There was no fool like an old fool!
This mouse was as stupid as Sela had been. Let the mice fight the rats and the rats fight the mice; what did he care? Redwall must be a veritable treasure house to a clever young fox.
DUNWING WAS THE widowed mother of Warbeak. She was also sister to the mighty King Bull Sparra. When her daughter had been shot down by the arrow, she had given her up as dead. Now that she was back safe and sound she stroked and scolded her at the same time with relief. When she could get a chirp in edgeways, Warbeak related the strange story to her mother in the rapid Sparra dialect.
As she was doing this, Matthias lay pinned to the floor by the claws of many fierce Sparra warriors. As far as he could tell, the place was one enormous loft. This was the court of King Bull Sparra, whose wrath seemed about to descend upon him.
The sparrows lived higgledy-piggledy here in one great untidy tribe. The roof above met in the shape of an upturned ‘V’, thus making the court a long triangular structure. Under the eaves at either edge were countless scruffy-looking nests, all of which appeared to be filled to overflowing with shrieking baby sparrows. At one end the loft was blocked off by roofing slates and old nesting materials. This was the King’s own private chamber. Matthias estimated that it was probably underneath the spot where the weather vane was situated.
King Bull Sparra was not a bird to be trifled with. He noticed the young mouse’s evident interest in his surroundings and quickly diverted his attention with a savage kick at the helpless figure.
‘What um mouseworm want in court of King?’ he snapped.
Matthias, realizing that this was no time for idle chitchat, promptly shouted out in a loud, courtly manner, ‘O King, I come to return one of your brave young warriors!’
The statement caused an immediate hullaballoo. Bull Sparra flapped his wings once and quiet descended. He cocked his head to one side, assessing this bold young intruder.
‘You lie, mouseworm. Not helpum Sparra! Mouse enemy,’ he shrieked. ‘King Bull Sparra say killee um enemy, killee!’
Instantly Matthias found himself fighting for his life. The Sparra soldiers piled in on him, jabbering, clawing and pecking. He managed to get a paw free and struck out left and right, dealing hefty blows to several of the sparrows. Matthias realized that he would soon be overwhelmed as more sparrows pressed in on him, urged on by the mad exhortations of their King. ‘Killee, killee, make um mouse dead, killee!’
As Matthias battled to free his other paw he felt himself enveloped by two pairs of wings. Warbeak and Dunwing were attempting to shelter him. The mother sparrow was crying out, ‘No killee! Mouse good! Save um my egg Sparra.’
The King was not convinced. ‘Mouse enemy, gotta make um dead.’
King Bull Sparra had no fledglings of his own. Warbeak, who was his favourite niece, called out to her uncle, appealing for mercy. ‘No, no, King Bull. Not killee Matthias mouse! Him save Warbeak! Give Sparra word to mouse that you no killee.’
The King sprang in among his warriors, scattering them like chaff. They cowered before him as he shouted out a new edict. ‘Foolworms! Stop! King say no killee mouse! We have Sparra word of my sister’s eggchick.’
The Sparra warriors backed off. Matthias picked himself up. Luckily, he had not come to much harm. He dusted his habit off. ‘Whew! Thank you once again, Warbeak my friend. I owe you my life.’
The King issued orders to two Sparra warriors. ‘Battlehawk, Windplume! Gettum bag. Find out what mouse carry.’
Matthias stood firm as the haversack was pulled from his back. The two warriors could not figure out how to open it. They tore at the material with beak and claw until it gave way. The contents scattered upon the floor. Matthias stood respectfully to one side as the King rummaged through his meagre possessions.
King Bull Sparra drank some water from the canteen. He spat it out.
‘No worms, only um mousefood,’ he commented.
Warbeak sighed wistfully. She looked longingly on as her uncle found the package of candied chestnuts and ripped it open. Bull Sparra dubiously sampled one. His face lit up with pleasure. ‘This good food for Sparra King. Not good for mouseworm. Me keep.’
He tucked the candied chestnuts under his wing, then picked up the collar and lead and beckoned to Matthias. ‘Mouseworm, come here. You lucky. King lettum live.’
The young mouse approached the sparrow with trepidation, not wanting to antagonize the moody, dangerous bird. The Sparra King buckled the collar tightly about Matthias’s neck, scarcely leaving him room to breathe. He attached the lead and laughed aloud. Dutifully the other sparrows laughed with him.
Matthias felt his blood boil. He tried to contain his rising temper; the court of the Sparra King was no place to have tantrums. Mentally he promised himself that he would never again use a collar on any living creature. The indignity was unspeakable.
Bull Sparra handed the lead to Warbeak. Turning to his subjects, he chuckled insanely and pointed at Matthias. ‘King Bull Sparra spare um mouse. How you like him for pet, my niece? Mouse, you obey my sister and her eggchick, funny ha?’
All the sparrows laughed loud and long, vying with each other to show the most merriment. The King was a completely unpredictable tyrant. When he made a joke it was always funny.
Warbeak gave the lead a tug and whispered to her friend, ‘Matthias, you see Warbeak and um mother not make laugh. Sorry.’
The young captive winked at his warder. He was beginning to hatch a plan. ‘Don’t worry, my friend. At least I’m alive.’
Warbeak handed the lead to her mother. ‘This Dunwing; she mother. Um good Sparra; not hurt mouse. See!’
Dunwing gave the lead a light pull. She gave Matthias a smile and a nod. He decided that he liked Warbeak’s mother.
The King issued his orders to Warbeak and Dunwing. ‘You keep um mouseworm on um lead. No wander, no stray. Give um plenty work. Much kick, like this.’
Bull Sparra raised a kick at Matthias, who dodged nimbly and started to dance and sing with a silly expression on his face.
The King stood with his head cocked to one side, amazed at the performance of this strange mouse.
Matthias pranced comically about, improvising a song as he went:
‘Up higher than before,
I’m near the roof indeed,
The King gave me a collar,
His sister holds the lead.’
Round and round he skipped, repeating the verse over and over.
Bull Sparra flapped his wings and laughed hysterically. ‘Hahahahahahaha! Look, Battlehawk! See, Windplume! Mouseworm be hurt in um headbrain. He crazy! Hahahahahahaha.’
Obediently everybody laughed with the mad monarch.
After a while the sparrows drifted off, some to their nests, others to hunt worms. A chosen few went with the King to play three feathers, a popular Sparra gambling game of which Bull Sparra was very fond. Dunwing and her daughter led the dancing mouse off to their nest at the rear of the court under the farthest eaves.
Despite its outward untidy appearance, the nest was neat and cosy on the inside. Warbeak had gathered Matthias’s gear together. Repacking it into the torn haversack, she returned it to her mouse friend, eyeing him in an apprehensive manner.
‘Matthias be sick in um head?’ she inquired.
The young mouse lay back gratefully in Dunwing’s nest and smiled reassuringly at them both. ‘Not at all. I’m as sane as you are. However, if I act as if I’m mad then maybe your King and his warriors will not regard me as a threat. Perhaps they will leave me alone and forget about me.’
Dunwing looked up from the meal she was preparing. Her eyes were serious.
‘Matthias mouse do right thing,’ she said. ‘Bull Sparra be wicked; bad temper. Sometimes Dunwing think Bull Sparra mad. Best he thinks you um no-harm mouse.’
Matthias bowed deferentially to her. ‘Thank you, Dunwing. You are a very brave sparrow. You put yourself and Warbeak in great peril, saving me as you did.’
Dunwing served them both some food. Thankfully Matthias noted that she refrained from putting worms and dead insects on his portion. The mother sparrow watched him with soft, intelligent eyes. The mouse was about the same age as her daughter.
‘Matthias save um my Warbeak,’ she said. ‘We have no Sparra warrior to look after us. Warbeak brave like um father was. Now um father, he dead. I learn to stand up for us ’til Warbeak grow into um great warrior some day.’
The hours slipped by as the three conversed. Matthias learned much of the Sparra customs and way of life.
Dunwing, being the King’s sister, was of royal blood. Her husband had been killed the previous spring in a battle with some starlings. He had saved the life of the King, whereupon Bull Sparra had vowed to care for her and her daughter: but he had instantly forgotten his promises, leaving the pair to fend for themselves. Only in moments of urgency would Dunwing remind him of his vow, knowing that Bull Sparra was a dangerous despot. So normally Dunwing maintained a diplomatic silence in his presence.
Sometimes Bull Sparra would retire to his private chamber. He would remain in there brooding for days, suddenly emerging to fire his warriors with grandiose schemes and wild ideas. No one dared to disobey him, even though half an hour later he had forgotten his previous foolhardy notions and wandered off to hunt worms. Later he would return to find that his plans had not been carried out. In a furious squabble of accusation and recrimination he would demote officers and promote the most unlikely soldiers from the ranks. Next day he had forgotten it all again and was hatching more crazy plans. Matthias was constantly amazed at the mode of life in the Sparra court. The sparrows showed no kindness or civility to one another, often fighting savagely among themselves on the slightest pretext. Warriors, and even fledglings joined in. The injuries they inflicted upon each other were appalling.
Sparra folk knew nothing of the firemaker’s art. By day the court was illuminated by sunlight that streamed in through the cracked and broken slates and slanted up through the caves. All food was eaten uncooked, worms and small insects providing the main diet. The Sparra did not discriminate between different species of insects. All came under the general heading of ‘worm’. Thus a sparrow might make a meal of a butterfly or a grasshopper and refer to it as ‘wormfeed’. ‘Worm’ was also used to denote an enemy or a coward or anything alien to the Sparra. Fresh flowers and tender shoots of vegetation were used to supplement the worm diet, also berries and whatever fruit a Sparra could carry in flight. Matthias was grateful for this. He abhorred the idea of eating live worms or dead insects.
There was no strict routine of chores ever carried out. Apart from parents feeding fledglings, everything was left undone until tomorrow, which meant it never was done. The evidence of this lay all about the court; dirt, dust, filth and general chaos prevailed.
Matthias gradually found that once he could keep pace with the speedy delivery of Sparra language it was relatively simple. The use of the term ‘um’, was indiscriminate, thrown in wherever the speaker fancied. It was quite basic. Often ordinary words were joined together or elongated by adding ‘ee’. Some of the Sparra chattered with such rapidity that Matthias was sure they could not understand themselves.
Matthias was not sure whether Warbeak knew of his mission to bring back Martin’s sword; certainly Dunwing did not. The young mouse had had a good look round most of the court, but the sword was not to be seen. Matthias reasoned that it must be in the one place he had not yet explored: the private chamber of the King. He thought long and hard about how he might obtain access to the royal apartment. He did not want to cause trouble for his friends, nor did he want them to suspect what he had come for. And supposing he ever did regain the sword, the next problem would be how to take it safely back down to the floor of the Abbey and his own kind.
Matthias figured that he had been in his new surroundings for a night and a day. Towards the evening of that day, he was sitting outside the nest, repairing his torn haversack and taking stock of his personal effects. Each time a sparrow passed by he would grin vacantly and strike up his song. No one bothered to take much heed of him.
Warbeak flew in from a lone wormhunt. She stood watching Matthias.
‘Me hunt um worms,’ she chirped. ‘Bring um dandelions for Matthias. Mouse like eatum flowers.’
Matthias replied in Sparra language, ‘Warbeak um good hunter. Mouse like flower. Makum good wormfood. Where be Dunwing mother?’
Warbeak pointed to the King’s chamber. ‘Dunwing gettum Bull Sparra wormfood ready. King have no wife to makee food.’
Matthias acted unconcerned. He pulled at the collar to loosen it.
‘Um collar hurt mouseneck,’ he grinned.
Warbeak shrugged sympathetically. ‘King say you wear um. No can takee off. Me sorry.’
Matthias continued sorting through his belongings. He came across an unopened package. What a stroke of luck! It was candied chestnuts. Hastily he slipped them into the haversack, hiding the nuts from Warbeak. Under normal circumstances he would gladly have given them to his friend, but this was different. Matthias needed them as bait.
They continued gossiping until Dunwing returned. After a decent interval the young mouse spoke to her, ‘You go to um King’s room all um lotta time.’
Dunwing nodded.
‘Me um only Sparra King Bull lettum into there,’ she laughed. ‘He lazy Sparra. Not makum own wormfood.’
Matthias shared her laughter.
‘Betcha um King not know how to makum own wormfood,’ he chuckled. ‘What you think, Dunwing? Matthias findum gift for King?’
The Sparra mother looked up sharply. ‘What um mouse mean. Gift?’
Matthias drew close and whispered conspiratorially. ‘You ’member how King Bull like um mouse candy nuts? Me findum more. You takee me. We give nuts to um King.’
Dunwing looked doubtful. ‘What for mouse wanna give um nuts to King?’
Matthias spread his paws as if stating the obvious. ‘So um King lettum mouse free. Wanna go back to um mousehome.’
Matthias held his breath and watched Dunwing. Finally her face softened. She smiled sympathetically. ‘All right, Matthias. We try um. Not do much harm, but ’member, not makum Bull Sparra bad temper. He killee sure.’
With an inward sigh of relief Matthias swept up the packet of nuts.
‘Thank you, Sparra mother,’ he said. ‘Mouse not makum trouble for you. Nuts makum King happy, you see.’
With Matthias trailing behind her on his lead, Dunwing tapped on the slates which formed King Bull Sparra’s wall. An irate voice came from within.
‘Fly ’way, Sparra! King wantum sleep.’
Dunwing realized they had chosen a bad moment. Nevertheless she persisted, this time tapping harder. ‘Lettum in, King brother. It Dunwing and crazy mouseworm. Gottum gift for great King.’
A sleepy head poked round the door opening. Bull Sparra blinked owlishly at them and yawned in their faces.
‘Better be ’portant, um Majesty no like to be woked,’ he grumbled.
As they entered the room, Matthias skipped about and sang his ditty. Whipping out the packet he selected a nut and popped it straight into the open beak of the astonished ruler.
‘Mouseworm findum more candynuts for big King Sparra,’ Matthias giggled. ‘Fetchum here quick. Maybe mouse givum King all nuts. King lettum mouse go home free.’
The King munched and chomped greedily on the sweet nut, eyeing the packet covetously. ‘Ha, mouseworm givum King all nuts. Majesty have great things on um mind. Me thinka bout, hmmm, lettum mouse go freehome.’
Matthias capered about. He went down on one knee, offering the nuts. Bull Sparra snatched the parcel. Hoggishly he stuffed far more of the nuts into his beak than it could cope with. Closing his eyes in ecstasy he gobbled furiously. Pieces of nut falling from his beak littered his breast feathers.
Matthias’s eyes roved about the chamber, searching. It was nothing special as Sparra habitations went: a straw pallia
sse, some butterfly wings stuck to the wall by way of decoration. In one corner there was a huge overstuffed old chair. How it got there would forever remain a mystery. Matthias’s attention was held by something that protruded out of the back of the chair. It was an old-fashioned-looking object made from black leather with lots of silver trimming, identical to the belt he was wearing.
The scabbard of Martin’s sword!
Surely the sword must be somewhere close by?
Matthias wished that he could see around the back of the chair to confirm his discovery, but he had to bring himself back to the issue at hand.
King Bull Sparra crammed the last candied chestnuts into his beak and chomped with evident enjoyment.
Dunwing attempted to press for justice. ‘King eatum gift. Now mouse go free?’
The King held out a grasping claw. ‘More! Mouseworm got more candynut gift for um Majesty?’
Matthias remained kneeling. He appealed to the gluttonish ruler.
‘O King, um mouse have no got more candynuts. Give um all to great Majesty. Now you let mouse go freehome,’ he said hopefully.
Bull Sparra pecked nut morsels from his feathers, his eyes gleaming craftily.
‘Ah! Now King give um Sparra word. I say if mouseworm give um more candynuts then go free, but must give lot.’ The King spread his wings wide apart. ‘This many lot!’
The young mouse bowed his head. ‘But Majesty, me gottum no more nut.’
Unexpectedly Bull Sparra’s mood changed for the worse. He crumpled the empty dock-leaf packet and hurled it into Matthias’s face.
‘Mouseworm get more! More, you hear?’ His eyes shone madly as the feathered hackles rose around his neck. ‘King not argue with crazy mouseworm. You gettum gone now, plenty quick or me killee. Go now. Majesty sleep.’
Sensing that the King had become dangerous, Dunwing did not hesitate. Roughly she dragged the mouse by the lead from the chamber.
Matthias spluttered with uncontrolled rage. ‘Dunwing, how you lettum stupid oaf be King of Sparra?’ he choked.