REDWALL

BRIAN JACQUES

Who says that I am dead

Knows nought at all.

I - am that is.

Two mice within Redwall.

The Warrior sleeps

Twixt Hall and Cavern Hole.

I am that is.

Take on my mighty role.

Look for the sword

In moonlight streaming forth,

At night, when day's first hour

Reflects the North.

From o'er the threshold

Seek and you will see;

1 - am that is,

My sword will wield for me.

(Rhymefrom beneath the Great Hall tapestry)

It was the start of the Summer of the Late Rose. Mossflower country shimmered gently in a peaceful haze, bathing delicately at each dew-laden dawn, blossoming through high sunny noontides, languishing in each crimson-tinted twilight that heralded the soft darkness of June nights.

Redwall stood foursquare along the marches of the old south border, flanked on two sides by Mossflower Wood's shaded depths. The other half of the Abbey overlooked undulating sweeps of meadowland, its ancient gate facing the long dusty road on the western perimeter.

From above, it resembled some fabulous dusky jewel, fallen between a green mantle of light silk and dark velvet. The first mice had built the Abbey of red sandstone quarried from pits many miles away in the north-east. The Abbey building was covered across its south face by that type of ivy known as Virginia creeper. The onset of autumn would turn the leaves into a cape of fiery hue, thus adding further glory to the name and legend of Redwall Abbey.

BOOK ONE

The Wall

Matthias cut a comical little figure as he wobbled his way along the cloisters, with his large sandals flip-flopping and his tail peeping from beneath the baggy folds of an oversized novice's habit. He paused to gaze upwards at the cloudless blue sky and tripped over the enormous sandals. Hazelnuts scattered out upon the grass from the rush basket he was carrying. Unable to stop, he went tumbling cowl over tail.

Bump!

The young mouse squeaked in dismay. He rubbed tenderly at his damp snub nose while slowly taking stock of where he had landed: directly at the feet of Abbot Mortimer!

Immediately Matthias scrambled about on all fours, hastily trying to stuff nuts back into the basket as he muttered clumsy apologies, avoiding the stern gaze of his elder.

"Er, sorry, Father Abbot. I tripped, y'see. Trod on my Abbot, Father Habit. Oh dear, I mean. ..."

The Father Abbot blinked solemnly over the top of his glasses. Matthias again. What a young buffoon of a mouse. Only the other day he had singed old Brother Methuselah's whiskers while lighting candles.

The elder's stern expression softened. He watched the little novice rolling about on the grass, grappling with large armfuls of the smooth hazelnuts which constantly seemed to escape his grasp. Shaking his old grey head, yet trying to hide a smile, Abbot Mortimer bent and helped to gather up the fallen nuts.

"Oh Matthias, Matthias, my son," he said wearily. "When will you learn to take life a little slower, to walk with dignity and humility? How can you ever hope to be accepted as a mouse of Red wall, when you are always dashing about grinning from whisker to tail like a mad rabbit?"

Matthias tossed the last of the hazelnuts into the basket and stood awkwardly shuffling his large sandals in the grass. How could he say aloud what was in his heart?

The Abbot put his paw around the young mouse's shoulder, sensing his secret yearnings, for he had ruled Red-wall wisely over a great number of years and gained much experience of mouselife. He smiled down at his young charge and spoke kindly to him. "Come with me, Matthias. It is time we talked together."

A curious thrush perching in a gnarled pear tree watched the two figures make their way at a sedate pace in the direction of Great Hall, one clad in the dark greeny-brown of the order, the other garbed in the lighter green of a novice. They conversed earnestly in low tones. Thinking what a clever bird he was, the thrush swooped down on the basket that had been left behind. Twisters! The basket contained only hard nuts, locked tight within their shells. Feigning lack of interest, lest any other birds had been witness to his silly mistake, he began whistling jauntily a few bars of his melodious summer song, strolling nonchalantly over to the cloister walls in search of snails.

It was cool inside Great Hall. Sunlight flooded down in slanting rainbow-hued shafts from the high, narrow stained-glass windows. A million colored dust-motes danced and swirled as the two mice trod the ancient stone floor. The Father Abbot halted in front of the wall on which hung a long tapestry. This was the pride and joy of Red wall. The oldest part had been woven by the Founders of the Abbey, but each successive generation had added to it; thus the tapestry was not only a priceless treasure, it was also a magnificent chronicle of early Redwall history.

The Abbot studied the wonderment in Matthias's eyes as he asked him a question, the answer to which the wise mouse already knew. "What are you looking at, my son?"

Matthias pointed to the figure woven into the tapestry. It

was a heroic-looking mouse with a fearless smile on his handsome face. Clad in armor, he leaned casually on an impressive sword, while behind him foxes, wildcats and vermin fled in terror. The young mouse gazed in admiration.

"Oh, Father Abbot," He sighed. "If only I could be like Martin the Warrior. He was the bravest, most courageous mouse that ever lived!"

The Abbot sat down slowly on the cool stone floor, resting his back against the wall.

"Listen to what I say, Matthias. You have been like a son to me, ever since you first came to our gates as an orphaned woodland mouse, begging to be taken in. Come, sit by me and I will try to explain to you what our Order is all about.

"We are mice of peace. Oh, I know that Martin was a warrior mouse, but those were wild .days when strength was needed. The strength of a champion such as Martin. He arrived here in the deep winter when the Founders were under attack from many foxes, vermin and a great wildcat. So fierce a fighter was Martin that he faced the enemy single-pawed, driving them mercilessly, far from Mossflower. During the rout Martin fought a great battle against overwhelming odds. He emerged victorious after slaying the wildcat with his ancient sword, which became famous throughout the land. But in the last bloody combat Martin was seriously wounded. He lay injured in the snow until the mice found him. They brought him back to the Abbey and cared for his hurts until he regained his strength.

"Then something seemed to come over him. He was transformed by what could only be called a mouse miracle. Martin forsook the way of the warrior and hung up his sword.

"That was when our Order found its true vocation. All the mice took a solemn vow never to harm another living creature, unless it was an enemy that sought to harm our Order by violence. They vowed to heal the sick, care for the injured, and give aid to the wretched and impoverished. So was it written, and so has it been through all the ages of mousekind since.

"Today, we are a deeply honored and highly respected Society. Anywhere we go, even far beyond Mossflower, we are treated with courtesy by all creatures. Even predators will

not harm a mouse who wears the habit of our Order. They know he or she is one who will heal and give aid. It is an unwritten law that Redwall mice can go anywhere, through any territory, and pass unharmed. At all times we must live up to this. It is our way, bur very life."

As the Abbot spoke, so his voice increased in volume and solemnity. Matthias sat under his stem gaze, completely humbled. Abbot Mortimer stood and put a wrinkled old paw lightly on the small head, right between the velvety ears, now drooping with shame.

Once more the Abbot's heart softened towards the little mouse. "Poor Matthias, alas for your ambitions. The day of the warrior is gone, my son. We live in peaceful times, thank heaven, and you need only think of obeying me, your Abbot, and doing as you are bidden. In time to come, when I am long gone to my rest, you will think back to this day and bless my memory, for then you will be a true member of Redwall. Come now, my young friend, cheer up; it is the Summer of the Late Rose. There are many, many days of warm sun ahead of us. Go back and get your basket of hazelnuts. Tonight we have a great feast to celebrate - my Golden Jubilee as Abbot. When you've taken the nuts to the kitchen, 1 have a special task for you. Yes indeed, I'll need some fine fish for the table. Get your rod and line. Tell Brother Alf that he is to take you fishing in the small boat. That's what young mice like doing, isn't it? Who knows, you may land a fine trout or some sticklebacks! Run along now, young one."

Happiness filled Matthias from tail to whiskers as he bobbed a quick bow to his superior and shuffled off. Smiling benignly, the Abbot watched him go. Little rascal, he must have a word with the Almoner, to see if some sandals could be found that were the right fit for Matthias. Small wonder the poor mouse kept tripping up!

The high, warm sun shone down on Cluny the Scourge.

Cluny was coming!

He was big, and tough; an evil rat with ragged fur and curved, jagged teeth. He wore a black eyepatch; his eye had been torn out in battle with a pike.

Cluny had lost an eye.

The pike had lost its life!

Some said that Cluny was a Portuguese rat. Others said he came from the jungles far across the wide oceans. Nobody knew for sure.

Cluny was a bilge rat; the biggest, most savage rodent that ever jumped from ship to shore. He was black, with grey and pink scars all over his huge sleek body, from the tip of his wet nose, up past his green and yellow slitted eye, across both his mean tattered ears, down the length of his heavy vermin-ridden back to the enormous whiplike tail which had earned him his title: Cluny the Scourge!

Now he rode on the back of the hay wagon with his five hundred followers, a mighty army of rats: sewer rats, tavern rats, water rats, dockside rats. Cluny's army - fearing, yet following him. Redtooth, his second-in-command, carried a long pole. This was Cluny's personal standard. The skull of a ferret was fixed at its top. Cluny had killed the ferret. He feared no living thing.

Wild-eyed, with the terror of rat smell in its nostrils, the horse plunged ahead without any driver. Where the hay cart

16

was taking him was of little concern to Cluny. Straight on the panicked horse galloped, past the milestone lodged in the earth at the roadside, heedless of the letters graven in the stone: "Redwall Abbey, fifteen miles."

Cluny spat over the edge of the cart at two young rabbits playing in a field. Tasty little things; a pity the cart hadn't stopped yet, he thought. The high warm sun shone down on Cluny the Scourge.

Cluny was a God of War!

Cluny was coming nearer!

3

18

Beneath the Great Hall of Redwall, candles burned bright in their sconces. This was the Cavern Hole xgt;f the mice. What a night it was going to be!

Between them, Matthias and Brother Alf had caught and landed a fully-grown grayling. They had fought and played the big fish for nearly two hours, finally wading into the shallows and dragging it to the bank. It was nearly two pounds in weight, a tribute to Brother AlPs angling skills combined with the youthful muscles of Matthias and their joint enthusiasm.

Constance the badger had to be called. Gripping the fish in her strong jaws, she followed the two mice to the Abbey kitchen and delivered the catch for them. Then she made her farewells; they would see her at the Jubilee feast that evening, along with many other Mossflower residents who had been invited to share the festivities.

Brother Alf and Matthias stood proudly beside their catch amid the culinary hustle and bustle until they were noticed by Friar Hugo. Busy as he was, the enormously fat Hugo (who would have no other title but that of Friar) stopped what he was doing. Wiping the perspiration from his brow with a dandelion that he held with his tail, he waddled about inspecting the fish.

"Hmm, nice shiny scales, bright eyes, beautifully fresh." Friar Hugo smiled so joyfully that his face disappeared amid

19

deep dimples. He shook Alf by the paw and clapped Matthias heartily on the back as he called out between chuckles, "Bring the white gooseberry wine! Fetch me some rosemary, thyme, beechnuts and honey, quickly. And now, friends, now," he squeaked, waving the dandelion wildly with his tail, "I, Hugo, wiU create a Grayling a la Redwall such as will melt in the mouth of mice. Fresh cream! I need lots of fresh cream! Bring some mint leaves too."

They had left Friar Hugo ranting on, delirious in his joy, as they both went off to bathe and clean up; combing whiskers, curling tails, shining noses, and the hundred and one other grooming tasks that Redwatl mice always performed in preparation for an epic feast.

The rafters of Cavern Hole rang to the excited buzz and laughter of the assembled creatures: hedgehogs, moles, squirrels, woodland creatures and mice of all kinds - fieldmice, hedgemice, dormice, even a family of poor little churchmice. Kindly helpers scurried about making everybody welcome.

"Hello there, Mrs. Churchmouse! Sit the children down! I'll get them some raspberry cordial."

"Why, Mr. Bankvole! So nice to see you! How's the back? Better now? Good. Here, try a drop of this peach and elderberry brandy."

Matthias's young head was in a whirl. He could not remember being so happy in all his life. Winifred the otter nudged him.

"I say, Matthias. Where's this giant grayling that you and old Alf hooked, by the claw! I wish that I could land a beauty like that. Nearly a two-pounder, wasn't it?"

Matthias swelled with pride. Such praise, and from the champion fisher herself, an otter!

Tim and Tess, the twin Churchmouse babes, felt Matthias's strong arm muscles and giggled aloud in admiration. He helped to serve them two portions of apple and mint ice cream. Such nice little twins. Was it only three months ago that he had helped Sister Stephanie to get them over tail rickets? How they had grown!

Abbot Mortimer sat in his carved willow chair, beaming thanks as one by one the new arrivals laid their simple home-

made gifts at his feet: an acorn cup from a squirrel, fishbone combs from the otters, mossy bark sandals made by the moles, and many more fine presents too numerous to mention. The Abbot shook his head in amazement. Even more guests were arriving!

He beckoned Friar Hugo to his side. A whispered conference was held. Matthias could only hear snatches of the convocation.

"Don't worry, Father Abbot, there will be enough for all. '*

"How are the cellar stocks, Hugo?"

"Enough to flood the Abbey pond. Father."

"And nuts? We must not run short of nuts."

"You name them, we've got diem. Even candied chestnuts and acorn-crunch. We could feed the district for a year."

"Dairy produce?"

"Oh that, I've got a cheddar cheese that four badgers couldn't roll, plus ten other varieties."

"Good, good, thank you, Hugo. Oh, we must thank Alf and young Matthias for mat magnificent fish. What fine anglers they are! There's enough to keep the entire Abbey going for a week! Excellent mice, well done."

Matthias blushed to his tail's end.

"The otters! The otters!"

A loud, jolly cry went up as three otters in clown costumes came bounding in. Such acrobatics! They tumbled, balanced and gyrated, cavorting comically across the laden tabletops without upsetting as much as a single sultana. They ended up hanging from the rafters by a strand of ivy, to wild applause.

Ambrose Spike the hedgehog did his party piece. He amazed everyone with his feats of legerdemain. Eggs were taken from a squirrel's ear; a young mouse's tail stood up and danced like a snake; the incredible vanishing-shell trick was performed in front of a group of little harvest mice who kept squeaking, "He's got it hidden in his prickles."

But had he? Ambrose made a few mysterious passes and produced the shell, straight out of the mouth of an awestruck infant mouse. Was it magic?

Of course it was.

20

21

All activity ceased as the great Joseph Bell tolled out eight o'clock from the Abbey belfry. Silently, all the creatures filed to their allotted places. They stood reverently behind the seats with heads lowered. Abbot Mortimer rose and solemnly spread his paws wide, encompassing the festive board. He said the grace.

"Fur and whisker, tooth and claw, All who enter by our door. Nuts and herbs, leaves and fruits, Berries, tubers, plants and roots, Silver fish whose life we take Only for a meal to make."

This was followed by a loud and grateful "Amen."

There was a mass clattering of chairs and scraping of forms as everyone was seated. Matthias found himself next to Tim and Tess on one paw, and Cornflower Heldmouse on the other. Cornflower was a quiet young mouse, but undoubtedly very pretty. She had the longest eyelashes Matthias had ever seen, the brightest eyes, the softest fur, the whitest teeth. . . . Matthias fumbled with a piece of celery and self-consciously turned to see if the twins were coping adequately. You never could tell with these baby churchmice.

Brother Alf remarked that Friar Hugo had excelled himself, as course after course was brought to the table. Tender freshwater shrimp garnished with cream and rose leaves, devilled barley pearls in acorn puree, apple and carrot chews, marinated cabbage stalks steeped in creamed white turnip with nutmeg.

A chorus of ooh's and ah's greeted the arrival of six mice pushing a big trolley. It was the grayling. Wreaths of aromatic steam drifted around Cavern Hole; the fish had been baked to perfection. Friar Hugo entered, with a slight swagger added to his ungainly waddle. He swept off his chefs cap with his tail, and announced in a somewhat pompous squeak, "Milord Abbot, honored guests from Mossflower area and members of the Abbey. Ahem, I wish to present my piece de resistance"

"Oh get on with it, Hugo!"

After some icy staring about to detect the culprit, and several smothered sniggers from around the room, the little fat friar puffed himself up once more and declaimed firmly: "Grayling a la RedwalL"

Polite but eager applause rippled round as Hugo sliced the fish, and placed the first steaming portion on to a platter. With suitable dignity he presented it to the Abbot, who thanked him graciously.

All eyes were on the Father Abbot. He took a dainty fork loaded precariously with steaming fish. Carefully he transferred it from plate to mouth. Chewing delicately, he turned his eyes upwards then closed them, whiskers atwitch, jaws working steadily, munching away, his tail curled up holding a napkin which neatly wiped his mouth. The Abbot's eyes reopened. He beamed like the sun on midsummer morn.

"Quite wonderful, perfectly exquisite! Friar Hugo, you are truly my Champion Chef. Please serve our guests your masterwork."

Any further speech was drowned by hearty cheers.

22

Cluny was in a foul temper. He snarled viciously.

The horse had stopped from sheer exhaustion. He hadn't wanted that: some inner devil persuaded him that he had not yet reached his destination. Cluny's one eye slitted evilly.

From the depths of the hay cart the rodents of the Warlord's army watched their Master. They knew him well enough to stay clear of him in this present mood. He was violent, unpredictable.

"Skullface," Cluny snapped.

There was a rustle in the hay, a villainous head popped up.

"Aye, Chief, d'you want me?"

Cluny's powerful tail shot out and dragged the unfortunate forward. Skullface cringed as sharp dirty claws dug into his fur. Cluny nodded at the horse.

"Jump on that thing's back sharpish. Give it a good bite. That'll get the lazy brute moving again."

Skullface swallowed nervously and licked his dry lips.

"But Chief, it might bite me back."

Swish! Crack! Cluny wielded his mighty tail as if it were a bullwhip. His victim screamed aloud with pain as the scourge lashed his thin bony back.

"Mutiny, insubordination!" Cluny roared. "By the teeth of hell, I'll flay you into mangy dollrags."

Skullface scurried over on to the driver's seat, yelling with pain. "No more! Don't whip me. Chief. Look, I'm going to doit."

"Hold tight to the rigging back there," Cluny shouted to his horde.

Skullface performed a frantic leap. He landed on the horse's back. The terrified animal did not wait for the rat to bite. As soon as it felt the loathsome scratching weight descend on its exposed haunches, it gave a loud panicked whinny and bucked. Spurred on by the energy of fright it careered off like a runaway juggernaut.

Skullface had time for just one agonized scream before he fell. The iron-shod cartwheels rolled over him. He lay in a red mist of death, the life ebbing from his broken body. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the sneering visage of Cluny the Scourge roaring from the jolting backboard, "Tell the devil Cluny sent you, Skullface!"

They were on the move again. Cluny was getting nearer.

24

Down in Cavern Hole the great feast had slackened off.

So had a lot of belts!

Redwall mice and their guests sat back replete. There were still great quantities of food uneaten.

Abbot Mortimer whispered in Friar Hugo's ear, "Friar, I want you to pack up a large sack with food, hazelnuts, cheese, bread, cakes, anything you see fit. Give it to Mrs. Churchmouse, as secretly as you can without attracting attention. Poverty is an ugly specter when a mousewife has as many mouths to feed as she does. Oh, and be sure that her husband doesn't suspect what you are doing. John Church-mouse may be poor but he is also proud. I fear he might not accept charitable gifts."

Hugo nodded knowingly and waddled off to do his Abbot's bidding.

Cornflower and Matthias had become quite friendly. They were young mice of the same age. Though their temperaments were different they found something in common, an interest in Tim and Tess, the twin churchmice. They had passed a pleasant evening, joking and playing games with the little creatures. Tess had clambered on to Matthias's lap and fallen asleep, whereupon baby Tim did likewise in the velvety fur of Cornflower. She smiled at Matthias as she stroked Tim's small head. "Ah, bless their little paws! Don't they look peaceful?"

Matthias nodded contentedly in agreement.

Colin Vole tittered aloud and remarked rather foolishly, "Ooh, would you look at Matthias an' Cornflower there, a-nursin' those two babbies like they was an old wedded couple. Well, crumble my bank!"

Brother Alf reprimanded him sharply. "Here now, you keep a latch on that silly tongue of yours, Colin Vole! Don't you know that someday Matthias will be a Redwall mouse? And don't let me hear you slandering young Cornflower. She's a decent mouse from a good family. Mark my words, Master Vole, I could say a thing or two to your mum and dad. Only last evening I saw you playing 'catch the bulrush* with that young harvest mouse. What was her name now?"

Colin Vole blushed until his nose went dry. He flounced off, swishing his tail, muttering about going outside to take die air.

Matthias caught a nod and a glance from the Abbot. Excusing himself to Cornflower, he deposited the sleeping Tess gently upon his chair and went across to him.

"Ah, Matthias, my son, here you are. Did you enjoy my Jubilee Feast?"

"Yes, thank you. Father," Matthias replied.

"Good, good," chuckled the Abbot. "Now, I was going to ask Brother Alf or Edmund to go on a special errand, but they are no longer young mice and both look quite weary at this late hour. So, I thought 1 might ask my chief grayting-catcher to carry out this special task for me."

Matthias could not help standing a bit taller.

"Say the word and I'm your mouse, sir."

The Abbot leaned forward and spoke confidentially. "Do you see the Churchmouse family? Well, it's such a long way back home for them on foot. Good Heavens, and there are so many of them! I thought it would be a splendid idea if you were to drive them home in the Abbey cart, along with any others going that way. Constance Badger would pull the cart, of course, while you could act as guide and bodyguard. Take a good stout staff with you, Matthias."

The young mouse needed no second bidding. Drawing himself up to his full height, he saluted in a smart military

26

fashion. "Leave it to me, Father Abbot. Old Constance is a bit slow-thinking. I'll take complete responsibility."

The Abbot shook with silent laughter as he watched Matthias march off with a soldier-like swagger. Flip flop, flip flop; he tripped and fell flat on his tail.

"Oh dear, I'll have to get that young mouse some sandals that aren't so big," the Abbot said to himself for the second time that day.

Well, what a stroke of luck. Fancy Cornflower's family living so close to the Churchmouse brood! Matthias was only too glad to offer them a lift home.

Would Miss Cornflower like to sit next to him?

She most certainly would!

Cornflower's parents sat inside the cart, her mum helping Mrs. Churchmouse with the little ones, while her dad chatted away with John Churchmouse as they shared a pipe of old bracken twist.

Friar Hugo came out and dumped a bulky sack next to Mrs. Churchmouse. "Abbot says to thank you for the loan of bowls and tablecloths, ma'am." The fat friar gave her a huge wink.

"All comfy back there?" called Matthias. "Right, off we go, Constance."

The big badger trundled the cart away as they called their goodnights. She nodded at Methuselah, the ancient gatekeeper mouse. As the cart rolled out into the road a sliver of golden moon looked down from a star-pierced summer night. Matthias gazed upwards, feeling as if he were slowly turning with the silent earth. Peace was all about him: the baby mice inside the cart whimpered fitfully in their small secret dreams; Constance ambled slowly along, as though she were out on a nighttime stroll pulling no weight at all; the stout ash staff lay forgotten on the footboard.

Cornflower dozed against Matthias's shoulder. She could hear the gentle lull of her father's voice and that of John Churchmouse, blending with the hum of nocturnal insects from the meadow and hedges on this balmy summer night.

The Summer of the Late Rose . . . Cornflower turned the words over in her mind, dreamily thinking of the old rambler

28

that bloomed in the Abbey gardens. Normally it was in full red flower by now, but this year, for some unknown reason, it had chosen to flower late. It was covered in dormant young rosebuds, even now, well into June - a thing that happened only infrequently, and usually heralded an extra-long hot summer. Old Methuselah could only remember three other such summers in his long lifetime. Accordingly he had advised that it be marked on the calendar and in the Abbey chronicles as "The Summer of the Late Rose." Cornflower's head sank lower, in sleep.

The old cart rolled on gently, down the long dusty road. They were now over halfway to the ruined Church of St. Ninian where John Churchmouse lived, as had his father, grandfather and great-grandfather before him. Matthias had fallen into a deep slumber. Even Constance was unable to stop her eyelids drooping. She went slower and slower. It was as if the little cart and its occupants were caught in the magic spell of an enchanted summer night.

Suddenly, and without warning, they were roused by the thunder of hooves.

Nobody could determine which direction the sound was coming from. It seemed to fill the very air about them as it gathered momentum; the ground began trembling with the rumbling noise.

Some sixth sense warned Constance to get off the road to a hiding place. The powerful badger gave a mighty heave. Her blunt claws churned the roadside soil as she propelled the cart through a gap in the hawthorn hedge, down to the slope of the ditch where she dug her paws in, holding the cart still and secure while John Churchmouse and Cornflower's father jumped out and wedged the wheels firmly with stones.

Matthias gasped with shock as a giant horse galloped past, its mane streaming out, eyes rolling in panic. It was towing a hay cart which bounced wildly from side to side. Matthias could see rats among the hay, but these were no ordinary rats. They were huge ragged rodents, bigger than any he had ever seen. Their heavy tattooed arms waved a variety of weapons - pikes, knives, spears and long rusty cutlasses. Standing boldly on the backboard of the hay cart was the

29

biggest, fiercest, most evil-looking rat that ever slunk out of a nightmare! In one claw he grasped a long pole with a ferret's head spiked to it, while in the other was his thick, enormous tail, which he cracked like a whip. Laughing madly and yelling strange curses, he swayed to and fro skillfully as horse and wagon clattered off down the road into the night. As suddenly as they had come, they were gone!

Matthias walked out into the road, staff in hand. Stray wisps of hay drifted down behind him. His legs trembled uncontrollably. Constance hauled the Abbey cart back on to the road. Cornflower was helping her mother and Mrs. Church-mouse to calm the little ones' tears of fright. Together they stood in the cart tracks amid the settling dust.

"Did you see that?"

"I saw it, but I don't believe it!"

"What in heaven was it?"

"What in hell, more like."

"All those rats! Such big ones, too."

"Aye, and that one on the back! He looked like the Devil himself."

Seeing Matthias still stunned by what had happened, Constance took over the leadership. She wheeled the cart around,

"I think we'd best head back for the Abbey," she said firmly. "Father Abbot'U want to know about this straightaway."

Knowing that the badger was far more experienced than himself, Matthias assumed the role of second-in-command. "Right, Cornflower, get in the cart and take charge of the mothers and babies," he said. "Mr. Fieldmouse, Mr. Church-mouse, up front with Constance, please."

Silently the mice did as ordered. The cart moved off with Matthias positioned on the back providing a rearguard. The young mouse gripped his staff tightly, his back to his charges, facing down the road in the direction the hay cart had taken.

The horse had gotten away safely.

It was the hay cart that suffered most damage. Bolting recklessly from side to side down the road, the blinkered animal failed to see the twin stone gateposts on its right -skidding crazily, the cart smashed into the uprights. There was a loud splintering of shafts as the horse careered onwards, trailing in its wake reins, tracers and shattered timber.

His lightning reflexes serving him well, Cluny leaped dear. He landed catlike on all fours as'the hay can upended in the roadside ditch, its buckled wheels spinning awkwardly.

Feeling braced after his mad ride and the subsequent narrow escape, Cluny strode to the ditch's edge. The distressed cries of those trapped beneath the cart reached his ears. He spat contemptuously, narrowing his one good eye.

"Come on, get up out of there, you cringing load of catsmeat," he bellowed. "Redtooth! Darkclaw! Report to me or I'll have your skulls for skittles."

Cluny's two henchrats pulled themselves from the ditch, shaking their heads dazedly.

Crack! Slash! The whiplike tail brought them swiftly to his side.

"Three-Leg and Scratch are dead, Chief."

"Dead as dirt. The cart crushed 'em. Chief."

"Stupid fools," snarled Cluny. "-Serves them right! What about the rest?"

"Old Wormtail has lost a paw. Some of the others are really hurt."

Cluny sneered. "Aah, they'll get over it and suffer worse by the time I'm done with them. They're getting too fat and sluggish, by the tripes! They'd not last five minutes in a storm at sea. Come on, you dead-and-alive ragbags! Get up here and gather 'round."

Rats struggled from the ditch and the cart - frantic to obey the harsh command as quickly as possible. They crowded about the undamaged gatepost, which their leader had chosen as a perch. None dared to cry or complain about their hurts. Who could predict what mood the Warlord was in?

"Right, cock your lugs up and listen to me," Cluny snarled. "First, we've got to find out where we have docked. Let's take a bearing on this place."

Redtooth held up his claw. "The Church of St. Ninian, Chief. It says so on the notice board over yonder."

"Well, no matter," Cluny snapped. "It'll do as a berth until we find something better. Fangburn! Cheesethief!"

"Here, Chief."

"Scout the area. See if you can find a better lodging for us than this heap of rubble. Trail back to the west. I think we passed a big place on the way."

"Aye, aye, Chief."

"Frogblood! Scumnose!"

"Chief?"

"Take fifty soldiers and see if you can round up any rats that know the lie of the land. Get big strong rats, but bring along weasels, stoats and ferrets too. They'll do at a pinch. Mind now, don't stand for arguments. Smash their dens up so they won't have homes to worry about. If any refuse to join up, then kill them there and then. Understood?"

"AH clear, Chief."

"Ragear! Mangefur! Take twenty rats and forage for supplies. The rest of you get inside the church. Redtooth, Dark-claw, check the armor. See if there are things about that we can use as weapons: iron spike railings - there's usually enough of them around a churchyard. Jump to it."

Cluny had arrived!

32

7

Matthias had never stayed up all night in his life. He was just a bit tired, but strangely excited. Great events seemed to have been set in motion by his news.

Immediately upon being informed of the hay cart incident, the Abbot had insisted upon calling a special council meeting of all Redwall creatures. Once again Cavern Hole was packed to the doors, but this time it was for a purpose very different from the feast. Constance and Matthias stood in front of the Council of Elders. All about them was a hum of whispers and muttering.

Abbot Mortimer called order by ringing a small bell.

"Pay attention, everyone. Constance and Matthias, would you please tell the Council what you saw tonight on the road to St. Ninian's."

As clearly as they could, the badger and the young mouse related the incident of the rat-infested hay cart.

The Council began questioning them.

"Rats, you say, Matthias. What type of rat?" inquired Sister Ctemence.

"Big ones," Matthias replied, "though I'm afraid I Couldn't say what kind they were or where they had come from."

"What about you, Constance?"

"Well, I remember that my old grandad once knew a sea tat," she answered. "Going by his description, I'd say that's what they looked like to me."

33

"And how many would you say there were of these rats?" Father Abbot asked.

"Couldn't say for sure, Father Abbot. There must have Been hundreds."

"Matthias?"

"Oh yes, Father. I'd agree with Constance. At least four hundred."

"Did you notice anything else about them, Constance?"

"Indeed I did, Father Abbot. My badger senses told me right off that these were very bad and evil rats."

The badger's statement caused uproar and shouts of "Nonsense. Pure speculation" and "That's right! Give a rat a bad name!"

Without even thinking, Matthias raised a paw and shouted aloud, "Constance is right. I could feel it myself. There was one huge rat with a ferret's skull on a pole. I got a good look at him - it was like seeing some horrible monster."

In the silence that followed, the Abbot rose and confronted Matthias. Stooping slightly, he stared into the young mouse's bright eyes. "Think carefully, my son. Was there anything special you noticed about this rat?"

Matthias thought for a moment. Everyone was watching him.

"He was much bigger than the others, Father."

"What else? Think, Matthias."

"I remember! He only had one eye."

"Right or left?"

"Left, I think. Yes, it was the left, Father."

"Now, can you recall anything about his tail?"

"I certainly can," Matthias squeaked. "It must have been the longest tail of any rat alive. He held it in his claw as if it were a whip."

The Abbot paced up and down before turning to the assembly.

"Twice in my lifetime I have heard travelers speak of this rat. He bears a name that a fox would be afraid to whisper in the darkness of midnight. Cluny the Scourge!"

A deathly hush fell upon the creatures in Cavern Hole.

Cluny the Scourge!

Surely not? He was only some kind of folk legend, a

warning used by mothers when youngsters were fractious or disobedient.

"Go to sleep or Cluny will get you!"

"Eat up your dinner or Cluny will come!"

"Come in this instant, or I'll tell Cluny!"

Most creatures didn't even know what Cluny was. He was just some sort of bogey that lived in bad dreams and the dark corners of imagination.

The silence was broken by scornful snorts and derisive laughter. Furry elbows nudged downy ribs. Mice were beginning to smile from sheer relief. Cluny the Scourge, indeed!

Feeling slightly abashed, Matthias and Constance looked pleadingly towards the Abbot for support. Abbot Mortimer's old face was stem as he shook the bell vigorously for silence.

"Mice of Redwall, I see there are those among you who doubt the word of your Abbot."

The quiet but authoritative words caused an embarrassed shuffling from the Council Elders. Brother Joseph stood up and cleared his throat. "Ahem, er, good Father Abbot, we all respect your word and look to you for guidance, but really ... I mean ..."

Sister Clemence stood up smiling. She spread her paws wide. "Perhaps Cluny is coming to get us for staying up late."

A roar of laughter greeted the ironic words.

Constance's back hairs bristled. She gave an angry growl followed by a fierce bark. The mice huddled together with fright. Nobody had ever seen a snarling, angry badger at a Council meeting.

Before they could recover, Constance was up on her hind legs having her say. "I've never seen such a pack of empty-headed ninnies. You should all be ashamed of yourselves, giggling like silly little otter cubs that have caught a beetle. I never thought I'd live to see the Elders of Redwall acting in this way." Constance hunched her heavy shoulders and glared about with a ferocity that set them trembling. "Now you listen to me. Take heed of what your Father Abbot has to

34

35

say. The next creature who utters one squeak will answer to me. Understand?"

The badger bowed low in a dignified manner, gesturing with her massive blunt paw. "The floor is yours, Father Abbot."

"Thank you, Constance, my good and faithful friend," the Abbot murmured. He looked about him, shaking his head gravely.

"I have little more to say on the subject, but as I see that you still need convincing, here is my proposal. We will send two mice out to relieve the gatehouse. Let me see, yes . . . Brothers Rufus and George, would you kindly go and take over from Brother Methuselah? Please send him in here to me. Tell him to bring the travelers' record volumes. Not the present issue, but the old editions which were used in past years."

Rufus and George, both solid-looking, sensible mice, took their leave with a formal bow to the Abbot.

Through a high slitted window, Matthias could see the rosy-pink and gold fingers of dawn stealing down to Cavern Hole as the candles began to flicker and smoke into stubs. All in the space of a night events had moved from festivity to a crisis, and he, Matthias, had taken a major role in both. First the big grayling, then the sighting of the cart; large happenings for a small mouse.

Old Brother Methuselah had kept the Abbey records for as long as any creature could remember. It was his life's work and consuming passion. Besides the official chronicle of Red-wall he also kept his own personal volume, full of valuable information. Traveling creatures, migratory birds, wandering foxes, rambling squirrels and garrulous hares they all stopped and chatted with the old mouse, partaking of his hospitality, never dreaming of hurting him in any way. Methuselah had the gift of tongues. He could understand any creature, even a bird. He was an extraordinary old mouse, who lived with the company of his volumes in the solitude of the gatehouse.

Seated in the Father Abbot's own chair, Methuselah took

his spectacles from a moss-bark case, carefully perching them cm the bridge of his nose. All gathered around to hear as he opened a record book and spoke in a squeak barely above a whisper.

"Hmm, hmm, me Lord Abbot Cedric. It is Cedric, isn't it? Oh botheration, you'll be the new Abbot, Mortimer, the one who came after Cedric. Oh dear me, I see so many of diem come and go, you know. Hmm, hmm, me Lord Abbot Mortimer and members of Redwall, I refer to a record of winter, six years back." Here the ancient mouse took a while to leaf through the pages. "Hmm, ah yes, here it is. 'Late in November, Year of the Small Sweet Chestnut, from a frozen sparrowhawk come down from the far north . . .' - peculiar chap, spoke with a strange accent. I repaired his right wing pinfeather - '. . , news of a mine disaster, caused by a large savage sea rat with an extraordinary tail. It seems that this rat - Cluny they called him - wanted to settle his army in the mine. The badgers and other creatures who owned the mine drove them out. Cluny returned by night, and with his band of rats gnawed away and undermined much of the wooden shoring. This caused the mine to collapse the next day, killing the owners.'"

Brother Methuselah closed the volume and looked over his glasses at the assembly. "I have no need to read further, I can recite other misdeeds from memory. As the hordes of Cluny the Scourge have moved southwards over the past six years, I have gathered intelligence of other incidents: a farmhouse set alight, later that same year . . . piglets, an entire litter of them eaten alive by rats . . . sickness and disease spread through livestock herds by Cluny's army. There was even a report brought to me two years ago by a town dog: an army of rats stampeded a herd of cows through a village, causing chaos and much destruction."

Methuselah halted and blinked over his spectacles. "And you dare doubt the word of our Abbot that Cluny the Scourge exists? What idiotic mice you are, to be sure."

Methuselah's words caused widespread consternation. There was much agitated nibbling of paws. Nobody could doubt he spoke the truth; he was already old and wise when the

37

most elderly among them was a blind hairless mite, puling and whimpering for a feed from its mother.

"Oh my whiskers, what a mess."

"Hadn't we better pack up and move?"

"Maybe Cluny will spare us."

"Oh dear, oh dear, what shall we do?"

Matthias sprang to the middle of the floor brandishing his staff in a way that surprised even him.

"Do?" he cried. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll be ready."

The Abbot could not help shaking his head in admiration. It seemed that young Matthias had hidden depths.

"Why, thank you, Matthias," he said. "I could not have put it better myself. That's exactly what we will do. We'll be ready!"

8

Cluny the Scourge was having nightmares.

He had lain down in the Churchmouses* bed for a well-earned rest while his army was going about its allotted tasks. He should never have tried to sleep on an empty stomach, but weariness overcame his hunger.

In Cluny's dream everything was shrouded in a red mist. The cries of Ms victims rang out as barns blazed, and ships foundered on a stormy red sea. Cattle bellowed in pain as he battled with the pike that had taken his eye. The Warlord thrashed about, killing, conquering and laying waste to all in his dream.

Then the phantom figure appeared.

At first it seemed a small thing, a mouse in fact, dressed in a long hooded robe. Cluny did not relish meeting with it he could not tell why - but the mouse kept getting closer to him. For the first time in his life, he turned and ran!

Cluny went like a bat out of hell. Glancing back, he saw all the carnage, death and misery he had caused in his career. The big rat laughed insanely and ran faster: on and on, past scenes of desolation and destruction wreaked by him, Cluny die Scourge. Roating through the red mists he could still see die strange mouse hard on his heels. Cluny felt himself filled with hatred for his pursuer. It seemed to have grown larger; its eyes were cold and grim. Deep inside, Cluny knew that even he could not frighten this oddly-garbed mouse. Now it

39

was wielding a large bright sword, an ancient weapon of terrible beauty. The battle-scarred blade had a word written upon it that he could not make out.

Sweat dripped from Cluny's claws like stinging acid. He stumbled. The strange figure was closer; it had grown into a giant!

Cluny's lungs felt as if they were bursting. He realized that he had slowed up and the mouse was getting closer. He tried to put on an extra burst of speed, but his legs would not obey. They ran more and more slowly - more and more heavily. Cluny cursed aloud at his leaden limbs. He saw he was trapped in deep icy mud. For the first time he knew the meaning of mindless fear and panic.

He turned slowly. Too late. The enemy was upon him; he was rooted helpless to the spot. The avenging mouse swung the sword up high; a million lights flashed from its deadly blade as it struck.

Bong!

The loud toll of the distant Joseph Bell brought Cluny whirling back from the realms of nightmare to cold reality. He shivered, wiping the sweat from his fur with a shaky daw. Saved by the bell.

He was puzzled. What did the fearful dream mean? Cluny had never been one to put his faith in omens, but this dream ... it had been so lifelike and vivid that he shuddered.

A timid paw tapping on the door snapped Cluny from his reverie with a start. It was Ragear and Mangefur, his scavengers. They slunk into the room, each trying to hide behind the other, knowing that the poor results of their search were likely to incur the Chiefs wrath. Their assumption was correct.

Cluny's baleful eye watched them as his long flexible tail sorted through the paltry offerings which had dropped from their claws. A few dead beetles, two large earthworms, some unidentifiable vegetation and the pitiful carcass of a long-dead sparrow.

Cluny smiled at Ragear and Mangefur.

With a sigh of relief they grinned back at him. The Chief was in a good mood.

At lightning speed the big rat's claws shot out, and grabbed them both cruelly by the ears. The stupid henchrats yowled piteously as they were lifted bodily from the floor and swung to and fro. In a fit of rage, Cluny bashed their heads together. Half senseless, they were hurled towards the doorway, with his angry words ringing in their skulls. "Beetles, worms, rotten sparrows! Get me meat. Tender, young, red meat! Next time you bring me rubbish like this, I'll spit the pair of you and have you roasted in your own juice. Is that clear?"

Mangefur pointed an accusing claw at his companion. "Please, Chief, it was Ragear's fault. If we'd gone across the fields instead of up the road"

"Don't believe that big fat liar, Chief. !t was him who suggested going up the road, not me"

"Get out!"

The scavengers dashed off, bumping clumsily into each other with panic as they tried to get through the door together. Cluny slumped back on the bed and snorted impatiently.

Frogblood and Scumnose were next to report.

They bore news that cheered Cluny up somewhat. They'd obtained over a hundred new recruits, mainly rats but with a good scattering of ferrets and weasels, and the odd stoat. There had been some who needed convincing. These had been press-ganged by a savage beating from Frogblood, coupled with the threat of horrible death. They were soon convinced that the wisest course was to enlist in Cluny's horde. Others were hungry nomads, only too willing to join up with the infamous Cluny. They were greedy for plunder and booty and pleased to be on what they were sure would be the winning side. Lined up in the churchyard, the recruits were supplied with weaponry by Redtooth and Darkclaw. Impassively they stood in ranks awaiting the Warlord's in--spection.

Cluny nodded his approval. Scurvy rats, hungry ferrets, sly weasels, bad stoats - exactly what he needed.

"Read 'em the articles, Redtooth," he snapped.

Redtooth swaggered back and forth on the churchyard paving as he recited the formula from memory. "Right, eyes front. You're in the service of Cluny the Scourge now, me buckoes! Desert and you'll be killed. Retreat and you're under

40

sentence of death. Disobey and you'll die. I'm Redtooth, Cluny's number-one rat. You will obey the word of your captains. They take orders from me. I take orders from Cluny, remember that. Now, if any one, two, or a group, or even all of you together want to try and beat Cluny and lead the horde, this is your chance."

Without warning, Cluny charged headlong into the new recruits, lashing out wildly with his scourging tail. He bowled them left, right, and center with his massive strength. Baring his teeth and slitting his eye, he whipped fiercely away until they fell back and scattered in disorder, hiding behind gravestones. Cluny threw back his head and roared with laughter.

"No guts, eh? Ha, it's just as well! I don't want dead 'uns on my claws before I find a proper battle for you to fight. And make no mistake, when the right time comes I'll see you fight, aye, and die too. Now, raise your weapons and let's see if you know who your master is."

A motley collection of evil-looking implements was framed by the cloudless sky as wild cries rang out from the newly-inducted recruits.

"Cluny, Cluny, Cluny the Scourge!"

Abbot Mortimer and Constance the badger meandered through the grounds together. Both creatures were deep in thought. Had they spoken and voiced their thoughts, they would have mentioned the same subject, the safety of Red-wall.

Down long ages the beautiful old Abbey had stood for happiness, peace and refuge to all. Diligent mice tended the neat little vegetable patches which every season gave forth an abundance of fresh produce: cabbages, sprouts, marrows, turnips, peas, carrots, tomatoes, lettuces and onions, all in their turn. Flowerbeds, heady and fragrant with countless varieties of summer blooms from rose to humble daisy, were planted by the mice and husbanded by the hard-working bee folk, who in their turn rewarded Redwall with plentiful supplies of honey and beeswax.

The two friends wandered onwards, past the pond. Early-morning sunlight glinted off the water, throwing out ripples from the fish caught by the overnight lines which were baited and left to drift each evening by Brother Alf. Ahead of them lay the berry-hedges - raspberry, blackberry, bilberry - and the strawberry patch where every August sleepy baby creatures could be seen, their stomachs full after eating the pick of the crop. Gradually they made their way around the big old chestnut trees into the orchard. This was the Abbot's favorite spot. Many a leisurely nap had he taken on sunny afternoons with the aroma of ripening fruit hovering in his

43

whiskers: apples, pears, quince, plums, damsons, even a vine of wild grape on the warm red stone of a south-facing wall. Old Mother Nature's blessing lay upon a haven of warm friendliness.

Now with the threat of Cluny upon Redwall, the two old friends assessed the beauteous bounty of their lifelong abode. Sweet birdsong on the still air ringed Constance's heart with sorrow and regret that this peaceful existence would soon pass. Gruffly she snuffled deep in her throat, blinking off a threatening teardrop. The Abbot sensed his companion's distress. He patted the badger's rough coat with a gentle paw.

"There, there, old girl. Don't fret. Many times in our history has tragedy been forestalled by miraculous happenings."

Constance grunted in agreement, not wishing to disillusion her trusting old friend. Deep within her she knew a dark shadow was casting itself over the Abbey. Furthermore, it was happening in the present, not in bygone days of fabled deeds.

Matthias seated himself to an early breakfast in Cavern Hole: nutbread, apples and a bowl of fresh goatsmilk. Cornflower, along with other woodland creatures granted sanctuary, was sleeping in makeshift quarters provided by the good mice of Redwall. Matthias felt that he had grown up overnight. Duty was a mantle that he had taken willingly upon his shoulders. If there were a threat to Redwall from outside it must be dealt with. The mice of Redwall were peaceful creatures, but that must not be taken as a sign of weakness. Stolidly he munched away as he confronted the problem.

"Eat heartily, Matthias. No point in facing trouble on an empty stomach. Feed the body, nourish the mind."

The young mouse was surprised to see that old Brother Methuselah had been watching him, his eyes twinkling behind the curious spectacles he invariably wore. The ancient mouse sat dawn at the breakfast table with a small groan.

"Don't look so surprised, young one. Your face is an open book to one of my years."

Matthias drained the last of the milk from his bowl, wiping cream from his whiskers with the back of a paw. "Give me

your advice, Brother Methuselah," he said. "What would you do?"

The old mouse wrinkled his nose. "Exactly the same thing as you would - that is, if I were younger and not so old and stiff"

Matthias felt he had found an ally. "You mean you would fight?"

Methuselah rapped the table with a bony paw. "Of course I would. It's the only sensible course to take."

He paused and stared at Matthias in an odd manner. "Hmm, y'know there's something about you, young feller. Did you ever hear the story of how Martin the Warrior first came to Redwall?"

Matthias leaned forward eagerly. "Martin! Tell me, Brother, I love hearing about the warrior monk."

Methuselah's voice dropped to a secretive whisper. "It is written in the great chronicle of Redwall that Martin was very young to be such a warrior. He could have been the same age as yourself, Matthias. Like you, he was impulsive and had a great quality of youthful innocence about him when he first came to our Abbey. But it is also written that in times of trouble Martin had the gift of a natural leader, a command over others far superior to him in age and experience. The chronicle says that they looked to Martin as some look to a strong father."

Matthias was full of wonderment, but he could not help feeling puzzled. "Why do you tell all this to me, Brother Methuselah?"

The old mouse stood up. He stared hard at Matthias for a moment, then, turning, he shuffled slowly off. As he went, he called back over his shoulder, "Because, Matthias . . . because he was very like you!"

Before the young mouse could question the old one further, die Joseph Bell tolled out a warning. Sandals flapping, Matthias dashed out into the grounds, nearly colliding with the Abbot and Constance, who, like everyone else, were beading for the gatehouse.

Brothers Rufus and George had an incident to report. A large evil-looking rat, covered in tattoos and carrying a rusty

44

45

cutlass, had turned up at the gate. He had tried to gain entry by pretending he was injured. Limping about, the rat explained that he had been in a hay cart that overturned into the ditch. Would they come with him and render assistance to his friends, many of whom were lying trapped beneath the cart, crying out for help?

Brother Rufus was no fool. "How many rats were traveling in the cart altogether?" he asked.

"Oh, a couple of hundred," came the glib reply.

Then why, reasoned Brother Rufus, did the rats not give aid to their own companions? Surely all two hundred were not trapped? The rat evaded the question and made a great show of rubbing his injured leg. Could they not take him in and dress his wound and perhaps give him a bite to eat at least?

Brother George agreed, on condition that the rat surrender his weapon.

The rat made as if to do so, then suddenly lunged at Brother George, only to be sent sprawling by a blow from Brother Rufus's staff. Realizing that he was up against two big, competent mice who would stand no nonsense, he became abusive and bad-mouthed.

"Ha! Just you wait, mice," he raged. "There's a whole army of us camped down in the church. When 1 tell Cluny how you treated me, ho ho, just wait, that's all. We'll be back, by the fang we will." With that he slunk off, cursing all mice.

The grim news was digested in silence by the assembled creatures. Mrs. Churchmouse began sobbing. "Oh dearie me. Did you hear that, m'dear? They must be living in our home at St. Ninian's Church. Oh, whatever shall we do? Our dear little home, full of dreadful rats."

Mr. John Churchmouse tried to comfort his wife as best he could. "There, there, hush now, Missus. Better to lose a house than lose our lives. A good job we got sanctuary here at Red wall."

"But what about the other creatures in the area?" cried Matthias.

"Sensible mouse," said Constance. "Is Ambrose Spike

46

anywhere about? He'd better do the rounds and tell them to take sanctuary here at the Abbey as quickly as possible. Spike'11 come to no harm. Once he curls up, there's nothing can touch him."

This idea was greeted with enthusiasm. Brother Alf went off to find the hedgehog.

The Abbot suggested they all go inside the Abbey and await further developments. Matthias piped up again, "We'd best mount a guard on the walls."

One of the older mice, Sister Clemence, chided Matthias as an upstart. Her voice was stern and condescending. "Novice Matthias, you will be silent and do as your Abbot commands."

Much to everyone's surprise, the Abbot came to Matthias's defense. "One moment, Clemence, Matthias speaks sense. Let us hear what he has to say. We are none of us too old to learn."

All eyes were turned on the young mouse as Matthias heard himself boldly outline his plans for the defense of Redwall.

It was eleven o'clock on that glorious June morning. Moss-flower Wood and the meadowlands stirred to the brazen voice of the great Joseph Bell. John Churchmouse heaved on the bellrope as he had been told to by Constance and Matthias.

Bong! Boom! Bong! Boom! Even the small creatures in wood and field who could understand no language save their own knew what it meant. "Time of danger, place of sanctuary."

Carrying what simple belongings they needed, wood-landers and their families hurried from far and near to gain the safety of the Abbey before the storm of Cluny broke upon diem - squirrels, mice, voles, moles, otters, all save the birds of the air, who were safe anyway. Up the long dusty road they came, mothers protectively herding young ones while fathers provided a rearguard.

Brother Methuselah stood at the gate with the Abbot. He translated fully to each group of creatures the Abbot's message, in turn construing back to the Father Abbot their grateful thanks with pledges of help and loyalty to Redwall Abbey. For what creature had not been freely given the aid

47

and special knowledge of the kindly mice? All knew that they owed their very existence to the Abbot and his community. Healing, aid, food, shelter and good advice were granted to all. Now was the time to unite and repay, to give any help that was possible. Before much longer Redwall would require the skills and knowledge of all its woodland allies. They would be gratefully given!

Matthias and Constance stood on top of the high perimeter walls, watching the road. It was noon, and the sun shone directly overhead. Despite the heat, Matthias had ordered all the mice to put on their hoods. It served a double purpose, to shield their eyes from the sun and create a camouflage effect. Silently each one stood, armed with a stout staff. The high red sandstone walls were far too lofty to be scaled by any normal creature. Instinctively Matthias knew this was a good defense and a formidable deterrent.

Constance could feel her hackles beginning to prickle. She sniffed the air and shivered despite the heat that shimmered in waves across the meadowlands. The big badger nudged Matthias.

"Listen to that."

Matthias pricked up his ears and looked at her, questioning.

"Even the biros have stopped singing," Constance said quietly.

The young mouse gripped his staff tighter. "Yes, it's the silence we can hear. The grasshoppers have gone quiet."

Constance peered down the road as she spoke. "Strange for a summer day, little friend."

Bong!

Every creature standing on the ramparts twitched with fright as the loud voice of the Joseph Bell rang out, and John Churchmouse shouted from his position high in the belfry, "They're coming, down the road! I can see them. I can see them!"

IO

Cluny's army halted at the sound of the Joseph Bell, As the dust settled, Fangbum looked to his leader for approval.

"They're ringing that big bell again. Chief. Ha! ha! Maybe they think it'll frighten us off."

The Warlord's eye rested balefully on his scout. "Shut your mouth, fool. If you'd done as I ordered and come right back to report, the way Cheesethief did, we might have been inside that Abbey by now!"

Fangburn slunk back into the ranks. He hoped Cluny had forgotten, but Cluny rarely forgot anything on a campaign. The element of surprise had been lost - now he must try another ploy, the show of force. The mere sight of a fully armed horde had worked before, and he had little doubt it would prove effective now. Ordinary peaceful creatures were usually panic-stricken at the sight of Cluny the Scourge at die head of his army. The rat was a cunning general, except die times when his mad rage took control of him, but what need of berserk fits for a bunch of silly mice?

Cluny knew the value of fear as a weapon.

And Cluny was a fearsome figure.

His long ragged black cloak was made of batwings, fastened at the throat with a mole skull. The immense war helmet he wore had the plumes of a blackbird and the horns of a stag beetle adorning it. From beneath the slanted visor his one eye glared viciously out at the Abbey before him.

49

Matthias's voice rang out sharp and clear from the high parapet, "Halt! Who goes there?"

Redtooth swaggered forward and took up the challenge in his Chiefs name, as he called back up at the walls, "Look well, all creatures. This is the mighty horde of Cluny the Scourge. My name is Redtooth. I speak for Cluny our leader."

Constance's reply was harsh and unafraid, "Then speak your piece and begone, rats."

Silence hung upon the air while Redtooth and Cluny held a whispered conference. Redtooth returned to the walls.

"Cluny the Scourge says he will not deal with badgers, he will only speak with the leaders of the mice. Let us in, so that my Chief may sit and talk to your Chief."

Redtooth dodged back as his request was greeted by howls of derision and some loose pieces of masonry from the ramparts. These plump little mice were not as peaceful as they first looked.

The rats looked to Cluny, but he was eyeing the Abbot who had joined Constance and Matthias. They appeared to be consulting quietly. Cluny watched tensely. There seemed to be some disagreement between the old mouse and his two advisers. They conferred awhile; then Matthias came forward to the parapet. He pointed at Cluny and Redtooth with his staff.

"You there, and you also. My Abbot will talk with you both. The rest must remain outside."

A rumble of protest from the horde was silenced by a crack from Cluny's tail. He lifted his visor.

"We agree, mouse, let us in."

"But what about hostages for safe conduct?" hissed Red-tooth.

Cluny spat contemptuously. "Don't talk fool's talk. D'you imagine a load of mice in funny robes could take me captive?"

Redtooth gnawed anxiously on a split claw. "Maybe not, Chief, but have you cast a weather eye over that badger?"

Cluny answered quietly out of the side of his mouth, "Don't worry, I've been watching her. A real big country bumpkin. No, these are mice of honor, they'd sooner die than break their word to anyone. You leave this to me."

As Cluny and Redtooth made for the gatehouse door,

50

Constance shouted, "Put down your weapons, rats. Throw off your armor to show us that you come in peace."

Redtooth spluttered angrily. "Hell's teeth! Who does that one think she's ordering around?"

Cluny shot him a warning glance. "Quiet. Do as she says."

Both rats took off their armor and placed it in a pile on the road. Matthias cried down to Cluny, "If you really are Cluny the Scourge, then we know of your tail. It is a weapon. Therefore you will knot it tightly around your waist so that it cannot be used."

Cluny laughed mirthlessly. He squinted at Matthias and cracked his tail dramatically.

"Young mouse," he called. "You do right to ask this thing, for truly you are looking at Cluny the Scourge."

Having said this he took his tail in his claws, and pulled the poison war spike from its rip. Tossing it on the armor pile, Cluny hitched his tail in a knot around his middle.

"Now will you let us in, .mice? You can see we are unarmed."

Ponderously the heavy gate inched open. The two rats passed through a bristling forest of staves. The gate slammed shut behind them.

Cluny mentally estimated the walls to be of immense thickness as he and Redtooth, ducking their heads, emerged from the tunnel-like arch into the Abbey grounds, where Constance and Matthias were waiting in the sunlight. The defenders followed the two rats closely, menacing them with staves.

Matthias rapped out a curt command, "Leave us, mice. Go back to your duties on the wall."

Unhappy at leaving the Abbot unguarded, the mice hesitated to obey the order to withdraw. Cluny addressed Matthias scornfully, "Here, mouse, watch me shift "em."

Suddenly he whirled upon the apprehensive creatures. The single eye rolled madly in its socket as Cluny bared claws and fangs, snarling, "Ha harr! I've got a powerful hunger for mice! You'd best get aloft on those walls. Ha harr!"

Cluny leaped into the air. The mice scattered in panic.

Constance stopped the proceedings with a loud angry bark. "Here now. Enough of that, rat. You are here to talk with the Abbot. Get along with you."

Matthias was glad he was walking behind the rats; he blushed with shame. Cluny had sent the defenders scattering like butterflies in a whirlwind. Matthias was furious; the enemy now knew he was dealing with untrained and untested soldiers.

As the party walked towards Cavern Hole, Cluny could sense hostility emanating from the young mouse who flip-flopped behind him in overlarge sandals. Strange for one so young to be counted as a captain, he thought. Moreover, the little fellow didn't seem to fear him. Ah, but enough of that. Cluny would deal with him when the time came. Meanwhile, the big rat gazed about his surroundings in secret admiration. What an astounding place!

He allowed himself a peek at the future. One day this would be called Cluny's Castle. He liked the sound of that. Secure from attack, living off the fat of the land, in his mind's eye he saw it all: those mice and the woodland creatures enslaved, living just to serve him. He would hold sway as far as the eye could see; power; an end to his rovings; a dream come true; King Cluny!

Entering the Abbey, the party stopped to make way for a pretty little fieldmouse bearing a tray.

"Oh, Matthias," she said. "I've brought some refreshments for you and"

"Thank you, Cornflower. Put them down on the table," said Matthias abruptly.

Redtooth nudged Cluny. "Cornflower, eh. Satan's nose, she's a pretty little one for you!"

Cluny remained silent. He stood insolently watching Cornflower set the table in Cavern Hole. A pretty one indeed!

The Abbot indicated chairs. They all sat except Cluny, who lounged against the table using the chair as a footstool. He glared at Redtooth until he stood and waited alongside his Chief. Idly Cluny picked up a bowl of honeyed milk and sampled it.

Slop! He spat it out on the floor.

The Abbot folded his paws into the wide sleeves of his habit and stared impassively at the Warlord. "What do you want at Redwall Abbey, my son?"

52

Cluny kicked the chair over and laughed madly. As the echoes died around the room his face went grim.

"Your son, ha. That's a good one! I'll tell you what I want, mouse. I want it all. The lot. Everything. Do you hear me?"

Matthias's chair clattered on its side as he sprang forward, breaking free from the restraining paws of the Abbot.

"Listen, rat, you don't scare me! I'll give you our answer. You get nothing! Now do you understand that?"

Shaking with fury, Matthias allowed himself to be pulled back on to the chair. The Abbot turned to Cluny.

"You must forgive Matthias. He is young and headstrong. Now, as to your proposal, I am afraid it is out of the question. Should you or your army require medical attention, food, clothing or help upon your way, you will find us only too willing to assist"

Cluny interrupted rudely by pounding upon the table until die Abbot was silenced. He pointed a claw at Redtooth.

"Read them the articles."

Redtooth held up a tattered parchment. He cleared his throat. "These are the articles of surrender to be obeyed by all creatures who come under the claw of Cluny the Scourge or any of his commanders. One: surrender will be total and unconditional. Two: Cluny will execute the leaders of all who choose to oppose him. Three: all property conquered will belong solely to Cluny the Scourge. This includes homes, food, crops, land and additionally all creatures dwelling on said property: they shall be owned by Cluny"

Thwack!

Redtooth got no further. Unable to contain himself, Matthias sent his staff ripping through the middle of the articles. As the torn document fluttered to the floor, Redtooth launched himself at Matthias with a snarl.

The rat was actually in midair when a huge blunt paw knocked him flat. He lay stunned with Constance standing over him.

"Why pick on a small mouse? Surely a big strong rat like you can deal with an old badger? Come on, try me for size."

It was only the timely intervention of Abbot Mortimer that saved Redtooth's life. ."Constance, would you please let the rat up? Much as I

53

would like to see him get his just desserts, you must remember we cannot break the law of hospitality in our Abbey."

Redtooth staggered shakily to his feet, backing warily away from the badger. Cluny spoke as if nothing had occurred, "You, Abbot mouse, you have until tomorrow evening to give me your answer."

Not normally given to anger, the Abbot stared Cluny in the eye, his face a mask of cold fury.

"I will not need until tomorrow, rat. You can have my answer now. How dare you come here with your robber band to read articles of death and slavery to me? 1 tell you that neither you nor your army will ever set paw or claw inside Red wall, not while 1 or any of my creatures have breath in our bodies to fight and resist you. That is my solemn word."

Cluny sneered and turned on his heel. Followed by Red-tooth, he stamped out. On the stairs between Cavern Hole and Great Hall he stopped and turned, his cold voice echoing between both chambers, "Then die, all of you: every male, female, and young one. You have refused my terms. Now you will suffer the punishment of Cluny. You will beg on your knees for death to come swiftly, but I shall make your torment loud and long before you die!"

It was then that Constance did something that creatures would speak of in years to come.

Exerting the full strength of a female badger, she lifted the massive Cavern Hole dining table. It was a huge solid oaken thing that no dozen mice could even move. Dishes clattered and food spilled as Constance heaved the table above her head. Her voice was a roar. "Get out, rats! Leave this Abbey! I'm weary of your voices. Hurry before 1 break the laws of hospitality and ask the Abbot's pardon later. Go, while you still have skulls."

With the best grace he could muster, Cluny walked rather quickly up the stairs, followed by Redtooth, who laughed nervously. "Big country bumpkin, eh, Chief? One more word from you back there and she'd have thrown that table and crushed us."

Remembering who it was that he had spoken to in this

insolent fashion, Redtooth cringed, expecting Cluny to deal him a blow for impudence. But nothing happened.

Cluny was standing transfixed.

Oblivious to all about him, even Matthias and the Abbot who had followed him out, Cluny stood staring at the tapestry.

"Who is that mouse?" he gasped.

Matthias followed the direction of the rat's gaze. He walked to the tapestry with his paw outstretched.

"Do you mean this mouse?"

Cluny nodded dumbly.

Matthias, still with his paw outstretched, declared proudly, "This is Martin the Warrior. He founded our Order, and I'll tell you something else, rat. Martin was the bravest mouse mat ever lived. If he were here today he'd just take up his big sword and send you and all your bullies packing. Those of you he didn't chop up into crow meat."

Much to everyone's surprise, Cluny allowed himself to be shown out. He was like one in a daze all the way back to the gatehouse.

A hush fell over the mice on guard as Cluny and Redtooth were let out on to the road. Swiftly, the horde gathered around the Warlord and his lieutenant. They awaited orders. Deputizing for Cluny, Redtooth called out, "Form up. Back .to die church, everyone."

Cluny marched automatically, shaking his head in disbelief.

Martin the Warrior. The mouse who pursued him through his nightmares. What did it mean?

As Redtooth marched away, a voice hailed him from the wall. He turned and looked upwards. The torn articles - the parchment wrapped around a fistful of rotting vegetables -splattered in his face. Livid with rage he clawed the foul mess from his eyes and saw Constance leaning over the parapet with a wicked grin of delight on her striped muzzle.

The badger shouted mockingly, "Don't forget to call again, rat. I'd be delighted to see you. We've got some unfinished business that I'm looking forward to settling. Just you and me, Redtooth!"

Before the rat could reply, she had vanished from sight.

55

II

Later that evening Brother Alf was patrolling his stretch of wall when he noticed a movement in the ferns at the edge of Mossflower Wood. Constance and Matthias were summoned hastily. They peered over the parapet. Brother Alf pointed to where he had seen the ferns moving.

"Over there, to the right of that aspen. Look, they're moving again."

Matthias had better nocturnal vision than either of his friends. He was the first to recognize the forlorn figure that rolled on to the grass.

"It's Ambrose Spike. He's hurt. Quick, let's get down there."

"Hold fast," Constance warned. "It may be a trap,"

Matthias was loth to hang about while a creature was lying injured within his sight, but he had to heed his friend's advice. There just might be some of Cluny's rats lying in ambush for any creature that ventured into the shadowy fringes of Mossflower. However, Matthias was growing impatient.

"We can't leave poor Ambrose lying out there, Constance. He'll die. We've got to do something."

The badger sat down with her snout between her paws. "Yes, we've got to think. Anyone got an idea?"

The two mice joined her. Hardly had Matthias sat down when he leaped up again.

"I've got it. Stay here. I'll be back in a tick!"

Brother Alf watched the little figure flip-flopping off. He

56

gave a sigh and shook his head. "What do you suppose our Matthias is up to?"

The badger smiled affectionately. More and more she was coming to trust Matthias's natural skill as a leader and tactician. "Don't fret, Brother Alf. Whatever it is, you can bet your habit it'll be an original Matthias gem. That young mouse has got more in his head than a pile of acorns."

Brother Alf looked out at the still form in the grass. "It may be too late. Ambrose isn't even twitching. Look, he's not rolled up in a ball anymore."

Further speculation was curtailed by the appearance of Matthias. With him were half a dozen moles.

Their leader glanced out at the hedgehog. He scratched some hasty calculations on the wall with his claw, then turned to Matthias. "Oi I think we can get yon 'edgepig back, sur. You'm get us outen the gate and stan' watch."

Turning to his team, the Foremole (for that was his official title) began discussing tunnel width, coupled with reverse prickle drag, forward traction and all the other specialist details that are routine to the average qualified tunnel-mole.

Matthias whispered to Constance and Brother Alf, "Fore-mole and his crew are first class at rescue work. They've often rescued burrowers from cave-ins. All we have to do is stand guard by the south-east wicket gate until they're safely back."

"Right. What are we waiting for? Let's go," said the badger.

Silently they slid outside the small green-painted iron door. Matthias straining his eyes anxiously to see if there were any signs of life in the hedgehog. He still lay about a hundred and fifty mouse paces from where they stood.

The moles unraveled a rope sling. Foremole stood watching as two of his team started the dig.

Matthias looked on in wonderment. One minute they were above ground, a moment later there was a veritable shower bf loam and topsoil as they vanished beneath the earth: nature's own technicians.

In a trice they were back, moist snouts poking from the excavation. They made their ground report to Foremole.

"Harr, he'm be noice an' soft, sur. Baint no rock nor root to stop us'ns, straight furrer we'm a-thinking."

57

Satisfied, Foremole moved towards the test hole with the rest of his team. "Oi'll dig ahead, you'm woiden workin's. Gaffer and Marge, foller up a-shorin." He tugged his snout respectfully to Matthias and Constance. "You'm gennelbeast bide by 'ere 'til us back."

Another quick shower of soft dark earth and the moles were lost to view beneath the ground surface.

Constance sniffed the breeze as Matthias turned his ears to the nighttime woodland sounds. They watched the ground humping into a continuous hillock that progressed farther as the moles tunneled towards Ambrose Spike. The night remained calm and still, but Matthias and Constance stayed alert, both knowing if they failed to observe this rudimentary law of nature, the penalty could be fatal.

Matthias did a little shuffle of excitement. "Look, they've come up right under poor old Ambrose! My word, what splendid moles. Good heavens, he's vanished completely! They must have him inside the tunnel."

In a surprisingly short time the tunnelers were back. Emerging from the hole, they carried the hedgehog in the rope sling across their backs, refusing any help from the badger or the mouse. Foremole merely tugged his snout.

"Nay, nay, you uns on'y get yer paws durted."

As swiftly as possible Ambrose was hurried to the Abbey infirmary and sick bay. He was attended by the Abbot himself. A hasty diagnosis revealed that the hedgehog was suffering from a long jagged wound that ran from the back of his ear to the tip of his paw. Brother Alf nodded sympathetically.

"That's probably what caused old Ambrose to pass out. Pain and loss of blood. He must have traveled a fair way in that condition. D'you think he'll live, Father Abbot?"

The Abbot chuckled quietly. He cleaned the long ugly wound and applied a poultice of herbs. "No cause for alarm. Brother Alf. Ambrose Spike is made of leather and needles. Tough as a boulder, this old ruffian is. Look, he's beginning to come around already."

Sure enough, after some peculiar grunts and much curling

58

and uncurling, the hedgehog opened his eyes and looked about. "Oh my aching ear. Father Abbot, you wouldn't see a poor son of the Spike suffering like this without a drop of last October's nutbrown ale to wet his parched gullet," he pleaded.

All the creatures laughed aloud with delight and relief at seeing their old friend alive and well once again.

Matthias was astonished at the amount of nutbrown ale that Ambrose supped before he deemed himself fit enough to make a report. The hedgehog smacked his lips noisily.

"Aaaahhh, that's better. Now, let me see. I did as you asked me, gave as many creatures fair warning as I could. The Joseph Bell helped a great deal to warn everyone. Well, to cut a long story short, it must have been near noon when I stopped at Vole Bank. I told the Voles the bad news, and blow me if that little ninny Colin Vole didn't go to shrieking and screaming all over the place as to how they'd all be murdered in their beds. Believe me, there was no way of silencing the daft young thing. Anyhow, his noise must have alerted a pack of those rats who were out foraging. Before you could say 'knife' they were upon us. There was such a gang of them that I couldn't do anything, I had to curl up. They carried off young Colin and his mum and dad, but try as they would there was no laying claws on Ambrose Spike, no sir. Then one of them had a go at me with a point of an iron churchyard railing. Stabbed away at me, the devil did. They reckoned I was dead. Said I was too spiky to eat, so they dragged the Vole family off and I lay still until the coast was clear. I made it as far as Mossflower and that's all I can remember. Er, is there any more left in that jug? This wound's giving me jip. I need ale for medicinal purposes, Father Abbot."

Matthias groaned and hung his head in despair. The Vole family taken captive; death or slavery was all the wretched creatures could look forward to. Emboldened by the rescue of the hedgehog, Matthias was about to suggest that he and Constance, together with some hand-picked helpers, venture to undertake a rescue mission to St. Ninian's Church. It was as if the Abbot and Constance both read his thoughts at the

59

same time. Abbot Mortimer sighed and shook his head at Matthias. The badger was more voluble.

"Matthias, forget it. Abandon any hopes you have of snatching the Vole family from under Cluny's nose. Imagine it, a few of us going up against several hundred armed rats in their own camp. Ridiculous. A fat lot of good we'd be as defenders of Redwall with our heads fixed to Cluny's standard. Matthias, you're a very brave young mouse, so please try to set an example to the rest by not becoming a foolish or dead one."

On reflection, Matthias could see the wisdom of the badger's counsel. Long after they had all retired for the night he sat up thinking. A hundred mad ideas pounded through his brain, each one wilder than the last. Feeling at a loss, he wandered up into Great Hall and stood in front of the tapestry. Without consciously realizing it, he found himself talking to Martin the Warrior.

"Oh Martin, what would you have done in my place? I know that I'm only a young mouse, a novice, not even a proper Redwall member yet, but once you were young too. I know what you would have done. You'd have buckled on your armor, picked up your mighty sword, gone down to that church and battled with the rats until they released the Voles or perished beneath your blade. But alas, those days are gone. I have no magic sword to aid me, only the advice of my elders and betters, to which I must listen."

Matthias sat down upon the cool stone floor. He gazed longingly up at Martin the Warrior, so proud, so brave. What a dashing figure he cut. Looking back down to himself in his baggy green robes and oversized sandals, Matthias felt hot tears of shame and frustration spilling from his eyes and dripping on his young whiskers. Unable to stop himself, he wept freely. The soft touch of a gentle paw on his back caused him to look around. It was Cornflower.

Matthias wished he were dead!

He quickly turned his face away, knowing she could see his tears.

"Cornflower, please go away," Matthias sobbed.

The little fieldmouse, howeverf would not go. She sat down on the floor next to Matthias. Taking the edge of her

pinafore she softly wiped away his tears. For such a shy little mouse she had quite a bit to say.

"Matthias, don't be ashamed, I know why you cry and grieve. It is because you are kind and good, not a hard-hearted pitiless rat like Cluny. Please listen to me. Even the strongest and bravest must sometimes weep. It shows they have a great heart, one that can feel compassion for others. You are brave, Matthias. Already you have done great things for one so young. I am only a simple country-bred fieldmouse, but even I can see the courage and leadership in you. A burning brand shows the way, and each day your flame grows brighter. There is none like you, Matthias. You have the sign of greatness upon you. One day Redwall and all the land will be indebted to you. Matthias, you are a true Warrior."

Matthias, with his eyes dry and his head held high, stood up; he felt himself stand taller than he ever had. He helped Cornflower to her feet and bowed to her.

"Cornflower, how can I ever thank you for what you have said? You too are a very special mouse. It is late now. Go and get some rest. I think I will stay here a while longer."

The fieldmouse untied her headband. It was her favorite one, pale yellow bordered with the cornflowers after which she was named. She tied it to Matthias's arm, the right one, just above the elbow. A maiden's colors for her champion warrior.

Silently she crept off. Matthias could feel his heart beating against his chest. He spoke to the image of Martin.

"Thank you, Warrior. You spoke to me through Cornflower. You gave me the sign that I asked of you."

60

12

At the Church of St. Ninian, Cluny sat in the wreckage of what had once been a pulpit. Redtooth, Darkclaw, Cheesethief, and Fangburn lounged about at his feet on old burst hassocks. Cluny was in one of his strange moods again. He showed little interest in the captive Vole family, merely ordering that they be kept under guard until he found time to deal with them. Most of his army slept in the choir loft or the lady chapel. The rest were posted on sentry duty outside.

Cautiously, his captains watched the Warlord. Cluny 's long tail swished restlessly, the single eye stared at a carved eagle holding the rotting lectern on its outspread wings. What thoughts occupied the dark devious mind of Cluny the Scourge? Finally he looked up and spoke.

"Go and get Shadow. Bring him here to me. "

Darkclaw and Fangburn scurried off to obey the command. Silently the others waited, their eyes glinting in evil anticipation.

The Chief had a plan. Like all of his schemes it would be cunningly simple and wickedly brilliant. There was no better general than Cluny when it came to strategy.

Shadow had been with Cluny for many years. Nobody was sure if he was rat or weasel, or even a bit of both. He was very lithe and wiry, and his long sinewy body was covered in sleek, black far. There was no hint of another color in his coat; it was blacker than moonless midnight. His eyes were

62

strangely slanted, black without any brightness in them. The eyes of Shadow were like those of a dead thing.

He stood before Cluny, who had to strain his one eye against the darkness of the church to make sure he was really there.

"Shadow, is that you?"

The reply sounded like a whisper of wet silk across a smooth slate. "Cluny, I am here. Why do you want Shadow?"

The captains shivered at the sound of the voice. Cluny leaned forward. "Did you see the walls of that Abbey today?"

"I was there. Shadow sees all."

"Tell me true. Could you climb them?"

"No beast I know of could climb those walls."

"Except you?"

"Except me."

Cluny gestured with his tail. "Come closer then. I will tell you what must be done."

Shadow sat on the top pulpit step. Cluny issued his orders. "You will climb the Abbey wall. Many sentries patrol the top of the wall. Take the utmost care. If you get captured, you are of no use to me. There is no point in one alone trying to attack the gatehouse and open the aoor. It is too well guarded, so forget the gate."

Shadow gave no hint that Cluny had inadvertently read his mind. He remained motionless as Cluny continued, "Once you have scaled the wall, make for the main Abbey door. Should it be locked for the night you will use all your skill to open it without any noise. It is vital that you get inside. The first room you will find yourself in is the main one. The mice call it Great Hall. Walk in, turn around, and on the left wall facing you is a long tapestry covered in pictures and designs. Now listen carefully. In the bottom right-hand corner of that tapestry is a picture of a mouse dressed in armor, leaning on a big sword. I want it! Cut it, rip it, or tear it out, but get it for me. I must have it! Don't come back without it, Shadow."

Puzzlement was written on the faces of the four captains who had overheard the orders.

A picture of a mouse?

Cluny had never been known as a collector of pictures.

63

Fangburn whispered to Cheesethief, "What use is a picture of a mouse to the Chief?"

Cluny heard. He came to the edge of the pulpit. Grasping the sides of the lectern he surveyed his small congregation like some satanic minister.

"Ah, Brother Fangburn, let me explain. I will tell you why it is that you and all your kind will forever remain servants, while I shall always be the master. Did you not see the faces of those mice today? The mere mention of Martin the Warrior sends them into ecstasies. Don't you see, he is their symbol. His name means the same to those mice as mine does to the horde: in a different way maybe. Martin is some sort of angel; I'm the opposite. Think for a moment. If anything were to happen to me, you'd all be a leaderless rabble, a headless mob. So, if the mice were to lose their most precious omen, the picture of Martin, where would that leave them?"

Redtooth slapped his haunches. He rocked to and fro, sniggering with uncontrolled glee.

"Brilliant, Chief, diabolical! They'd just be a crowd of terrified little mice without their wonderful Martin."

Cluny's tail banged down on the rotting lectern, smashing it into several fragments.

"And that's when well strike!"

The powerful tail lashed backwards, wrapping itself around Shadow's body. He was dragged forward, face to face with his master. Cluny's rancid breath blasted into Shadow's face as he ground out each syllable.

"Bring that picture back here to me. Do this, and your reward will be great when I sit on the Abbot's chair in Redwall Abbey. But fail me, and your screams will be heard far beyond the woodland and meadows!"

Cluny the Scourge had spoken.

The sun's first rays flung wide the gates of dawn. The inhabitants of Redwall were already up and about. After breakfast the Abbot issued daily orders. All those not employed defending the Abbey would husband the crops and gather in supplies for the larders in the event of a prolonged siege. Young otters collected watercress and fished; Cornflower headed a party of mice to reap the early cereal crops; more youngsters tended die salad gardens. The bright summer morning hummed to the bustle of industrious woodlanders.

Ambrose Spike, now sufficiently recovered, sat in the storeroom taking stock: lots of nuts and preserved berries from last autumn; apples and pears aplenty. Unfortunately, the hedge-Jiog could not check the cellars; Brother Edmund and Friar Hugo had the only two keys. He licked his lips at the thought of barrels of nutbrown ale, strong cider, creamy stout and the little kegs - ah, the dear little kegs! - full of elderberry wine, mulberry brandy, blackcurrant port and wild grape sherry.

"Yurr, 'edgepig. Where'm us a-puttin' these roots an* dannylines? 'Asten up, they'm roight *eavy."

Ambrose sighed wistfully as he attended the two moles staggering under a bundle of dandelions and tubers.

"Arr, 'old *em liddle taters steady, Bill. Yurr, tip 'em up,

More baby moles. Ambrose pawed the bandage on his wound. A hedgehog's work was never done.

64

Matthias and Constance stood in the cloisters. They had taken charge of weapon training. The woodlanders were each showing off their special skills. In more peaceful days, these skills had only been used at fairs and sporting contests, but now, when the need arose, they would be used with more deadly effect.

The otters carried bags of smooth pebbles which they hurled from vine slings with great force and accuracy. Groups of fieldmouse archers nocked thistledown shafts to the strings of their longbows. Many a marauding bird had been driven off by these same tiny archers. Bands of Redwall mice practiced at thrust and parry with staves.

Below the wall on the Abbey grass Foremole directed his crew as they dug a trench. This was lined with sharpened stakes by a solitary beaver. A system of ropes and pulleys carried the baskets of stone and trench debris up to the ramparts. Defenders piled it in heaps at the edge of the parapet.

Matthias took a group of Redwall mice to instruct in the use of the quarter staff- he had discovered in himself a natural skill with the long ash pole. None of the mice had ever competed in any type of violent sport; they were awkward and timid. But as it was a personal choice between learning cudgel and wrestling from Constance or quarter staff from Matthias, to a mouse they had opted for the latter.

Matthias found he had to be quite severe with them. Accordingly, he dealt out some hefty blows and hard falls to make the more timid souls angry enough to retaliate.

"Keep that head guarded, Brother Anthony!"

Thwack!

"I warned you, Brother! Now look out, I'm coming after you again."

Thwack!

"No, no! Don't just stand there, Brother! Defend yourself! Hit out at me."

Thwack, crack!

This time, Matthias sat down hard, rubbing dazedly at his sore head. Constance chuckled.

"Well, Matthias, you've only yourself to blame. You asked Brother Anthony to hit out at you and, my word, he certainly

66

obliged. I'll have to recruit him for my cudgel class! He shows promise."

Matthias stood up, smiling ruefully. He rested on his staff. "Yes, he's very strong, but I do wish that we had some real weapons of war - swords and daggers and such like. We won't kill many rats with wooden staves."

"Maybe not," the badger replied. "But you must remember that we are here to defend, not to attack or kill."

Matthias threw down his staff. He took a dipper of water from an oaken pail, drinking deeply, then splashing the remains over his aching head.

"A wise observation, Constance, but you try telling that to Cluny and his horde. See how far you get."

Lunch that day was served out in the orchard. Matthias lined up with the other woodland creatures to collect his food: a bowl of fresh milk, a hunk of wheaten loaf and some goats-milk cheese. Cornflower was serving. She gave Matthias an extra large wedge of the cheese. He rolled up the sleeve of his habit and pulled out the corner of her scarf.

"Look, Cornflower, a very close friend gave me this last night."

She laughed at him. "Get along, and eat your lunch, warrior mouse, or I'll show you my deadly aim with a piece of this cheese."

Strolling through the dappled shade of the orchard, Matthias sought out old Methuselah. Slumping down beneath a damson tree, the young mouse munched away at his lunch. Methuselah was sitting with his back against the tree, his eyes closed in an apparent doze. Without opening them he addressed Matthias. "How goes the practice war, young stavemaster?"

Matthias watched some of the tiny ants carrying off his fallen breadcrumbs as he answered, "As well as possible, Brother Methuselah. And how are your studies coming along?"

Methuselah squinted over the top of his spectacles. "Knowledge is a thing that one cannot have enough of. It is die fruit of wisdom, to be eaten carefully and digested fully, unlike that lunch you are bolting down, little friend."

67

Matthias set his food to one side. "Tell me, what knowledge have you digested lately, old one?"

Methuselah took a sip from Matthias's milk bowl. "Sometimes I think you have a very old head for such a young mouse. What more do you wish to know about Martin the Warrior?"

Matthias looked surprised. "How did you know I was going to ask about Martin?"

Methuselah wrinkled his nose. "How do the bee folk know there is pollen in a flower? Ask away, young one, before I doze off again."

Matthias hesitated a moment, then blurted out, "Brother Methuselah, tell me where Martin lies buried."

The old mouse chuckled drily. "Next you are going to ask me where to find the great sword of the warrior mouse."

"B-but how did you know that?" stammered Matthias.

The ancient gatehouse-keeper shrugged his thin shoulders. "The sword must lie buried with Martin. You would have little use for the dusty bones of a bygone hero. A simple deduction, even for one as old as I am."

"Then you know where the Warrior lies?"

Methuselah shook his head. "That is a thing no creature knows. For many long years now I have puzzled and pored over ancient manuscripts, translating, following hidden trails, always with the same result: nothing. 1 have even used my gift of tongues, speaking to the bees and others who can go into places too small for us, but always it is the same - rumors, legends and old mouse tales."

Matthias crumbled more bread for the ants. "Then the Warrior's sword is only a fable?"

Methuselah leaned forward indignantly. "Who said that? Did I?"

"No, but you"

"Bah! Nothing of the sort, young mouse. Listen carefully to me. I have an uncanny feeling that you may be the one I have been saving this vital piece of information for."

Matthias forgot his lunch. He listened attentively.

"About four summers ago I treated a sparrowhawk who had pulled a sinew in her foot. She could not use her talons properly. Hmm, as I remember, I made her promise never

68

to take a mouse as prey. She was a fierce, frightening bird. Have you ever been close up to a sparrowhawk? No, of course you haven't. Well, let me tell you, they can hypnotize small creatures with those savage golden eyes. Born killers, they are. But this hawk said something that made me think. She talked of the sparrows, called diem winged mice, said that many years ago they had stolen something from our Abbey: a treasure that belonged to the mice. Wouldn't say what it was. Just flew off. Huh, who expects gratitude from a sparrowhawk, anyway?"

Matthias interrupted. "Have you ever spoken to the sparrows about this 'something'?"

Methuselah shook his head. "I'm too old. I can't climb up to the roof where they nest. Besides, the sparrows are odd birds, forever quarreling and chattering on in their strange voices. They are warlike creatures, extremely forgetful and completely savage. They'd throw you from the roof and kill you before you had a chance to get near their tribal nests. Yes, I'm far too old for that son of thing, Matthias, and anyhow, I'm not too sure that die sparrowhawk's story was true. Some birds can be dreadful liars when they have a mind to be."

Matthias tried questioning Brother Methuselah further, but the warm sun had worked its magic upon the old gatekeeper as he sat in the orchard savoring the peace and tranquility of a June afternoon. This time there was no deception. He was genuinely fast asleep.

69

Clouds drifted across the sky, obscuring the thin sliver of moon. The Joseph Bell tolled out its midnight message to the slumbering countryside. A warm sort drizzle was falling over the parched meadows and dry woodland, bringing relief after the hot dry day, damping down the dust from the road.

In the ditch a frog opened its eyes, disturbed by some slight noise from the hedgerow. It blinked. Was that three figures creeping along, or two?

The frog remained perfectly still. There seemed to be two figures, and some sort of shadow. The moon came out from behind a cloud.

It was two huge rats . . . and a dark shadowy something*.

They crept along under cover of the hedge towards the big dwelling of the mouse folk. Rats were hunters; thankfully they had not noticed him. The frog stayed motionless and let them pass. It was none of his business.

Cluny, Ragear and Shadow padded noiselessly towards Red-wall. This was such an important mission that Cluny had decided to come along and supervise it personally. Around Shadow's waist was strapped a skin pouch. It contained a thin strong rope, a padded grappling hook, a vial of oil, some locfcpicks and a dagger: Shadow's usual burgling kit.

Ragear ambled proudly along, thrilled that he had been specially picked to accompany his Chief on such a vital task. Little did he know that Cluny had only included him as an

70

insurance. If they should get into a tight corner, Ragear would serve as an expendable fool. That way Cluny could make good his own escape.

The trio halted beneath the lofty Abbey walls. Cluny silenced them with a wave of his tail, then vanished into the night. Ragear felt distinctly nervous at being left alone with Shadow. He attempted a whispered conversation.

"Nice drops of rain* eh, Shadow? Good for the grass. Blow me, these walls are pretty high. I'm glad it's you climbing them and not me. I'd never make it. Too fat, hahaha."

Ragear's voice trailed off. He fumbled with his whiskers, wilting beneath the basilisk stare of Shadow's dead black eyes. He shuddered and fell silent.

Within ten minutes Cluny was back. He nodded up at the parapet. "I've been up and down the length of the wall for a fair distance. The sentry mice are all asleep, the fools! They've never had to do guard duty before - as soon as night falls so do their eyelids. That's what soft living does for you."

Ragear's head bobbwd in agreement. "You're right, Chief. If they were in our army and old Redtooth caught them snoozing he'd"

"Shut your trap, stupid," Cluny hissed. "Are you ready, Shadow? Now don't forget your instructions."

Shadow bared his yellowed fangs and started climbing. Slowly he made his way upwards, like a long black reptile, his claws seeking hidden niches and crevices in the sandstone. Ever upwards, sometimes stopping spreadeagled against the surface as he figured out his next movement, taking full advantage of every crack and joint in the wall. No other animal in Cluny's army could have attempted such an ascent, but Shadow was a climbing expert. He concentrated his whole being on the job in hand, sometimes clinging to the stones by no more than a single claw. Below on the ground Cluny and Ragear strained their eyes upwards. They could hardly make out his shape. He was not far from the top of the wall.

Shadow shifted position and levered with his back legs and tail. Now he wedged his claws into a fissure and stretched upwards, gaining inch by inch.

On top of the wall Brother Edmund was snoring gently. He was nestled in a pile of rubble, wrapped in a warm blanket with his hood up against the light rain. Edmund was oblivious to the long sharp claws that latched themselves over the parapet edge. A moment later the sleek black head appeared; two dense obsidian eyes stared at the sleeping mouse. Shadow had succeeded in climbing the Abbey wall.

Like a sinuous black lizard he slithered past slumbering creatures and around rubble heaps, never once making a sound. Friar Hugo mumbled gently in his sleep, and moved his head so that his cowl slid off. Drizzle fell upon the fat friar's face, threatening to wake him. Gently as a night breeze, Shadow replaced the hood. Pausing for an instant, Shadow looked about before descending the stone steps from the ramparts to the cloisters. Using shrubs and bushes as cover he moved furtively forwards, never taking any needless chances or making sudden movements. Sometimes he stopped and waited, letting the minutes tick away as he planned his next progression, gliding like a cloud's shadow cast upon the ground by the moon.

The door to Great Hall was not locked. Shadow judged that the latch was probably old and creaky. He took out the vial of oil and lubricated the latch and hinges. Carefully he inched the door ajar- apart from a tiny squeak it swung effortlessly open. Sliding inside, he released the door by mistake. A swift night breeze slammed it shut with a dull thud.

Shadow cursed inwardly and flung himself behind a nearby pillar. He lay inert, not daring to breathe; one, two, three minutes, good! Nobody had been disturbed by the noise. He ventured out to inspect the tapestry that hung upon the wall.

A black moth on a moonless night would not have escaped Shadow's notice. He needed no lamp to scrutinize the thing before him. So this was the picture of the warrior mouse that Cluny lusted after. Using his razor-sharp fangs he began gnawing into the ancient tapestry, working from the tasseled hem upwards.

Matthias tossed and turned in his bed, exhausted, but unable to sleep. His mind revolved around a host of problems and

schemes: the sword, Martin's grave, defense of the Abbey, Cornflower. Finally, after much kicking and rumpling of sheets, sleep started to take over. He was somewhere in a long deserted room, not unlike Great Hall. A voice called to him, "Matthias."

"Oh, go away," the young mouse muttered drowsily. "Get someone else. I'm tired."

But the voice persisted, boring into his mind. "Matthias, Matthias, I need you."

. He peered down the length of the darkened hall. "What is it, why do you need me?"

Matthias began to walk towards the voice. He could hear a wicked snigger followed by a cry of despair. "Matthias, help, don't let them take me." - He ran forwards. The hall seemed to grow longer.

"Who are you, where are you?"

Far ahead in the murky darkness Matthias could vaguely distinguish a figure leaning out from the wall. It was a mouse in armor.

"Please, Matthias, you must help me quickly!"

Bump.

Matthias landed on the floor of his bedroom. Sheets were tangled about his body. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his eyes. What a strange dream: the long hall, the plea for help, the armored mouse. . . .

Matthias felt the fur on the back of his neck rising.

Of course, it had to be!

Great Hall. Martin the Warrior. Something terrible was going on downstairs. He was needed urgently.

Matthias kicked the sheets from him as he leaped up and dashed headlong from the bedroom, along the dormitory corridor and helter skelter down the spiral staircase. Through Cavern Hole he clattered in the darkness, stumbling and tripping over furniture, his heart hammering loudly and legs pumping like twin pistons. Matthias fell over the top stair and went sprawling into Great Hall. He lay on the floor, gazing through the gloom to the tapestry. Martin was still 'there, but. . . he was moving.

Was it the breeze? No, it couldn't be. The likeness of the warrior mouse was jiggling about as though it were being

73

tugged in some way. Matthias could see a shadow, but there was nothing to cast it. He jumped to his feet and ran forwards as the picture of Martin was ripped away from the tapestry.

A rat held it!

There was no doubt in Matthias's mind. It was a rat, entirely black from tip to tail, barely distinguishable from the night itself.

Shadow heard the footsteps on the floor behind him. With cold, calculated detachment he wheeled about as his opponent charged. He was certain to defeat such a small creature in combat, but his orders were to get the picture, not to fight little mice. Besides, there was always the additional hazard that the mouse might hang on to him and shout for help until it came. Like a wraith of oily smoke Shadow completed a clever double maneuver. Bowling his body into a forward roll, he knocked Matthias down like a skittle. Bounding up he slipped around the door, slammed it and fled off through the cloisters.

Matthias sprang up, roaring at the top of his voice, "Stop that rat! Stop that rat!"

Immediately the mice on sentry duty were alerted. As Shadow ran he saw Constance dash across the grounds at an angle which cut him ofPfrom the stairs up to the ramparts. Switching direction, he made for the next set of stairs, silently cursing the badger. Now he would have to use his climbing rope to descend quickly to the road.

Matthias emerged from the Abbey. He saw Shadow change direction. Thinking fast, he ran diagonally, catching up with the thief at the foot of the stairs. Throwing himself in a flying tackle, Matthias grabbed Shadow by the legs, sending him crashing on to the lower steps.

Still dinging to the tapestry, Shadow wriggled like an eel. Turning over on to his back, he kicked savagely at the young mouse's head with a free foot. Matthias tried valiantly to hang on, but his larger and heavier opponent kicked him viciously in the face, again and again. The big bony foot with its sharp claws pounding and gouging away soon took its toll. Matthias went limp and blacked out.

Constance had mounted the far steps. Gaining the ramparts, she ran along, dodging the heaps of rubble. She saw Matthias go down under the onslaught of kicks and ran even faster, impeded by mice all around who scattered in panic, thinking they were under mass invasion. The only one besides Constance who had the sense to see what was happening was Cornflower's father. Being nearer the top of the stairs than the badger, he ran straight into the intruder. Shadow was struggling to get out his climbing rope.

"Surrender, rat, I've got you," cried Mr. Fieldmouse as he grabbed hold of the thief. But, rummaging in his pouch to free the rope. Shadow's claw had closed on the handle of his dagger. He drew it out swiftly and drove it twice into the fieldmouse's unprotected body.

Constance arrived just as the victim fell wounded. Shadow turned on her with the dagger upraised. Constance swung her paw round in a mighty arc, and it caught Shadow square on the chin. The force of the blow lifted the thief clean off his feet, and, before Constance could grab hold of him, he overbalanced and hurtled over the edge of the parapet with a horrible scream. Downwards he plunged, his body thudding oflfthe unyielding masonry. He landed in the wet roadway with a sickening crunch.

Cluny came dashing towards the stricken Shadow, with Ragear scuttling in his wake. Despite his appalling injuries, Shadow managed to lever himself up on one paw.

"Cluny, I'm hurt, help me," he gasped.

The piece of tapestry lay upon the road. Cluny snatched it , up eagerly. Behind him he could hear the gatehouse bolts being withdrawn amid the shouts of angry mice. Ruthlessly he kicked at Shadow's broken body.

"Get up and run for it or stay there, fool. I don't carry cripples or bunglers."

Leaving the injured Shadow to the mice, Cluny sped off across the road. He covered the width of the ditch with a mighty leap and ran off across the meadows. In open country he could outdistance any mice that dared follow him. Waving the tapestry, Cluny laughed in exhilaration as he put on an extra burst of speed.

Ragear had panicked completely. He could not jump the

74

75

ditch, so he scuttled off down the road in the opposite direction from the way they had come.

A group of mice ted by Brother Alf tried fording the ditch and dimbing up into the meadow. Unfortunately, the rain had made the going hard and slippery. Cluny was long gone, and die tapestry with him.

Turning back to Redwall, the pursuers came upon Matthias. He was leaning on Friar Hugo's arm in a dazed condition. Painfully he staggered up the road to where Shadow lay. Wincing, he cast about, searching the muddy roadway for the fragment of tapestry.

"It's got to be here somewhere," cried Matthias. He fell upon die injured Shadow, searching his waist pouch.

His flat black eyes clouding over. Shadow watched Matthias. Laconically he spoke. His voice was strangely calm. 'Too late, mouse. Martin is with Cluny now."

It was the last thing Shadow ever said. He gave one final shudder and lay dead.

15

Dawn arrived as if it were aware of the previous night's events. Heavy grey skies and steady rain prevailed over Redwall and the Mossflower area.

Abbot Mortimer looked old and stern as he addressed the assembly in Cavern Hole. The atmosphere was decidedly subdued.

"Sleeping at your posts, allowing the enemy into our Abbey to steal that which we hold most dear! Is this the way you defend us?" The Abbot's shoulders slumped wearily. There was an awkward hush - anger and guilt lay thick upon the air. The kindly old mouse shook his head and held up a conciliatory paw.

- "Forgive me, friends, 1 criticize you unjustly. We are all creatures of peace, unskilled in the art of war. Yet when I saw the late rose this morning, I could not help but notice mat its leaves are all shriveled; the tiny rosebuds have died. Martin the Warrior is gone from our Abbey. He has left Redwall. We are forsaken. There will be hard and sorrowful days to come without him among us."

- The mice and woodland creatures shuffled their feet and ~gazed at the floor. They knew the truth in their Father Abbot's words. But hope springs eternal. There was one voice raised, that of Matthias:

- "A bit of good news," he said. "1 have just come from the ^infirmary. Mr. Fieldmouse is out of danger. He will live." ? The relief was audible throughout Cavern Hole. Tensions

77

were eased; even the Abbot temporarily forgot his gloomy predictions.

"Thank you, Matthias," he cried. "What heartening news. I must say that the terrible injuries received by Mr. Heldmouse almost had me believing the worst. But look at yourself, my son. You should be resting. Your face is still swollen after the fight with the black rat."

Matthias gave a lopsided grin. He shrugged cheerfully. "Don't worry about me, Father Abbot. I'll be all right."

The mice smiled with pride. A brave little warrior, Matthias; he put new heart into them. Their resolve strengthened as he continued, "Huh, black rat indeed! He didn't even scratch me. Well, only a bit. But where is he- now, this sly one? Deep under the soil, if the insects are doing their job properly. Listen to me, friends. We of Redwall are a tough lot to kill off. They couldn't finish Ambrose Spike, could they? Why, even the black one armed with a dagger couldn't slay Mr. Fieldmouse, so what's a scratch or two to a mouse like me."

Cheers for Matthias's speech rang to the rafters. Constance sprang up beside him, shouting heartily, "That's the spirit, friends! Now let's see you all back out there at your posts. We'll be wide awake this time, and heaven help any dirty rats that come marching up to Redwall this day!"

With wild yells very uncharacteristic of peaceful mice, the friends seized their staves and charged out, fired with new zeal. After a while Constance accompanied the Abbot to see Mr. Fieldmouse, while Matthias went with Methuselah to Great Hall. Together they surveyed the torn tapestry.

The young mouse stood with his paws folded, an expression of disgust upon his features. The old gatekeeper patted his shoulder. "I know how you feel, Matthias. I could see you were only putting on a brave face for the benefit of the others. That is good. It shows you are learning to be a wise leader. You hide your true feelings and encourage them not to give up hope."

Matthias gingerly touched the swellings on his face. "Aye, that's as may be, old one. But you can see as well as I that Martin is gone. Without him I do not think we can win."

Methuselah nodded in agreement. "You are right, my young friend, but what's to be done?"

Matthias staggered slightly. He leaned against the wall, rubbing a paw across his brow. "I don't know. In fact, the only thing I know right now is that the Abbot was right. I think I'd better go and lie down for a bit.".

Refusing Methuselah's help, the young mouse left the old one gazing at the torn tapestry. He tottered off unsteadily in the direction of the dormitory.

On the spiral staircase he met Cornflower.

"Hello there," he said, as cheering as he could. "How is your father?"

Cornflower looked at Matthias solicitously. "He's doing fine, thank you, Matthias. I'm just going to get some herbs for the Abbot. Shouldn't you be lying down? Your face looks terribly puffy."

Matthias winced and leaned against the banister. "Yes. As a matter of fact, I'm just going to my room for a good long rest. But don't you worry, before long I'll make those rats pay dearly for hurting your father."

Matthias staggered weakly into his room - but the moment he closed the door he became a different mouse. With bright eager eyes he groped under his bed and brought forth the waist pouch that had belonged to Shadow. Tucking the long dagger into his belt, he wrapped the climbing rope around his shoulder and said aloud to himself, "Right, Cluny, you and I have a score to settle."

Keeping a mound of earth between himself and Brother Rufus, Matthias silently looped the rope around a projection at the edge of the parapet. Fortunately for him, Rufus was looking in the opposite direction. Matthias started to slide . down the rope on the Mossflower side of the wall, where the woods came close up to the Abbey.

He had imagined the descent would be very difficult, and surprised himself by handling it with ease, his confidence growing as he slid swiftly and noiselessly to the fern-covered ground. Crouched in the undergrowth, he mentally rehearsed his plan of action. He would go through the woods to St. Ninian's Church, avoiding the road that was being watched

79

by sentries. Once at the church he would discover where the piece of tapestry was kept; then he would create a diversion of some kind. While Cluny's horde was occupied he would snatch the tapestry and get back to Redwail with all speed.

Matthias ducked deeper into the ferns and was soon just a silent ripple making through the lush summer green of Mossflower towards the Church of St. Ninian.

80

At the camp of Cluny the Scourge, the rat army was girding itself up for war.

Weapons were being sharpened upon churchyard headstones. Under the critical eye of Redtooth a band of rodents was gnawing off a length of planking from a rickety lych-gate fence at the rear of the church. Others collected stones to provide ammunition for slings, while some coiled ropes about their bodies.

Inside the church Cluny sat up in the choir loft, the image of barbaric authority. He held the scourging tail in one claw, while gripped in the other was his war standard, topped by the ferret skull with the addition of the tattered tapestry square depicting Martin the Warrior. He gazed proudly at it as his armorer dressed him for war.

At Cluny's feet were the Vole family. They were bound. He flicked his tail at them and sneered. "Ha, look at me, you spineless little creatures! Did you ever see such a leader of fighting animals as Cluny the Scourge? Soon I will have every creature that moves down on its bended knees to me."

Mr. Abram Vole glared defiantly at his captor. "You filthy great bilge rat, why I'll"

"Silence!" roared Cluny. "Hold your tongue, vole, or I will deal with you and your family here and now before I set out to conquer your precious Abbey. Do you see my new battle flag? That is Martin the Warrior. Yes, the same one who is supposed to protect that doddering old Abbot and his

81

witless mob of mice. Now Martin is mine, it is more fitting that he travels at the head of real warriors. He will lead us to victory!"

Cluny ranted and raved on, the light of madness in his eye. "Death and desolation shall be the reward of those who dare stand against Cluny. The only ones I will spare are those 1 might choose to serve me."

Mrs. Vole struggled upright but was forced back down by Scumnose and Fangbum. Chattering with rage she shouted at Cluny, "You'll never bend Redwall to your evil will. Good will prevail! You'll see, Cluny. We are tied up, but our minds are free."

Crack!

Cluny lashed out with his long tail, sending the Vole family flat upon the floor. Mr. Abram Vole struggled to shield his wife and son with his body as the tail flailed out a second time.

"A touching little speech, vole, but you wrong me. I don't want to capture the spirit of Redwall. I mean to kill it! Take these whining creatures out of my sight. Lock them in the hut out at the back. Leave them to imagine what their fate will be when I return."

Colin Vole shrieked in terror. His mother and father struggled bravely as they were dragged off.

Redtooth marched in and saluted Cluny.

"The horde is ready to march, Chief."

A rat armorer set the war helmet firmly upon Cluny's head. He snapped the visor down and kicked aside the rat who had fixed the poison barb on his tail.

Striding out into the churchyard, Cluny climbed up on the wrecked gatepost. His fierce eye gazed out across the mighty army: black rats, brown rats, grey rats, piebald rats, skulking weasels, furtive stoats and sinuous ferrets, all gathered round, their weapons glistening and dripping with the rain. As Cluny exhorted them, they roared back their frenzied replies:

"Where does Cluny's army go?'-'

"Redwall. Redwall."

"What is the law of Cluny?"

"Kill, kill, kill."

82

"Who will lead you to victory?"

"Cluny, Cluny, Cluny the Scourge!"

Springing down among his army, the Warlord waved the banner high overhead. With a mighty shout the horde of Cluny the Scourge marcHed out upon the road to Redwall Abbey.

Ragear was hopelessly lost!

Separated from Cluny, he could not think for himself. Scuttling off down the road in the wrong direction, he had kept on going in a state of funk. Frightened by the sound of a bird chirping suddenly, he rushed blindly into Mossflower Wood, and pressed on, deeper and deeper into this strange new territory. It was only with the arrival of pale dawn that he stopped, slumping down under some bushes. Exhausted, soaking wet and dispirited, he curled up into a wretched damp ball and slept.

Some time about mid-morning, Ragear was awakened by the sound of footsteps. As Matthias tramped past he lay low, silently congratulating himself. What a find, a little mouse! He would take him prisoner and bring him back alive to Cluny. That way he could gain some prestige. Cluny might even forget that he panicked and deserted at the Abbey.

Matthias risked a swift glance over his shoulder. There was a rat clumsily trying to stalk him, a fat awkward-looking rodent, but nevertheless an enemy. The young mouse strode onwards, his mind working coolly and without fear, confident that he could handle the situation.

Breaking twigs underfoot, stumbling ineptly from tree to tree, Ragear watched the mouse and fantasized.

"There was six of'em, Chief, they tried surrounding me, but I fought like a devil! Then I says to meself, Ragear, says

84

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 tike 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 traveling 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 die 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 jeweled 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 mat had once belonged within the curtilage of St. Ninian's.

Matthias crouched at the edge of the woods. He could see the back of the church. There were ten or twelve rats patrol-ting it, some distance away. Before he dealt with that problem mere was still the common land to be crossed. Clumps of thistle and slight ground hummocks would be his only cover.

85

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 humored 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

86

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.

1 My parents njmed me Basil, though the old mater wanted

me to be called Columbine Agnes. Always longed for a young

lass, 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 mem. 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 m 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

87

cheeky old hedgehog 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, men 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 yards 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. "Yes, there is, Basil. But I feel reluctant to ask you to involve yourself in my fight."

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 smell 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.

88

89

It was tike 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 odor of rats. Furniture was overturned, statuary broken, walls stained; the pages of torn hymn books lay about everywhere.

Where was die 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, while 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, and keep your voice down. There may still be rats about. 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 die middle of them.

Cluny massed his forces in the roadside ditch opposite Red-wall 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 into the earth, Cluny cracked his tail. "Redtooth, Darkclaw, tell the sling-throwers to stand ready. When I give the signal I want to see a good heavy barrage of stones hitting the top of that parapet. That'll make them keep their heads down. Frogblood, Scumnose, you two will organize the gangs with the scaling ladders and grappling hooks. See they all get up on top of that wall, and no blunders." v 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 twang-

93

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 Fangbum and his gang nearly at the top of the wall."

Cluny lifted his visor to get a better view. It was too late to call out against what he saw happen next.

A veritable avalanche of earth and rocks cascaded over the parapet. It smashed straight on to the main ladder. Rats screamed aloud and grasped at midair as they were swept from the ladder to the road below. The ladder fell sideways, cannoning into another one that had been set up beside it. As both ladders fell there were scenes of mass chaos. Badly wounded and shocked, the survivors on the roadway tried to crawl back to the safety of the ditch, only to be buried beneath rubble which thundered down on them. Many lay trapped

beneath the heavy ladders that had fallen. The air resounded with screams and moans.

Cluny ranted and swore. Leaving his standard, he rushed across the meadow. Taking the ditch in a single leap, he darted across the road. Grasping a hanging rope he began hauling himself up, claw over claw. As the solitary beaver gnawed through the last strands, the rope parted. Cluny fell from a fair height and sprawled on the dusty road in an undignified heap.

Cluny flung himself into the ditch. Regrouping the sling-throwers and a few archers, he ordered them to await his command.

At the top of the walls the last climbing rope had been severed. A hearty cheer rent the air as the Redwall defenders

-broke cover to survey their handiwork.

"Fire," Cluny roared.

Stones and arrows sped upward with devastating effect. Several mice and woodlanders cried out and fell. The results heartened Cluny. All was not lost. He began devising a new plan.

In Mossflower Wood, Ragear was struggling with the rope that bound him to the oak tree. He could hear far-off sounds, which meant only one thing. His Chief was attacking the Abbey.

Straining his neck downwards at an uncomfortable angle, Ragear was able to get his teeth into the tough climbing rope. If he could manage to free himself he might be able to sneak ; back and join the horde. He could mingle with them and deny that he had ever been missing. Cluny might also take a lenient view of his desertion if he could distinguish himself during the battle.

The rope tasted foul. Ragear could tell by its scent that it had once belonged to Shadow. He'd never liked that surly poker-faced rodent! Ragear congratulated himself as his teeth bit through another strand.

"Ha, take that, rope, and that! No rope can keep Ragear prisoner for long, he, he, he! Poor old Shadow, if only you

- »ould see your lovely rope now!" Ragear straightened up for

-a moment to ease his neck.

94

95

The laughter died on his lips. A horrified gurgle bubbled from his throat. Icy claws of terror gripped his chest.

Swaying hypnotically a foot from his face was the biggest, strongest; most evil-looking adder that had ever been born.

The rat was completely petrified. The breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. The sinister blunt head moved in a lazy rhythm, its forked tongue flickering endlessly in and out, the round beadlike jet eyes never leaving his for an instant. Its voice was like dry leaves rustling in an autumn breeze.

"Asmodeus, Asmodeussssssss," it hissed. "So kind of you to untie yourself, rat! Come with me, I will show you eternity! Asmodeus, Asmodeussssssss."

It struck with lightning speed! All that Ragear felt was a sudden sharp sting to the side of his neck. His limbs became flaccid, his eyesight shrouded by a dark mist. The last words Ragear ever heard on this earth were uttered in the adder's sibilant hiss.

"Asmodeus, Asmodeusssssssssss!"

Cluny scratched the floor of die ditch with his claw. It was all there, the design for his next move. He would attack the Abbey secretly from the Mossflower side.

It would be a surprise maneuver. A handpicked squad led by him would carry out the mission. Dressed in Cluny's war helmet and armor, Redtooth would stay back in the meadow. His disguise would be sufficient to fool the defenders from the distance of the high walls. The rats in the ditch were ordered to continue pressing home the attack until Cluny and his party scaled the walls from behind and fought their way across the grounds to open the Abbey gates.

After issuing orders to his remaining captains, Cluny, accompanied by a score of assorted rats, weasels, stoats and ferrets, crept off along the course of the ditch. They carried with them the long plank from St. Ninian's lych-gate fence. Silently they traveled in a northerly direction, until they were out of sight of the walls. Climbing out of the ditch, they crossed the road into Mossflower Wood.

Cluny sat on a fallen tree trunk and told his squad what was required of them. "I'll wait here with the plank carriers. The rest of you split up and search the area for any big, high

trees growing near the Abbey walls. Make sure that the tree you pick is higher than the wall itself and not too difficult to climb. Got that? Right, get going."

Cluny watched them strike off into the undergrowth. His previous good mood had deserted him. He was working himself into a foul temper over the day's performance by his mighty conquering horde. Shown up by the simple tactics of woodland creatures and mice! He snorted and dug his powerful claws into the rotten tree trunk, sending beetles and woodlice scurrying as he tore out a chunk of the spongy timber. Oh, he had had them frightened at first. As a commander he knew the power of fright, but once they, had gained the upper hand in the initial skirmish the mice lost their fear and became bolder. That was when the battle had started to go against him. Granted, he had scored one or two small victories, but they were nothing to brag about. He couldn't use them as an example to put fresh heart in his troops.

Cluny's only hope was that the mice would become overconfident and eventually make a mistake. It was the old waiting game. Just let them make one slip; that was all he needed. Meanwhile, he had a greater obstacle to overcome man mice: the walls. It was those same accursed walls that were ruining all his plans. Cluny tore viciously at the rotting log until great chunks of it flew through the air. If this scheme worked he wouldn't have to worry about walls anymore. He would be inside those walls like a fox among day-old chickens.

Chiny sniffed the air. His senses told him the searchers were returning. Cheesethief and a ferret named Killconey came crashing out of the underbrush. They were trembling and twitching. Both looked as if they had been badly scared.

It was some time before Cluny could get any sense out of mem. Cheesethief spoke haltingly, glancing back fearfully over his shoulder. "Er, er, we, like ... we got a bit lost, Chief."

"Lost? Where?" Cluny snarled.

Killconey pointed a shaky claw. "Over that way, yer honor, and didn't we find a great strappin' oak?"

97

"Was it close to the wall?"

Cheesethief shook his head. "No, Chief, it was further out into the woods. Look what 1 found wrapped around the trunk."

He held out the chewed and broken climbing rope. Cluny snatched it. "This looks like Shadow's climbing rope. He's dead. What are you fools trying to tell me?"

Killconey whimpered pitifully. "It's Ragear, yer honor."

Cluny seized the unlucky pair and shook them soundly. "Have you both gone raving mad? D'you mean to tell me you're frightened of that fool Ragear?"

Cheesethief fell to his knees, sobbing. "But you didn't see him. Chief. He was just lying there. His face was all swollen and his tongue was sticking out. It had gone purple. Ugh! He was all sort of bloated like ... it was horrible!"

Killconey bobbed his head vigorously in agreement. "Aye, so 'twas. Didn't we see him with our very own eyes, sir? Pore ould Ragear, and him going backwards all the time."

"Going backwards?" echoed Cluny.

"Indeed he was," said the ferret, "and your man here says to me, says he, 'There's something pulling Ragear along.' Sure, we couldn't see what it was for all the bushes, so we pulled them to one side between us, and what did we see?"

"Well, what did you see?" barked Cluny irritably.

Killconey stopped and shuddered. He spoke incredulously, as if he were unable to believe himself. "We saw the biggest snake you ever clapped eyes on. The father of all serpents! He had poor Ragear's body by the feet and was dragging it along backwards."

Cluny's one eye widened. "What did this serpent do when it saw you?"

"It let go of Ragear and looked at us," squeaked Cheese-thief. "The serpent stared at us. It kept on saying,' Asmodeus, Asmodeus'."

Cluny scratched his head with a sharp, dirty claw. "Asmodeus? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do ye not know? 'Tis the dreaded name of the divvil himself, sir," wailed the ferret. "I know because me ould mother told me so, and she always said never to look a serpent in the eye. So I sez to me mate here, 'Cheesethief,' sez I,

98

'don't look. Run for your life!' And that's exactly what we did, sir. Oh, you'll never know how horrible it was. I'd rather be tied in a blazin* barn than go back there, so I would! The great scaly body of the'*

"Quiet, fool, "said Cluny. "I think I hear the others coming back. Now straighten yourselves up, and not a word to anyone about this serpent thing, or you'll feel my serpent across your backs." Cluny's long tail waved menacingly under their noses. They took his point.

A weasel called Scragg came running up. He reported smartly with great efficiency. "High tree near the Abbey wall. Chief, elm I think, much higher than the wall, lots of branches jutting out, just the job for climbing."

"How far to this tree?" Cluny asked.

"About ten minutes' march to the east," Scragg replied.

When the rest of the party arrived back, Cluny had them form up in single file. They marched eastwards at a smart pace.

The high tree did prove to be an elm, an ancient giant covered in gnarled bumps and handy branches. Cluny sized it up: exactly what he wanted, the perfect distance from the wall. He turned to his commando squad.

"Listen, we're going to climb this tree. When we get up high enough I'll find a strong branch that we can bridge to the wall with the plank. If we go carefully, the mice won't suspect a thing. Before they can gather their wits about them well be inside Redwall."

99

It was difficult to tell who was the more surprised, Matthias and his party or the rat sentries.

There was a second's pause, then they scattered. One or two of the rats were a bit slow off the mark, but not as slow as Colin Vole and his mother, who were roughly grabbed by the faster sentries.

Matthias dodged, wriggled and ran free, tripping a rat who was about to seize Mr. Vole. The young mouse ran, pushing the vole in front of him and calling out: "Run, keep going, Mr. Vole! Try to make it to the woods and hide."

The vole faltered. "But my wife - Colin - the rats have got them."

Matthias pushed him roughly forward. "They'll get you too, if you don't hurry! Move yourself, vole. You'll be no good to your family as a prisoner again."

Taking Matthias's advice, Abram Vole ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Matthias turned and picked up a heavy branch. He faced the oncoming rats.

"Only a dozen of you," he taunted. "Let's see what you rats are made of. First come, first served."

Matthias swung the branch. It whooshed through the air, causing the rats to stop in their tracks. As he advanced on them flailing the branch, he shouted at the top of his voice, "Basil, Basil Stag Hare, where are you?"

The rats tried to circle Matthias. One got too near. A hefty

100

Mow from the improvised staff sent him crashing to die ground.

"Oh, wdl hit, sir! Jolly well hit!"

It was die hare.

He came bounding up, for all the world as if he were on a Sunday School picnic, grinning from ear to ear. Colin and Mrs. Vole came panting in his wake. Matthias gasped with relief.

"Basil, where in heaven's name did you get to?"

The skillful creature dodged a rat, spun round and landed a fierce double-footed kick to its stomach. The rat bowled over, completely winded, all the fight knocked out of its body. Basil chuckled. "Sorry about that, Matthias, my old lad. When these chaps gave up chasing me, I scooted back to my den. Spring cleaning, y'know. A bit late, but I'm only a bachelor in single quarters, what!"

Matthias was flabbergasted. Here he was fighting off a dozen rats, trying to rescue the Vole family, while Basil was dusting out his den! The young mouse could scarcely hold his temper.

"Oh, how nice of you, Mr. Hare. So glad you could join us," he said sarcastically, as they beat off rats and hurried die Voles along. "1 don't suppose you put the kettle on for tea?"

Basil bowed to Mrs. Vole and offered her his paw.

"Allow me, ma'am. Why yes, as a matter of fact I did. Nothing like a fresh pot of mint tea after some good healthy exercise, what, what?"

Matthias struck a rat square in the face with the butt of his branch. The hare was obviously insane. Mint tea, indeed!

"Well, I don't suppose you think I'm going to sit in your den drinking tea all afternoon," he yelled.

Basil had a hammerlock on a rat. He swung him and knocked two more flat on the ground. He winked at Matthias.