"03 - Mattimeo UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jacques Brian)

"Matti, why do you do these things? You hurt your mother, you hurt me, you hurt all our friends. You even get your own little pals into trouble. Why?"

Mattimeo stood tongue-tied. What did they all want? He had apologized, said he was very sorry, in fact, he would never do it again. Jess Squirrel, his mother, Constance, they had all given him a stern telling-off. Now it was his father's turn. Mattimeo knew that the moment he set paw out of doors he would be spotted, probably by Abbot Mordalfus, and that would mean another stern lecture.

Matthias watched his son carefully. Beneath the sorrowful face and drooping whiskers he could sense a smouldering rebellion, resentment against his elders.

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Turning to the wall over the fireplace, Matthias lifted down the great sword from its hangers. This was the symbol of his rank. Warrior of Red wall. It was also the only thing that could command his son's total attention. Matthias held the weapon out.

"Here, Matti, see if you can wield it yet."

The young mouse took the great sword in both paws. Eyes shining, he gazed at the hard black bound handle with its red pommel stone, the stout crosstree hilt and the magnificent blade. It shone like snowfire, edges sharp and keen as a midwinter blizzard, the tip pointed tike a thistle spike.

Once, twice, he tried to swing it above his head. Both times he faltered, failing because of the sword's weight.

"Nearly, Father, I can nearly swing it."

Matthias took the weapon from his son. With one paw he hefted it, then swung it aloft. Twirling it, whirling it, until the air sang with the thrum of the deadly, wonderful blade. Up, down and around it swung, coming within a hair's-breadth of Mattimeo's head. Turning, Matthias snicked a stalk from an apple, sliced the loaf without touching the table and almost carelessly flicked the rind from the cheese. Finally Matthias gave the sword a powerful twist into the warrior's salute, bringing the blade to rest with its point quivering in the Boor.

Admiration for the Warrior of Redwall danced in his son's eyes. Matthias could not help smiling briefly.

"One day you will be the one who takes my place, son. You will grow big and strong enough to wield the sword, and I will train you to use it like a real warrior. But it is only a sword, Mattimeo. It does not make you a warrior merely because you carry it. Weapons may be carried by creatures who are evil, dishonest, violent or lazy. The true Warrior is good, gentle and honest. His bravery comes from within himself; he learns to conquer his own fears and misdeeds. Do you understand me?"

Mattimeo nodded. Matthias grew stern once more.

"Good, I am glad you do. 1 will not whack you. I have

never laid a paw on you yet and 1 do not intend starting now. However, you attacked little Vitch and you must pay for that, one way or another. At first I thought I should refuse you permission to attend the celebrations. . . ."

Matthias watched the shock and disbelief on his son's face before continuing.

"But I have decided that you may go, providing you run straightaway to the kitchens. There you will ask Friar Hugo to allot you double the tasks he gave to Vitch yesterday. When you have finished working for the Friar, you will offer to help your mother with the gathering of flowers until such time as she decides to free you of your task. Is that clear?"

Mattimeo's face was a picture of disbelief. He, the son of the Redwall Warrior, working! Never before had he been asked, much less ordered, to carry out Abbey tasks. The young mouse considered himself the inheritor of his father's sword and duties. As such, he was firmly convinced that he was above any type of pan-scrubbing or daisy-gathering. Even Constance knew that. She had sentenced Vitch to hard labour, but even she did not dare tell the future Champion to dirty his paws with menial chores. Besides, Vitch would be finished with his tasks by now. He could stand about and gloat at the sight of his enemy ordered to perform double the work and more.

Matthias watched his son's face. Now was the testing time. Would he behave like the spoiled little creature who had been indulged all his life by the Abbey dwellers, or would he show a bit of character?

The young mouse swallowed hard, nodding his head. "Ill do as you have asked. Dad."

Matthias dapped him heartily on the back. "Good mouse. That's the mark of a warrior in training, obedience. Off you go now!"

Morning sunlight stencilled the high window shaped in soft pink relief on the sandstone floor of Great Hall as

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Mattimeo passed through on his way to the kitchens. He felt the fur on his shoulders prickle slightly, as if some beast were watching him from behind. Turning slowly, he faced the west wall. No creature was there. The hall was empty, save for the picture of Martin the Warrior upon the Redwall tapestry. Mattimeo often had this same experience when he was alone and near the large woven cloth. He drew closer, standing in front of the magnificent armoured mouse's likeness. Martin the Warrior looked big and strong. He held the famous sword easily in his right paw, a smile upon his broad honest face, and behind him the images of bygone enemies fled in fear as if trying to escape from the tapestry. The young mouse's eyes glowed in admiration of his hero. He spoke to Martin, not knowing that his father Matthias had done the same thing when he was young.