Mattimeo

Chapter 45

It was midafternoon, and Redwall lay quiet under the heat haze. Hardly a leaf stirred in the vastness of

Mossflower beyond the north and east walls, and the plains shimmered and danced, making the horizon

indistinguishable.

Down below in Cavern Hole depression had set in. It had started when little Rollo and a baby

fieldmouse wanted to go out to play. Naturally the Abbot had to forbid any such idea with the birds about,

so Ambrose Spike took them to play down in his wine cellar. Cornflower fanned herself with a dockleaf.

The heat seemed to have penetrated the stones, even down to Cavern Hole, where it was usually cool.

“Poor Rollo, he did so want to go out to play on the grass. I remember Mattimeo, Tim and Tess used to

go out in the orchard. Sam Squirrel would teach them to climb the apple and pear trees, and that sweet

chestnut over by the gooseberry patch.”

Abbot Mordalfus mopped his brow with his habit sleeve. “Ah yes, he was a scamp, that Sam Squirrel.

Mind you, so was I at their age. I used to get sent off to bed for dashing around the top of the outer wall

when I was a young one. Ha ha, old Sister Fern used to say it gave her dizzy spells just watching me. Phew!

I don’t know about Rollo, but I could certainly do with a stroll outside in the grounds. It’s hot in here.”

Mrs. Churchmouse closed her eyes dreamily. “Mmmm, I’d love to be sitting dabbling my paws in the

pond on an afternoon like this.”

Foremole tugged his snout obligingly. “Burr, if’n you’m laydeez ud loik to wet you’m paws, oi’ll take

you’m thro’ yon tunnel to pond.”

Winifred the Otter sprang up. “What a good idea! Oh, would you please let us go, Father Abbot? We’ll

be careful, I promise we will. The first sign of a rook and we’ll pop into that hole like moles, pardon the

expression.”

Abbot Mordalfus took his spectacles off. Smiling indulgently, he settled back in his chair.

“Well, it’s pretty certain I won’t get any rest with you chattering creatures about. Of course you may go,

but don’t stay out too long and be very careful. I’ll stop here and take a nap.”

Foremole was first into the tunnel. “Age afore booty. Foller me, gennelbeasts.”

The Abbot settled back in his chair with a sigh. A ray of sunlight crossing Great Hall penetrated down

the stairs across the barricade top and shone in his eyes. He watched the small golden dust flecks dancing

in it, his eyes gradually closing as he drifted into his noontide nap.

Cornflower came wriggling back down the tunnel, followed by her companions. She scurried from the

entrance and, not bothering to dust herself down, began shaking the sleepy Abbot by the paw.

“Wake up, wake up, Father Abbot, quickly! They’re attacking it, the poor thing. Oh, it’ll be killed if we

don’t do something.”

The Abbot blinked and jumped up. “Eh, what? Attacking what poor thing, where?”

Winifred grabbed his other paw. “A big rusty-colored bird, much bigger than Ironbeak’s lot. It’s over by

the pond and the rooks are attacking it. Oh, I’m sure it isn’t an invader. We’ve got to help it.”

The Abbot leapt into action.

“Find Constance quickly. Get any available moles and bring them here.”

A moment later, Constance rushed in from the kitchens, covered in flour with a bunch of scallions in

her paw. She climbed into the tunnel, shouting orders:

“Everybeast stay here except the moles. Send them after me. I’ll deal with this!”

In front of the pond the great red bird lay. With one final effort she had flown over the outer Abbey wall,

landing with a thud on the soft gatehouse garden soil. Seeing the water glint in the afternoon sun, she

hauled herself painfully over to drink at the pond. The throat of the great red bird was dry, her tongue

parched, spots danced before her eyes. Crazily she staggered and wobbled towards the water. Next instant

she was harried by three rooks who descended upon her. They pecked and dragged at the great red bird,

lashing out with their clawing talons. Half unconscious and defenceless, she lay at their mercy.

Foremole was awaiting Constance’s arrival up the tunnel.

“O’er thurr, stroipmarm,” he said, pointing to the scene of the attack. “They’m akillen yon burd, they

gurt bullies!”

Constance hurtled from the tunnel and was upon the rooks before they knew what was happening.

She bulled the first one straight into the pond and cuffed the next one high into the air with a quick

hefty paw. The third rook took off, leaving most of his tailfeathers between the badger’s teeth. The attackers

flew squawking through the broken dormitory window, terrified to look back lest the big badger was

coming after them.

Swiftly Constance began dragging the great red bird to the tunnel. It raised its head feebly and tried to

attack the badger. Constance narrowly avoided the fierce curved beak but took several scratches from the

powerful talons before she stunned the already half-unconscious bird with a smart tap of her paw between

its eyes.

“Sorry, but it’s for your own good, you silly great thing. Here, Foremole, which end do you want?”

Foremole scrambled from the tunnel, leaving three of his crew ready to receive the burden.

“You’m leave et t’me, marm. Yurr, Jarge, oi’m asendin’ burd in ’ead hirst, save reverse feather draggen.

Chuck yon rope round they claws. Oi’ll tie beak. Gaffer, be you’m ready wi’ grease case’n et be too woid in

beam.”

Ironbeak and Mangiz flew through the dormitory window with several rooks. They landed where the

attack had taken place. The General looked particularly bad-tempered after being disturbed at his noontide

roost.

“Yakkah! First it is ghost mice, now we have a great disappearing red bird. Where is it, fools?

“It was right there, General. We pecked it and scratched it—”

“Yes, yes. And what happened then?”

“The big earthcrawler, the stripedog, it tried to slay us.”

“So you turned tail and flew off,” Ironbeak said scornfully.

“Chief, there was nothing else we could do. That stripedog is a wild beast!”

“How long ago did this take place?”

“Only a moment back, Ironbeak. We were at the dormitory window when we saw this big rusty-

looking bird come over the wall. It must have been ill because it flapped and flopped about like a new

eggchick.”

“So you attacked it?”

“Oh yes, Chief. We gave it a good clawing and beaking—”

“And you killed it!”

“Yes, er, no. I mean, we were going to, when the earthcrawler came.”

“Where did the stripedog come from?”

“Search me!”

Ironbeak buffeted the insolent rook flat. He ground his talons against its beak and pecked it hard upon

its leg.

“Kaah! Out of my sight, nettlehead, I think the sun in this warm land has addled your brains. First you

see a great bird, then you are attacked by the stripedog, and that was only the flick of a feather ago. Now

there is no sign of the earthcrawler and the big bird has vanished too. Maybe they are both hiding

underwater in that pool. Shall I throw you in so that you can search them out?”

“The stripedog has already done that, by the look of Grubclaw,” Mangiz interrupted.

Ironbeak shook his head sadly. “Gaah! You too. You make me sick, all of you. Watch this.”

The raven spread his wings and hopped about near the pond cawing aloud, “Earthcrawler! Rustybird!

Come out and fight me. It is I, General Ironbeak, terror of the northlands!”

There was no response. The raven turned to Mangiz and the rooks.

“See? It is the same as the ghost mouse. Get out of my sight, the useless lot of you!”

From the hidden tunnel entrance in the shrubbery by the rushes, Brother Sedge chuckled quietly.

“Oh dear, oh dear, whatever next?”

The great red bird was taken into Ambrose Spike’s wine cellar. It was cool and spacious there.

John Churchmouse walked around it awestruck. “Whew! That is a large bird. I’ve never seen one like it

before. What sort of bird do you think it is, Mordalfus?”

The Abbot looked up from the deep scratch he was attending to, “I don’t know, John. This is a very

strange bird. It is not a woodlander, nor does it live on the plain, or we would have seen it from the Abbey

walls. I wonder what brought it here.”

Sister May worked at the other side of the bird. She laid herbs and dabbed lotions on wounds,

bandaging wherever possible.

“Poor thing, she’s taken quite a savage beating.”

The bird kicked and tried to raise its head. Sister May leapt up.

“Oh dear. Look out, she’s coming round!” she warned.

The huge flecked eyes with their dark irises snapped open.

Constance beckoned the onlookers away. “Sister May, Abbot, would you carry on with your healing?

The rest of you go back to Cavern Hole. I don’t want this creature to feel surrounded. Cornflower, pass me

those scissors, please.”

She snipped at the beak and leg fastenings. “We mean you no harm. You are among friends. Lie still,”

she said gently. “You have been hurt.”

The bird groaned and lay back. “Werra diss?” it asked, in a strange accent.

The Abbot recognized the tongue. “She speaks like the mountain hawks and eagles. I’m sure she

understands us, though. Hello, I am called Abbot, she is Sister May and she is Constance. This place is

Redwall. We will make your hurts better. Who are you?”

Sister May worked on a deep gash in the bird’s leg. “This will take a stitch. Be still, please. I want to

help you.”

The bird lay patiently watching her. It spoke again: “I be still please. Diss bird called Stryk Redkite,

comin’ from allrock allrock.”

The Abbot wiped grease from a neckfeather. “Ah, a great red kite, a mountain bird. I’ve read of them in

our old records, but I’ve never seen one until now. Most impressive. Well, Stryk Redkite, lie quiet while we

try and heal you.”

“Stryk need waterdrinks.”

“Oh, right. Constance, would you ask Cornflower to bring water for our guest. Tell me, Stryk, is your

wing broken?”

Slowly, painfully, the big bird stood. She looked indignantly at the frail old Abbot. “Stryk Redkite

mighty flyer!”

Sister May wagged an admonishing paw at the bird. “Stryk Redkite mighty fibber. Look at that wing.

It’s totally useless, and I’ll wager you’ve been making it worse by trying to fly with it.”

The red kite limped sulkily off into a corner and huddled down.

“Rockslip, nestfall, Phweek! Who needs fly? Stay now, here with friends, with Habbot, with Sissismay.”

Sister May took the water from Cornflower and held it up to the huge hunting bird.

“That’s all very well, but you’d better be on your best behaviour. And my name is Sister May. Say it,

Sister … May!”

“Sissismay, goodan’ very fierce!”