Mattimeo swallowed hard. The cruel one clearly meant every word he said.
Slagar turned to his aides. “Threeclaws, Halftail, we strike south. Keep ’em moving fast. I want a day
and a night’s forced march to put as much distance as we can between us and Redwall. Wartclaw, Tornear,
bring up the rear. If it stops raining, then cover our trail. Use your canes if they start hanging back or
turning the waterworks on. Right, quick march!”
The door was pushed aside as the straggling column made its way out into the torrents of rain that
shook the leaves of every tree in Mossflower Woods.
Chapter 13
It was early evening and the rain hammered down relentlessly. Abbot Mordalfus stood with Sister Agnes
on the site of the feast. The roasting pit was a mass of soggy black embers. Mordalfus threw a scrap of
parchment into it.
“This was how the fox knew all about us,” he explained. “It was Little Vitch who wrote all the
information about us. We gave him a home and he was a spy in our midst. John Churchmouse saw him
running with those ruffians when they fled.”
Sister Agnes’s whiskers shook with indignation. “The little hooligan! To think that we took him in,
sheltered and fed him, and that’s how he repaid us, by spying and noting it all down for the fox. Young
Mattimeo should have given him a bit more of what he gave him in the orchard, Father Abbot, that’s what I
say.”
“I agree with you, Sister,” the old mouse sighed. “Sometimes violence can be fair when it is used as a
chastisement against badness. Is that Brother Sedge waving to us from the Abbey? Come, sister, there may
be some news for us.”
As they walked over to Great Hall the Matthias and Methuselah bells rang out. They were out of
sequence and not tolled with their usual vigour. Agnes pointed to the bell tower.
“That will be Cornflower, teaching baby Rollo to make our bells speak. How good of her, she’s keeping
little Rollo’s mind off his mother. He still doesn’t know she’s dead.”
Sister Agnes wiped a tear away with her habit sleeve.
In Great Hall Matthias was drying himself off, in company with Basil Stag Hare, Warbeak and several of
her sparrow scouts.
The Abbot shook a stern paw at them. “Where did you go off to without as much as a word to me?”
Matthias tossed the towel aside wearily. “We’ve been up the north road. Warbeak and her sparrows
flew ahead of us. But the rain was too heavy, so there are no tracks.”
Basil blew droplets of rain from his whiskers. “Tchah! Bally old rain. They’ve either travelled up that
road a lot faster than we thought they could, or else cut off east into the woodlands or west out onto the
plains. Couldn’t make out a confounded thing with the old skyjuice pouring down like that.”
Warbeak fluttered her wings irritably. “They worms, no can travel faster’n us with cart to pull. We
catchem, you see.”
Abbot Mordalfus gathered up the wet towels. “So, they could have travelled anywhere in three
directions from the road. One thing is certain, no creature can track them in this rain, so what can we do?”
Thunder rumbled outside, a vivid lightning flash streaked across the windows of Great Hall. Basil
twitched his ears miserably.
“No signs of this little lot lettin’ up, old sport,” he said to Matthias. “We’re really at sixes and sevens,
laddie. Can’t sit around and twiddle our paws and can’t get out and track ’em.”
Matthias wiped his sword dry, gritting his teeth angrily. “Track them or not, we can’t let them get away
with our young ones.”
The Abbot folded both paws into his wide habit sleeves. “We’ll bury our dead and think hard while
we’re doing it.”
Ambrose Spike and Cornflower kept baby Rollo at their side as they tolled the bells that evening. The sky
was leaden purple-grey, and rain poured ceaselessly as the procession of Redwallers marched solemnly to
the burying place. Dressed in his ceremonial robe, the Abbot stood over the twin graves, at the foot of
which two weeping willow saplings had been transplanted.
Tearfully the woodlanders passed in single file, each leaving a small memento to their fallen friends, a
young mousemother and a fat little Friar. Some brought flowers, others carried offerings of fruit and nuts,
or a treasured object they thought might please, a paw-worked purse, a carved wooden ladle, a dockleaf
made from green felt.
Matthias stood alongside Mordalfus, dressed in his full armour, bearing the sword. Together the
warrior and the patriarch intoned the prayer for those who would rest forever in the Abbey grounds.
“Suns that set as seasons turn,
Flowers grow and wither yet.
Who can say what flame may burn,
Friends that we have known and met.
Look into the young ones’ eyes.
See the winter turn to spring,
Across the quiet eternal lake,
Ripples spreading in a ring.”
The rain continued unabated as they filed back to the Abbey, leaving Foremole and his crew to replace
the earth gently over their fallen companions.
Supper was served in Cavern Hole. Many had no appetite for food, Matthias least of all, yet he forced
himself to eat his fill. So did Cornflower, as she fought back tears for her son and tried gallantly to cope
with baby Rollo.
“Eat up, come on, all of you!” the warrior mouse urged his companions in a tight voice. “There’s
nothing to be done except eat and store energy. Night has fallen and soon we must rest. But first thing
tomorrow I will choose a rescue party. Rain or no rain, we strike north again. I will make that masked fox
wish that he had never arrived at our gates, and we will bring our young ones back home to Redwall where
they belong.”
Rain slashed down through the bushes and trees, drenching slaves and slavers alike. Tess Churchmouse
stumbled against Mattimeo and fell heavily into the churned-up mud, causing the line of chained prisoners
to come to a bumping, clanking halt.
Halftail scurried up, swinging his cane. “Gerrup! Up on your paws, you little backslider.”
Mattimeo threw himself forward, catching the stinging blow that was aimed at Tess. Auma lent a paw
to help the churchmouse.
“Up you come, quick, back into line and keep going. It’s the only way to stay out of trouble,” the
badger advised her.
Between them, Mattimeo and Auma hauled Tess upright and shunted her forward.
“Thanks for your help, friend,” Mattimeo said.
The young badger shook rain from her striped muzzle. “Listen, I’ll give you a tip to pass on to the
others. Don’t let the running line drag. Hold it in your paws like this, not too tight, and give yourself
enough slack to move easily. That way you won’t be tripping up so often.”
Mattimeo gratefully passed the information to his friends. It worked well. However, Mattimeo was
growing impatient with Cynthia Bankvole. She was constantly weeping, stumbling and dragging at the
fetters. “Why am I being kept prisoner and made to march through the rain and the wet like this?” she
wailed piteously. “I’ve never harmed any creature. Look, my habit’s all muddy and soggy. Oh, why don’t
they let us sleep? I’m so tired!”
Mattimeo could stand it no longer. “Oh, stop snivelling and whining, Cynthia!” he snarled angrily.
“You’ve done nothing but moan and cry since you woke today.”
Tess Churchmouse interrupted his ill-tempered tirade. “Mattimeo, don’t speak to Cynthia that way! I’m
sure your father wouldn’t talk to another creature like that.”