‘We’ll need every available defender,’ Constance murmured. ‘No need to cause a panic, but this looks like a full-scale assault. The fox’s warning was true.’
Jess, Winifred, Foremole and Ambrose were sent for. Together they leaned over the parapet, watching the dustcloud draw nearer. The beat of a drum was audible, and individual rats could be picked out.
‘They’re heading right for us,’ said Jess grimly. ‘Better get all defenders to battle stations.’
At a given signal, John Churchmouse began tolling the attack warning upon the Joseph Bell. All through the Abbey and its grounds creatures stopped what they were doing. Picking up weapons that lay close to paw they assembled at their appointed posts to await further orders.
Cluny waved his standard above the sun-flecked dust rising from the road. Gradually the horde ground to a halt.
Shading his eye against the sun, he stared up at the walls.
‘Surrender to Cluny the Scourge,’ he bellowed harshly.
‘Go and boil your head, rat!’ came Constance’s gruff reply.
Cluny took a pace back, letting his standard dip low. Two score of sling-rats ran forward, whirling their stone-laden weapons. They let fly a volley at the ramparts, shouting bloodcurdling war cries. The stones clattered harmlessly off the wall and fell back to the road.
Cluny cursed inwardly. For all his show of force and arrogance, he had made a strategical error.
The sun was in his army’s eyes!
The defenders had the advantage. This soon became clear when a platoon of otters on the ramparts unloosed a rattling fusillade of heavy pebbles. Pandemonium broke out in the vanguard of Cluny’s horde, with cries of agony as the pebbles found their marks. One stone actually struck Cluny’s helmet.
‘Back to the ditch and the meadow! Stay out of their range!’ Cluny did his best to keep his voice even. As the army retreated to safety he was the last to go, willing himself to walk slowly as if that was the way he had planned it.
Four rats lay dead near the wall, and Killconey’s drum stood unattended in the road. Basil Stag Hare sniffed drily.
‘Not a very well organized initial sortie for the invincible horde. Our chaps took the wind out their sales, what?’
‘Hurr, they do ’ave to wait ’til sun moves round,’ commented Foremole.
‘But we don’t,’ cried Jess. ‘Bring the archers! Keep the slings going! Let’s give that mob in the ditch something to think about.’
Out in the safety of the meadow, Killconey attempted to soothe Cluny’s ego. ‘Ah, what a sly ould move of yours, sir, lullin’ them into a false sense of security! Make ’em think they’re winnin’, that’s the game.’
Unexpectedly Killconey received his reward for flattery at the wrong time – a thwack over his head from the standard.
‘Shut your mouth, ferret,’ Cluny said sourly. ‘Get me some sort of a command post rigged up here. Cheesethief, where are the gangs with that battering ram?’
‘Coming up right away, Chief,’ called Cheesethief as he trotted off to find where the ram carriers had got to.
It was not long before the tiny harvest-mouse archers were bending their bows, sending small pointed shafts darting into the ditch. These, supplemented by the stouter arrows of the fieldmice, and the otter slingers, caused many wounds and great discomfort to the would-be attackers, pinning a good number of them down. Morale was low because Cluny had ordered no retaliation until after midday.
Jess Squirrel abseiled swiftly down to the road on a rope. Looping the rope’s end around the old water-butt that had been the ferret’s drum, she sprang inside, calling up to the parapet, ‘Haul away, Constance.’
The barrel fairly flew up under the badger’s strong paws. Jess was quite pleased with herself. She had plans for the drum to beat the rats! Basil Stag Hare strode the parapet with a swagger-stick tucked beneath his arm. He dodged around the squirrel, who was rolling the barrel along. Retaining the dignity befitting his rank, Basil kept up a constant stream of orders, ‘Fire at will, you mouse types! Otters, pick out your targets! Any moles here? Report to the Foremole down in the grounds right away.’
The hare had cast off his leg bandage. Now that he was back in active service the ‘honourable war wound’ was completely forgotten.
Meanwhile back at the meadow Cluny sat brooding under a makeshift tent.
Cheesethief came hurrying up, urging on the contingent of battering ram carriers. Hoping to find favour with Cluny he had put himself at the head of the party, helping them to carry the cumbersome object.
‘Come on, mates,’ he cried. ‘Let’s knock on the Abbey door!’
Having negotiated the ditch, they charged across the road. Once they had passed a certain point it created a difficult angle for the defenders on the wall to fire at them.
The massive ram shuddered as it smashed against the gatehouse door. With Cheesethief shouting encouragement, the ram carriers took a short run back and battered the door again.
Cluny was heartened to see things going right for a change. There was more to Cheesethief than he had at first thought.
The door was rammed a third time. Now creatures on the wall stood up in full view as they retaliated by firing down on the ram carriers. Cluny called up his best slingers and archers, ordering them to pick off the defenders. Fortunately for him, the sun was starting to move southwards, and the otters and mice on the ramparts were clearly visible. Cluny’s archers caused numerous casualties, forcing the defenders to drop below the parapet. The battering ram continued, although as yet it had made no lasting impression upon the solid construction.
Missiles from the wall had slackened off, giving Cluny’s horde a chance to desert the ditch for the relative safety of the meadows. Cluny appeared well satisfied for the moment. He called Killconey to his side.
‘This is more like it, ferret. Right, get the tunnel gangs! Gather your weasels, stoats and ferrets. Take them back along the ditch to the south-east corner of the Abbey wall. When it is dark I’ll send you a signal, then you can start tunnelling through the ditch wall, across the road and under the Abbey wall. Is that clear?’
Killconey threw an elaborate salute. ‘Sure, it’s clear as the mornin’ dew, yer honour!’
Cluny closed his eyes, intent upon keeping his present good mood. ‘Then get going, and try to get it right this time.’
The battle continued sporadically all day and into the evening. The ram carriers kept up their attack, but somehow the great door withstood them. When the last vestiges of twilight were gone, Constance called the Captains together. They squatted beneath the parapet in darkness as the badger outlined the situation.
‘Listen, we’re all right for the moment, but sooner or later something will have to be done about the battering ram. Has anyone got a good idea? I’m open to sensible suggestions.’
Below them the ram kept up its remorseless battering. Ambrose Spike had reported some minor splintering at the top inside edges of the door, but the shoring of earthworks was holding out. Foremole had assured them that any attempted tunnelling would take at least a few days before signs showed. Meanwhile, he and his moles were carefully monitoring the earth in the Abbey grounds.
Throughout the day-long battle, the animals not directly involved in the fighting had been busy too. The Father Abbot was tending the wounded in Great Hall, Friar Hugo was constantly sending Cornflower and her helpers back and forth to the ramparts with food and drink. Mrs Churchmouse and Mrs Vole were making bandages from old clean sheets. Silent Sam had been left with Tim and Tess the Churchmouse twins. He had played with the infants until they fell asleep in a heap of bandages.
Sam wanted to go up on the wall, but his parents had forbidden it. Slipping out of Great Hall, he passed the time for a bit, listening with an ear to the ground in the company of the moles. But Sam soon became bored. He stabbed at the earth with his tiny dagger, imagining that rats were popping up from make-believe tunnels. After a while he wandered over to the foot of the w
all and sat sharing some food with Jess. The little squirrel signalled to his parent, asking her what she wanted the big barrel for.
Jess Squirrel took her little son upon her knee and explained. She had an idea that the barrel, filled with something or other, could be dropped down upon the ram carriers. But she was not too sure what it would be best to fill the barrel with.
Sam jumped down from his mother’s knee. The barrel was lying on its side. He sprang up on it and walked it about, rolling it very skilfully under his feet. All the time he was sucking hard on his paw, trying to think how he could help.
The tunnel gangs lounged about, leaning on the sides of the ditch. Killconey stretched full length on a mossy patch.
‘Ah, I tell you, this is the life! Better than gettin’ shot at! Me ould mother always said, get a good job and keep yer head down.’
Scumnose came creeping along in the darkness. He nudged the ferret. ‘Cluny says you can begin tunnelling now.’
Killconey marked a cross on the ditch wall with his claw. ‘Right you are! We’ll start about here, buckoes. Come on now, dig for victory.’
BOOK THREE
THE WARRIOR
THE INVASION AT Redwall continued throughout the night, the whole scene illuminated by a bright summer moon. Neither side gave the other any quarter. When the main action went into a lull, sporadic sniping would break out: bow, lance, sling and spear all coming into play with deadly effect. One thing that remained constant throughout the battle was the sound of the battering ram pounding away remorselessly at the Abbey gatehouse.
Cluny made it his duty to assess personally the progress at the tunnel workings. He was scathingly critical of the small hole that had been gouged into the side of the ditch, roundly cursing any creature who dared to complain of difficult obstacles.
‘Can’t get past the rocks and tree roots my eye!’ he snarled. ‘Idle stupid laziness, that’s what is holding up the progress of this tunnel! I’ll be around first thing tomorrow to see how much further you lot have dug, and if it’s not to my liking, I’ll cave it in and bury the whole shirking crowd of you!’
However, the battering ram pleased Cluny much more. He knew it was worrying the Abbey defenders. The rat crews that manned the heavy object were changed every hour by Cheesethief, who stayed with the ram the whole time, encouraging the carriers on to greater efforts.
Cluny had gained a new respect for Cheesethief. Mentally, he had already promoted him to second-in-command. Sensing this had made Cheesethief redouble his efforts. He worked the rat crews like a slave driver. No rodent dared complain about one whom the Chief held in such high regard.
Constance stood on the wall with her Captains. The badger’s brow was furrowed with anxiety. Basil Stag Hare, the most seasoned campaigner among them, was the only one who apparently took it all quite lightly.
‘ ’Pon my word,’ he chuckled, ‘the way those blighters down there are carrying on with the jolly old ram, they won’t need to tunnel in soon. I’ll give it half a day at most, then we’ll have rats piling in over the shoring, what!’
Ambrose Spike positively bristled at the nonchalant hare. ‘Well, I must say that is a comforting thing to know! Any more little gems of information to cheer us up, eh?’
Basil strode off in high dudgeon, re-emphasizing his previously forgotten limp. ‘Dearie me, old lad, no need to be so touchy! Merely making a military observation, y’know.’
Constance called the two old friends together. ‘Look, it’s no use quarrelling among ourselves. We should be thinking of a solution. Come on, you two, stop sulking and be pals again.’
Smiling sheepishly, Basil and Ambrose shook paws. Winifred the otter pounded the stones of the parapet in frustration.
‘I say there’s got to be a way to stop that confounded ram! We’ve lost far too many defenders. They get picked off every time they stand up to retaliate. It’s got to be a very simple solution; a small obvious thing that we’ve all missed.’
Jess Squirrel, aided by Silent Sam, manoeuvred the barrel up on to the ramparts. She patted it. ‘Something simple – like this!’
The Captains gathered around the barrel, examining it. The top had been covered over with gauze. A strange noise issued from within.
‘Well, Jess. Don’t keep us in suspense. What’s in the barrel?’ the badger growled.
‘Shall we tell them, Sam?’ grinned Jess.
Silent Sam gave a broad wink and tapped a well-sucked paw against his nose. He and his mum were enjoying this.
‘What we have here, my good comrades in arms,’ said Jess grandly, ‘is stage one of our anti-battering ram scheme, thanks to my small offspring here who found the hornets’ nest.’
Basil clapped the two squirrels soundly upon their backs. ‘Of course, that’s the ticket! A hornets’ nest in a barrel. Just chuck it down on the beastly old enemy, what?’
Jess and Sam smiled with wicked delight.
‘Ha, but that’s only the first stage,’ said Jess. ‘Here’s the second.’
She and Sam ducked out of sight. A moment later they were back with two buckets.
‘Two pails of good, fine, slick vegetable oil,’ Jess announced. ‘The minute they drop the battering ram, we’ll tip this down all over it. Let’s see them try to break a door with it then!’
Jess and Sam were congratulated heartily by all. Smiles appeared on faces that had been gloomy shortly before. Sam bowed graciously each time he was thanked. Nobody was refusing him permission to be up on the wall now.
Down below, the scrabbling of rats’ feet and the monotonous thud of the ram continued. Winifred and Constance lifted the barrel on to the parapet edge. They angled and tipped it until a fine delicate balance had been achieved. The badger peeped over at the activity below, waiting for the best moment. She beckoned Silent Sam to her. The time was exactly right.
‘Pray, would you do us the honour, Master Samuel?’ said Constance with mock courtliness.
Feigning an equal gravity, Sam made an elegant leg, and delivered a short, sharp kick to the barrel. Buzzing angrily, it dropped out of sight over the edge of the Abbey wall.
There was a crash and a yell, followed by the shocked screams of agonized rats. They milled about in the roadway dancing in pain as myriads of maddened hornets attacked furiously. Some rats ran off down the road, others hurled themselves into the ditch pursued by the relentless, stinging insects.
The long battering ram lay unguarded, conveniently spotlighted by the rats’ abandoned torches. Two well-aimed buckets full of vegetable oil were hurled down. They smashed directly on target, saturating the entire length of the ram.
Before the hornets could seek out new victims, Basil ordered the defenders down to the gatehouse study where they had a celebration snack.
Cluny stooped inside the tunnel workings surrounded by as many of his followers as could pack in without causing mass suffocation. Killconey held Cluny’s cloak over the entrance hole. Outside the air resounded with buzzing and pitiful screams.
The ferret gingerly touched the tip of his swollen nose.
Cluny stooped in stony silence. He did not sit or attempt to touch his own injuries. The others might laugh. Dumbly, he endured the pain of the fiery stings. Further across the meadows there was a mass scramble of bodies into a small mere. The hornets zinged about waiting for snouts to break the surface.
Dawn revealed a sadly-disorganized horde. Cluny wisely held back his temper. Many of his soldiers looked so demoralized that they were liable to make a run for it and desert. He reasoned that there was little to be gained by adding insult to injury. Seven rats, two ferrets, and a stoat lay dead in the ditch. Unable to escape the main body of hornets, they had been stung so many times it had proved fatal.
Cheesethief limped slowly up, covered in ugly lumps. ‘Chief, they’ve poured some stuff over the battering ram! We can’t hold on to it. We tried, but it’s like trying to pick up a wet eel. The blasted thing slid right out of our claws. One of the bearers had both legs
broken when it slipped and fell. Sorry, Chief, but we didn’t expect them to think anything up like that. Hornets and slippery stuff; it’s not fair!’
Cluny pointed across the meadow. ‘Regroup the army over there. Let them feed and rest. Send someone scouting for dock leaves to rub on those stings. I’m going into my tent to do some serious planning. We’re not beaten yet, not by a long chalk. They can’t produce a hornets’ nest every day.’
Cluny stumped off dejectedly, rubbing his backside with one claw.
There were one or two insect-sting casualties to be treated at the Abbey Infirmary. Fortunately, Brother Rufus had a specific compound that he had invented some years back to deal with such emergencies as summer stings.
Silent Sam was re-enacting the entire episode in pantomime for the benefit of Tim and Tess and some other infant creatures. They were in tucks of laughter at his antics as Sam slapped at his fur and performed somersaults with a comical expression on his face.
Constance and the Captains assembled back on the wall after a few hours’ rest. They could see no immediate threat from the horde licking their wounds across the meadow. This gave ample opportunity to assess the damage caused to the gatehouse door.
Jess Squirrel was lowered over the ramparts on a rope. She went swiftly down and inspected the door. In a short while she was back up again to report that although there were many deep dents and at least two long cracks, the old gatehouse door was still holding well.
Constance decided that later on they could lower some carpenters and smiths to deal with the repairs. Of late the badger had become preoccupied with an idea that was rapidly turning into an obsession. Cut off the head and the body would die. By some means she must kill Cluny the Scourge!
Out across the meadow she could plainly see the Warlord’s tent. In the strong sunlight the badger watched the silhouette of the big rat moving about behind the canvas. The main problem was that the tent had been pitched too far out of range for sling or bow. Unless the weapon was big and powerful enough to reach that far…. That was it!