Cluny lifted his visor to get a better view. It was too late to call out against what he saw happen next.
A veritable avalanche of earth and rocks cascaded over the parapet. It smashed straight on to the main ladder. Rats screamed aloud and grasped at mid-air as they were swept from the ladder to the road below. The ladder fell sideways, cannoning into another one that had been set up beside it. As both ladders fell there were scenes of mass chaos. Badly wounded and shocked, the survivors on the roadway tried to crawl back to the safety of the ditch, only to be buried beneath rubble which thundered down on them. Many lay trapped beneath the heavy ladders that had fallen. The air resounded with screams and moans.
Cluny ranted and swore. Leaving his standard, he rushed across the meadow. Taking the ditch in a single leap, he darted across the road. Grasping a hanging rope he began hauling himself up claw over claw. As the solitary beaver gnawed through the last strands, the rope parted. Cluny fell from a fair height and sprawled on the dusty road in an undignified heap.
Cluny flung himself into the ditch. Regrouping the sling-throwers and a few archers he ordered them to await his command.
At the top of the walls the last climbing rope had been severed. A hearty cheer rent the air as the Redwall defenders broke cover to survey their handiwork.
‘Fire,’ Cluny roared.
Stones and arrows sped upward with devastating effect. Several mice and woodlanders cried out and fell. The results heartened Cluny. All was not lost. He began devising a new plan.
In Mossflower Woods, Ragear was struggling with the rope that bound him to the oak tree. He could hear far-off sounds which meant only one thing. His Chief was attacking the Abbey.
Straining his neck downwards at an uncomfortable angle, Ragear was able to get his teeth into the tough climbing rope. If he could manage to free himself he might be able to sneak back and join the horde. He could mingle with them and deny that he had ever been missing. Cluny might also take a lenient view of his desertion if he could distinguish himself during the battle.
The rope tasted foul. Ragear could tell by its scent that it had once belonged to the Shadow. He’d never liked that surly poker-faced rodent! Ragear congratulated himself as his teeth bit through another strand.
‘Ha, take that, rope, and that! No rope can keep Ragear prisoner for long, heh, heh, heh! Poor old Shadow, if only you could see your lovely rope now!’ Ragear straightened up for a moment to ease his neck.
The laughter died on his lips. A horrified gurgle bubbled from his throat. Icy claws of terror gripped his chest.
Swaying hypnotically a foot from his face was the biggest, strongest, most evil-looking adder that had ever been born.
The rat was completely petrified. The breath seemed to freeze in his lungs. The sinister blunt head moved in a lazy rhythm, its forked tongue flickering endlessly in and out, the round, beadlike jet eyes never leaving his for an instant. Its voice was like dry leaves rustling in an autumn breeze.
‘Asmodeus, Asmodeussssssss,’ it hissed. ‘So kind of you to untie yourself, rat! Come with me, I will show you eternity! Asmodeus, Asmodeussssssss.’
It struck with lightning speed! All that Ragear felt was a sudden sharp sting to the side of his neck. His limbs became flaccid, his eyesight shrouded by a dark mist. The last words Ragear ever heard on this earth were uttered in the adder’s sibilant hiss.
‘Asmodeus, Asmodeusssssssssss!’
Cluny scratched the floor of the ditch with his claw. It was all there, the design for his next move. He would attack the Abbey secretly from the Mossflower side.
It would be a surprise manoeuvre. A handpicked squad led by him would carry out the mission. Dressed in Cluny’s war helmet and armour, Redtooth would stay back in the meadow. His disguise would be sufficient to fool the defenders from the distance of the high walls. The rats in the ditch were ordered to continue pressing home the attack until Cluny and his party scaled the walls from behind and fought their way across the grounds to open the Abbey gates.
After issuing orders to his remaining Captains, Cluny, accompanied by a score of assorted rats, weasels, stoats and ferrets, crept off along the course of the ditch. They carried with them the long plank from Saint Ninian’s lych-gate fence. Silently they travelled in a northerly direction, until they were out of sight of the walls. Climbing out of the ditch they crossed the road into Mossflower woods.
Cluny sat on a fallen tree trunk and told his squad what was required of them. ‘I’ll wait here with the plank carriers. The rest of you split up and search the area for any big high trees growing near the Abbey walls. Make sure that the tree you pick is higher than the wall itself and not too difficult to climb. Got that? Right, get going.’
Cluny watched them strike off into the undergrowth. His previous good mood had deserted him. He was working himself into a foul temper over the day’s performance from his mighty conquering horde. Shown up by the simple tactics of woodland creatures and mice! He snorted and dug his powerful claws into the rotten tree trunk, sending beetles and woodlice scurrying as he tore out a chunk of the spongy timber. Oh, he had had them frightened at first. As a commander he knew the power of fright, but once they had gained the upper hand in the initial skirmish the mice lost their fear and became bolder. That was when the battle had started to go against him. Granted, he had scored one or two small victories, but they were nothing to brag about. He couldn’t use them as an example to put fresh heart in his troops.
Cluny’s only hope was that the mice would become overconfident and eventually make a mistake. It was the old waiting game. Just let them make one slip; that was all he needed. Meanwhile, he had a greater obstacle to overcome than mice: the walls. It was those same accursed walls that were ruining all his plans. Cluny tore viciously at the rotting log until great chunks of it flew through the air. If this scheme worked he wouldn’t have to worry about walls any more. He would be inside those walls like a fox among day-old chickens.
Cluny sniffed the air. His senses told him the searchers were returning. Cheesethief and a ferret named Killconey came crashing out of the underbrush. They were trembling and twitching. Both looked as if they had been badly scared.
It was some time before Cluny could get any sense out of them. Cheesethief spoke haltingly, glancing back fearfully over his shoulder. ‘Er, er, we, like … we got a bit lost, Chief.’
‘Lost? Where?’ Cluny snarled.
Killconey pointed a shaky claw. ‘Over that way, yer honour, and didn’t we find a great strappin’ oak?’
‘Was it close to the wall?’
Cheesethief shook his head. ‘No, Chief, it was further out into the woods. Look what I found wrapped around the trunk.’
He held out the chewed and broken climbing rope. Cluny snatched it. ‘This looks like the Shadow’s climbing rope. He’s dead. What are you fools trying to tell me?’
Killconey whimpered pitifully. ‘It’s Ragear, yer honour.’
Cluny seized the unlucky pair and shook them soundly. ‘Have you both gone raving mad? D’you mean to tell me you’re frightened of that fool Ragear?’
Cheesethief fell to his knees, sobbing. ‘But you didn’t see him, Chief. He was just lying there. His face was all swollen and his tongue was sticking out. It had gone purple. Ugh! He was all sort of bloated like … it was horrible!’
Killconey bobbed his head vigorously in agreement. ‘Aye, so ’twas. Didn’t we see him with our very own eyes, sir? Pore ould Ragear, and him going backwards all the time.’
‘Going backwards?’ echoed Cluny.
‘Indeed he was,’ said the ferret, ‘and your man here says to me, says he, “there’s something pulling Ragear along.” Sure, we couldn’t see what it was for all the bushes, so we pulled them to one side between us, and what did we see?’
‘Well, what did you see?’ barked Cluny irritably.
Killconey stopped and shuddered. He spoke incredulously, as if he were unable to believe himself. ‘We saw the biggest snake you ev
er clapped eyes on. The father of all serpents! He had poor Ragear’s body by the feet and was dragging it along backwards.’
Cluny’s one eye widened. ‘What did this serpent do when it saw you?’
‘It let go of Ragear and looked at us,’ squeaked Cheesethief. ‘The serpent stared at us. It kept on saying, “Asmodeus, Asmodeus”.’
Cluny scratched his head with a sharp, dirty claw. ‘Asmodeus? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Do ye not know? ’Tis the dreaded name of the divvil himself, sir,’ wailed the ferret. ‘I know because me ould mother told me so, and she always said never to look a serpent in the eye. So I sez to me mate here, “Cheesethief,” sez I, “don’t look. Run for your life!” And that’s exactly what we did, sir. Oh, you’ll never know how horrible it was. I’d rather be tied in a blazin’ barn than go back there, so I would! The great scaly body of the—’
‘Quiet, fool,’ said Cluny. ‘I think I hear the others coming back. Now straighten yourselves up, and not a word to anyone about this serpent thing, or you’ll feel my serpent across your backs.’ Cluny’s long tail waved menacingly under their noses. They took his point.
A weasel called Scragg came running up. He reported smartly with great efficiency. ‘High tree near the Abbey wall, Chief, elm I think, much higher than the wall, lots of branches jutting out, just the job for climbing.’
‘How far to this tree?’ Cluny asked.
‘About ten minutes’ march to the east,’ Scragg replied.
When the rest of the party arrived back, Cluny had them form up in single file. They marched eastwards at a smart pace.
The high tree did prove to be an elm, an ancient giant covered in gnarled bumps and handy branches. Cluny sized it up: exactly what he wanted, the perfect distance from the wall. He turned to his commando squad.
‘Listen, we’re going to climb this tree. When we get up high enough I’ll find a strong branch that we can bridge to the wall with the plank. If we go carefully, the mice won’t suspect a thing. Before they can gather their wits about them we’ll be inside Redwall.’
IT WAS DIFFICULT to tell who was the more surprised, Matthias and his party or the rat sentries.
There was a second’s pause, then they scattered. One or two of the rats were a bit slow off the mark, but not as slow as Colin Vole and his mother, who were roughly grabbed by the faster sentries.
Matthias dodged, wriggled, and ran free, tripping a rat who was about to seize Mr Vole. The young mouse ran, pushing the vole in front of him and calling out: ‘Run, keep going, Mr Vole! Try to make it to the woods and hide.’
The vole faltered. ‘But my wife – Colin – the rats have got them.’
Matthias pushed him roughly forward. ‘They’ll get you too, if you don’t hurry! Move yourself, vole. You’ll be no good to your family as a prisoner again.’
Taking Matthias’s advice, Abram Vole ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Matthias turned and picked up a heavy branch. He faced the oncoming rats.
‘Only a dozen of you,’ he taunted. ‘Let’s see what you rats are made of. First come, first served.’
Matthias swung the branch. It whooshed through the air, causing the rats to stop in their tracks. As he advanced on them flailing the branch, he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘Basil, Basil Stag Hare, where are you?’
The rats tried to circle Matthias. One got too near. A hefty blow from the improvised staff sent him crashing to the ground.
‘Oh well hit, sir! Jolly well hit!’
It was the hare.
He came bounding up, for all the world as if he were on a Sunday School picnic, grinning from ear to ear. Colin and Mrs Vole came panting in his wake. Matthias gasped with relief.
‘Basil, where in heaven’s name did you get to?’
The skilful creatured dodged a rat, spun round and landed a fierce double-footed kick to its stomach. The rat bowled over, completely winded, all the fight knocked out of its body. Basil chuckled. ‘Sorry about that, Matthias my old lad. When these chaps gave up chasing me, I scooted back to my den. Spring cleaning, y’know. A bit late, but I’m only a bachelor in single quarters, what!’
Matthias was flabbergasted. Here he was fighting off a dozen rats, trying to rescue the Vole family, while Basil was dusting out his den! The young mouse could scarcely hold his temper.
‘Oh, how nice of you, Mr Hare. So glad you could join us,’ he said sarcastically as they beat off rats and hurried the Voles along. ‘I don’t suppose you put the kettle on for tea?’
Basil bowed to Mrs Vole and offered her his paw.
‘Allow me, Ma’am. Why yes, as a matter of fact I did. Nothing like a fresh pot of mint tea after some good healthy exercise, what, what?’
Matthias struck a rat square in the face with the butt of his branch. The hare was obviously insane. Mint tea, indeed!
‘Well, I don’t suppose you think I’m going to sit in your den drinking tea all afternoon,’ he yelled.
Basil had a hammerlock on a rat. He swung him and knocked two more flat on the ground. He winked at Matthias.
‘I certainly hope not, old bean. You see, it’d be perishin’ awkward, as I’ve only got a four-piece teaset, and if I’m not mistaken the small gent who took off for the woods like a scalded duck is obviously the husband of this delightful lady vole, so I’ll have to invite him too, won’t I?’
Matthias tripped a rat with the branch. He was learning to take Basil in his stride.
‘Why, of course you will, Mr Hare. What a bore you must think me. I’ll probably sit around on the common here and teach the rats to make daisy chains.’
Basil dodged around a rat and laughed approvingly. ‘No need to get uppity, young feller. I thought I’d best shelter the Voles and see ’em safe to the Abbey later. Obviously you need to get back to Redwall post haste. A family of voles would only slow you up.’
Matthias grinned ruefully. ‘I apologize, sir. I accept your offer of help gratefully, I didn’t mean to be rude.’
By now they were at the edge of the common land. The rats had fallen back momentarily.
Basil shook paws with Matthias. ‘Good mouse. Right, cut along, young’un. I’ll see you when I deliver my charges back to the Abbey.’
Alone and unencumbered, Matthias struck off into the woods. Travelling doggedly on wearied legs, he realized that his entry to Redwall would have to be from the Mossflower side as the main gate would probably be under attack. Could the defenders hold out? Was Constance organizing the retaliation correctly without him? Had the sentries stayed alert? Was Cornflower safe?
Questions raced through Matthias’s brain as he fought his way through the undergrowth. Taking a check on his bearings, he began to worry a little. The Abbey walls should be in sight over towards the northwest. Perhaps he hadn’t fully realized the sprawling size of the woodlands. Yes, that was it. Maybe if he kept on trekking the walls would soon come into view.
Somewhere ahead Matthias could hear the trickle and gurgle of a stream. He remembered that it had been some time since he had eaten and drunk. Changing direction he followed the water sounds until he came to the banks of the stream.
Lying face down on a low outcrop of red sandstone Matthias drank his fill of the cool, sweet stream water. Further down the bank he found some young dandelions. Gathering a bunch of tender leaves and buds he made his way back to the sun-warmed sandstone and stretched out on his back, nibbling dandelions and gazing up at the cloudless, blue June sky through the treetops. What an action-packed day it had been!
Matthias was glad of the brief respite after all the excitement. But he told himself that he could not afford to stay long. He must press on to Redwall. He heaved a great sigh; the life of a warrior was very tiring.
Closing his eyes momentarily, he thought of Martin the Warrior. Did he ever feel tired? He must have, defending the Abbey with his large heavy sword, wearing all that armour. Whatever happened to the sword? It had to be somewhere. Legendary weapons didn’t rust and wear
away to nothing, otherwise they’d never get to be legends.
A dragonfly hovered directly above the young mouse, gently stirring his whiskers. What was this strange creature doing in his territory? He glided a little closer. It was quite safe; the oddly-garbed animal posed no threat to his authority as bailiff of this stretch of water. He was fast asleep, snoring like a squirrel in midwinter, oblivious to all about him.
IT WAS LATE afternoon. There had been one or two minor setbacks, but Cluny and his squad had finally made it up into the elm tree. Some of the rats were really hopeless climbers in Cluny’s estimation. There had been quite a bit of jostling and slipping, and as for that idiot Cheesethief, imagine waiting until you were six metres above ground to find out that you were afraid and had no head for heights. Cluny thought angrily that if there hadn’t been such an urgent need for silence, he’d have given him what for!
The Warlord began to wish that he had brought along more ferrets and weasels. They possessed good natural climbing ability, and that weasel – what was his name? Scragg – he’d been an enormous help, boosting and encouraging the others, even organizing the lifting up of the plank. Cluny made a mental note for future reference. Officer material that one. Despite all efforts however, they were still below the edge of the parapet. Higher up the elm, branches became thin and whippy, not strong enough to support the plank’s weight.
Cluny took stock of the situation. This was really as far as he could go while still retaining some kind of safety factor on their hazardous assignment. He decided to call a halt.
‘Right, take a breather. Find somewhere that you won’t fall from. In an hour or two it’ll be evening; there’ll be lots of shadow and less daylight. The mice will have slowed up a bit by then. We’ll catch them off guard. Scragg, see this lot keep still and quiet, will you?’
Scragg saluted smartly and offered a helpful comment. ‘This branch I’m sitting on, Chief. I’ve just been testing it and it feels good and strong. Maybe we should mount the plank from here to the wall. It’ll reach easily enough. I know it’s a bit of an uphill climb, but it shouldn’t be too difficult. I don’t fancy those branches higher up – they’re too thin.’