his birds, separated from the bells by only a single layer of slates. Taken

completely off guard, they flapped off in all directions, cawing loudly.

Below in the belfry, Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse heaved and tugged furiously on the bellropes, their

paws leaving the floor at each recoil.

Bongdingboomclangbangbong!!!

Ironbeak was last to leave the roof. He tried calling to his warriors, but his voice was lost in the clanging

melee. With his head resounding to the metallic cacophony through to his very beaktip, the raven flapped

off heavily into the air.

John Churchmouse clapped Ambrose upon the back.

“That’ll teach ’em to laugh at our army, eh, my old Spike!”

Constance opened the Abbey door. “Come on inside, I’m closing the door now, I hope we gave

Foremole and his crew time to set their surprise up.”

With his head still ringing from the bells, Ironbeak flew under the eaves to the roofspace in a black rage.

“Mangiz, take four with you and see if you can pick up any lone stragglers outside. The rest of you

follow me. Get that roof trapdoor open quickly. We’ll fly inside to the upper gallery and beat them to the

stairs.”

“Beat what chairs, Chief?”

The crow had not recovered his hearing properly. Ironbeak buffeted him flat with a hefty wing blow.

“I said ‘beat them to the stairs,’ antbrain. Now get that trapdoor up and follow me.”

Halfway across Great Hall, Abbot Mordalfus bumped into Constance. The badger glanced up.

“Dust!” she exclaimed. “They’re opening up the ceiling trapdoor. Quick, clear the Hall. Let’s get

upstairs. By the way, Abbot, well done with the bells.”

As they pounded up the stairs, the Abbot called to Constance. “I thought the bells were your idea. I

knew nothing of it until I heard them ringing.”

“Well, whoever it was, they struck just the right note, hahaha.”

Both parties reached the barricade area at virtually the same time. The Redwallers stopped behind the

barricade. Ironbeak could not fly on the spiral stairwell, so he came hop-skipping round the stairs in front

of his fighters and hit the first tripwire.

Unable to stop himself and being jostled from behind, he injured his dignity and his bottom by trying to

pull back and slipping heavily upon the grease. It was utter confusion, feathers, beaks, claws and wings

massed in an insane jumble as the warrior birds tried to stay upright on the curving stairway. They

slithered and bumped, slid and collided, slipped and cracked wings, talons and heads together. Black slimy

grease pounded into a gritty porridge and the stonedust was everywhere. Each time a bird tried to regain

its balance the situation worsened.

“Yggah, leggo, you’re pulling me over!”

“Gerroff, you’re all slimy … whoops!”

“Yakkarr! You’re breakin’ me wing!”

“Get your greasy claws off me. Take that!”

“Yugg, muy beaksh fulluv greash!”

On the other side of the barrier, the Redwallers danced with glee. They imitated the scorn the birds had

heaped on them from the bell tower roof.

“Cawhawhaw, what a bunch of ninnies!”

“What’s the matter, can’t you stand on your own two legs!”

“I’ll say he can’t, his pal’s standing on them for him. Ha ha!”

“Ho ho! Come and get us, we’re over here, it’s not far to walk.”

“Yurr, ’ello, greasybeak, ’ow do you loik a taste o’ molegrease?” Foremole waved a sharp knife aloft.

“Geddown flat naow, gennelbeasts, yurr she goo’s!”

He severed the catapult rope with a single slash.

Chaos was added to confusion.

The huge slingload shot forward, flattening birds who were trying to stand. Rocks, soil and rotting

vegetable matter pounded in a torrent upon the floundering birds. The evil-smelling compound enveloped

them.

Completely defeated, the birds slithered messily up the stairwell. Ironbeak tried to spit the evil

concoction out as he thudded and bumped his way up, sometimes slipping back a stair, often falling

heavily against the walls. All around him his warriors suffered the same predicament. Floundering, cursing

and skidding, they beat an ignominious retreat, with the laughter of the Redwallers ringing in their heads.

“Hahaha, wash that little lot off.”

“Hope you’ve got a birdbath up there, hohoho!”

“Heeheehee, I suspect foul play!”

Ironbeak supported himself against the wall.

“Yaggah! You’ve signed your death warrants,” he threatened. “The moment you set paw outside, we’ll

be waiting on the rooftops. You will be slain without mercy.”

“Yah, go and boil your beak, General Pongo!”

It was a long hot day in the crowded trench. The sun’s rays baked through the covering of boughs as slaves

and slavers alike tossed and turned in the cramped conditions. Only Stonefleck sat calm and motionless.

Slagar wiped his paw round under the silken face mask.

“If it gets any hotter, we’ll roast. Maybe we should have tried to cross the river before dawn, eh, rat?”

“You would have been caught out on the open water in daylight. That means death.”

Slagar scratched moodily in the sandy soil. “Your mob had better be ready as soon as the sun sets.”

Stonefleck’s expression did not change. “They will be.”

Mattimeo moved restlessly in his sleep. Dreams of the dark forest they had left echoed through his mind.

Matthias and his friends ate as they marched across the plateau with the shrews. Log-a-Log pointed out the

slavers’ tracks.

“Nice and clear, still travelling due south.”

Orlando’s face was grim. “Aye, the fox didn’t suppose we’d be following him.”

Basil shaded his eyes. “I say, that looks like a gloomy old forest we’re heading towards. Any more

shrewcake left?”

Jess absentmindedly passed him one. “It’s a pine wood. I don’t like the look of it.”

“Nor do I,” Jabez Stump agreed. “Just a feelin’ in my spikes, I s’pose, but it looks as if it’s sittin’ there a-

waitin’ for us.”

Cheek laughed nervously. “Ha ha, old doom’n’gloom. Funny, I haven’t got a feelin’ in my spikes.

Maybe ’cos I don’t have any.”

Basil slapped him heartily on the back. “That’s the spirit, Cheek m’boy. Chin in, chest out, good straight

back and a stiff upper lip, wot. Look out, pine trees, here we come!” The woods looked deceptively close.

Even though they stepped out briskly, it was past noon when the party arrived at the beginning of the pine

fringe.

Log-a-Log called for cooks to make a meal. “We’ll eat and rest awhile here, because we won’t be

stopping once we get among those trees; we’ll do a straight march through until we’re clear of them. Is that

all right with you, Matthias?”

“Good idea, Log-a-Log. A rest and some food will set us up nicely and we’ll be fresh for the march.”

A short while later they formed up into close marching order. Weapons at the ready, they set off into the

trees with Log-a-Log and Matthias up front, while Orlando and Basil guarded the rear. The first thing that

struck them was the absence of daylight filtering through the thick foliage of the close-growing pines, then

the complete, awesome silence of the place.

“No use trying to look for tracks among these thick pine needles on the ground. And that strong scent

from the trees blocks out everything.” Log-a-Log’s voice was muted and hollow.

“Waaah! Look, up there!”

Log-a-Log grabbed the wide-eyed shrew who had called out.

“What are you shouting about?”

“Skeletons, bones. Can’t you see them hanging in the trees? It’s a warning. We’d better go back!”

Orlando came rushing forward. “Bones are bones, shrew. Nobeast is turning back. They can’t bite you,

see.”

The badger whirled his axe and crashed it with stunning force deep into a tree trunk. The reverberation

of the mighty blow caused bones to come clattering down to earth. Orlando tugged his warblade free.

“Dead bones never harmed anybeast. Now get marching.”

Suddenly a series of ear-splitting screams pierced the stillness and the trees about them began shaking

as if moved by a mighty wind. Several shrews fell, cut down by sharp wooden lances. Matthias dodged to

one side as a lance buried itself in the ground by him.

“Help! Heeeeelp!” Cheek gave a strangled cry and began rising swiftly into the trees, hauled up on a

thin braided noose looped expertly around his body.

Log-a-Log acted swiftly. He fitted a stone to his sling. Whirling it, he loosed it among the lower

branches. A small thin creature painted all over with green and black vegetable dyes fell senseless to the

earth. The trees were alive with hundreds of other creatures, chattering and screaming, swinging nooses

and jabbing downward with sharp wooden lances. Basil plucked up a fallen spear and hurled it back.

Matthias crouched, drawing his sword, as Jess Squirrel bounded up. “Jess, they’re some kind of

treeclimbers. Can’t you do anything?”

“The little savages, they don’t seem to have any language, just screaming and growling. There’s

hundreds of ’em, Matthias, and they mean to kill us.”

The warrior mouse swung his blade at one of the painted ones who had ventured too low.

“Worst thing we could do is to make a run for it. Besides, they’ve got Cheek. The shrews are holding

them off with slingstones, but that won’t last.”

Orlando thundered past them, roaring. He struck trees left and right with his axe, jarring the savage

beasts out of the branches. Shrew daggers made short work of them, but for every painted one that fell it

seemed there were ten to take its place. The air rang with the snapping of branches and the screams of the

painted horde. Above it all, Cheek could be heard sobbing loudly, “Help! Save me, Basil. Don’t leave me.

Heeeelp!”

The old hare was leaping and kicking out with his long dangerous limbs. Anybeast that got too close

was knocked out instantly.

“Chin up, Cheek old lad, I’m doin’ me best!” he called encouragingly.

Amid the rain of javelins that hissed down and the stones that whizzed up into the pines, Jess Squirrel’s

teeth began to chatter madly. Her eyes grew red with battle light and she was far bigger than any of the

strange attackers.

“Savages! Cannibals, tree freaks!” she shouted. “Here, Matthias, there’s only one way to settle this. I

think I’ve spotted their leader, that little brute over there. Look at him screaming and dancing away like a

mad thing. He’s sending another lot in against us. I’m sure, that’s the chief. Lend me your sword; there’s

only one thing this crazy tribe will understand.”

Grabbing the sword, Jess swung skilfully aloft. She was like a dusty red streak of lightning. Any

foebeast standing in her way was hacked aside. The painted leader saw her coming. He screamed at the

others and pointed to Jess, but she bulled her way through, scattering the painted attackers like ninepins.

The leader hesitated a second to see if she had been brought down. That second’s wait cost him dear.

As he launched himself off the bough, Jess landed next to him. She seized him by the tail and hauled

him roughly back. Grasping him by the ears, Jess gave a strong heave and held him kicking and dangling.

Then she swung the sword in a glittering arc, shouting, “Redwall! Redwall!”

The savage chief, held fast by the ears with the great sword flashing in front of his eyes, gave one loud

piercing squeal.

Immediately all activity halted.

The small green and black painted beasts crowded the branches and packed the boughs, uncertain of

what to do. One or two of the bolder ones began edging forward, until Jess swung the sword as if to strike.

The captive leader gave a series of angry screams, so they fell back and remained still.

Basil paced up and down, using a broken lance as a swagger stick. “Quick thinkin’, Jess. That stopped

the little devils. Y’deserve a mention in despatches for that, wot?”

Jess glared about her fiercely. “It wouldn’t do any good mentioning anything to this horde of hooligans.

They don’t have any recognizable language; screams and squeals are their only way of communication.

How do we get out of this? It’s like having a serpent by the tail.”

Basil turned to Matthias. “She’s right, y’know. We’re caught in a bloomin’ old standoff. The moment she

lets that chap go we’ll have the whole silly tribe down on our heads.”

Matthias had been thinking furiously. He whispered to Log-a-Log before shouting up to Jess, “See if

you can make them understand that we want to trade their leader for Cheek. Leave the rest to me. I’ve got

an idea and with a bit of luck it might work.”

Jess went into a series of mimes. She pointed at Cheek, then pointed to the ground. Holding the leader

at paw’s length, she let the sword hang loose by her side. The performance was repeated several times

before the leader realized what she meant. Screeching and growling, he pointed at Cheek, then to himself.

“When they’re both free, what then?” Orlando whispered to Matthias. “We’ve broken the standoff but

they won’t let us walk unharmed through their territory.”

There was a clicking, scratching sound from the shrews surrounding Log-a-Log. Matthias watched

anxiously until Log-a-Log winked at him. All was ready. Matthias took a deep breath.

“Stay close together when we have to move. Try not to turn your backs on the painted tribe. Right, Jess,

let their chief free. They’re releasing Cheek.”

The young otter scrambled free of the rope and made a hasty descent. Bumping and tripping, he half

fell, half climbed, out of the tree.

Jess gave the leader a slight push and vaulted neatly down, returning the sword to Matthias.

There was a pause as the maddened creatures bunched to attack.

“Logalogalogalog!”

The shrew leader leapt forward with a blazing pine-wood torch in either paw, grinning and showing

his teeth. He made as if to touch the heavy pines that oozed resin all round him.

For the first time, the painted ones showed fear. They chattered and screeched wildly, bounding high

into the trees at the sight of fire. Log-a-Log shook the torches in their direction.

“Haha! Desperate measures call for desperate remedies, my friends,” he called. “You’re frightened of

the flames, aren’t you? One move, and I’ll burn your forest and you with it.”

Matthias, Orlando and Basil started the column marching south.

“Come on, Log-a-Log,” Matthias urged. “I think they understand what we mean. Jabez, Cheek, get

those extra torches from the Guosim and stay close to Log-a-Log. Don’t let the fire go out.”

Backing and shuffling, they made their way southeast through the dark pinewoods, grateful for the light of

the torches. Progress was slow. Matthias could not see the painted ones, but he knew they were in the trees

above, following every step of the way.

Night had fallen by the time they had made their way out of the pines, to the shores of a great river.

There was plenty of wood about at the forest edge, so Log-a-Log and his shrews made a huge bonfire,

laying in a good supply of wood to last until dawn. The strange tribe of painted ones had retreated back

into their pine forest, but Matthias took no chances. Sentries were posted. A meal was prepared, then they

sat about on the bank, discussing the day’s events, while deciding how to cross the river the next day.

Further south down the river, Mattimeo and his friends sat at the center of a huge log raft surrounded by

slavers. Two thick ropes connected the ferry to the far shore.

Slagar watched them rise and dip in the waters. “Your rats pull strong and well, Stonefleck. We will

soon be across.”

The deadpan expression did not leave Stonefleck’s face.

“I have more fighters at my command than leaves on the trees, fox. Look behind you, on the shore over

there. Your pursuers have made it through the pinewoods. They must be brave and resourceful. We will see

just how brave on the morrow. My army could do with a bit of fun.”

Slagar gazed into the darkened waters. “That’s if they make it across the river!”

The confines of Cavern Hole became oppressive to John Churchmouse, although his wife actually enjoyed

the close community, chatting with Cornflower and looking after baby Rollo, preparing breakfast with the

Brothers and Sisters. John slipped out quietly, his recording books and pens in a satchel over his shoulder.

He slid past Constance, who was sleeping on the stairs, crossed Great Hall and installed himself on a corner

window ledge. It was a peaceful little niche where he often sat to write and morning sunlight flooded in,

warming his face.

John opened his recording book as he gazed out at a corner of the orchard, watching three magpies flap

off heavily until they were out of his vision.

By the fur! Those cheeky birds had a nerve. Occupying the Abbey roofspaces, and now filching supplies

from the very orchard that the Redwallers tended so lovingly.

The mood for writing left John. He closed the book and climbed down from the sill. Help would be

needed in the kitchens.

There was a disturbance at the top of the stairs between Great Hall and Cavern Hole. John broke into a run,

the satchel bumping at his side. The crow they called Mangiz bowled him flat as he flapped off into the air

towards the upper galleries.

Constance blundered into John and tripped. She sat up, shaking her paw at the bird.

“Scum, kidnapper, you filthy brute!” she shouted.

John stood up, dusting his habit off. “What’s happened, Constance? What is the matter?”

“Bad news, I’m afraid, John. You’d better come down into Cavern Hole. This concerns you.”

The Churchmouse followed the badger anxiously.

The creatures who were up and about gathered round Constance as she flung three scraps of material down

upon the table.

“Look at this!”

The Abbot picked them up. “Scraps of material. What are they?”

Constance ground her teeth together angrily. “Pieces of Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse’s aprons

and a fragment of baby Rollo’s little habit. They’ve been captured by the birds.”

Abbot Mordalfus shook his head in disbelief. “Impossible. Surely they were here last night, weren’t

they? Did anybeast see them?”

Foremole shrugged. “May’ap, but maybe not. Oi niver thought of a-looken for ’em.”

John Churchmouse dashed his satchel to the floor. “My wife, captured by those filthy birds. Where have

they got her?”

He made a dash for the stairs and was stopped by Winifred and Ambrose. The churchmouse struggled

furiously.

“Let me go, there’s no telling what those murdering savages will do to her!”

“John Churchmouse, be still!” ordered Mordalfus. “Come and sit by this table, sir. Come on, do as I say.

You aren’t doing anybeast a bit of good behaving like this. Let us hear what Constance has to say.”

John looked up in surprise. It was seldom that the Abbot spoke harshly to any creature. The fight went

out of him and he allowed Ambrose to lead him to a chair.

Mordalfus turned to the badger. “Constance, tell us all you know of this incident, please.”

“Father Abbot, there’s not a lot to tell, I’m afraid. Yesterday Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse were in

the bell tower. Rollo must have joined them later. Well, when I called all the creatures in and shut the

Abbey door I must’ve locked them out. They probably didn’t hear me calling. There’s no entrance to the

Abbey from the bell tower, so they must have tried later to cross the grounds. Those birds caught them in

the open. The crow said that they took them to the roofspaces. General Ironbeak wants to see us outside at

noon.”

Sitting in a corner of the dimly lit roofspace, Cornflower and Mrs. Churchmouse tried to make themselves

as unobtrusive as possible, keeping baby Rollo quiet and still. General Ironbeak and his birds had returned

from their dust bath on the path outside Redwall. It had done little good, and in the end they had resorted

to wallowing in the brackish ditchwater to rid themselves of the sludge which clung to their feathers. It was

not a great improvement; the stench still clung to them.

Ironbeak glared ferociously at his captives. “Yaggah! You and your friends will pay dearly for this

insult.”

Cornflower covered baby Rollo with her torn apron. “You great bully, you deserve all you got!”

Mangiz had not been caught by the trap on the stairway, and he stayed slightly apart from his General,

turning his beak to avoid the unpleasant odor.

“Kraah! Silence, mouse! At noon you will get all you deserve. You should be pleading with the mighty

Ironbeak to spare your miserable lives.”

Mrs. Churchmouse eyed the crow with distaste. “We would never grovel to ruffians like you. Slay us if

you want, but you will never conquer Redwall Abbey.”

“Brave words are like empty eggshells. You will beg when the time comes,” Mangiz predicted.

Rollo peered out from under the apron.

“Gen’ral Pongo!” he said, making a face.

“Silence! Keep that small one quiet or we will kill him now.”

“Oh, shut your beak, you coward!” Cornflower called out indignantly. “Killing infants is probably about

all you scavengers are good for.”

Mangiz was about to reply when Ironbeak silenced him.

“Mangiz, enough. We do not argue with mousewives.”

Mrs. Churchmouse rummaged in her apron pocket and found some dried fruit she had been using in

the kitchens. She gave it to baby Rollo and sat with her paw about him.

“I wish your Matthias were back, he’d know what to do,” she whispered.

“He certainly would, but don’t worry, your John and Constance and the Abbot will see we come to no

harm. It’s Rollo I’m concerned about. They can do what they like with me, as long as they don’t harm a hair

on that baby’s head.”

Mrs. Churchmouse stroked Rollo’s tiny ears. “Yes, bless him. D’you remember when your Mattimeo

was this size? My Tim and Tess weren’t much older, and they were a trio of rascals, I can tell you.”

Cornflower smiled. “Aye, but we had happy times with them. I hope, wherever they are now, that

they’re safe and well.”

“They’ll all come marching back up that road one fine day, I know it. Then the enemies of our Abbey

will rue the day they were born.”