Martin jabbed Matthias in the side again, this time calling out in a loud accusing voice, “Why do you
sleep, Warrior? You must save your son and his friends.”
Matthias tried to reach his sword to defend himself as Martin thrust at him again, but his paws felt
lifeless. They hung limp by his sides. He winced with pain as the great axe seared his side again. “A warrior
who sleeps in time of danger is no warrior but a coward!”
“Ouch, stoppit!”
Matthias awoke to find he had somehow rolled off Orlando and was lying on the head of the axe. Each
time he moved, it dug painfully into his side. Sitting upright, he rubbed the spot, realizing it had all been a
fevered dream. But it was also help and a warning from his fellow warrior spirit.
Forcing himself upright, he held the axe by the twin blades, and by staggering about in the dark he
located the blocked entrance. With agonizing slowness he pulled himself as high as he could up the sloping
hill of debris until he was at its topmost point. Breathing hard, sweat starting out all over beneath his habit,
Matthias began probing the rubble heap with the long axe handle. Pushing and shoving laboriously, he felt
the long axe haft sink into the hill. Sometimes it struck a rock, but with a bit of manoeuvring he thrust it
past the obstacle. Almost the full length of the haft was buried in the pile. With a final effort he gave one
last painful shove, and fell forward as the haft buried itself entirely. Slowly, wearily, he started waggling
the shaft by pushing the twin blades from side to side, then very carefully he began withdrawing the axe
from the hole he had made, with painstaking care sliding the axe back until it came all the way out.
Matthias knelt paw-deep in the rubble, hardly daring to draw breath.
Like the first kiss of sun upon ice in spring, he felt it on his whiskers….
Fresh air!
Tears of gratitude flowed freely through the dust upon the Warrior’s face. Cool, clean, fresh air and a
shaft of daylight poured in.
“Thank you, Martin. Thank you for our lives, my long-dead warrior friend.”
Scrambling down off the heap, Matthias located Basil. Rubbing the hare’s limbs and tugging at his ears, he
pummelled and massaged as best he could. It took quite a while before there was any response, then Basil
soon proved he was his old self.
“Owch ooch! Steady on, laddie. Tchah! Why’d you wake me, I was halfway through a leek and lettuce
pastie and just gettin’ ready to demolish a summer salad as big as a house. Huh, could’ve done it too if you
hadn’t come along, I say, my old head’s burstin’. It must’ve bin that cask of elderberry wine me and old
Spike drank together. Haha, I got more than him, though. Bigger swallow, y’see.”
Matthias ruffled Basil’s ears gratefully. “Come on, up on your paws, you old glutton. See to young
Cheek, while I’ll deal with Jess. It’ll take three of us to bring Orlando round. I hope he hasn’t stopped
breathing altogether.”
It took them a considerable while to wake the others. Fortunately they were all still alive, though
Orlando gave them a few anxious moments, and heads still ached. However, they were uplifted and
heartened by the small flow of fresh air and the shaft of daylight that penetrated their tomb. Finally
Orlando sat up, nursing his head.
“Ooh! I’ve got a headache big enough for ten badgers. I never knew fresh air could taste so good,
though. It’s like drinking from a cold mountain stream in midsummer.”
“Steady on, old chap. Don’t start talkin’ about cold drinks, it’s more than a body can stand, doncha
know. Why, I remember the best drink I ever ha—MMMMFFF!”
Jess had stifled Basil’s reminiscences with her thick furred tail. She held up a paw for silence. “Ssshhh,
listen!”
In the sudden stillness they could faintly hear noises from outside.
Cheek danced up and down. “There’s some creatures out there, I’m sure of it!”
They listened intently. Sure enough, faint sounds filtered in with the air and light through the hole.
Jabez Stump voiced his feelings: “Could be friends, or mayhap they could be enemies.”
Orlando stood in the shaft of light. “Who cares, as long as we get out of here. Friend or foe, we can sort
out later.”
Matthias picked up his sword decisively. “Orlando is right, we must get out of here. Now, we must take
a chance. It’s a double risk because we may destroy our air supply. Are you with me?”
There was an immediate call of agreement.
Taking Orlando’s axe, Matthias tied his swordbelt to the end of the handle, then he gave it to Basil.
“Here, you’ve got the longest limbs, old fellow. Push that through the hole and waggle it about to attract
attention.”
Taking the battleaxe, Basil shinnied up the rubble and pushed the improvised pennant into the hole.
Darkness fell as the light was blocked out. Cheek whimpered a bit then fell silent. All that could be heard
was Basil grunting with exertion as he strove to gain attention, waving the handle to and fro by means of
twisting the twin axeheads round and round.
“Anything happening yet, Basil?” Jess Squirrel called out hopefully.
“Can’t tell yet, Jess…. Wait, I think someone has hold of the other end. Yes! They’re pushing the axe
back. Oof! Steady on. Think I’d better pull the handle back in so we can parley through the jolly old hole
with thingummybobbins, whoever they are.”
Matthias scrambled up beside Basil. Luckily the hole was still open, even slightly wider when the axe
handle was withdrawn.
Matthias put his mouth close to the hole and shouted, “Hello out there. We’re trapped. Can you help us
out?”
They waited.
From outside came the faint sound of many voices. They seemed to be squabbling and arguing. One
voice came clearly to them down the narrow aperture. It was gruff and commanding.
“Who are you? State your name and tell us if you are of the Guosim?”
Matthias leaned back and gave a sigh of relief. “The Guosim! Thank goodness, they’re friends.”
Orlando climbed up the rubble beside Matthias and Basil. “Guosim, who in the name of stripes are
they?”
“Careful what you say,” Matthias cautioned the big badger. “Leave the talking to me. Guosim are the
Guerilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. They can be very touchy and argumentative, and everything they
do is governed by their own union rules and laws. Keep quiet now and let me be spokesbeast.”
“If you are the Guosim, then let me talk to your Log-a-Log,” Matthias called down the hole.
Several voices came back at him.
“Who are you?”
“How do you know we have a Log-a-Log?”
“Are you a friend or foe?”
There was a scrabbling noise and more sounds of dispute. This time the voice that came through was
strong and louder than the rest.
“Out of my way! Give me room. Stand back, I say! Hello down there. I am the Log-a-Log. What do you
want of me?”
Even in the urgency of the situation Matthias could not help smiling as he answered. “Log-a-Log, you
old bossywhiskers, it’s me, Matthias of Redwall!”
The reply was a gruff chuckle. “Well, crumble my cake! Matthias, you old swordswinger, I should have
known that Redwall accent. Ha, you’re in a pretty pickle, no mistake. Don’t worry, friend, I’ll soon have
you out of there, but first I’ve got to settle a small dispute out here. Some of these shrews seem to think
they know more about Guosim rules than their Log-a-Log. Leave it to me. I’ll soon straighten them out.
Meanwhile, you just sit tight. We’ll need digging tools and rocks and timber for shoring. This rubbish keeps