Martin the Warrior, page 24
The door creaked open and Badrang stood framed in the doorway, sunlight pouring in around him. ‘Get your braided behind off my chair, Clogg!’
The corsair was so surprised that the chair fell over backwards as he tried to lurch up. Dust rose in a golden shower of motes around him as the Tyrant of Marshank strode across and placed a none too gentle footpaw firmly on his bloated stomach. ‘Go on, Clogg. Ask me how I got here.’
’Ow did you get ’ere?’ the corsair spluttered from his position on the floor.
Badrang smirked, pressing down harder on Clogg’s stomach. ‘If you had as much brain in your head as you had fat in your gut, you’d know. I came in through the tunnel that the slaves escaped from. You can go both ways through it, in or out. Obviously you didn’t think of that, swillhead!’
With a sudden move that belied his bulk, Clogg wriggled free of Badrang’s paw and ran for the door shouting, ‘Crosstooth, Gruzzle, Boggs, arm the crew. Badrang’s ’ere!’
The Tyrant stoat righted the fallen chair and sat in it, smiling. ‘Shout your thick head off, bucko. You’ll get no help.’
Clogg stood for a moment glaring at the horde soldiers surrounding the longhouse, then he whirled to face Badrang. ‘You foul ’earted blaggard, you’ve murdered all me lovely crew!’
Badrang sniffed the empty seaweed ale flagon, wrinkled his nose in distaste and pushed it away from him. ‘Hardly, but I could have. It’s no trouble tying up a crowd of idiots who’ve drunk themselves to sleep on beetroot wine and seaweed ale. As for those two dozy sentries you left posted on the walltop over the gate, they’ve got lumps on their heads the size of gull eggs. Did you actually think that you could take Marshank from me?’
Clogg’s attitude changed like a breeze at sea. Throwing his paws wide, he grinned in what he hoped was a disarming manner. ‘Matey, who said anythin’ about takin’ yer fortress from ye? Why, I was only mindin’ it until you returned after chasin’ those pesky slaves. Me an’ my crew was actin’ duty bound as caretakers. Ho, by the bye, you didn’t catch the slaves, did ye?’
Badrang shook his head coolly. ‘I didn’t have to. Come with me and I’ll show you why.’
The corsair crew sat in ranks at a corner of the courtyard, tightly bound and closely guarded by the Tyrant’s horde. Badrang led Clogg to the centre of the courtyard. The pirate stoat was forced to stand silent and listen to Badrang’s announcement as he addressed the crew.
‘Pay attention, you corsairs. You have three simple choices. One is slavery. I have no slaves to serve me at the moment. Two is death. You can stay loyal to Clogg, and for that you will be executed. The charges are attempting to steal Marshank from me and siding with my enemy. The third and final choice is that you swear allegiance to me and join my horde as soldiers. Well, what is it to be?’
The fox Crosstooth struggled upright. ‘Cut these ropes from me, I’ll serve under Lord Badrang’s colours!’
It did not take long for the others to follow.
‘Aye, set me loose, I’m with Crosstooth!’
‘Me too, matey. I’ll be an ’ordebeast!’
‘No point in bein’ a corsair without a ship!’
‘Better’n bein’ a slave or gettin’ executed!’
Clogg shook his head sadly. ‘Harr, ’twas an evil day when I landed up on this coast. Boggs, Gruzzle, Crosstooth, was I ever a bad Cap’n to ye?’
‘No, Cap’n, you was a good un. We had some rare ol’ times together.’
‘You just made too many mistakes, Tramun Clogg.’
‘Aye, when it’s sink or swim, a creature has to look after hisself, Cap’n. No ’ard feelin’s.’
Whilst the new horde members took the oath and signed articles with Badrang, Clogg was led off to the prison pit by two soldiers. He stared down into the hole miserably. ‘So it’s come to this, bein’ slung in an ’ole like a worm.’
They nudged Clogg towards a barrow with a spade in it. ‘You’re not goin’ in it, Lord Badrang’s orders are that you must fill it in. Think yerself lucky. Instead of execution he’s givin’ you the chance to become an ’onest ’ardworking slave. And don’t fret, there’ll be work aplenty for you!’
Felldoh was training an army to attack Marshank, the Fur and Freedom Fighters. Their flag waved proudly over the camp on the cliffs, a green banner with the representation of a flying javelin severing a chain.
Rowanoak shook her aching paws. ‘I hope they don’t want uniforms as well. It took me hours to make that flag, rummaging through our costume box and sewing this bit to that. It does look rather good, though.’
Ballaw broke off from drilling a marching column. He swaggered jauntily across and threw Rowanoak an elaborate salute. ‘All present an’ correct, marm. What time are you servin’ us stout creatures some jolly old luncheon, wot? An army marches on its stomach an’ all that, y’know.’
The badger turned her eyes skyward as if seeking help. ‘It’s a wonder you can do any marching at all with that stomach of yours, you great flop-eared feedbag. Don’t ask me, go and see the cooks.’
Ballaw marched off, a blaze of military colour in the uniform he had designed for himself from the troupe’s wardrobe. He sang to keep himself in step.
‘All the ladies smile at me, lookit there, lookit there,
He’s a fine dashin’ figure of a hare, of a hare.
He’d fight off a horde alone, he’s a warrior to the bone.
Feed him plenty an’ you’ll never have a care, have a care!’
Felldoh laid a lance on his throwing stick. The group he was training followed his actions, laying lances on their sticks as he instructed them.
‘Arm right back at shoulder level, paw gripping stick firmly, lean your head in, take sight at the target along the javelin shaft, weight on the back footpaw and throw!’
The small hillock daubed with a likeness of Badrang was pincushioned by eighteen lances.
Keyla picked up a pebble, demonstrating to his group. ‘See, an ordinary stone, but it can become a weapon. In paw-to-paw combat you can use it held tight as a club. Hit the foe with it as hard as you can. Or you can throw it. Watch!’ He hurled the pebble and struck one of the lances on the hillock.
The mouse called Juniper held up a sling. ‘Look what old Barkjon gave me. What is it, Keyla?’
The otter took the tough vine thong, shaking his head in admiration as he fitted a pebble to the tongue at its middle. He swung it experimentally, testing its balance. ‘This is a fine sling. Give me a target to throw at.’
Juniper pointed to the hillock. ‘Hit one of those lances like you did when you threw the pebble.’
Crack!
No sooner had the words left Juniper’s mouth than Keyla sent the pebble whistling from its whirling sling. It struck a lance, snapping it near the point with a cracking impact.
Keyla wound the sling round his paw with a happy smile. ‘I’ll go and see if Barkjon can make us more of these!’
Gauchee and Kastem had a good number of long poles, sometimes used by the Rambling Rosehip Players when they were erecting an improvised tent. Trefoil had suggested that they would make good pikes, using the pointed ends which had served as tentstakes.
Buckler, his injured shoulder still bandaged, drilled a group in the uses of the pike. ‘Poikes up! Poikes daown. Points for’ard . . . Charge!’
Celandine sat dabbing her paws in rosewater. ‘Silly creatures, you’ll either get hurt or have nasty rough paws from using those great long things!’
She found herself looking down the point of Gauchee’s pike. ‘Off to the cookhouse and help out if you don’t want to train as a fighter, little missy fusstail!’
Ballaw waggled his ears at Tullgrew, Purslane and Geum in a very persuasive manner. ‘Top o’ the mornin’, cooks. When does a chap get some fodder round here?’
The baby Fuffle was dressed in an oversized apron tucked up twice at his middle. He was spreading honey on scones with a wooden spoon.
Tullgrew pointed in his direction. ‘Don’t ask us, Ballaw. Put in your request to Quartermaster Sergeant Fuffle over there.’
The tiny mouse waved the spoon sternly at the hare. ‘Fuffle say back t’ work, or I chop y’ tail off!’
Ballaw backed away from the sticky spoon-wielding infant. ‘Nuff said, old lad. Nod’s as good as a wink to a starved warrior. I say, Purslane, you’ve got a very violent offspring there!’
Lunch was a simple affair, leek and cabbage soup, summer salad, followed by honeyed scones and strawberry cordial. The midday sun was tempered by a gentle breeze from the sea as the newly formed Fur and Freedom Fighters sat about, eating and taking their ease. Rowanoak, Ballaw, Felldoh and Barkjon held an open discussion on the merits and drawbacks of going into battle. Barkjon and Rowanoak were not convinced that it was a good idea.
‘Felldoh, you haven’t got a tenth of the force that Badrang commands,’ the old squirrel cautioned his son. ‘We’re not strong enough yet, lives could be lost needlessly in an attack on Marshank.’
The strong young squirrel put aside his food. ‘I’m not talking about pitched battle, Father. Lightning attacks are what I plan. Hit hard and fast, then vanish. What’s the matter with you? I’ve seen the days when we were slaves that you would vow vengeance on Badrang and all his kind.’
Rowanoak intervened. ‘You both have valid points, Felldoh, but I agree with your father. We are not warriors, nor have we been into battle before. Granted that Badrang is evil and Marshank needs destroying, but you must realize that his horde are all seasoned killers and trained fighters. AU that you have at the moment is a small bunch of freed slaves and some strolling players.’
Ballaw finished off a scone, licking honey from his paws. ‘But we freed the slaves, didn’t we? Brome walked right into old Badbottom’s fort and bluffed it out. Who’s to say we can’t become a first-rate fightin’ force and whack them for good. What d’you say, eh, Brome old feller?’
Brome avoided Felldoh’s eyes. ‘I can’t say much. I may be good at bluffing, but I’m not a warrior. I know that now. I don’t want to see creatures killed, particularly our own.’
Felldoh ruffled his young friend’s ears. ‘Then you can become a healer, one who cares for the wounded. It takes a brave beast to dash about in battle doing that.’
Old Geum dipped a scone in her cordial to soften it. ‘All this talk of fighting and killing, why don’t we just find another place far away from here, where we can enjoy life. Leave Badrang to his own devices and forget about the whole nasty thing, Marshank and these shores.’
Suddenly Purslane was up, her eyes blazing. ‘I’ll tell you why, because if Badrang is still there and Marshank still stands, then other creatures will be captured and taken as slaves. I have a little one, and I would fight with my life so that he could grow up a free creature!’
Keyla sprang up applauding her brave words. ‘Well said, marm. We know what it’s like to live under the whips of a tyrant. It’s not life, it’s living death!’
Felldoh turned to his father and Rowanoak. ‘These creatures have said it all. I could not have spoken more strongly. I will lead the first attack tonight.’
Barkjon looked up at his strong fearless son. ‘It has been in you to do this thing since you were a little one in the quarry, helping me to haul rocks. May the seasons and good fortune aid you, Felldoh, and keep those under you safe.’
Rowanoak shrugged, knowing protest would be useless. ‘What can I say except, break a leg!’
Felldoh looked puzzled until Ballaw explained. ‘In the actin’ game it’s our way of sayin’ good luck to a chap.’
The baby Fuffle waved his wooden spoon. ‘Break bofe legs!’
There was laughter and applause for the infant’s wisdom.
31
TRAVELLING WITH BOLDRED was a real delight for Martin. The owl chose the prettiest paths and was friendly with every creature who dwelt beside them. They stopped often to eat the abundant fruits that grew everywhere. At one place Boldred showed them a tree laden with shiny dark red cherries. The temptation was too great to resist. They stood beneath the low hanging branches, plucking the juicy cherries and gobbling them down.
‘Wonder, cudd oi make cherry zoop out’n these yurr?’ Grumm ruminated.
Boldred spread a wing. ‘There’s lots of cherry trees round here. Take your time, enjoy them. I’ll be back in a short while.’ She flew off to map new features and talk with other creatures.
They lay beneath the tree, devouring cherries and seeing who could spit the stones furthest.
Pallum plucked a cherry off one of his spikes and popped it into his mouth. ‘Ah, this is the life for us, pals!’
Without warning, an incredibly ancient hedgehog came crashing through the undergrowth towards them, waving a knobbly blackthorn stick. He was completely grey and quite shaky on his paws, but it did not diminish his temper.
‘Get ye gone, ye rascals, ye cherry thievin’ wastrels. Be off with ye, or I’ll lay this stick across your robbin’ backs!’
Pallum stood upright, holding out his paws in peace. ‘Here now, hold hard, Father. We’re not robbers!’
The ancient beast swung his stick at Pallum, but he did it so slowly that the young hedgehog had no trouble avoiding it. ‘Don’t call me Father, ye young brigand. I wouldn’t be thy father for a whole plum orchard!’
The old hedgehog wore tiny square spectacles on his snout end, and as he swung the stick they fell off. He groped about, still whacking out feebly. Rose dodged under the stick. Retrieving the spectacles, she held the blackthorn tight as she resettled the glasses on the grey-snouted creature.
‘There, that’s better. We’re not thieves, sir. We didn’t know the cherry trees belonged to you.’
He tugged fitfully at the stick that Rose was still holding. ‘Let go of my stick, damsel. You’re no better than ye should be!’
Martin sat up. There was no danger from the old one, but he was becoming very tiresome with his insults and rantings. The young mouse spoke sternly to him.
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, old one, and stop waving that stick about – or I’ll take it from you!’
The hedgehog managed to get the stick loose from Rose and adopted a fighting stance. ‘Hoho, ye boldfaced mouse. So ye want to fight me now. Then so be it. Come on, have at ye!’
He raised the stick just in time for Boldred to swoop in and pluck it from his paws. She landed, shaking her head. ‘Aggril, stop this. How many times have you been told the cherry trees do not belong to you? They are here for all creatures, not just for you!’
The old hedgehog Aggril knocked the heads from some daisies with his footpaws, muttering rebelliously, ‘Young uns today have no respect for age. Yon mouse with the sword offered me combat, ’twere no fault o’ mine.’
Grumm stood up indignantly. ‘Oo, ’ee gurt fibber. Marthen dood no such a thing. You’m a crafty ole beast, zurr, beggin’ yurr pardon, iffen oi do say so.’
Immediately Aggril’s mood changed at the sight of Grumm. ‘Oh, a moley creature. Do accept my ’umble apologies, friends. Moleys are the nicest an’ wisest beasts alive. Do ye an’ thy companions have a liking for cherry cordial? Follow me!’
The four travellers looked at each other nonplussed.
Boldred shook with silent mirth. ‘Go on, follow him. He’s harmless really, just a touch eccentric. I’m mapping a stream course – see you later.’ She winged off high above the trees.
Grumm started following Aggril, calling to the others, ‘Coom on, oi dearly wudd loik t’ taste cherry corjul!’
The old hedgehog lived in a hollow oak, long dead but still standing, with a small door over a hole at its base. They followed him in. It was cool and dark. Stacked all around its walls were kegs, flasks and gourds of cordial. Aggril was very proud of his stock. He adjusted his glasses and peered closely at the labels on each receptacle.
‘Mmm now, here be a cordial fit for kings an’ queens, a score of seasons old, I lined the cask with honey myself to sweeten it.’
There was pure white cheese and celery wafers to go with the drink. They sat on upturned casks as he issued them with wonderfully carved cherrywood bowls to drink from.
‘Cherrywood be the best of all trees to make bowls from. Taste this and see what thee think of my art.’
It was absolutely delicious, dark, cool and sweet. Before they had finished he was opening a large gourd.
‘This was made by my mother, or ’twas made by my grandmother, I’m not sure, ’twas so long ago. Notice, ’tis a brighter red and a fizzy taste, more suited to eat with salads.’
Gourds were opened, casks unbunged and flasks broached. Martin and Rose sat together in the cool dimness of the hollow oak, eating cheese and celery wafers and sipping so many different cordials, each with its own history, that they lost count. Aggril’s voice droned on like a bumblebee hovering round apple blossom, while outside the sun made leaf patterns in the still woodlands. Martin had never known such peace and happiness in all his life. He lay back and closed his eyes, the heavy fragrance of wild cherries scenting the air about him.
It was night. Rose came slowly awake with the sensation that she was drifting, floating under the soft dark canopy of the sky, star-pointed and centred with a waning moon. The mousemaid lay at peace, feeling the swirl of water against silent paddles, hearing the gentle creak of timbers . . .
She was on a boat!
‘Be still, liddle shipmate, an’ take yer ease.’
The strong cheerful face of a big male otter appeared before her. Rose sat up slowly, trying to shake off the feeling of unreality.
‘Where am I?’
‘Aboard the good craft Waterlily an’ travellin’ on the great Broadstream. Lay back an’ sleep now, yore in safe paws, miss.’
Martin, Pallum and Grumm were curled up nearby, their contented snores blending with the slight noises of the boat. The otter plied his oar with a hefty tattooed paw as he chuckled, ‘Ole Aggril certainly slipped you an’ yer pals a good measure of his special sleepin’ potion. Them three won’t know nothin’ about it until way into mornin’ light.’
