He dodged playfully out of reach. Cluny snarled and went after him. Basil ducked and weaved, drawing Cluny further out on to the common. All eyes were upon the two figures. This made it easier for Jess to change hiding places as she followed them.
Cluny pursued doggedly, making no sudden moves, waiting for the hare to get over-confident so that he could strike. His soldiers moved about twenty paces behind the action. Cluny had warned them off – he wanted a one-to-one confrontation.
Cluny jabbed out with the banner at Basil. The hare inwardly rejoiced. They were getting closer to Mossflower Wood. Soon Jess would make her move. Meanwhile, he must draw the rat further out. Avoiding the stabs of the banner pole and the swift whiplike slashes of the tail, Basil realized that this was no clumsy rat he faced. He chanced a sudden glance to check if Jess was nearby, and as he did, his back left leg shot down into a pothole. It twisted and Basil fell heavily to the ground.
Cluny charged in. He lifted the banner and slammed it down on the hare’s unprotected head. Basil twisted quickly to one side.
‘Now Jess. Now!’ he yelled.
As Basil shouted, several things happened at once.
Jess came blasting out of nowhere like a red whirlwind. The banner thudded into the soft earth where Basil’s head had been a fraction of a second before. Basil freed his leg as Jess leaped like a salmon. In mid-air she ripped the tapestry clean off the standard in one go.
Cluny bellowed with rage. His followers came surging across the common to aid him. Basil leapt to his feet and hobbled gamely in front of Cluny, shielding Jess. The squirrel raced about trying to distract Cluny.
Basil winced as he called out to his friend: ‘Run for it, Jess. I’ll hold ’em off!’
Jess ducked a blow from Cluny’s tail. ‘Not likely! If you stay, then so do I.’
Basil limped about, keeping himself between Cluny and Jess.
‘You stubborn beast,’ he yelled. ‘Will you get going?’
The horde was almost upon them. Quick as a flash, Jess grabbed the end of Cluny’s tail. She swung him with all of her might, throwing him off balance and sending him crashing into the front-runners of the horde. Jess threw Basil’s paw about her shoulder.
‘Come on, Basil, head for the woods. We’ll make it together.’
Both creatures dashed from the common into the depths of Mossflower. Behind them, Cluny’s horde was in headlong pursuit, yelling and shouting. As they ran, Jess panted, ‘Here, take this and give me the decoy! Hurry.’
Basil snatched the tapestry and reached beneath his tunic. He gave Jess the crude replica they had prepared, which was in reality an old dishcloth from Friar Hugo’s kitchen.
The sounds of the pursuers grew louder. They were gaining.
‘Now, you drop out of sight,’ Jess gasped. ‘I’ll draw them off, then you can double back through the churchyard and up the road to Redwall. They’ll never think of searching along that way.’
As suddenly as she had spoken, Jess glanced to one side. Basil was no longer there. A breathless military voice whispered from the undergrowth, ‘Will do, old chum. See you back at the Abbey. Have a good chase now, cheerio.’
Basil Stag Hare, camouflage expert, had gone to earth.
Jess could see Cluny and the horde coming through the trees. She stood and waited until they caught sight of her. She saw Cluny point and shout:
‘Over there! The squirrel! She’s the one who’s got the tapestry. Get her! Take her alive if you can.’
Coolly Jess stood her ground until they were almost upon her. Right at the last second she went like a blur up the side of a horse-chestnut tree, stopping just out of reach. Some of the more agile ones tried climbing to get at her. Jess merely scampered further upwards.
‘Get down, you nincompoops,’ Cluny hissed. ‘Don’t try to outclimb a squirrel. See if you can keep her near the ground while I think what to do.’
The rats climbed down. As they did, Jess returned to the lower trunk. She had to buy as much time as possible to allow Basil’s escape.
Cluny lounged nonchalantly against the tree. ‘Well done, squirrel. Very clever indeed. I could use someone like you in my army. Somebody smart, with brains like yours.’
Killconey also demonstrated his persuasive powers. ‘Ah, you take the Chief’s word. He’s lookin’ for a good first officer. Why don’t you come down now and talk it over? Sure, the loot will be grand when we conquer the Ab— Ouch!’
A small, green spiky chestnut still in its husk bounced off the vociferous ferret’s head. Jess moved higher to a branch with a more plentiful supply. She waved the decoy tapestry at Cluny.
‘Is this what you’re after, Ratface?’
Cluny battled to keep his temper. Darkclaw nudged him and whispered, ‘What about the other one, Chief? Shall I take some troops and start searching for him?’
‘No, I’ll deal with the hare another time. Right now I want you all here in case there’s a chance of trapping this one,’ Cluny murmured.
Jess’s keen ears caught every word the Warlord had said. The plan had worked! She threw a hard spiky nut and called to Cluny: ‘Hey, Ratface! Do you actually think that you’ve got “this one” trapped? Ha, I’m about as trapped as a skylark in the air on a clear day! There’s not one of you can get near me.’
‘I know that, squirrel,’ Cluny answered. ‘But just think for a moment. If I win the war against the mice – and I will, you know – I’ve made a vow to kill everyone inside Redwall. Now suppose that you’ve got someone dear to you in there; you know what I mean: a mate, a little baby, some family—’
Cluny dodged about as a shower of spiky chestnuts hurtled down.
‘You filthy murdering scum!’ shouted Jess. ‘You rotten loathsome slime! If you come near my family, I’ll rip that evil eye of yours right out of your stinking face!’
Cluny knew that he was succeeding with his scheme against the squirrel as more hard chestnuts pelted down.
‘Throwing things won’t do you much good. Listen, I’m a reasonable creature. All I’m asking you to do is to think of your family. You haven’t got to join us if you don’t want to. Stay up in that tree forever if you want, it doesn’t bother me. All I need is that little scrap of tapestry. It isn’t much to ask, is it? Your loved ones will be safe if you hand it over.’
Jess was about to hurl more nuts and insulting remarks when the form of Cluny’s plan dawned on her. The rat was trying to do exactly as she and Basil had done. It was a trap to make her become careless. Two can play at that game, Jess thought to herself. The horde of soldiers watching the squirrel noticed a change come over her. She appeared agitated, gnawing upon her lip and rubbing her paws together. In anguish she clutched the tapestry, hugging it to her body.
‘I don’t care about the others at Redwall, but I’ve got a husband and a small son. You wouldn’t hurt them, would you, Cluny?’
The Warlord detected a sob in the squirrel’s voice.
‘No, no, of course I wouldn’t,’ he said soothingly. ‘All you have to do is let go of that scrap of cloth and let it drift down here to me. The moment you do, your loved ones’ safety is assured, believe me, squirrel. I give you my word of honour.’
Jess wiped her eyes on the decoy cloth and sniffled piteously as she answered. ‘Well, all right then. If I have your promise that my family will be safe, then you can have this old thing. It means nothing to me.’
Jess released the piece of material. It drifted down through the branches – Cluny could scarcely restrain himself from leaping for it. Killconey hurried forward, his eyes shining with reverence. He picked the dishrag up gently, offering it to Cluny.
‘Here you are, yer honour, the lovely thing itself, safe and sound.’
Avidly Cluny snatched the cloth. His eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. He gave a scream of terrible rage. Instantly his followers scrambled into the bushes as their Chief ripped the tapestry into shreds, his mighty claws rending and tearing as he roared madly: ‘It’s a fake, a copy, wort
hless trash. Aaaaaarrgh!’
From her perch in the tree, Jess watched with grim satisfaction. ‘Aye, worthless trash, rat, just as you are. The real tapestry is back at Redwall by now. You’ve been fooled.’
‘Kill her! Kill the dirty little swindler!’ Cluny’s cry rang out. But before a spear or a missile could be thrown, Jess had gone. She darted from tree to tree with artistic speed. Far above Mossflower ground in the upmost terraces of foliage, the champion squirrel turned her flight in the direction of Redwall Abbey.
Some time around early evening Jess arrived back, springing lightly from a high elm branch to the parapet of the Abbey wall. She could tell by the sound of happy chattering and general jubilation that once more the picture of Martin was safely back.
Bounding down into the grounds she was surrounded by cheering friends, not the least of whom was Mr Squirrel, who smothered her with kisses, while their son Silent Sam sat upon her shoulder and dampened her head by patting it lovingly with a well-sucked paw.
The woodlanders carried Jess shoulder-high into the dining hall, where sat another celebrated hero, Basil Stag Hare. He looked up momentarily at his comrade from behind a staggering mountain of scrumptious food, and pointed to his leg, which was swathed in a hugely exaggerated bandage.
‘War wound,’ Basil muttered as he demolished a plateful of quince and elderberry pie. ‘Got to keep the old strength up, y’know. Lashings of nourishment; only way to heal an honourable injury. Feed it, what, what!’
Silent Sam hopped upon the table. He showed Basil a tiny scratch on his unsucked paw. The kindly hare inspected it gravely. ‘Egad, looks like another serious war wound! Better sit here by me, little warrior. Feed it well, that’s the ticket.’
They both tucked in voraciously. Friar Hugo came waddling up, his face a picture of delight.
‘Good creatures,’ he chuckled. ‘The late rose is starting to flourish anew. Eat to your heart’s content.’
Jess placed her paws on the fat mouse’s shoulders. The squirrel’s face was a mixture of sadness and concern.
‘Friar Hugo, old friend, brace yourself. I am the bearer of tragic news!’
Alarm spread across Hugo’s pudgy features. ‘Tell me, Jess. What dreadful thing has happened?’
Jess spoke haltingly in a broken voice. ‘I fear that Cluny tore up one of your oldest and most venerable dishrags. Alas, Redwall will never see it wipe another plate!’
Behind the Friar’s back Basil and Sam almost choked with laughter in the middle of an apple cream pudding.
Shafts of evening sunlight flooded Great Hall as old Methuselah worked painstakingly away with needle and thread. He was sewing Martin the Warrior back in his former position on the corner of the magnificent Redwall tapestry.
MATTHIAS HUDDLED DEEP into Dunwing’s nest. He shuddered comfortably, wriggling to get further into the dried moss, downfeather and soft grass. During the night a wind had sprung up. He peeped over the rim of the nest. It was a grey day of the kind often found at the too-brilliant start of early summer. Clouds scudded nose to tail across the sky, though it was not raining and the wind was quite warm. Nevertheless, the eaves and the roof cracks magnified the sighing and moaning of the vagrant wind, driving the young mouse back to snuggle up once more as he had often done in his own bed in the dormitory. Matthias thought of the neat, cosy little bed and a wave of homesickness swept over him. Would he ever sleep in it again?
A busy flutter of wings announced the mother sparrow’s arrival.
‘Matthias mouse um sleepyhead! Gettee up! Things to be done this day.’
Matthias stretched, yawned, and scratched under the collar.
‘Good morning, Dunwing,’ he said politely. ‘What things are to be done today?’
The sparrow settled herself. She looked gravely at the young mouse. ‘Today Matthias escape Sparra court. Me makum plan, King not right to keepum mouse prisoner.’
Matthias was suddenly wide awake. The sparrow had his undivided attention. ‘A plan? What sort of plan? Oh, please tell me, Dunwing!’
The mother sparrow explained. ‘First, no can go back through um loft door. King much angry, have many great slate pile on um door. Stoppum intruders. Door not open again, me think.’
Matthias whistled. ‘Well, the crafty old sparrow! But how am I going to get back down? Do you think you could fly me down in some way? You are bigger than Warbeak—’
Dunwing immediately squashed the idea. ‘Matthias talk crazy. Even Warbeak and Dunwing together not able to do that. Sparra very light, maybe strong beak, claws, but wings small, not like great birds, fall like stone carrying mouse. Huh, sometimes even worm too heavy, carry in bits, two, three journeys.’
Matthias began to apologize for his ignorance, but the mother sparrow cut him short. ‘Dunwing thinkum plan; pay ’tention now. Me sendum Warbeak to tellum old gatemouse, how you call? ’Athuselah? Good. My eggchick she tellum old mouse to gettum big red squirrel; bring plenty climbrope; when she see you on um roof she climbee up, help Matthias mouse down.’
‘Why, of course!’ cried Matthias. ‘What a splendid idea! I wouldn’t be a bit afraid with Jess there to help me down. But what about the King and his warriors? If they see me, I won’t stand a chance.’
Dunwing waved impatiently. ‘Thattum next part of plan. Pretty soon Warbeak come back. She tell what time um squirrel meet you, good. Then Dunwing whisper um big lie fib to other Sparra. It soon spread.’
Matthias was puzzled. ‘Spreading lies; what good will that do?’
Dunwing preened her feathers, smiling craftily. ‘Um great fibba lie. Me whisper um bit here, there, about giant Poisonteeth. Say him lying hurtee down in Mossflower trees, look to die, Poisonteeth havum sword withum, you see.
Matthias gazed in admiration at Warbeak’s mother. ‘Well, I never! You are going to spread a rumour that the snake has the sword and is dying down in the woods. Amazing; I can picture it now. Bull Sparra will go chasing straight down there with his warriors. Meanwhile I will escape out on to the roof. Correct?’
Dunwing nodded. ‘Matthias stealee belt, sword case, quickfast. Climb down off roof withum red squirrel.’
The young mouse could not meet the mother sparrow’s eyes. He was overcome with guilt and shame. ‘Dunwing, I’m sorry. How did you guess?’
The sparrow placed a claw upon his paw. ‘Me know alla time. Matthias mouse not come to bringum my eggchick safehome. Come for sword. Not gettee sword. Alla same, belt-case belong mice. You must takee away. These things trouble for um Sparra. Husband dead because of um sword.’
Dunwing clasped Matthias’s paw warmly. ‘Dunwing likeum mouse. You good friend to my Warbeak. Me thinkum she dead ’til you bringum back. Me help you stealee case, belt.’
Matthias was lost for words. He laid his head against the mother sparrow’s soft feathers, brushing a tear from his cheek.
Warbeak came fluttering and bustling in. ‘Wind much strongblow. Old mouse say he tellum squirreljess, you be out on um roof when Josabell ring lunchworm. Squirrel-jess meetum there with climbrope.’
Matthias scarcely tasted the food that Warbeak had brought back; his mind was focused on the plan. It was extremely hazardous. There would be great danger, not only for himself but also for his Sparra friends.
Supposing Bull Sparra took the belt and sword case with him?
What if the King left them behind but hid them in a new place?
Would Jess be able to catch sight of him?
If he did not make it out on to the roof, what then?
There were so many things that could go wrong. What would Martin the Warrior have done in a situation like this? Matthias decided that Martin would have put on a brave face and trusted to a warrior’s luck. And that was precisely what he was going to do.
Dunwing left the nest an hour before the Joseph Bell tolled lunchtime: she had to start spreading the tale of the snake. Rumours were often circulated among the Sparra folk. All it took was a few chosen whispers in the right places. Pretty soon
the Court of King Bull Sparra would be in uproar. Later, when it all turned out to be nothing, nobody would remember who started spreading the rumour – it had always been the same with the Sparra.
Matthias passed a miserable few minutes in the nest with Warbeak. When the false news broke, the young sparrow would have to fly along with King Bull and the other Sparra warriors. The two friends might never see each other again.
However, there was little time for emotional farewells. Outside the nest pandemonium was sweeping the Sparra Court.
Dunwing had performed her task well. A loud drumming like the beating of many wings against the wooden floor filled the air.
‘King call alla warrior,’ Warbeak murmured. ‘Gotta go now. Me meetum Matthias mouse again one day.’
Warbeak undid the collar. It fell from Matthias’s neck. ‘Mousefriend settum me free. Now me settum you free. Warbeak go now, Matthias. Good wormhunt.’
They shook paw to claw. The young mouse said his farewell in the Sparra language: ‘Matthias look for Warbeak. See um someday. You go now. Be um brave eggchick. Mighty Sparra warrior. Great friend.’
A swift rush of wings and Warbeak was gone.
Matthias kept his head well down inside the nest. He listened as the flapping of wings and chirping of sparrows grew less and less. Finally there was silence. Dunwing popped her head over the rim of the nest.
‘Matthias come quick, not lose um time!’
Together they hurried through the deserted Sparra court. Dunwing knew there were mothers in every nest with small chicks. These birds remained quietly out of sight when there were no warriors about to defend them. Matthias and Dunwing pushed hastily past the scrap of sacking that served as a door to the King’s chamber and began their search.
The scabbard had gone from the back of the chair.
‘Oh, I just knew it!’ Matthias cried. ‘That sly old Bull Sparra has taken them with him.’
Dunwing shook her head. ‘No, me see um King go. He not takeum belt or case. Search hard, we must findum plenty quick.’
The chamber was so sparsely furnished that it required very little searching. Dunwing fluttered about but Matthias became discouraged.