Martin The Warrior Part 1

Martin the Warrior.

by Brian Jacques.

"Amid the deep white winter snow, Sleeps Mossflow'r until spring, While snug in Cavern Hole below, All Redwall's creatures sing. Old autumn gave us plenty, Our harvest did not fail, No plate or jug is empty, There's good October ale/'

Three young creatures, the otter twins Bagg and Runn, accompanied by Grubb, their molefriend, hauled a small beech log between them along the path to Redwall Abbey. The intrepid trio kept stopping to clear away the snowdrift building up in front of the log as they dragged it through the snow. Singing l.u.s.tily, they pelted each other with s...o...b..a.l.l.s, their breath rising in white plumes as they ran around the beech log.

"Yaow! You'm a drefful villyun, Baggo, leggo oi!" "Hahah! I'll save you, Grubb. Take that!" "Missed me! You couldn't hit the Abbey gate if you was stooden in front of it, Runn!"

"Ho, couldn't I then? Well, 'ave some of this, mate!" The young otter flung the s...o...b..ll, Bagg ducked. Unaware that two travellers were coming along the path from the north, they hurled s...o...b..a.l.l.s wildly at each other.

"Oof! Great seasons, go easy there!"

One of the travellers, a large st.u.r.dy hedgehog, had been struck by a s...o...b..ll. He wiped snow from his snout with the edge of his cloak. The three young ones stopped throwing and hung their heads sheepishly. Grubb took it on himself to apologize.

"Hurr, us'ns tumble sorry, zurr. Be you'm 'urted?"

The hedgehog's travelling companion, a very pretty mousemaid, stifled laughter at the sight of the three delinquent s...o...b..llers.

"Oh, I'm sure Bultip will live. He's had worse injuries."

Grinning, the big hedgehog nodded. "I have indeed, mates. Come on, I'll help you with your log. Where are you bound with it?"

Bagg curved his mittened paw as he pointed. "Jus' round that bend, sir, to Redwall Abbey. We live there." Bultip nodded at his companion as he took the tow-rope in strong paws. "I told you we'd find the Abbey on this path. Right, you three terrors, sit up on the log and I'll give you a ride. You too, Aubretia, rest your footpaws."

There was little doubt the hedgehog was a mighty beast. Tossing the rope across his shoulder, he trudged off through the snow, hauling the log and its pa.s.sengers behind with no trace of effort.

Redwall Abbey stood backed by the vastness of Mossflower Woods, its front facing the path and open flatlands to the west. Capped with snow, the beautiful building resembled a vast frosted cake, walls, battlements, belltower and Abbey fringed with icicles hanging over its red sandstone towers and turrets.

Abbot Saxtus folded his paws into wide habit sleeves, gazing up at the main building. Beside him old Simeon the blind herbalist leaned on a hawthorn stick, sniffing the cold air.

"Looks beautiful, doesn't it, Saxtus?"

Knowing his friend's uncanny knack of sensing every movement, the Abbot nodded. "Remember what our old friend Abbot Bernard said before he pa.s.sed on: No matter what the season, Redwall always looks marvellous."

Simeon sniffed the air again and held up a paw. "Somebeast is coming this way. One, maybe two-it's hard to tell."

They stood out on the path by the open main gates. Saxtus watched until he saw the party approaching.

"I might have known. It's Bagg, Runn and Grubb. They've brought company, two travellers."

Simeon tapped his stick on the snow eagerly. "Oh good, we'll have some fresh tales in Cavern Hole tonight!"

Old Friar c.o.c.kleburr hurried along with the preparations for a Midwinter Mossflower Feast, helped by his a.s.sistant, Alder. Both mice worked furiously, putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to dishes as they called out orders to the Redwallers on kitchen duty.

"Brush more honey on that pie if you want a good s.h.i.+ny crust!"

"Pa.s.s those chopped nuts and greensap milk, please."

"Quick, pull those pasties from the oven before they're too brown!"

"Durry Quill, will you stop loading hotroot pepper into that soup!"

"Ohhh, leave me be, soup's gotter be 'ot t'be any good."

Paws on hips, c.o.c.kleburr glared at the hedgehog. "I wish you'd go back to your cellars and see to the drinks with your Uncle Gabriel. Go on, be off with you!"

Durry popped a candied chestnut into his mouth and spoke round it. "Drinks're all ready, 'tober ale, elder- berry wine, strawb'rry cordial an' fizzy dannelion cup- nowt to do in cellar. Old Nuncle Gabe, he's takin' a nap afore feastin', restin' 'is stummick."

Aubretia and Bultip had been shown round the Abbey. They gaped and marvelled at the great structure, expressing their admiration for it at every opportunity. Later they had been shown to their rooms by a Foremole. Now rested, washed and garbed in warm old green habits, they came down to the place called Cavern Hole to attend the feast. Aubretia smiled at the gallant young male mice who flocked about her, each one trying to outdo the other as they saw to every need of the pretty stranger in their midst.

"Sit here, Miss Aubretia, next to me."

"No, sit here, it's more comfortable. Here's a cus.h.i.+on."

"You must have travelled far. Let me get you some food."

"Perhaps you'd like to try some elderberry wine. It'll take the chill of your long journey away, Miss Aubretia." Abbot Saxtus looked over the top of his spectacles, wagging a paw. "So much help for one traveller! Aubretia, come and sit here with Bultip and Simeon. Here, I'll push up a bit so you'll be next to me. Why shouldn't a venerable old Abbot have the pleasure of a pretty mousemaid's company?"

Aubretia curtsied and smiled. "Why not indeed, Father Abbot!"

Bultip had a ma.s.sive appet.i.te. Scarcely had grace been said when he was munching away, sampling this and that as he allowed old Gabe Quill to fill his tankard. "Redwall October ale, finest in Mossflower. Try it with some nutbread an' yellow sage cheese, young 'og."

Aubretia sipped from her beaker and shuddered. "Whoo! Taste's lovely, full of tiny bubbles too. What is it?"

Simeon pushed a large confection toward her. "It's called fizzy dandelion cup. Very nice with snowcream pudding and damsons-fill your plate. My nose told me today when we met that you are a healer. Am I right?"

Aubretia looked surprised at the blind mouse's keen perception. "Yes, you're right Simeon. I am a healer."

Simeon reached out and took hold of Bultip's hefty paw. "And you, sir, I don't think you are a healer somehow."

"I'm no healer," the stout hedgehog chuckled, "just a travellin' companion protectin' Aubretia."

The blind herbalist felt the strength of Bultip's paw as he flexed it. "I imagine you do it very well. Woe betide the beast who stands in the way of this paw!"

Laughter and merry chatter rose to the rafters of the big room beneath the Abbey. There was warmth there, good companions.h.i.+p and good humour. Dishes went this way and that from paw to paw, snowcream pudding, hot fruit pies, colorful trifles, tasty pasties, steaming soup, new bread with s.h.i.+ny golden crusts, old cheeses studded with dandelion, acorn and celery. Sugared plums and honeyed pears vied for place with winter salads and vegetable flans. Aubretia and Bultip joined in the merriment, enjoyed the food and basked in the legendary hospitality of Redwall Abbey.

It was late night. Sleepy little ones had been carried off to their dormitory beds and fresh torches placed in the wall sconces. Bultip nibbled on his fourth pastie. Draining a tankard of October ale, he looked about at the still chattering Redwallers bantering with one another across the tables.

"Does n.o.beast ever sleep in this place, Simeon?" The herbalist shrugged. "Are you tired, friend?" Bultip blew on a bowl of hot soup. "Not me, I'm wide awake now."

The Abbot watched the soup disappear. "Good, that's the spirit! None of us has to rise early and work tomorrow. It's winter, and there's not a lot to do save eat and sleep, so we eat when we're hungry and sleep when we feel like it. How does that suit you, Aubretia?"

The mousemaid sat back contentedly. "It suits me fine, Abbot. What happens now we're finished feasting?"

Foremole looked up from his turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot pie. "You'm travellen beasts, may'ap you'm gotten gudd stories to tell us'ns, rnizzy. We'm 'card all our tales ten 'undred toimes o'er."

Cus.h.i.+ons and chairs were set in a half-circle round the big fireplace, fresh logs placed on the fire, damped down with snow-soaked herbs to give a sweet aroma to the air. Every Redwaller who did not want to sleep took a seat. Aubretia and Bultip were installed in carved highback chairs. The audience settled down, watching the two travellers eagerly.

"Today as we walked through your beautiful Abbey we saw a tapestry," the mousemaid began. "1 immediately recognized the mouse pictured there, Martin the Warrior. As I understand it he is the guiding spirit of this place and one of its founders. Do you know much about him?"

Abbot Saxtus sighed, shaking his head slow. "Martin has always been here to guide us in times of trouble. His presence was felt when two of our young ones, Dandin and Mariel, were here. Unfortunately they have been gone a season and a half now. Martin's presence has not been felt since. We know too little of our Abbey Warrior. 1 dearly wish we knew more."

A faint smile hovered about the face of Aubretia. She leaned forward and looked at the Abbot and his Redwal-lers sitting in the flickering firelight.

"Then you shall, for I have a long and great tale to relate to you...."

It is said that Badrang's dream was to be Lord of all the Eastern Coast. A former corsair, he ceased plundering the high seas to carve out his own empire on land. He chose good territory, facing the Eastern Sea, with hills to the north, cliffs to the south, marshes to the west and wild forests beyond. Secure at the edge of the sh.o.r.eline the battle-hardened stoat could defend his position from any attack. There he set about making his dream become reality, a fortress of timber and stone.

Marshank!

Badrang was Chieftain of a horde: weasels, ferrets, foxes and rats. He did not trust other stoats, considering his species to be the most cunning and resourceful of all creatures. Scuttling his crippled s.h.i.+p on the northwest coast, Badrang had set out overland, striking for the far coast where corsairs and searats seldom sailed the grey-blue waters of the great Eastern Sea. As he travelled, the vicious stoat ravaged the land, killing those he could not conquer and enslaving those he could. It took two long seasons until he finally arrived triumphant at his destination, laden with plunder, backed by his ruthless horde and driving a long chain of wretched slaves before him.

Badrang set his slaves to work, forcing them to carve a rock quarry and commence building his fortress. The work went well, and soon a living quarters was erected, followed by a perimeter guard wall with its gates facing the sh.o.r.eline.

He scanned the open sea each day, for he had made enemies among his own kind when he was pirating. Fortunately there was never a sign of sail or s.h.i.+p on the horizon. However, he bullied and drove both slave and hordebeast to have the fortress fully built and established. Only then could he rule completely, burning and killing his way in all directions until he was absolute ruler of all he surveyed. Tyrant! Badrang loved the sound of the word.... Tyrant!

BOOK ONE.

The Prisoner and the Tyrant

He was only a young mouse, but of strong build, with a glint in his eye that proclaimed him a born fighter. A creature of few words who never chattered needlessly. The early summer sun of the Eastern Coast beat down pitilessly on his unprotected head as he carried and stacked chunks of rock beside the masons who would shape it into blocks that would enlarge Fort Marshank.

A weasel Captain named Risk swaggered up/ cracking his long whip threateningly, looking for an excuse to cut loose on the slaves who toiled in the dusty heat around him. His eye settled on the young mouse.

"You there, liven yourself up! Come on, stir yer stumps. Lord Badrang will be round for an inspection soon. Get movin' or y'll taste my whip!"

The mouse dropped the rock he was carrying and stood staring levelly at the bullying weasel. Hisk cracked the lash viciously, the tip flicking the air a fraction from his victim's face. The young mouse did not move. His eyes hooded over as he stood in silent defiance.

The weasel Captain drew the lash back to strike, but the bold, angry eyes of the young slave seemed to challenge him. Like all bullies, the weasel was a coward at heart. Averting his gaze from the piercing stare, Hisk 11.

snapped his whip in the direction of some more timid creatures.

"C'mon, you worthless idlers, no work, no food. Move your carca.s.ses. 'Ere comes Lord Badrang!"

Flanked by his aides, Gurrad the rat and Skalrag the fox, Badrang the Tyrant strode imperiously onto the site. He waited while two hedgehogs hurriedly built him a makes.h.i.+ft seat from stone blocks. Skalrag swiftly covered it with a velvet cloak. Badrang sat, gazing at the work going on around him.

The stoat Lord addressed Hisk: "Will my fortress be finished before summer is out?"

Hisk waved his coiled whip about at the slaves. "Lord, if the weather was cooler an' we 'ad more creatures..."

Badrang moved swiftly in his anger. Seizing a pebble, he hurled it, striking Hisk on the jaw. The weasel Captain stood dumbly, blood trickling from his lip as the Tyrant berated him.

"Excuses! I don't want to hear complaints or excuses, d'you hear me? What I need is a fortress built before autumn. Well, don't stand there snivelling, get on with it!"

Immediately, Hisk got to work, flaying about with the whip as he pa.s.sed on his master's bad mood.

"Move, you useless lumps! You heard Lord Badrang, Marshank must be ready before the season's out! It'll be double the work an' half rations from now on.

Move!"

An old squirrel was staggering by, bent double under the burden of a large rock. Hisk lashed out at him. The whip curled around the aged creature's footpaws, tripping him as he dropped the rock. The weasel began laying into his victim, striking indiscriminately at the old one's frail body.

"You worthless layabout, I'll strip the mis'rable hide off yer!"

12.

The lash rose and fell as Hisk flogged away at the unprotected creature on the ground.

"I'll teach yer a lesson yer won't ferget..."

Suddenly the whip stopped in midswing. It went taut as Hisk pulled on the handle. He tugged at it but was yanked backwards. The young mouse had the end of the whip coiled around his paw.

Hisk's eyes bulged with temper as he shouted at the intruder, "Leggo my whip, mouse, or I'll gut yer!"

The weasel reached for the dagger at his waist, but he was not fast enough. The mouse hurled himself upon Hisk. Wrapping the whiplash round the Captain's neck, he heaved hard. Hisk thrashed furiously about in the dust, choking and s...o...b..ring as the lash tightened. Gurrad blew a hasty alarm on a bone whistle he carried slung about his neck.

In a trice the mouse was set upon by the nearest six guards. He disappeared beneath a jumble of ferrets, weasels and rats as they pounded him mercilessly, stamping upon his paws and breaking his hold on the whip. They continued relentlessly beating him with spearhandles, rods and whips until Badrang intervened.

"That's enough. Bring him to me!"

His paws pinioned by whips and a spear handle pulled hard across his throat, the young mouse was dragged struggling and kicking into the stoat Lord's presence.

Badrang drew his sword and pressed the point against the young one's heaving chest. Leaning forward, he hissed into the captive's face, "You know the penalty is death for attacking one of my horde. I could run you through with my sword right now and snuff out your life. What d'you say to that, mouse?"

The strong young mouse's eyes burned into the Tyrant's face like twin flames as he gritted out, "Sc.u.m! That sword is not yours, it belongs to me as it belonged to my father!"

Badrang withdrew the swordpoint. He sat back, shaking his head slowly in amazement at the boldness of the creature in front of him.

"Well well, you're not short of nerve, mouse. What's your name?"

The answer was loud and fearless.

"I am called Martin, son of Luke the Warrior!"

"See the roving river run Over hill and dale To a secret forest place, O my heart, Noonvale.

Look for me at dawning When the sun's reborn In the silent beauty Twixt the night and morn.