Cluny ran about in a berserk rage. Temporarily bereft of his senses, he seized hold of smouldering, injured rats, some with their fur alight.
‘Get back up there, you cowards! Jump on to the wall!’ he screamed in his madness.
The rats who had been attacking the gatehouse left off fighting and ran down the road to the fiery holocaust. Sparks crackled and shot off into the night sky. Cluny lashed out at all and sundry with his tail, foaming at the mouth and cursing wildly, his face a terrifying mask of insanity in the glare from the tower.
‘It’s only a bit of fire! Get back up there, you blundering fools! Kill the mice!’
Darkclaw and Fangburn grabbed hold of Cluny’s smouldering cloak. They dragged him backwards.
‘Get out the way, Chief! It’s starting to fall!’
With a roaring crackle and snap of blazing timber the siege tower leaned crazily to one side. It tottered, then collapsed in a flaring sheet of flame and sparks. The hay wagon listed drunkenly and was pulled over on to its side where it lay burning furiously.
The incident put an end to that night’s fighting. On top of the wall cheering broke out. Cornflower was the heroine of the hour. She blushed as Foremole nodded admiringly.
‘Arr, you’m looken more ’andsome in this loight, missy! Yurr, you gotten any vedgible soop left? Didn’t give it all to those varments did ee?’
Below the wall was a scene of mass carnage. The ground was littered with the bodies of attackers who had fallen prey to the flames in the ill-starred venture of the siege tower. Surrounded by his Captains, Cluny was led down to the safety of the ditch. Apparently unaware of anything about him, he muttered dark words to himself, strange things that others could not comprehend.
Behind the Warlord’s back the Captains looked at each other in a puzzled fashion.
Had the mind of Cluny the Scourge finally snapped?
The fire had dwindled to smouldering embers by the next morning. Constance and the Abbot looked at the results from the ramparts. A wide area of the meadowland was burned black and scorched flat. Even now parts of it sizzled in the morning dew.
‘Thank goodness it did not spread to the woods,’ said the Abbot, ‘otherwise all of Mossflower might have gone up in flames.’
The badger stared sadly at the scorched earth. ‘True, no side uses fire as a weapon, not even Cluny. It is the one thing that spells certain death to creatures on both sides. We must look on it as an accident, Father Abbot.’
‘Accident or not, we owe Cornflower a debt of gratitude,’ replied the Abbot. ‘She is a very brave young fieldmouse. But for her swift action we would all have been under the heel of the tyrant today.’
In the Abbey kitchens Cornflower stirred the oatmeal and checked on the bread baking in the oven. She smiled to herself. What would Matthias have thought of it all?
Last night’s heroine. This morning’s cook!
WHILST LOG-A-LOG HELD the rock from closing, Matthias peered into the hole. It was a long dark tunnel sloping down the side of the quarrystone.
There was neither sight nor sound of Guosim.
They called her name in loud whispers, not wanting to shout for fear of disturbing the snake. Matthias became impatient.
‘Come on, Log-a-Log. We’ll have to go in there. Be as quiet as you can.’
‘Wait a tick,’ the shrew replied. Taking a small boulder he jammed the entrance slab from swinging shut. ‘I’m ready now. Lead on, Matthias.’
They ventured cautiously into the long sloping passage, digging in their heels to prevent themselves sliding right down as Guosim probably had done. On reaching the bottom they stood awhile to let their eyes become accustomed to the gloom. The floor levelled out. The tunnel was high and broad enough to allow them to walk side by side without stooping. As they walked further, Log-a-Log pointed at strange symbols and weird signs that had been scraped into the surface of the soft stone. Though the quarry tunnels were natural, they had obviously been the lairs of generations of serpents; most of the signs were of a reptilian nature. The friends pressed onwards until the passage broadened out into a small chamber with two more tunnels leading from it.
‘You take the left and I’ll take the right,’ Matthias whispered. ‘Mark an arrow on the wall with your sword at intervals. I’ll do the same with my dagger. That way we won’t get lost. Should you find Asmodeus, come straight back to this chamber. If he finds you, then the best thing to do is run as fast as you can and shout like mad.’
‘Take care, warrior. I’ll see you later,’ said Log-a-Log.
Gripping his dagger in readiness, Matthias crept into the right-hand tunnel. It was slightly narrower than the first, but just as high. The walls were yellow stone, so soft that it was almost like damp sand. Scarcely daring to breathe and glad that his feet made no sound on the sandy floor, Matthias went ahead, remembering to mark an arrow every few metres. From somewhere up ahead the young mouse could hear the sound of dripping water; the musical echoing plops made an eerie noise in the sinister stillness of the passage.
His paw encountered a space in the left wall. It turned out to be a rectangular anteroom. Matthias was horrified to discover that it was full of cast-off snake skins. They lay about on the floor, dry and withered. He shuddered at the thought of their former occupants, the hairs rising on the nape of his neck as he swiftly abandoned the repulsive scene and hurried along the passage.
It was more than twice as long as the entrance tunnel. As Matthias cut another arrow into the wall he noticed that the carved symbols looked older, more primitive. This place had been a serpent’s den long before it had been a quarry. The passage ended abruptly. Matthias walked out into an immense cavern.
The Great Hall of Redwall would have fitted into a corner of this colossal structure. At its centre was a vast shimmering lake that glowed with a pale phosphorescent light. The droplets of water came from somewhere high up in the dark recesses of the roof; they dripped steadily down and broke the surface of the subterranean lake, causing a continuous ripple. Matthias noticed that there were numerous other caverns and tunnels leading from this large cave.
‘Asmodeussssssss!’
The sound froze the very blood in his veins. The adder was close by: where he could not tell. The deadly hiss echoed all around him.
‘Asmodeusssssssssss!’
Matthias bravely tried to quell the panic that welled up inside him.
‘If the snake knew where I was he wouldn’t waste his time trying to scare me,’ he reasoned. ‘He would have got me by now.’
Feeling slightly reassured, but still very uneasy, Matthias circled the pool trying hard to ignore the loathsome hissing sound.
‘Asmodeussssssssssss!’
Summoning up his courage, he stole silently into the nearest cave. In the glow that reflected from the pool, Matthias saw a sight that gladdened his heart.
There was Guosim seated with her back against the wall!
Matthias ran across and seized the Guerrilla Shrew by her paw. ‘Guosim, how did you get here, you little nuisance? We’ve been sear—’
Guosim toppled on her side, dead!
With a strangled sob the young mouse recoiled. He could see the poison fang marks clearly upon the shrew’s chest. Guosim’s face was bloated, the eyes screwed shut, the lips blackened.
‘Asmodeussssssssssssss!’
Matthias stumbled from the gruesome death-larder of the adder, out into the main cavern. He sat for a while shuddering with horror at what he had seen, hardly believing that the still body had been a warm, living, breathing creature not long ago. Forcing himself to rise and carry on, Matthias continued his explorations.
The next entrance was a tiny hole in the wall, scarcely worth bothering about. Nevertheless, he decided to investigate it. Crouching on all fours, Matthias forced his way into the hole which proved to be another tunnel. He began forcing his way along its narrow length.
‘Asmodeussssssssssssss!’
The dreadful sound was much closer no
w! Struggling and pushing forward, he came to the end of the tunnel.
Suddenly Matthias was face to face with the giant adder.
‘Asmodeussssssssssssssss!’
The huge reptile was sleeping. With every breath it expelled, the snake’s tongue flickered out, repeating the vile name: ‘Asmodeussssssssssss!’
Matthias stared in mute fascination. The snake’s eyes were not shut but filmed over in sleep. It was breathing slowly and regularly. The huge muscular scaly body was coiled in no recognizable pattern. At odd intervals the immense coils would shift lazily with a dry scaly rustle; the head, however, remained fixed in the same position. Across the jumble of banded coils Matthias thought he could catch a glimpse of the tapering tail.
There were other things in the lair of the snake; a fox’s tail, wood pigeon wings, the head of a big fish, and fur pelts of many species of creatures.
But Matthias saw only the sword of Martin the Warrior!
It hung from the fork of a tree-root at the back of the viper’s den. A large red pommel-stone was set into the top of the hilt. The handle was of black leather and silver to match the belt and scabbard. Below a heavy silver crosspiece was the blade. Made from the finest steel, its double edges tapered to a ruthlessly-sharp tip. Down the centre of the blade ran a blood channel, either side of which there were symbols which Matthias could not make out.
This was truly the Sword of Redwall Abbey! It was his duty to get it. Matthias moved more stealthily than he had ever done in all his life. Inch by careful inch, paw by whisker, slowly, painstakingly trying to make his body as small as possible, he flattened himself against the wall to get by the huge spadelike head. The tongue almost slithered across his face as it slid in and out, constantly repeating the dreaded name.
‘Asmodeussssssssssssssss!’
He felt the adder breathing, its cold exhalations carrying the sweet musty odour of death stirring his whiskers. A coil moved and faintly touched his leg. Matthias sucked in his breath and squeezed closer to the wall. The snake blinked, sending the opaque tissue upwards. The young mouse was confronted by the wide-open eye of the monster staring directly at him.
‘Asmodeussssssssssssssss!’
The eye filmed over again as the snake carried on with whatever evil vision it was dreaming. Sweat like ice water drenched Matthias’s fur. Asmodeus had opened his eye while still remaining asleep. There was no other explanation possible.
The moments of suspense ticked by for what seemed ages until Matthias managed to squeeze past the serpent’s head. Avoiding the gigantic coils he walked quickly and quietly over to where the sword hung from the tree roots on the cave wall.
Matthias lifted the ancient sword down. Reverently he placed both paws around the handle. Tighter and tighter he gripped it until the point lifted from the floor and the bright blade stood out level in front of him. He sensed how Martin must have felt each time he had held this beautiful weapon. The young mouse knew that he had been born for this moment, his grip causing the tremor of the steel to run through his entire body. It was part of him!
Matthias’s main concern was to get safely away with the sword. In the confined space of the snake’s den there was no room to wield the fabled blade. If he struck at Asmodeus he would be crushed to death against the walls by the powerful lashing coils of the adder in its death throes. Nothing would be accomplished by such a foolhardy action. Like a seasoned fighter, the young mouse chose to nominate the time and place of combat. He looked around the den. The hole he had come through was obviously too small for the adder to have used for the same purpose. It served as a breathing hole for Asmodeus, also as amplification to echo the dreaded name through the caves and tunnels as a warning to intruders.
Near the snake’s tail which lay directly across his path, he saw the skins and pelts on the cave wall tremble slightly. They were covering the only possible entrance and exit for a reptile of such enormous girth. Emboldened by his ownership of Martin’s weapon, Matthias tickled the tail lightly with the sword point. It had the desired effect. The long, scale-encrusted coils rippled as the serpent changed position in its sleep. Speedily he slipped through the curtain of skins into the passage. It curved in a crescent-shaped arc, bringing Matthias back into the main cavern with its luminous lake.
Log-a-Log came dashing, pale-faced, out of the cave that contained Guosim’s body. Eyes wide with terror he ran straight into the paws of his mouse friend, narrowly missing injury on the sword blade.
Before he could be silenced he yelled out in a panic-stricken shout, ‘Matthias, Guosim’s dead! I’ve just seen her in that cave! She’s dead! Guosim is dead!’
In his den down the tunnel, Asmodeus came awake.
THE CAPTAINS OF Redwall looked to Constance for guidance. There was no question of overriding her commands. Of all the woodlanders she was the oldest and wisest creature within the walls. The badger was slow-thinking and deliberate, but straight as a die. Her knowledge was born of vast experience, the natural cunning of a survivor.
Jess, Winifred and Basil stood solidly behind Constance. They had just related to her the latest piece of intelligence received. The attackers would emerge from their completed tunnel sometime around mid-afternoon.
The badger thanked them and shook her striped head knowingly. She had not been caught off guard, thanks to Foremole. Now she would need the aid and specialized knowhow of the mole leader to stave off this latest threat to the Abbey.
Cluny the Scourge was still acting strangely. He sat in his patched-up tent at the far edge of the meadow and said nothing. Even when Killconey marched jubilantly up with the news that the tunnel was within a fraction of being completed, Cluny sat and stared at the ground. He did not appear in the least moved by the good tidings.
The ferret stood awkwardly, ill at ease, awaiting orders. Cluny sat unmoving as if he had forgotten Killconey’s presence. The ferret tried once more.
‘It’s the tunnel, Chief. We’ll have it ready by this afternoon!’
The Warlord looked up blankly.
‘Oh yes, the tunnel! Well, carry on. Er, you know what to do. I’ve got things to think about,’ he muttered absently.
Outside in the meadow, Fangburn and Darkclaw listened in disbelief to the ferret.
‘I tell you, he’s off his rocker,’ said Killconey. ‘Sittin’ there like a stuffed dummy, ha! Things to think about if you please! Meanwhile, we’ve got the whole horde ready to go through that there tunnel and take the Abbey. What’re we supposed to do?’
‘There’s only one thing we can do,’ replied the stolid Darkclaw. ‘We’ve got to carry it through ourselves while the Chief’s not well.’
‘Darkclaw’s right,’ agreed Fangburn. ‘The three of us will take charge of the whole business.’
They both looked at the ferret, waiting for him to express an opinion.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Killconey said. ‘But listen. The rest of the army mustn’t get to know about the Chief, otherwise they’ll desert. Y’know, I can’t seriously believe that Cluny’s out of his mind. Just you wait and see. It’s probably just another grand ould plan he’s thinking up.’
The trio of self-appointed Generals marched down to the tunnel. They climbed inside to cheek upon progress. It was long, dark and smelly. Weasels and stoats jostled past them carrying baskets of earth or dragging rocks and roots. Killconey pointed out the finer details to his fellow commanders.
‘Sure, we’re right underneath the road now. The ground is good and hard. It didn’t need any shoring at all. Now, see the footings of the wall! Mind your heads! From here I’ve had some props put in to hold the weight. Further on the going gets really soft, but we’ve run out of decent timber. Still, I don’t reckon it’ll make a great deal of difference. If we move the army along fast enough we should all be inside the Abbey before they know what’s hit them.’
Above ground, a mole leaning his ear against a thinly-beaten copper basin that was upturned on the earth listened carefully to every word
the ferret was saying. He repeated it to Brother Walter, who wrote everything down word for word.
Constance scanned the report and picked up her heavy cudgel.
‘Before we know what’s hit us, eh?’ she growled. ‘We’ll be doing some hitting of our own before the day is through!’
From the south-west corner of the wall, moles had marked the exact run of the tunnel with two lines of cord and pegs. The Foremole and his team knew all there was to know about the diggings: depth, approximate dimensions, the placement of shoring, even where the first rat’s head was likely to break ground. The plan that Constance and Foremole had jointly worked out would require very little hand-to-hand combat, much to the badger’s displeasure.
Two outsize cauldrons of boiling water stood ready on tripods with slow fires burning beneath them to keep up the temperature. Constance and the beaver positioned themselves behind these, tipstaves at the ready. All available mice and woodland defenders were gathered in two groups, on either side of the cord-marked aisle. They waited, looking to the badger for further instructions. To a passing stranger it might have looked like some strange Abbey ritual: two fires, two parallel cords, and all the serious-faced creatures gathered in two groups on the grass in the hot June afternoon, waiting silently.
The armed ranks of the horde were formed up in the ditch. Fangburn marched up and down, issuing final instructions. It had not been an easy task getting them in line without Cluny there, but the persuasive tongue of Killconey had assured them that the Chief was aware of their every move and would deal with malcontents and troublemakers later on.
‘Pay attention now,’ Fangburn called. ‘Darkclaw is up at the end of the tunnel. When the diggers break through he will leap up into the Abbey grounds. Four soldiers are with him. They’ll hold off any attack while the rest of us get above ground. Now, once you are up don’t hang about. Make straight for the Abbey building. Try to capture the mouse Abbot. Darkclaw won’t be with you; he’ll take some warriors and fight his way through to the gate. Once it’s open the others will be able to get in. I don’t need to tell you, these are not peaceful creatures we are up against. You’ve seen for yourselves; they’ve had a certain amount of luck to date, but they are determined fighters, so when you get up there Cluny wants you to show them what a horde of trained soldiers can really do! Don’t forget, the Chief knows how to reward good fighters when it comes to splitting up plunder.’