Redwall by Brian Jacques
‘There was six of ’em, Chief, they tried surrounding me, but I fought like a devil! Then I says to meself; Ragear, says I, you’d better capture this last one and fetch him back for the Chief to question.’ Then Cluny’ll say to me, ‘Ragear, good old Ragear, I knew I could depend on you. Why d’you suppose I took you along in the first place? Mangefur, bring food and wine for my old pal, Ragear the Brave.’ Ha, yes, then I’ll pat the Chief on the back and say, ‘By Satan’s whiskers, you old rodent! Have you never thought of retiring and letting me lead the horde? Why, with a gallant warrior like me in comm—’
Thwack!
A long whippy larch branch sprang forward suddenly. It crashed into Ragear’s head, poleaxing him.
Matthias stepped out of hiding, rubbing his hands – it had been a strain holding the branch back for so long. Uncoiling Shadow’s climbing rope, he bound Ragear paw and claw to a sturdy oak. The young mouse could not afford to wait around for the rat to regain his senses, there was still a deal of travelling to be done. He pressed onwards, leaving his senseless enemy bound to the tree.
The rain stopped. Within minutes the hot June sun burst down on Mossflower, as if in apology for its absence. Clouds of steaming mist arose from the woodland floor, mingling with the golden shafts slanting down through the trees. The birds began singing. Each flower and blade of grass was decked out in jewelled pendantry with necklaces of sparkling raindrops.
The sudden warmth flooded over Matthias, cheering him onwards. Humming a tune beneath his breath, he strode out with a will, almost breaking from the cover of the trees straight out into the flat meadowland. He checked himself just in time. Directly ahead lay a vast overgrown area which was neither pasture nor meadow. It was the common land that had once belonged within the curtilage of Saint Ninian’s.
Matthias crouched at the edge of the woods. He could see the back of the church. There were ten or twelve rats patrolling it, some distance away. Before he dealt with that problem there was still the common land to be crossed. Clumps of thistle and slight ground hummocks would be his only cover. The young mouse spoke his thoughts aloud. ‘Hmm, this could present a little problem.’
A strange voice answered him. ‘Problem, a little problem? Well at least it’s not a fully grown adult problem.’
Matthias squeaked aloud with fright. Whirling about, he looked for the source of the mystery voice. There was no one about. Taking a grip of himself, he squared his shoulders and called out boldly: ‘Come out here this instant and show yourself!’
The voice answered. It seemed to come from directly in front of him. ‘Show m’self indeed! How many pairs of eyes d’you want, young feller, eh, eh? Fine state of affairs, bless m’soul! What, what!’
Matthias narrowed his eyes and looked hard … still nothing.
‘I warn you, come out and show yourself,’ he shouted irritably. ‘I’m in no mood for playing games.’
As if by magic a lanky hare popped up right beside Matthias. An odd patchworked creature, his fur was an ashen hue with blots of grey and light-brown flecked white on the underbelly. He was very tall, with formidable hefty hind legs and a comical pouched face topped off by two immense ears which flopped about of their own accord. With a courtly old-fashioned manner the hare made a leg, bowing gracefully. His voice carried a slightly affected quaver.
‘Basil Stag Hare at your service, sir! Expert scout, hindleg fighter, wilderness guide, and camouflage specialist, ahem, liberator of tender young crops, carrots, lettuce, and other such strange beasts. Pray tell me whom I have the pleasure of addressing, and please state the nature of your little problem.’
Matthias decided the peculiar hare was either slightly mad or tipsy, but his outmoded manner was certainly friendly. The young mouse humoured him accordingly, bowing low with a paw at his waist.
‘Good day to you, Mr Basil Stag Hare. My name is Matthias. I am a novice in the order of Redwall mice. My immediate problem is to cross this land to the church over yonder without being discovered by the rats who are guarding it.’
Basil Stag Hare tapped one of his huge feet gently on the ground. ‘Matthias,’ he laughed. ‘What an odd name, to be sure!’
The young mouse laughed back as he replied, ‘Not half as odd as your own name. Whoever heard of a hare being called Basil Stag?’
The hare disappeared momentarily. He reappeared next to Matthias. ‘Ah well, Hare’s the family name, don’t y’know. My parents named me Basil, though the old mater wanted me to be called Columbine Agnes. Always longed for a young gel, she did.’
‘But why Stag?’ Matthias inquired.
‘Noble creatures, stags,’ the hare sighed. ‘Did I ever tell you I wanted to be one; a magnificent royal stag with great coathanger antlers? So, I went down to the jolly old river one night and christened m’self Stag! Had two toads and a newt as witnesses, y’know. Oh yes.’
Matthias was unable to hide his merriment. He sat down and chuckled. Basil started chuckling too. He sat down beside Matthias.
‘I think I’m going to like you, m’boy,’ he cried. ‘Now, what about getting you to that church? Why, there’s nothing simpler. But enough time for that later, young rip. How about telling me what brings you here? I love listening to a good yarn, y’know. Oh, by the way, I hope you like fennel and oatcakes. Of course you do! You’ll share lunch with me – of course you will – young ’un like yourself.’
In a flash Basil had lugged a haversack from the undergrowth and was spreading a repast on the grass between them. For the next half hour Matthias related his story between mouthfuls of the hare’s tasty luncheon. Basil listened intently, interrupting only when he required clarification on some point.
Matthias finished his tale and sat back awaiting comment. Basil’s long ears flopped up and down like railway signals as he digested his food and his friend’s information.
‘Hmm, rats. I knew they’d come eventually, through intelligence on me grapevine, y’know. Could feel it in the old ears, too. As for Redwall, I know it well. Excellent type, Abbot Mortimer. Splendid chap. I heard the Joseph Bell tolling out the sanctuary message. Huh, even had some cheeky old hedgehog-wallah telling me to run for it. Couldn’t go of course. Dear me no. That’d never do. Chap deserting his post; bit of a bad show, what, what? I prefer me own company, y’know. Present company excepted, of course.’
‘Oh, of course,’ Matthias agreed. He had taken enormously to the hare. Basil sprang up in a smart military fashion and saluted.
‘Right, first things first! Must get you across to the church, young feller me mouse. I say, that green thingummyjig you’re wearin’ – habit, isn’t it? Capital camouflage. You just try lying down anywhere in the shadows. Believe you me, you’d have trouble finding yourself. Top hole cover, absolutely!’
Basil stopped and ruminated for a moment. His ears lay flat, stood up, then pointed in opposite directions. He continued, ‘Now, when you’ve liberated your bit of tapestry or whatever, make straight back across the common. I’ll be waiting, never fear. Good! Well, come on, young bucko. We can’t sit about here all day like two fat rabbits at a celery chew. Up and at ’em! Quick’s the word and sharp’s the action! Nip about a bit, young ’un.’
Again Basil vanished only to reappear some three metres out on the common. ‘Come on, Matthias. Tack to the left and wheel to the right. Bob and weave, duck and wriggle. Look, it’s easy.’
Matthias hurried to follow, keeping in mind Basil’s instructions. Surprisingly, they seemed to work perfectly and before long the two friends had covered nearly three-quarters of the common land. Matthias could even count the whiskers on some of the rats. He covered his mouth with a paw to stifle a giggle.
‘It’s really very simple, isn’t it, Basil? How am I doing?’
The hare bobbed up beside him. ‘Capital! Bung ho! Like a duck to water, young feller. Flop me ears if you aren’t the best pupil I’ve ever had. By the way, is there anything I can do to help?’
Matthias stopped and looked serious. ‘Ye
Basil Stag Hare snorted. ‘Rubbish. My fight indeed! D’you fondly imagine that I’d sit there munching at the old nosebag while some ugly great rodent and his band of yahoos run about conquering my countryside? Huh, never let it be said in the mess that Basil Stag Hare was backward in coming forward! Ask away, Matthias, you young curmudgeon.’
The hare puffed out his narrow chest and stood with paw on heart, his eyes closed and ears standing straight up. He awaited orders. The young mouse, hiding a smile at Basil’s noble pose, said admiringly, ‘Oh, Mr Hare, you do look heroic standing like that! Thank you!’
Basil opened one eye to look at himself. Yes, he did look rather gallant; a bit like the Monarch of the Glen, or the Stag at Eve. Not that a young mouse’d understand anything of that nature.
Matthias expressed his wishes to the ‘Stag’. ‘Would it be possible for you to create some kind of diversion while I’m getting the tapestry? Could you keep the rats occupied, Basil?’
The hare twitched his ears confidently. ‘Say no more, laddie. You’ve come to the right stag. Listen carefully. You cut across the flank to their left. They took a piece of planking out of the fence by the lych gate. That’s where you’ll slide through. When you’ve got what you came for, then make your exit the same way. I’ll be somewhere about keeping an eye on you. Right, off you go.’
Matthias went swiftly, still remembering to bob and weave as Basil had taught him. He made it with ease to the fence, glancing back to check on his companion.
Basil went into a speedy run. He cleared the fencetop at a bound and tapped the nearest rat on the back.
‘I say, old thing, where’s this leader feller. Cluny, or Loony, whatever you call him?’
Completely staggered, the rat stood slack-jawed. Basil left him and popped up beside another rat.
‘Phew! Dear, dear, don’t you chaps ever take a bath? Listen here, you dreadful creature. D’you realize that you niff to high heaven? Er, by the way, did your parents ever call you Pongo, or did they smell as bad as you?’
It took the rat-sentries a moment or two to recover from their surprise. Then they let out yells of rage and tried to seize the impudent hare.
It was like trying to catch smoke with their claws. Basil ran rings round them, keeping up a steady stream of insults and adding to the rats’ bad temper. They shouted angrily:
‘Grab that big skinny rabbit, lads.’
‘Big skinny rabbit yourself! Catsmeat!’
‘I’ll stick his damned guts on my pike.’
‘Temper, temper! Tut tut! Such language! If your mother could hear you!’
‘Blast, he’s as slippery as a greased pig.’
‘Some of my best friends are greased pigs, bottle-nose. Oops! Missed me again, you old butterfingers you.’
Matthias chuckled quietly and shook his head in admiration. He watched twelve rats falling over each other and bumping heads as they chased his friend around the common land. Every now and then Basil would pause and strike his ‘Noble Stag’ attitude, letting the rats get to within a whisker of him. Nimbly he would kick out with his long powerful legs and send them all sprawling in a heap. Adding insult to injury he danced around the fallen sentries, sprinkling them with daisies until they arose, cursing him, to continue the chase.
Wary that there might be other rats about, Matthias climbed into the church through a broken stained-glass window. He dropped down into the lady chapel. The young mouse wrinkled his nose in disgust. The beautiful old church was rank with the heavy odour of rats. Furniture was overturned, statuary broken, walls stained; the pages of torn hymn books lay about everywhere.
Where was the fragment of tapestry?
And where was Cluny with the rest of his army?
Instant realization sent a leaden weight thudding into the pit of Matthias’s stomach!
They had gone to attack Redwall. Cluny must have the tapestry with him. Matthias felt sick at the thought.
Hastily he climbed back out of the window. Halfway across to the fence he noticed a small shed. Somebody was pounding upon its locked door and calling his name aloud.
‘Matthias, quickly, over here in the hut.’
Through a small gap in the door he could see the Vole family. Their paws were tightly bound. Colin Vole huddled piteously on some dirty sacking in a corner, whilst Mr Abram Vole and his wife battered away at the door with their paws tied together. Matthias called through the crack to them, ‘Stop banging! Stay quiet! I’ll have you out of there as soon as I can break the lock.’
Matthias cast about for something that would force the padlock and hasp. Doubtless some rat had the key, but there was no time for that.
By a stroke of luck he found an iron spike that had been thrown at Basil by one of the rats. Forcing the spike in the hoop of the lock Matthias levered away.
‘It’s not budging,’ he muttered.
From the corner, Colin Vole started to weep aloud. ‘Oh we’ll be locked in here until Cluny gets back. I don’t want to face him again! Do something, Matthias! Save me!’
Despite the Voles’ wretched predicament, Matthias could not help showing his contempt for Colin. ‘Do stop whining, Colin! It doesn’t help matters. Keep your voice down. There may still be rats about. Stop thinking of yourself all the time. Try to be brave like your mum and dad.’
In his frustration Matthias swung the spike at the lock. It bounced off, lodging deep between the hasp and the woodwork. He grunted in exasperation, pulling it savagely towards himself to loosen it. Taken off balance, he went head over tail. The hasp had broken; it came away bringing with it some twisted rusty screws. The door swung open.
Drawing his dagger, Matthias hastily cut the bindings from the paws of the Voles, issuing orders as he worked. ‘Follow me and do as I say. Move as quickly and quietly as you can.’
Cautiously, they slid through the broken fence and began making their way across the common. There was no sight of the rat sentries. Matthias guessed that they were off somewhere, still trying to catch the elusive hare.
It was mid-afternoon. The common was peaceful and sunny; butterflies perched on thistle flowers and grasshoppers serenaded each other with their ceaseless cadences. Abram Vole insisted on shaking Matthias by the paw and congratulating him. ‘Matthias, thank you with all my heart for saving my family. We thought we were doomed.’
The young rescuer looked grim.
‘We’re not back home yet by any means, Mr Vole, and even if we do make it back to the Abbey, I dread to think what we may find.’
Mrs Vole nodded vigorously. ‘Aye, we saw them leave the church to march on Redwall. Cluny was leading the villains with Martin’s picture tied to his banner. My oh my, you never did see so many wild rascals in all your born days.’
Matthias’s brow creased in a worried frown. ‘I wish I hadn’t sneaked off from the Abbey this morning. I do hope Constance has all the defenders on the alert.’
It was only seconds later that Matthias wished he had also been on the alert.
The sentry rats had become tired of chasing Basil. Wearily they made their way out of the woods and back to the common land. They sat on the grass behind a low hummock taking a break together.
Matthias and the Vole family walked straight into the middle of them.
CLUNY MASSED HIS forces in the roadside ditch opposite Redwall Abbey. He stood well back in the meadow behind the ditch, surrounded by his captains. Here, where he was out of range, he could direct the entire operation.
But at the moment he was not having things all his own way. For a start, he did not have many archers. Rats are notoriously bad at bowmaking and the fletching of arrows.
From the ramparts of Redwall the field and harvest mice sent down volley after volley of tiny arrows which, while they had no great killing power, were causing much wounding and discomfort in the ranks of Cluny’s horde.
Standing beneath his banner which was rammed
The rat captains marched off to the ditch to make ready. Cluny held his tail up to give the signal.
On top of the wall the mouse-archers kept up their relentless hail of arrows into the ditch. Constance strode up and down, holding a heavy cudgel in her paws as she urged them on. ‘That’s the stuff to give ’em, mice! Keep those bows twanging!’
Knowing the supply of arrows was not endless, the badger looked to the heaps of rubble and stone along the parapet edges. ‘Brother Rufus! Foremole! Be ready to shift that lot overboard at a moment’s notice.’
Smack, clank, bang, thud!
A hail of sharp stones and pebbles whizzed upwards, rattling against the masonry as Cluny waved his tail in the meadow below. Taken unawares, several mice were felled and a mole lay stunned.
‘Get your heads down, everyone! Lie flat!’ Constance shouted.
The defenders instantly obeyed as the showers of missiles increased. Running along the ramparts, bent double, the Abbot cried out, ‘Stretcher-bearers! Over here! Help me to get the casualties down into the cloisters.’
Winifred the otter lay alongside Constance and whispered to her, ‘Hear that scraping! Cluny’s lot are putting something against the walls. It’s my guess they’ll be trying to climb up while we’ve got to lie low.’
Even as Winifred spoke two grappling hooks with climbing ropes attached came clanging over the parapet and lodged in the joints.
‘Stay low, my friends,’ whispered Constance. ‘Give them a bit of time to get off the ground. I want plenty of rats to be high up before we make a move. Pass the word along.’
Below in the meadow, Redtooth waved his cutlass and laughed wildly. ‘Your plan is working out, Chief! Look, there’s old Fangburn and his gang nearly at the top of the wall.’