Brian Jacques - Martin the Warrior [Redwall 6]

The two boats loaded with corsairs that were following were only going one way. Down!

Rose joined in with Brome's laughter. "Of course, that's what Badrang's creatures were doing, holing the boats after they'd set fire to the big ship. Lucky old us, we picked the one with the smallest hole in it!"

The corsairs' faces were a picture of abject misery as they baled furiously, while the boats filled up and sank beneath them. They floated about, treading water and watching the small craft, low in the water but going strong, head straight out to sea. A joyous shout rang out across the choppy night waves as the little boat pulled away.

"Freeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

9

Dawn brought with it a lull in the battle at Fortress Marshank. The weather was humid, and a heavy grey sky hung like a pall with greenish purple tinges out on the horizon. Badrang stood with Gurrad on the walltop, his battle weary horde ranged along the ramparts, dull eyed as they ate breakfast and catnapped at their positions. The Tyrant stoat noted with grim satisfaction that he had successfully defended Marshank against the corsair invasion. But Clogg was a resourceful enemy. What would his next move be?

Oily looking plumes of smoke rose into the still air from the cooking fires of the corsairs on the shore. The pirates were in surly mood. Not only had they failed to breach the gates of the fortress, but they had also suffered the indignity of having their ship gutted by fire and sunk. Cap'n Tramun Clogg and several of his messmates were holding an interrogation session behind a semicircular rocky outcrop close to the tideline.

The unfortunate Skalrag and six of his remaining archers were the prisoners they were questioning. They huddled together on the beach, cruelly bound paw and muzzle with tough dried kelp strands. Skalrag stifled a terrified whimper as he stared wide eyed at the ruthless faces of the searats and the vicious twinkle in the eyes of Clogg. The pirate stoat drew his cutlass, grinning evilly as he licked the blade and squinted along it towards the quaking fox.

"Harr, tell me, Skalrag, what would you do to anybeast who set fire to yore ship an' scuttled 'er?"

Skalrag's muzzle was tightly bound. The most he could manage was a strangled sob. Clogg swung the cutlass at the petrified fox's head. It clipped several whiskers and neatly severed the gag. Skalrag fainted clean away in a heap. The corsairs laughed uproariously as they doused him with sea water to bring him round.

Tramun Clogg put the point of his cutlass to Skalrag's nosetip. "I wouldn't chop yer 'ead off, bucko. Ho no, that'd be too quick fer the likes o' you. Avast, mates. Tell this scum wot we do t' ship burners an'

scuttlers."

The corsairs tickled Skalrag with their knifepoints as they told him.

"String 'im upside down in a crab pool!"

"Roast 'im o'er a slow fire!"

"Chop off 'is paws an' make 'im eat 'em!"

"Use 'im fer a batterin' ram agin the fortress gates!"

"Oh no, please, Cap'n," Skalrag wailed in despair. "Don't let them do it. I was only carrying out Badrang's orders!"

Clogg sat by the fox and stroked his head soothingly. "There there now, matey. Dry yore eyes an' don't blubber no more. Ole Tramun Clogg's got an 'eart soft as swans down. I won't let nobeast kill yer.

But 'earken now, y' must swear on yer oath that you'll do exactly as I tell yer."

Skalrag nodded vigorously. "I will, Cap'n, I will. I swear on my oath as a fox!"

Tramun chuckled as he patted the fox's cheek tenderly. "Of course yer will, matey, cos if yer don't, the things my crew threatened to do to yer would be as nothin' to wot I'd do when I caught up with ye. Lissen now, 'ere's wot you'll do ..."

"What about them?" Skalrag nodded towards his six bound comrades.

Tramun winked broadly. "Oh don't fret yore 'eart over that lot.

Worms like that'd be too much trouble as galley slaves. They'll be fishbait afore nightfall, mate."

Skalrag's former archers gave a muted moan of anguish.

The slave compound was a circular palisade of upright logs driven into the ground and bound together by ropes. It had a single gate, which was generally kept locked. Inside, the occupants shifted as best as they could for themselves. Most slept on their sack mattresses against the walls, some underneath a rough wooden awning that shaded part of the structure. At night the slaves were allowed a fire in the center of the dirt floor.

Keyla and the rest of the slaves had been on barricade duty all night, piling rubble and rocks against the gates to reinforce them against the battering ram. Now they sat locked inside the slave compound, relieved of quarry and field labors while Marshank was under siege.

Old Barkjon shook his head. "It's a bad business. If Badrang wins, we'll still be slaves here. However, if the victory goes to the corsairs, we'll all end up as galley slaves after we've been forced to refloat their vessel or build a new ship. Slavery is bad enough, but the life of a galley slave is worse than death."

Amid the troubled muttering that followed, Keyla came forward.

"That's the bad news, now here's some of the good. Before we were herded back in here at dawn, I checked the prison pit. There was nobeast inside. Martin, Felldoh and Brome have escaped they're free!"

Barkjon's chin quivered a little as he patted Keyla's paw. "That is good news indeed. My son Felldoh a free creature! He'll bring help to us, you'll see!"

"Aye and Martin too," Hillgorse the old hedgehog chimed in. "He's a tough one, that young mouse. He'll see that we get help of some sort!"

The slaves nodded agreement, one or two of them even emitting low cheers. Barkjon silenced them with a wave of his paw.

"Keyla, was there something else you wanted to say?" The young otter held a piece of sacking. It clinked as he strode about speaking in a low clear voice.

"All very good, but what are we doing to help ourselves? It's no use just sitting here on our tails making fine speeches and waiting for others to do something. Look!"

He flung the sacking open and weapons clattered to the ground.

"Three knives, a spearhead and four slings. I collected them from dead vermin while we were working through the battle last night. There's a start to our armory."

Purslane, a mother mouse, stepped forward carrying her infant. She took an axehead and a broken sword blade from inside the little one's shawl and added them to Keyla's weapons.

"I managed to get these. It's not much but it's a start." Others started to come forward and add their contributions.

"This dagger's got no handle, but it's sharp." "Here's the top from a long pike. It only needs a pole." "I got a whip and these two arrows.

The bow was too big to carry."

"Pouchful of slingstones, a sling and this iron hook." A hedgehog, little more than a baby, tottered out and threw his offering on the small pile of armaments. "Dagga an' stones to fro'!"

The otter called Tullgrew began gathering them up. "Well done.

We'd best hide these until the right time comes along. I'll bury them in the earth underneath my pallet."

Hillgorse nodded approvingly. "Good work. Remember now, stick together, help each other, steal anything

you can from Badrang's creatures. Each day, my friends, we will become stronger, more determined. Only our bodies are held in slavery. Our minds and hearts are free."

The meeting ended, Tullgrew began burying the weapons. Druwp the bankvole pretended to be sleeping, but he was noting through half closed eyes the spot where Tullgrew was digging.

Slavebeasts snuffled and moaned in their slumbers. The fire burned low in the crowded compound, and stars in the soft dark sky looked down on the misery of the wretched creatures below as they slept, all save two.