‘The Lake of Drowning!’
‘The Field of Dead Mice!’
‘Ferret Gate, Stoat Orchard, Weasel Bell. Hahahahahahaha!’
Outside upon the grass the woodland captives heard Cluny’s crazed laughter ringing from the Abbey. They shivered at the thought of their inevitable fate. He was making them wait, drawing out the tension, revelling in their misery, savouring his evil victory.
Abbot Mortimer looked up at the sky.
‘It will soon be dawn,’ he said sadly.
A rat pushed him heavily to the ground.
‘Shut your doddering mouth, old one,’ he snarled nastily.
Jess Squirrel knocked the rat flat with both her feet, and sank her teeth into the bully’s back. A pack of rats leaped upon Jess. They dragged her off their screaming companion and beat at her with their spear butts and cutlass handles.
‘Leave her alone, you cowards!’ Mr Squirrel shouted as he struggled to hold back Silent Sam. ‘You’re very brave in a gang, but you wouldn’t face my Jess if her paws were free, you scum, not if there were twice as many of you!’
The Father Abbot struggled to his knees. ‘Please, I beg of you, do not fight on my account. They have the advantage. You’ll only get hurt.’
‘Aye, sensible words, your honour,’ Killconey said, as he made way for the Abbot’s chair to be carried through. Take my tip and sit quiet until the Chief comes out. Don’t make it harder on yourselves than it’s going to be. That’s what me ould mother always used to say.’
‘Good grief, shouldn’t think a blaggard like you ever had a mother,’ Basil sniffed disdainfully.
Killconey cackled and slapped his thigh. ‘Well now, aren’t you the big comical rabbit? Let me tell you, my fine gentleman bucko, you won’t be half so funny when the Scourge is done with you. No sir!’
The prisoners slumped dejectedly upon the Abbey grass, awaiting the break of dawn and the coming of Cluny the Scourge.
WARBEAK AND LOG-A-LOG had to force Matthias to take a rest. The young mouse had set a scorching pace, marching through the night from the far borders of Mossflower Wood. The Guerrilla Shrews had trouble keeping up. He was smaller than Matthias and did not have the advantage of flight like the sparrow. Always several metres behind, he panted for breath as he stumbled gamely on. Even Warbeak was beginning to feel the effects of prolonged low night-time fluttering, through the woodlands, around trees, over bushes; it was not the same as a clear clean flight through the upper atmosphere. Only Matthias kept going at a dogged headlong dash. He stopped for nothing. The heavy sword hanging from his shoulders by a length of cord thumped against him as he urged his legs forward: the breath rose ragged in his throat. His companions realized the urgency of the situation, but they saw that if Matthias continued to drive himself at this rate, he would soon collapse.
The matter was solved when Matthias tripped upon a tree root and went sprawling flat. His two friends pinned him down and held on while they tried to talk sense to him.
Finally convinced, Matthias sat among the ferns with his allies. It was not wasted time: they held a council of war.
‘You carry on to Redwall, Matthias,’ Log-a-Log said. ‘I will wait here for my band. We’ll force march most of the way, don’t worry. The Guerrilla Shrews won’t be far behind you. We’ll make good time in this cool night air.’
The young mouse was assailed by gnawing doubts. ‘That’s all very well, but how are we going to scale the wall into the Abbey grounds? If Cluny has captured Redwall, he’s bound to have sentries posted upon the ramparts.’
‘What for um ratworm want sentry?’ Warbeak shrugged her wings. ‘Him catchum Abbey, not know we come to catchum back.’
‘Warbeak, you’re right! But it still doesn’t solve the problem of how we get in,’ Matthias replied.
The young Sparra Queen winked cheekily. ‘Is easy. Me gettum Sparras to open um little wormdoors in um wall; east, south, north; you see, they do good. Warbeak go now, see um friend Matthias mouse at Redwall.’
The Sparra Queen shot off into the air like an arrow from a bow. Matthias arose to continue his journey. Log-a-Log stayed behind and waited for his warriors to catch up.
Beside the north wall gate, Plumpen stirred. He groaned and rolled over. There was a bad wound on the back of his head, but he was still very much alive. The first sight that greeted the dormouse’s hazy vision was three sparrows standing over him. They were Dunwing, Battlehawk and Windplume. Silently they slid Plumpen out of the open door into the woods.
Dunwing gave orders to the two Sparra warriors: ‘Take um red rag and grease. Bring many Sparra. Fly quiet, greasum other little wormdoors. Wait ’til Queen Warbeak come. No let ratworms see warriors, go now.’
Throughout the night hours many sparrows worked secretly on the locks, bolts and hinges of the small wallgates.
Somewhere in Mossflower, Matthias was still pressing on to Redwall. Log-a-Log and the regiment of Guerrilla Shrews were hot on his trail. A thousand Sparra warriors perched in the branches of trees all around the Abbey, waiting.
THE LIGHT OF dawn began to appear in the sky. The sun’s rays tinged the sandstone walls to a dull pink and clouded red. Dew was upon the late rose.
Despite the blessing of a glorious summer day, the whole of Mossflower was doom-laden with an awful tension that threatened to burst upon the captives seated on the grass.
Horde Captains came stamping out of the Abbey. They prodded the prisoners with cutlass points and slapped out with flat blades at the helpless defenders.
‘Come on, you lot! On your feet! Stand up straight, you mice! Step aside there! Make way for Cluny the Scourge!’
Reluctantly the Redwall contingent complied. They turned. All eyes were on the door of Great Hall.
The silence was broken as the door slammed back upon its hinges. Cluny strode out. Behind him, bearing the horde standard and a lighted torch, came Fangburn and Killconey. The victorious horde soldiers cheered wildly. Cluny was the picture of barbaric power, geared for war from his poison tail tip to the frightening battle helmet. He looked every inch the conqueror.
Regally he swept through the ranks of both sides, looking neither to right nor left. Mounting the dais which had been set up for his use, he swirled the sinister cloak about him and sat down in the Abbot’s chair. All that could be heard was the crackle of the torch and the unhappy whimper of one of the infant captives. He sat impassively, claws gripping the chair arms, visor lowered.
Slowly lifting the visor, Cluny allowed his single eye to rove around. It came to rest on the Abbey leader.
‘You, Abbot Mouse, come here!’
With two rats flanking him, the Father Abbot stepped forward in a slow, dignified manner. Even clad in his nightwear he radiated calm and fortitude. Cluny sat back sneering openly.
‘Ha! So this is your leader? A little fat mouse in his nightshirt! What a fearsome warrior he looks! Well, what now, mouse? Are you going to go down on your knees and beg for your life, old one?’
Abbot Mortimer stared calmly into Cluny’s savage eye. ‘I will never bend my knee on my own behalf. However, if I thought I could save the life of one of my friends I would gladly fall down on both knees. But I know you, Cluny, better than you know yourself. There is not a scrap of pity or mercy in your heart, only a burning desire for vengeance. Therefore, I will not kneel to one who is consumed by evil.’
Cluny sprang to his feet trembling with rage.
‘Kneel to me, mouse! Kneel or I will kill you,’ he stormed.
Angry growls and the rending of grass from beneath the net on the ground heralded Constance’s awakening. She began to heave and push. The net started to work loose. She called out to Cluny in a gruff, insulting voice. ‘Hey you! You scruffy, one-eyed vermin! Remove this net and face me alone! We’ll see who ends up on their knees!’
At a signal from the Warlord a gang of rats leaped upon Constance and beat her back into unconsciousness with their weapons. They drove the securing stakes deeper around the net.
> Basil Stag Hare kicked out at them. When he had driven the rats off he faced Cluny boldly.
‘You, sir, are not fit to command any creature! You are a coward and an evil maniac. Even if my paws were not tied I would think twice before soiling them upon the likes of you. Tcha! You are beneath contempt, you … you … Rat!’
A stinging blow from a weasel’s club sent Basil limping and tripping to the ground. The weasel struck him again and again upon the legs. He doubled up in pain as the horde jeered and laughed.
Cluny pointed at the hare. ‘Remember your tricks on the common behind the church? Before this day is done you’ll never run and dodge again!’
His eyes blazing with madness, Cluny flung his claws wide. ‘All of you, defenders of Redwall, listen to me! When I first came to the Abbey I gave you a choice: surrender or die. You chose to fight me. Me, Cluny the Scourge! I lost battles, I lost skirmishes, I lost soldiers, but I have won the war. You are the losers. Now you must pay with your lives!’
As the Warlord spoke, something seemed to snap deep within the Abbot. He rushed forward and tried to grasp Cluny.
‘No, no, you dare not harm these creatures!’ he cried. ‘It would be murder.’
Cluny grabbed the Father Abbot and threw him to the ground. Lashing the frail figure with his poison-barbed tail, he shouted, ‘Who are you to tell me what to do? There is only one law, my word! There is none to stop me; not badgers or hares or otters or mice. I will kill you all. Kill, kill, kill!’
Suddenly a thunderous voice was heard. ‘Cluny the Scourge, I have come to settle with you!’
A gasp arose from the crowd. Cluny’s tail fell from his grasp as both victors and vanquished turned towards the Abbey whence the voice had issued.
There in the open doorway of Great Hall stood the warrior mouse!
It was as if he had stepped out of the tapestry upon the wall. On his arm was a burnished shield, at his waist was a sword belt of black leather and silver. From the scabbard at his side he drew forth a mighty sword.
Cluny’s voice shook as he addressed the nightmare visitor. ‘Who are you?’
The warrior stepped forward into the daylight. Sunrays glinted diamond-like off his sword.
‘I am that is!’
Unable to take his eyes from the warrior, Cluny stumbled backwards.
He cowered behind the Abbot’s chair, his mouth working convulsively. ‘You are something out of my dreams. Go away, I’m not asleep!’
The warrior mouse strode out into the crowd. He pointed his blade at the quivering Warlord.
‘I am that is! Martin, Matthias, call me what you will. It was long ago written that you and I would meet, rat.’
‘Seize him!’ Cluny screamed.
Frogblood sprang forward, brandishing a spear. Before he could raise it, the ancient sword flashed in the warrior’s grip and hewed him lifeless to the ground.
‘I will slay any invader that moves,’ Matthias shouted. ‘Cluny, this is between you and me. Your army will not interfere.’
Suddenly the Joseph Bell began tolling. Sparra warriors appeared in swarms that almost obscured the sky above the Abbey. They landed in droves around the parapet edges. The grounds came to life with teeming swarms of Guerrilla Shrews armed to the teeth with rapiers, cudgels, and slings. Matthias whirled the sword above his head as he roared out his battle cry.
‘Redwall, Redwall. Strike for Redwall!’
The final conflict had begun.
Shrews struck down the enemy guards as Sparra braves released the prisoners’ bonds with short slashes of their sharp beaks. The freed defenders grabbed up anything that would serve as weapons. They hurled themselves upon the enemy, sparrows and shrews siding them against their larger adversaries. Rats, ferrets, weasels, and stoats fought with the ferocity born of desperation. Their very lives depended on the outcome.
Cluny plucked the blazing torch from Killconey’s grasp. He flung it at the face of the oncoming warrior. Matthias deflected it with his shield in a cascade of sparks and went after the horde leader. To gain a brief respite, Cluny pushed Killconey into Matthias. The ferret grappled vainly but was cloven in two with one swift stroke. Matthias stepped over the slain ferret, whirling his sword expertly as he pursued Cluny.
Ignoring his unprotected back, Matthias failed to see Fangburn stealing up behind him. The rat raised his cutlass in both claws, but, before he could strike, Constance had hurled the net over him. Fangburn struggled like a landed fish as the big badger picked up the net and swung it several times against the gatehouse wall. Dropping the lifeless thing, Constance plunged with a terrifying roar into a pack of weasels.
The thick tail of the Warlord flicked out venomously at Matthias’s face. He covered swiftly with his shield as the poisoned metal barb clanged harmlessly off it. Cluny tried again, this time whipping the tail speedily at the young mouse’s unprotected legs. Matthias leaped nimbly to one side and swung the sword in a flashing arc. Cluny roared with pain as it severed the tip of his tail. The bloodied stub lay on the grass with the barb still attached. Hurling the Abbot’s chair at his adversary, the rat seized an iron spike. Metal clashed on metal as the warrior mouse parried Cluny’s thrusts.
They battled across the green Abbey lawns, right through the centre of the maelstrom of warring creatures. Oblivious to the fighting around them they sought to destroy each other, hacking, stabbing, lunging, and swinging in mortal combat.
Meanwhile, teams of Sparra warriors were jointly lifting struggling rats and flying high to drop them into the middle of the Abbey pond. Ferrets had cornered a band of shrews and were threatening to massacre them when a column of otters sprang to the rescue. Keeping heavy pebbles locked in their slings they battered continuously at the ferrets. Besieged by fierce sparrows, rat sentries leaped in panic from the top of the ramparts; those who stayed were dealt with by Jess Squirrel who swung a heavy iron chain around like a deadly flail. Down below, Ambrose Spike was rolling about like a whirling ball of needles. Silent Sam acted as his eyes, propelling him into each fresh bunch of rats with a long stick.
Matthias and Cluny continued battling savagely. Iron smashed upon steel as Cluny called up reserves from his vast strength and cunning to defeat his opponent. Twice he had hurled clawfuls of soil at Matthias’s eyes, but each time the shield rose swiftly and deflected them. The warrior mouse hacked away stoically. He was beginning to feel his paws numbed by the jarring blows of the hefty iron railing against the sword blade. Cluny too felt the vibrations each time the sword clanged upon his weapon. The pain shot right through him, down to the tip of his injured tail. Along the ramparts they fought, blinded by sweat, panting and blowing, neither asking nor giving quarter; down the stairs and across the grass once more, they slashed and struck at each other right up to the entrance of Great Hall.
Cluny dodged behind the half-open Abbey door and hit out at his attacker. Matthias’s sword point lodged deep in the wood. Seizing his chance, the rat dodged nimbly into the open, and battered madly at Matthias’s upheld shield until he was forced to drop it. Cluny’s iron spike drove cruelly into the mouse’s unguarded paw. Matthias cried out and instinctively kicked the shield upwards at his adversary. It struck Cluny squarely under the chin, the sharp metal edge causing a long slash.
As the rat reeled away clutching at his throat, Matthias freed the sword from the door. Ignoring their wounds they immediately clashed again, going at it hammer and tongs. Cluny lashed out with his bleeding tail and tripped Matthias. As the warrior mouse lay upon the ground the rat roared and stabbed downwards with the spiked railing. Matthias rolled to one side; the point sank deep into the earth. He struggled to his feet, striking out and scoring Cluny heavily down the side. But the long tail whipped out, lashing the warrior mouse several times across the face.
Cluny staggered into the entrance to the bell tower, where Friar Hugo had been tolling the Joseph Bell. At the sight of the rat Warlord, he released the rope and scuttled underneath the stairs where he hid trembling. Mat
thias came thundering in. Cluny dodged around him and slammed the door, locking them in together. If only he could get the mouse at close quarters and stop him from using the sword, Cluny thought, then he could win with his superior strength.
They locked in combat again. Cluny barred the railing across the sword blade. Pushing with both claws he drove Matthias backwards. Now he could see victory in sight. If only he could pin the warrior mouse against the wall he would be able to throttle him with the edge of the railing. Cluny braced his feet and strained. He could feel the breath labouring raggedly within his chest; he must win! The voices had told him he would never again see the warrior after the sun set upon this day. The prophecy had to be fulfilled once and for all.
Remorselessly he used his greater strength to drive the young mouse backwards. They were only inches from the wall now. Matthias realized what Cluny was doing. He would be finished once he was pinned against the wall. There was only one thing to do. Matthias suddenly swerved aside and collapsed on his back. Kicking his legs out rigid, he sent Cluny crashing into the wall. Matthias leaped over Cluny, and bounded up the spiral stairs into the darkness of the belfry.
Cluny lay against the wall, panting heavily. He managed an evil, wheezing laugh.
‘There’s no way out up there, mouse,’ he called. ‘I’m coming up after you. You’re as good as dead now.’
Matthias didn’t reply. He sat exhausted up in the dark belfry with his legs dangling over the stout timber bell axle. Down below, Cluny squatted against the wall, glad of the chance to take a breather. Beneath the dusty stairs, Friar Hugo sneezed.
Laughing triumphantly, Cluny seized the little fat friar by his tail and dragged him from his hiding place.
‘Look, mouse!’ he called. ‘See, I’ve got your little fat friend. Ha, I won’t have to climb those stairs after all. Throw the sword down or I’ll spike him like a lollipop.’
From his vantage point Matthias looked down. Far below him on the floor he could see Cluny holding the spike under Friar Hugo’s chin.