Brian Jacques - [Redwall 03] - Mattimeo

“Hmm, chopped the bridge off completely at both sides, did he? Hmm. Matthias, do you think our owl

friend could fly down into the ravine and cast his eye about for the remains of the bridge? I’ve got an idea.”

Matthias looked inquiringly at Sir Harry. The owl stretched his impressive wings.

“The work of a moment, dear sir,

To a useful fellow like me.

I’ll chance a flight down there.

We’ll see what we shall see.”

The sunlight shone through his outspread wings as he executed a graceful soaring motion. Diving

swiftly, he was soon lost to view within the dark abyss.

Jess instructed Orlando on the next part of her plan.

“Lend me your battleaxe, big fellow. Oof! On second thought, you hold it. Now do as I tell you. Stand it

upright against those stakes which held the bridge. Good! Log-a-Log, could you bring some rope?”

The shrew leader rummaged about until he found a small coil. “Here’s your rope, but there isn’t

enough to get us a fraction of the way across that gap.”

Jess uncoiled the rope. “I have no intention of trying to cross with this piece, Orlando. Hold the axe still

while I lash it to the stakes.”

Sir Harry reappeared over the edge.

“This is your lucky day.

I’ll tell you what I found

As I was winging my way

Far below the ground.

The bridge cast over the edge,

Complete with slats and all,

Hangs from a rocky shelf

Which juts from the canyon wall.”

Jess secured the axe bolt upright. “Well done! I knew a long wiggly thing like a rope bridge couldn’t fall

far without getting caught on something. I don’t want the slats; they’re not part of my plan. Can you bring

me one of the long ropes? Do you need a knife?”

Sir Harry blinked indignantly.

“What need of a blade have I?

No sword or knife do I seek.

I am monarch of the sky,

With fearsome talon and beak!”

With a hoot and a whoosh he shot back into the depths.

Jess shrugged apologetically. “Hope I haven’t offended him.”

Slagar glanced around nervously. They were passing through pleasant brush country, mainly bushes and

shrubs, with the odd tree dotted here and there. The whole area gave Mattimeo the impression that once

long ago it had been gardened, cared for and cultivated. He walked in line with his friends, along what

appeared to have been the path of a terrace. Flowers still grew in clumps, and rocks ran in a straight line,

probably bedded there by some industrious creatures in the dim past.

Tess spoke into his ear from behind, the sudden sound causing Mattimeo to jump slightly.

“Why are there no birds singing?” she asked.

The young mouse was mystified. “You’re right, Tess. I couldn’t say what made me uneasy about this

place at first, but you’ve put your paw slap on it! There’s no sound, no noise of grasshoppers, birds, the

things you’d normally expect to hear on a bright summer’s day. Even Slagar doesn’t look too happy with

this place.”

Tess clinked her chain manacles gently. The sound hung on the still air.

“It is beautiful though. I’d like to stop and sit here awhile. Do you know, it reminds me somehow of our

Abbey. Look, there are ripe berry bushes over there, and daisies and roses too.”

Sam, who was in the front, stared ahead into the distance. “I can see two tall rocks shaped like a

badger’s head and a big bell.”

“Silence back there, or you won’t live to see nightfall. Pick those paws up and march faster!”

Vitch obeyed unconsciously, speeding up until he overtook his leader.

Slagar cuffed him bad-temperedly. “Where d’you think you’re running to? Get back and watch those

prisoners, and keep from under my paws, rat.”

Orlando looked doubtfully at the contraption Jess had set up. High over his head the thick bridge rope was

fastened to his axe top. The rope ran out across the abyss, taking a steep downward slope until it reached

the stakes on the far side, where Sir Harry had secured it close to ground level. The big badger scratched his

muzzle.

“How’s it supposed to work, Jess?” he asked dubiously.

“Quite simply. Matthias, would you go first and show him?”

The warrior mouse shinnied swiftly up the stakes. Removing his belt, he swung it over the rope with

one paw, catching the other end as it came down. He stood with his paws twined in the belt that hung

either side of the bridge rope.

“Ready, Jess,” he called.

The squirrel climbed up and gave him a good push.

Whizzing across the gorge from the rope lashed around the axehead, Matthias sped on a straight

downward course, lifting his tail clear as he hit the other side in a cloud of dust. He jumped to his paws,

waving triumphantly. Log-a-Log and his shrews cheered aloud.

Jess turned to Orlando with a smile. “That’s how!”

“I’m not sure, Jess. I might be too big and heavy.”

“Then you can go next to last,” the squirrel said decisively.

“Who’s going last?”

“Me, of course. You want your axe back, don’t you? Right then. I’ll untie the rope, lash your axe to my

back and swing across. Don’t worry, I’m a good treeflyer. I’ll go straight down into the gorge on the end of

the rope, stop myself against the opposite wall and climb up.”

Orlando wiped a dusty paw across his brow. “I’m glad it’s you and not me trying that. By the way,

please take care not to lose my battleaxe down there.”

“Oh, stop fussing, you great lump, and help that shrew up on to the rope.”

Jess’s plan worked well and the operation went smoothly, though with one or two minor hitches. Sir Harry

was kept busy flying to and fro to borrow belts for those who had none. When Orlando’s turn came he

persevered bravely. However, his size and weight caused the axe handle to bend and the rope to belly. The

badger was stuck in the middle, hanging perilously over the abyss. He was moved by Matthias and his

friends throwing their weight on and off the rope until it began to twang and vibrate, and Orlando moved

slowly along it. At the edge, he had to be hauled over the brink by Basil, Cheek and several shrews. When it

was her turn to go, last of all, Jess the champion squirrel of Redwall did the crossing in swashbuckling

style. Untying the rope, she bound Orlando’s axe to her back and leapt straight into the gorge, grasping the

end of the bridge rope. Down she sped, suddenly snapping to a halt, then with practised skill she swung

across and bounded up the rope, paw over paw.

“Here, Orlando,” she panted, “hurry and get this clumping great hatchet off my back. I can’t stand

straight with the weight of it.”

“I’ll leave you tied to it if you call it a hatchet again, squirrel.”

The pool among the bushes was like a cool oasis. They washed the dust off, bathing and splashing in the

clear water. All save Jabez Stump, who sat munching cow parsley.

“ ’Tain’t natural, bathin’, otherwise we’d have all been born fishes,” the hedgehog objected.

The foragers found plenty of berries, fruit and plants, even a crabapple tree laden with tiny golden

crabapples. The friends lounged about, eating and dozing, almost reluctant to leave this haven of plenty.

Log-a-Log nibbled wild celery as he made his report to Matthias.

“The scouts have picked up the trail, going south as usual. It’s easy to follow.”

Matthias nodded, studying the map and the poem. “Aye, it looks like plain travelling. There’s no

obstacle ahead, unless you count these two rocks, the badger and the bell!”