Matthias walked onwards, ignoring the cruel jibes of the owl, through the farmyard and across the grassland, not stopping until he arrived at the fringe of Mossflower Wood. The shrews broke cover and milled about noisily with their endless questions.
‘Ha, so you got back then?’
‘Why didn’t Snow eat you?’
‘Bet you’ve never seen an owl that size before, eh?’
‘What news of Poisonteeth?’
‘Did you find out where he is?’
‘Don’t just stand there! Tell us, tell us!’
Fierce quarrelling broke out. Swords were being drawn as Matthias sought out Log-a-Log and took the black stone from him.
‘Shut up and stop fighting, you hooligans, or you’ll get to know nothing!’ Matthias bellowed.
An expectant hush descended upon the Union members of the Guerrilla Shrews of Mossflower. Matthias found it hard to keep the contempt out of his voice. ‘I found Captain Snow. Actually I was led to him by Squire Julian Gingivere. Does that name ring any bells?’
There was an embarrassed shuffling in the ranks of the listeners. Many turned their eyes to the ground, particularly Guosim and Log-a-Log.
Matthias folded his paws. He stared about in disgust. ‘Oh, yes. I’d just like to thank you all! Especially you, Guosim, and Log-a-Log. What a sly, nasty, despicable thing to do, sending me into that barn without a single word of warning about the cat.’
Log-a-Log ripped the cloth band from his brow and flung it down. He took the stone up in his paw. ‘Matthias, I speak not only for myself but for all the Guerrilla Union. We are very sorry, you must believe that. It completely slipped our minds. We forgot about the cat. You see, we are shrews, not only by name but also by nature. We argue, quarrel, bicker and fight so much among ourselves that we lose sight of the important issues. That is the way it is with us. Please accept our apologies, friend.’
Matthias retrieved the stone. ‘I forgive you this once. You say you are shrews and you call me friend. You tell me that you forget. Let me tell you, I am a Redwall warrior. I always remember who my friends are, and I never forget an injury done to me! However, we will say no more of this. You must listen to me now. What I have to tell you is of great importance. It can change the life of every shrew here. Captain Snow has told me that Asmodeus lives in the old sandstone quarry across the river. He has given me his promise on oath: if I defeat Asmodeus, the owl will never again take the life of a shrew.’
When the astonished hubbub had died down the young mouse continued, ‘Think about it, Guerrilla Shrews! It would be a double blessing for you. With Asmodeus dead and Captain Snow held to his oath you could live in safety from both. And while I’m on the subject, my friend Julian the cat is quite harmless. He will not hunt you. Any time you need something from the barn, you have his permission to take it, providing you do so quietly, with no fighting or arguing. That is all I have to say to you, save for one thing. Lead me to the quarry.’
Matthias stood patiently waiting as subdued conversation went on all about him. Surely they could not refuse so generous an offer? He tried hard to pick up the threads of talk. Some seemed all for it but others were apparently reluctant to trust his word. Finally, a small militant-looking shrew came forward and picked up the stone. He addressed Matthias in a very official manner. ‘Our rules say that the quarry across the river is not in shrew territory, mouse. Therefore, we cannot go with you!’
Log-a-Log sprang forward and dealt the speaker a mighty blow, laying him flat out on his back.
‘You cowardly, ungrateful little fool!’ cried Log-a-Log. ‘How can you say such a thing after all this warrior is trying to do for us?’
Guosim grabbed the stone from the ground. ‘Stop, Log-a-Log! You have no right to strike a comrade! He was only stating the facts. Our Guerrilla Union rules clearly state that no member can be forced to venture beyond official shrew boundaries.’
Before Log-a-Log had chance to reply, a riot broke out. Shrews began kicking, punching, arguing, screaming, wrestling, and shouting. The edge of Mossflower Wood was in pandemonium.
Matthias held up the stone and tried shouting above the mêlée. His voice was lost in the uproar. Angrily, he grabbed the nearest shrew and shouted at him, ‘Listen, you! Tell me which direction the river is in, or else—’
The struggling creature pointed a paw to the northeast before wriggling from Matthias’s grasp to dive headlong into the fray.
Fury took hold of the young mouse. He waved the stone and cried out, ‘Go on, fight, you stupid idiots! I don’t need any of you! I’ll go it alone, and here’s what I think of your bossy little union and rotten old stone!’
He hurled the stone with a mighty effort. It flew off over the heads of the rioters, disappearing into the wood.
Matthias turned on his heel and stormed off towards the river.
AN AIR OF apprehension lay across the camp in the meadow. Cheesethief was dead. Pierced by an immense arrow and dressed in Cluny’s best battle armour, he lay amid the wreckage of the leader’s tent. Not one of the horde dared go near the gruesome scene lest they be found in a position of blame upon Cluny’s return.
Constance peered agitatedly over the parapet. Something was not quite right, she felt it in her nostrils. The badger’s worst suspicions were confirmed by the sight of Cluny crossing the road and heading back into the meadow. Constance watched him leap across the ditch. There could be no doubt about it, that rat was definitely Cluny the Scourge. She had killed the wrong rat!
Cluny had left his picked band back in the woodlands. They knew what they had to do. It would take a bit of time, but it was a sound, workable plan. Striding swiftly over the meadow, some sixth sense told Cluny that all was not right. His one eye scoured the area. There was the horde, gathered together at the far end, but what had happened to his tent?
Cluny could vaguely discern a huddled figure tangled in the wreckage. Speculation was useless; be speeded up his pace.
Fangburn met him halfway. Cluny held up a claw, silencing him. He would get to the bottom of things without stuttering excuses. He kicked the tent folds aside, revealing Cheesethief’s stricken face. The great arrow-shaft protruded from the ruined armour, his war gear.
Cluny glanced backwards and forwards from the Abbey to the body. He took in at a quick rate all that had happened. The big badger was peering over the wall. It was her doing!
Cluny’s brain raced ahead. On the far edge of the meadow the horde were looking decidedly uneasy. A mistake had been made, the arrow was meant for him. The Warlord’s fertile mind suddenly came up with an idea of how to turn the situation to his own advantage.
Fangburn was, to say the least, surprised. Cluny clapped him heartily on the back and led him across to where the rest of the horde waited apprehensively. Cluny laughed aloud to put them at their ease. He winked his eye roguishly.
‘Well, I see my little scheme worked out just fine. We got the dirty traitor, didn’t we, Fangburn, my old mate?’
Fangburn was completely baffled, but he knew better than to disagree.
‘What? Oh, er, of course we did, Chief.’
Cluny nodded over at where the body lay.
‘Do you see that? Well, let it be a warning to you all. Ha, I knew what was going on with Cheesethief. Didn’t anyone see him at the battering ram last night acting all high and mighty?’
There was a general murmur of agreement. Most of the rats had been pressed into volunteering as ram carriers by the ambitious Cheesethief.
‘Aye, we saw him, Chief.’
‘Chucking his weight about, shouting orders.’
‘He kept me on that ram for two hours.’
‘Yes, you’d have thought that he was the commander of the horde.’
‘Exactly!’ Cluny shouted. ‘I’d had my eye on Cheesethief for quite a while! He was doing a fair piece of ordering about without my permission. Why, I bet he ordered some of you lads around while I was gone.’
‘He started shoving me a
round, Chief,’ volunteered Darkclaw indignantly. ‘It was “do this”, “fetch that”, “jump to it”, “I’m using the Chief’s tent”. I think Cheesethief was getting too big for his boots, Chief.’
Cluny threw a claw around the speaker’s shoulder. ‘Thank you, Darkclaw. You’re an intelligent Captain. You could see as well as I did that Cheesethief was planning to take control of my trusted horde. Why else would he start using my tent and dressing up in my battle armour?’
The soldiers nodded sagely to each other. Cluny was right. There was no fondness in the ranks for the dead, power-hungry bully.
Cluny continued, ‘You see, I knew the badger and her friends were planning to kill me, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone: fool them, and save myself the trouble of having to execute Cheesethief. In fact I let the Redwall crowd do the dirty work for me. I didn’t want any of my loyal soldiers put to any trouble. I gave the traitor enough rope and let our enemies hang him!’
Cluny slapped his thigh and burst out laughing. The horde joined him, falling about with merriment at their Chief’s black joke. What a cunning idea! There was no doubt about it, the Scourge didn’t miss a single trick.
Cluny waved cheerfully to the distant figure of Constance on the wall.
‘My thanks to you, badger!’ he shouted. ‘You did a fine job!’
Constance could not hear a thing from the distance of the ramparts, which was just as well in the circumstances.
Cluny was almost jovial as he turned to the horde. ‘Well, my good warriors. Has anything else happened while I was away?’
Killconey performed one of his most elaborate salutes. ‘The tunnel is goin’ very well, yer honour.’
‘Good, good,’ said Cluny. ‘Anything else to report?’
Mangefur and Scumnose piped up jointly. ‘We was out searching for dockleaves, Chief, way out across those fields over there—’
Cluny halted them. He nodded to Scumnose.
‘You tell me.’
‘Well, we was rootin’ about by some hedges, Chief,’ said Scumnose, ‘and we found a whole tribe of dormice fast asleep. So we pounced on ’em and tied them up in a bunch. Nice big fat ones they are, Chief.’
Cluny interrupted. ‘Dormice, eh? You haven’t killed them yet, I hope?’
Scumnose shook his head vigorously. ‘Oh no, Chief. We’re keeping ’em nice and fresh in the ditch there. D’you want to see ’em? I think there’s about twenty all told.’
‘Good. You did well. I want them kept alive,’ muttered Cluny as he walked across to the ditch and peered down at the captives.
The dormice were huddled miserably together, their necks looped cruelly together on a rope. They whimpered fearfully at the sinister sight of Cluny the Scourge.
‘Which one of you is the leader?’ he snarled.
A bedraggled youngish mouse held up a timid paw. ‘I am, sir. My name is Plumpen. Please let us go free. We have done no harm to any living creature. Violence is against our nature. We—’
‘Silence,’ Cluny snapped. ‘Or I’ll teach you what violence means.’
An anguished moan arose from the dormice lying in the ditch. Cluny cracked his tail.
‘Cut out that cringing,’ he said contemptuously. ‘You are my prisoners to do with as I like. Oh don’t worry. I won’t let them kill you yet. I’ve got other more useful things in mind. You, Plumpen, or whatever your name is, tell your tribe that they won’t be harmed as long as you do what I say. For the present you are to stay down there under guard. Scumnose, Mangefur!’
‘Yes Chief?’
‘You two are responsible for these prisoners,’ said Cluny. ‘See that no creature goes near them. Stand guard night and day. If just one of these dormice goes missing, you’ll both end up on a roasting spit. Is that clear?’
After Cheesethief’s carcass had been disposed of, Cluny sat beneath an awning that had been improvised from the damaged tent. He watched the armourer diligently repairing his prized war gear and fumed inwardly. His equipment had been battered – and he had lost a valuable Captain. The Redwall contingent had stolen a march upon him, and the battering ram had failed miserably. Once again the thinking was left to him. The horde were more concerned with licking wounds and feeding their stomachs. Strategy was not their responsibility. However, on reflection the balance was beginning to swing in his favour again. He now had three possible keys to the Abbey. One was the tunnel; the rats in Mossflower Wood were attending to his second scheme; and the third – Cluny glanced over to the ditch. The capture of the dormice would prove an even more devious avenue to the conquest of Redwall, provided he played his cards right.
Early evening saw the attack upon the Abbey get under way once more. Jess Squirrel and Ambrose Spike had joined the ranks of archers. They popped up and down selecting random targets.
‘I don’t like it,’ Jess remarked.
Ambrose grunted as he released a feathered shaft at the ditch. ‘Don’t like what, Jess?’
The squirrel put aside her bow and sat down under cover of the parapet. ‘They seem to have slackened off somehow, and we haven’t seen much of Cluny lately. It’s not like the horde to behave in this way. Personally, I think there’s something afoot that we don’t know about.’
Winifred the otter was standing nearby. She slung a stone hard, nodded in satisfaction at the resultant scream, and joined the two friends. ‘Aye, I’m inclined to agree with you, Jess. The Scourge has probably figured some new move. This attack may only be a cover. By the way, is there any word from the Foremole and his crew?’
‘Oh they’ve still got their ears to the ground,’ Ambrose said gruffly. ‘Foremole says they’ve heard the odd echo, nothing definite though. South-west corner is where he thinks they might surface eventually.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard that, too,’ Jess agreed. ‘We’ll have to arrange a warm reception for those filthy vermin when they show up!’
‘What baffles me,’ Winifred mused, ‘is where young Matthias has got to. It’s not like him to miss the chance of a battle.’
Abbot Mortimer was on his rounds with food. He had been eavesdropping on the conversation and could not help commenting, ‘D’you know, I was just thinking that same thing myself, but we must give Matthias the benefit of the doubt and trust in his judgement. I’ve a feeling that he could be the salvation of us all. One thing you may rest assured of, wherever that young mouse is he’ll be concerned with the survival of Redwall in one way or another, I’m sure.’
‘Ah, well,’ Jess sighed as she picked up her bow and notched an arrow to it. ‘We’d better make sure he has a home to come back to. On with the war, friends.’
The squirrel drew the bow full stretch and stood up. She paused a moment peering along the yew shaft then released the string with a vibrant twang. Below on the edge of the meadow a creature fell transfixed. One stoat less to carry out Cluny’s commands!
MATTHIAS SET UP a solitary makeshift camp that night. After a frugal meal he wrapped his habit tight about his body to ward off the chill breeze and settled down to sleep. Alone with his bitter thoughts about the ungrateful shrews, the young mouse finally dozed off.
Sometime before dawn he became aware of movement and sound nearby. Carefully, Matthias slitted one eyelid open. His feet were warm. He felt the extra weight of a blanket that had been draped over him while he was asleep.
The Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower had returned!
Small campfires had been lighted, and breakfast was being prepared. Matthias decided that it must be nearly daybreak. Turning on his side he kept up the pretence of sleep. Ignoring the presence of the shrews he drifted back into a warm slumber.
It was fully daylight when he reawakened. The sun beat down through the trees, mixing its rays in the pale blue smoke of the cooking fires. Log-a-Log brought toasted wheatcake and a bowl of herb tea. Sitting up, Matthias accepted them noncommittally. He ate and drank in silence while Log-a-Log folded the blanket and packed it away. The shrew stood beside him an
d gave a short, nervous cough.
‘Ahem, er, Matthias; I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. As you can see, we’ve decided by majority vote to come along with you.’
The young mouse continued to ignore him. Log-a-Log slumped down.
‘Matthias, listen. We shrews of the union try to run our lives along democratic lines. You must not think too harshly of us. The shrew who spoke out against accompanying you was only stating chapter and verse of the act. I was wrong to hit him. Guosim did right to uphold his argument.’
Matthias arose and shouldered his bundle. ‘Look, Log-a-Log. Don’t talk to me about your silly rules: subsection three, paragraph four and all that nonsense. You are either with me or against me. I haven’t got valuable time to waste on a lot of Shrew Union rules and disputes.’
Log-a-Log picked up his pack and smiled broadly at the young mouse. ‘Matthias, my friend, we are with you to a shrew. Tooth, claw, and nail! Lead on, bold warrior.’
Matthias laughed in open relief. ‘Well, let’s get started, friend Log-a-Log. We’ve got an adder to fight and a sword to win!’
Surrounded by a band of shrews which had started quarrelling over the best route to the quarry, Matthias marched stolidly forward. They trekked through the trees leaving Mossflower Wood far behind; across open ground, giving the farmhouse a carefully wide berth; breeching hawthorn hedges and spanning dried-out ditches; through several fields that lay fallow in the summer stillness.
A halt was called at lunchtime on the banks of a slow, broad river.
Matthias sat next to Guosim during the midday meal. It would be the last cooked food they would get. Stealth and secrecy would be the order of the day upon the other side of the river. No fires, no noise. Matthias flicked a pebble into the water.
‘How are we supposed to cross this lot?’ he asked.
Guosim spoke through a mouthful of bread. ‘Log-a-Log. How else? That’s how he got his name, you know. His father and his father’s father before him were all called Log-a-Log. The whole family were all ferryshrews on this river. If you needed to cross the water you stood on the bank and shouted “Log-a-Log”. Here, let’s see it it still works.’