Mattimeo

Chapter 3

“Mattimeo, Mattimeo!”

Cornflower wrung her paws distractedly. She took one last look around Cavern Hole before climbing

the stairs to Great Hall. It was quiet and cool in the Abbey’s largest room. Shafts of sunlight, multi-coloured

from the stained-glass windows, lanced downwards, etching small pools of rainbow-hued light on the

ancient stone floor.

The mouse wandered outside, murmuring beneath her breath as she bustled along, “Where has the

little snip gone this time, I wonder? Oh, Matti, you’ll have me grey before my time.”

John Churchmouse was climbing rather stiffly down from the west wall stairs with his book and quill.

He almost bumped into Cornflower as she crossed the grounds.

“Afternoon, ma’am. My, my, you look busy.”

Cornflower sat upon the bottom step and heaved a huge sigh. She fanned her whiskers with her paw.

“Busy isn’t the word for it, Mr. Churchmouse. I’ve spent the last hour looking for that son of mine. You

haven’t seen him, by any chance?”

The kindly recorder patted Cornflower’s paw. “There, there, don’t you worry your head, ma’am. If your

little Matti is anywhere, he’ll be with my Tim and Tess. Young rips, they were supposed to be helping

Brother Rufus to write out place names for the table. Ha, there he is now. Hi, Rufus, seen anything of Tim,

Tess or young Matti lately?”

Brother Rufus strode across, shaking his head. He waggled a scroll of birchbark parchment at them

both.

“Ruined!” he exclaimed. “Just look at this list they’re supposed to have written. I can’t possibly use any

of this for place settings. Look, Abbot Mordalfus, spelt with one ‘b,’ Basil Stag Hare, you’d think that was

simple enough. Oh no, they’ve spelt Basil ‘Bazzerl’ and put an ‘e’ on the end of Stag!”

John Churchmouse pulled forth a kerchief. He blew his snout loudly to disguise the laughter that was

shaking him. “Hmm, yes, ahaha. ’Scuse me, well, that wouldn’t have been my Tess, you know. She’s quite

good at the spelling.”

Brother Rufus rolled the parchment tightly. “It’s that little Mattimeo, he’s the ringleader. I know you

may not like that, Cornflower marm, but it’s the truth!” His voice was shrill with frustration.

Cornflower nodded her head sadly. “Yes, I’m afraid I must agree with you, Brother Rufus. Matti is

becoming a real problem. I daren’t tell his father half the things he gets up to.”

John Churchmouse peered sympathetically over the top of his square eyeglasses. “Maybe it’d be better

to do so, if you’ll excuse me for saying. Young Matti will have to start growing up sometime if he ever

hopes to become the Warrior of Redwall like his father Matthias. Mattimeo will have to start behaving

responsibly instead of going about like a spoilt brat, if you’ll pardon the expression, ma’am.”

Cornflower stood up. “I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Churchmouse, but we may be judging Matti

a little unfairly. After all, he does have quite a lot to live up to, being the son of Redwall’s Warrior. Besides,

practically every woodlander within our walls has spoiled him since the day he was born.”

Both John and Rufus nodded their heads in agreement.

The awkward silence which followed was immediately broken by a band of small creatures headed by a

young mole who waved his digging claws wildly.

“Cumm yurr quickly, gennelmice, ’asten ee. Li’l Matti be a-slayin’ Vitch. Do ’urry!”

Even though the little creature was speaking in the quaint and complicated molespeech, they

understood the urgency of his message.

“Where, where?” they cried. “Take us there quickly!”

The group dashed around the south Abbey gable, taking the shortcut to the east grounds.

Cornflower picked up her skirts, narrowly avoiding collision with a baby hedgehog. Brother Rufus was

out in front.

Jess Squirrel was first on the scene. She had been up an apple tree in the orchard with her son Sam when

they heard the screams. Travelling from bough to bough, swift as a bird in flight, Jess dropped to the

ground and set about trying to separate the two creatures locked together on the grass. They rolled, kicked,

spat and bit furiously. Sam dropped down to his mother’s aid. They grabbed one each and held them apart.

As they did, the crowd arrived.

Mattimeo was panting heavily. He tried to break free, but Jess shook him soundly by the scruff.

“Be still, you little ruffian, or I’ll tan your hide!” she warned him.

Sam held tight to the other mouse, Vitch, who looked more like a rat, small though he was. Vitch was

not struggling. He looked quite relieved that the fight had been stopped.

John Churchmouse strode firmly between them. “Now then, what’s all this about, eh?”

“He called me a skinny little rat.”

“He said I was not a warrior’s son.”

“He pulled my tail and he jumped on me and bit me and—”

“Silence!”

Every creature present froze at the booming growl of a huge grey female badger. Constance, the mother

of all Redwall, stood high on her hind legs, towering above them. Folding her front paws judiciously, she

glared down at the two small miscreants.

“Vitch, is it? Well, Vitch, you are a newcomer to our Abbey, but that is no excuse for fighting. We are

peaceable creatures at Redwall. Violence is never the answer to a quarrel. What have you got to say for

yourself?”

The ratlike mouse wiped a smear of blood from his snout.

“It was Mattimeo,” he whined piteously. “He hit me first, I wasn’t doing anything, I was just …”

Vitch’s faltering excuses faded to a whimper under the badger’s stern gaze. She pointed a blunt paw at

him.

“Go to the kitchens. Tell Friar Hugo that I sent you. He will set you to sweeping floors and scrubbing

pans. I will not have fighting in the Abbey, nor whimpering, whining and trying to put the blame upon

others. Brother Rufus, take him along, see he delivers my message to Friar Hugo properly.”

Vitch looked as if he were about to dodge off, until Brother Rufus caught him firmly by the ear and

marched him away.

“Come on, young Vitch, greasy pots and floor scrubbing will do you the world of good.”

“Owowooch, leggo, you big bully,” Vitch protested. “You’re pulling my ear off!”

When Vitch had gone, Constance turned upon the other culprit. Jess had released Mattimeo. He stood

shamefaced, kicking at a clump of turf, looking down at his paws. He did not see the nod which passed

between his mother and Constance. Cornflower was giving her silent permission to the badger; Mattimeo

was in for a dressing-down.

“Son of Matthias the Warrior, look at me!” Constance commanded.

Sheepishly the young mouse gazed upward until he was staring into Constance’s unblinking dark eyes.

The onlookers stood silent as the matriarch gave the young mouse a piece of her mind.

“Mattimeo, this is not the first time I have had cause to speak with you. I am not going to ask you for

an explanation, because in this case I do not think you could justify yourself. Vitch is a newcomer, hardly

arrived here. You were born at Redwall, you know the rules of our Abbey: to live in peace with others,

never to harm another creature needlessly, to comfort, assist, and be kind to all.”

Mattimeo’s lip quivered, he looked as if he were about to speak, but the badger’s stern gaze silenced

him.

“Today you took it upon yourself to attack another creature who is a guest in our home,” Constance

continued, her voice an accusing knell. “You, the son of my old friend Matthias the Warrior, who fought to

bring peace to Mossflower. Mattimeo, I will not give you any tasks to do as a punishment. The sorrow and

worry you cause your mother and the shame you bring down upon your father are the penalties that will

rest on your own head. Go now and speak with your father.”

Mattimeo’s head drooped low as he stumbled off.

Tess, Tim and Sam Squirrel kept silent. They knew that every word Constance spoke was the truth.

Mattimeo’s middle name should have been trouble.