“Because you are the son of the Redwall Warrior, weak ones may look to you for defense and protection,” Tess replied in a level tone. “Cynthia isn’t as strong as you and she doesn’t realize the danger we’re in. No one has ever treated her in this cruel way before, and to add insult to injury, you start snapping and shouting at her. I know she’s only a silly little vole, but that doesn’t entitle you to be nasty to her.”

Mattimeo was dumbfounded. Tess was right, of course, but she had no reason to start shaming him within hearing of the others. He was about to start a justifying argument when Vitch strolled up, swinging his cane with a malicious grin on his face.

“Come on, you dozy Redwall lot, keep marching. Be strong like Mattimeo. After all, he’s the one you can thank for all this. Slagar wouldn’t have chanced within a mile of your precious abbey if he hadn’t wanted to steal the famous warrior’s son. Ha, just think, you’d all be sleeping safe and dry tonight in your dormitories if it weren’t for Matt the brat.”

Tim Churchmouse ducked under a whippy aspen branch. He caught hold of it, swung it forward and let it go suddenly. It swiped Vitch across the chest, sending him sprawling in the wet grass.

The undersized rat sprang up. “Think you’re clever, don’t you?” he said, his voice dripping hatred. “Let me tell you something to cheer you up. Me and Slagar took care of the stupid fat Friar, Mrs. Bankvole too, and that dozy father of yours. Haha, we did them good and proper, killed ’em. You won’t be seeing them anymore.”

Ignoring his chains, Tim sprang forward, dragging the others with him. He was on top of Vitch, biting through his ear before any creature could stop him.

“You filthy lying little ratscum, I’ll kill you!” Tim shouted.

Slagar, Halftail and some others came bounding through the rainy curtain and flung themselves into the fray, laying about viciously with their canes, trying hard to pull the furious Tim off Vitch. Mattimeo, Sam, Tess and Auma hurled themselves into the melee, kicking and scratching madly. Even Cynthia Vole managed to get a few nips in.

It did not last long. Finally overcome by slavers, the captives were beaten back into line. Slagar blew mud and stormwater through the mouth aperture of his silk mask as he prodded the cane hard against Mattimeo’s chest.

“You started this. You’re the troublemaker. Well, I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget before you’re much older.”

Vitch lay in the mud, holding his ear to staunch the flow of blood. He pointed at Tim.

“It was that one, he tried to bite me ear off, I was only walking along mindin’ my own busi-”