Chapter II　A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE

It was nearly noon on the following day when Shasta was wakened by something warm and soft moving over his face. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the long face of a horse; its nose and lips were almost touching his. He remembered the exciting events of the previous night and sat up. But as he did so he groaned.

“Ow, Bree,” he gasped. “I'm so sore. All over. I can hardly move.”

“Good morning, small one,” said Bree. “I was afraid you might feel a bit stiff. It can't be the falls. You didn't have more than a dozen or so, and it was all lovely, soft springy turf that must have been almost a pleasure to fall on. And the only one that might have been nasty was broken by that gorse bush. No: it's the riding itself that comes hard at first. What about breakfast? I've had mine.”

“Oh bother breakfast. Bother everything,” said Shasta. “I tell you I can't move.” But the horse nuzzled at him with its nose and pawed him gently with a hoof till he had to get up. And then he looked about him and saw where they were. Behind them lay a little copse. Before them the turf, dotted with white flowers sloped down to the brow of a cliff. Far below them, so that the sound of the breaking waves was very faint, lay the sea. Shasta had never seen it from such a height and never seen so much of it before, nor dreamed how many colours it had. On either hand the coast stretched away, headland after headland, and at the points you could see the white foam running up the rocks but making no noise because it was so far off. There were gulls flying overhead and the heat shivered on the ground; it was a blazing day. But what Shasta chiefly noticed was the air. He couldn't think what was missing, until at last he realised that there was no smell of fish in it. For of course, neither in the cottage nor among the nets, had he ever been away from that smell in his life. And this new air was so delicious, and all his old life seemed so far away, that he forgot for a moment about his bruises and his aching muscles and said:

“I say, Bree, didn't you say something about breakfast?”

“Yes, I did,” answered Bree. “I think you'll find something in the saddle-bags. They're over there on that tree where you hung them up last night—or early this morning, rather.”

They investigated the saddle-bags and the results were cheering—a meat pasty, only slightly stale, a lump of dried figs and another lump of green cheese, a little flask of wine, and some money; about forty crescents in all, which was more than Shasta had ever seen.

While Shasta sat down—painfully and cautiously—with his back against a tree and started on the pasty, Bree had a few more mouthfuls of grass to keep him company.

“Won't it be stealing to use the money?” asked Shasta.

“Oh,” said the Horse, looking up with its mouth full of grass, “I never thought of that. A free horse and a talking horse mustn't steal, of course. But I think it's all right. We're prisoners and captives in enemy country. That money is booty, spoil. Besides, how are we to get any food for you without it? I suppose, like all humans, you won't eat natural food like grass and oats.”

“I can't.”

“Ever tried?”

“Yes, I have. I can't get it down at all. You couldn't either if you were me.”

“You're rum little creatures, you humans,” remarked Bree.

When Shasta had finished his breakfast (which was by far the nicest he had ever eaten), Bree said, “I think I'll have a nice roll before we put on that saddle again.” And he proceeded to do so. “That's good. That's very good,” he said, rubbing his back on the turf and waving all four legs in the air. “You ought to have one too, Shasta,” he snorted. “It's most refreshing.”

But Shasta burst out laughing and said, “You do look funny when you're on your back!”

“I look nothing of the sort,” said Bree. But then suddenly he rolled round on his side, raised his head and looked hard at Shasta, blowing a little.

“Does it really look funny?” he asked in an anxious voice.

“Yes, it does,” replied Shasta. “But what does it matter?”

“You don't think, do you,” said Bree, “that it might be a thing talking horses never do—a silly, clownish trick I've learned from the dumb ones? It would be dreadful to find, when I get back to Narnia, that I've picked up a lot of low, bad habits. What do you think, Shasta? Honestly, now. Don't spare my feelings. Should you think the real, free horses—the talking kind—do roll?”

“How should I know? Anyway I don't think I should bother about it if I were you. We've got to get there first. Do you know the way?”

“I know my way to Tashbaan. After that comes the desert. Oh, we'll manage the desert somehow, never fear. Why, we'll be in sight of the Northern mountains then. Think of it! To Narnia and the North! Nothing will stop us then. But I'd be glad to be past Tashbaan. You and I are safer away from cities.”

“Can't we avoid it?”

“Not without going a long way inland, and that would take us into cultivated land and main roads; and I wouldn't know the way. No, we'll just have to creep along the coast. Up here on the downs we'll meet nothing but sheep and rabbits and gulls and a few shepherds. And by the way, what about starting?”

Shasta's legs ached terribly as he saddled Bree and climbed into the saddle, but the Horse was kindly to him and went at a soft pace all afternoon. When evening twilight came they dropped by steep tracks into a valley and found a village. Before they got into it Shasta dismounted and entered it on foot to buy a loaf and some onions and radishes. The Horse trotted round by the fields in the dusk and met Shasta at the far side. This became their regular plan every second night.

These were great days for Shasta, and every day better than the last as his muscles hardened and he fell less often. Even at the end of his training Bree still said he sat like a bag of flour in the saddle. “And even if it was safe, young 'un, I'd be ashamed to be seen with you on the main road.” But in spite of his rude words Bree was a patient teacher. No one can teach riding so well as a horse. Shasta learned to trot, to canter, to jump, and to keep his seat even when Bree pulled up suddenly or swung unexpectedly to the left or the right—which, as Bree told him, was a thing you might have to do at any moment in a battle. And then of course Shasta begged to be told of the battles and wars in which Bree had carried the Tarkaan. And Bree would tell of forced marches and the fording of swift rivers, of charges and of fierce fights between cavalry and cavalry, when the war horses fought as well as the men, being all fierce stallions, trained to bite and kick, and to rear at the right moment so that the horse's weight as well as the rider's would come down on an enemy's crest in the stroke of sword or battleaxe. But Bree did not want to talk about the wars as often as Shasta wanted to hear about them. “Don't speak of them, youngster,” he would say. “They were only the Tisroc's wars and I fought in them as a slave and a dumb beast. Give me the Narnian wars where I shall fight as a free Horse among my own people! Those will be wars worth talking about. Narnia and the North! Bra-ha-ha! Broo Hoo!”

Shasta soon learned, when he heard Bree talking like that, to prepare for a gallop.

After they had travelled on for weeks and weeks past more bays and headlands and rivers and villages than Shasta could remember, there came a moonlit night when they started their journey at evening, having slept during the day. They had left the downs behind them and were crossing a wide plain with a forest about half a mile away on their left. The sea, hidden by low sand-hills, was about the same distance on their right. They had jogged along for about an hour, sometimes trotting and sometimes walking, when Bree suddenly stopped.

“What's up?” said Shasta.

“S-s-ssh!” said Bree, craning his neck round and twitching his ears. “Did you hear something? Listen.”

“It sounds like another horse—between us and the wood,” said Shasta after he had listened for about a minute.

“It is another horse,” said Bree. “And that's what I don't like.”

“Isn't it probably just a farmer riding home late?” said Shasta with a yawn.

“Don't tell me!” said Bree. “That's not a farmer's riding. Nor a farmer's horse either. Can't you tell by the sound? That's quality, that horse is. And it's being ridden by a real horseman. I tell you what it is, Shasta. There's a Tarkaan under the edge of that wood. Not on his war horse—it's too light for that. On a fine blood mare, I should say.”

“Well it's stopped now, whatever it is,” said Shasta.

“You're right,” said Bree. “And why should he stop just when we do? Shasta, my boy, I do believe there's someone shadowing us at last.”

“What shall we do?” said Shasta in a lower whisper than before. “Do you think he can see us as well as hear us?”

“Not in this light so long as we stay quite still,” answered Bree. “But look! There's a cloud coming up. I'll wait till that gets over the moon. Then we'll get off to our right as quietly as we can, down to the shore. We can hide among the sandhills if the worst comes to the worst.”

They waited till the cloud covered the moon and then, first at a walking pace and afterwards at a gentle trot, made for the shore.

The cloud was bigger and thicker than it had looked at first and soon the night grew very dark. Just as Shasta was saying to himself “We must be nearly at those sandhills by now,” his heart leaped into his mouth because an appalling noise had suddenly risen up out of the darkness ahead; a long snarling roar, melancholy and utterly savage. Instantly Bree swerved round and began galloping inland again as fast as he could gallop.

“What is it?” gasped Shasta.

“Lions!” said Bree, without checking his pace or turning his head.

After that there was nothing but sheer galloping for some time. At last they splashed across a wide, shallow stream and Bree came to a stop on the far side. Shasta noticed that he was trembling and sweating all over.

“That water may have thrown the brute off our scent,” panted Bree when he had partly got his breath again. “We can walk for a bit now.”

As they walked Bree said, “Shasta, I'm ashamed of myself. I'm just as frightened as a common, dumb Calormene horse. I am really. I don't feel like a Talking Horse at all. I don't mind swords and lances and arrows but I can't bear—those creatures. I think I'll trot for a bit.”

About a minute later, however, he broke into a gallop again, and no wonder. For the roar broke out again, this time on their left from the direction of the forest.

“Two of them,” moaned Bree.

When they had galloped for several minutes without any further noise from the lions Shasta said, “I say! That other horse is galloping beside us now. Only a stone's throw away.”

“All the b-better,” panted Bree. “Tarkaan on it—will have a sword—protect us all.”

“But Bree!” said Shasta. “We might just as well be killed by lions as caught. Or I might. They'll hang me for horse-stealing.” He was feeling less frightened of lions than Bree because he had never met a lion; Bree had.

Bree only snorted in answer but he did sheer away to his right. Oddly enough the other horse seemed also to be sheering away to the left, so that in a few seconds the space between them had widened a good deal. But as soon as it did so there came two more lions' roars, immediately after one another, one on the right and the other on the left, and the horses began drawing nearer together. So, apparently, did the lions. The roaring of the brutes on each side was horribly close and they seemed to be keeping up with the galloping horses quite easily. Then the cloud rolled away. The moonlight, astonishingly bright, showed up everything almost as if it were broad day. The two horses and the two riders were galloping neck to neck and knee to knee just as if they were in a race. Indeed Bree said (afterward) that a finer race had never been seen in Calormen.

Shasta now gave himself up for lost and began to wonder whether lions killed you quickly or played with you as a cat plays with a mouse and how much it would hurt. At the same time (one sometimes does this at the most frightful moments) he noticed everything. He saw that the other rider was a very small, slender person, mail-clad (the moon shone on the mail) and riding magnificently. He had no beard.

Something flat and shining was spread out before them. Before Shasta had time even to guess what it was there was a great splash and he found his mouth half full of salt water. The shining thing had been a long inlet of the sea. Both horses were swimming and the water was up to Shasta's knees. There was an angry roaring behind them and looking back Shasta saw a great, shaggy, and terrible shape crouched on the water's edge; but only one. “We must have shaken off the other lion,” he thought.

The lion apparently did not think its prey worth a wetting; at any rate it made no attempt to take the water in pursuit. The two horses, side by side, were now well out into the middle of the creek and the opposite shore could be clearly seen. The Tarkaan had not yet spoken a word. “But he will,” thought Shasta. “As soon as we have landed. What am I to say? I must begin thinking out a story.”

Then, suddenly, two voices spoke at his side.

“Oh, I am so tired,” said the one. “Hold your tongue, Hwin, and don't be a fool,” said the other.

“I'm dreaming,” thought Shasta. “I could have sworn that other horse spoke.”

Soon the horses were no longer swimming but walking and soon with a great sound of water running off their sides and tails and with a great crunching of pebbles under eight hoofs, they came out on the further beach of the inlet. The Tarkaan, to Shasta's surprise, showed no wish to ask questions. He did not even look at Shasta but seemed anxious to urge his horse straight on. Bree, however, at once shouldered himself in the other horse's way.

“Broo-hoo-hah!” he snorted. “Steady there! I heard you, I did. There's no good pretending, Ma'am. I heard you. You're a Talking Horse, a Narnian horse just like me.”

“What's it got to do with you if she is?” said the strange rider fiercely, laying hand on sword-hilt. But the voice in which the words were spoken had already told Shasta something.

“Why, it's only a girl!” he exclaimed.

“And what business is it of yours if I am only a girl?” snapped the stranger. “You're only a boy: a rude, common little boy—a slave probably, who's stolen his master's horse.”

“That's all you know,” said Shasta.

“He's not a thief, little Tarkheena,” said Bree. “At least, if there's been any stealing, you might just as well say I stole him. And as for its not being my business, you wouldn't expect me to pass a lady of my own race in this strange country without speaking to her? It's only natural I should.”

“I think it's very natural too,” said the mare.

“I wish you'd held your tongue, Hwin,” said the girl. “Look at the trouble you've got us into.”

“I don't know about trouble,” said Shasta. “You can clear off as soon as you like. We shan't keep you.”

“No, you shan't,” said the girl.

“What quarrelsome creatures these humans are,” said Bree to the mare. “They're as bad as mules. Let's try to talk a little sense. I take it, ma'am, your story is the same as mine? Captured in early youth—years of slavery among the Calormenes?”

“Too true, sir,” said the mare with a melancholy whinny.

“And now, perhaps—escape?”

“Tell him to mind his own business, Hwin,” said the girl.

“No, I won't, Aravis,” said the mare, putting her ears back. “This is my escape just as much as yours. And I'm sure a noble war horse like this is not going to betray us. We are trying to escape, to get to Narnia.”

“And so, of course, are we,” said Bree. “Of course you guessed that at once. A little boy in rags riding (or trying to ride) a war horse at dead of night couldn't mean anything but an escape of some sort. And, if I may say so, a high-born Tarkheena riding alone at night— dressed up in her brother's armour—and very anxious for everyone to mind their own business and ask her no questions—well, if that's not fishy, call me a cob!”

“All right then,” said Aravis. “You've guessed it. Hwin and I are running away. We are trying to get to Narnia. And now, what about it?”

“Why, in that case, what is to prevent us all going together?” said Bree. “I trust, Madam Hwin, you will accept such assistance and protection as I may be able to give you on the journey?”

“Why do you keep on talking to my horse instead of to me?” asked the girl.

“Excuse me, Tarkheena,” said Bree (with just the slightest backward tilt of his ears), “but that's Calormene talk. We're free Narnians, Hwin and I, and I suppose, if you're running away to Narnia, you want to be one too. In that case Hwin isn't your horse any longer. One might just as well say you're her human.”

The girl opened her mouth to speak and then stopped. Obviously she had not quite seen it in that light before.

“Still,” she said after a moment's pause, “I don't know that there's so much point in all going together. Aren't we more likely to be noticed?”

“Less,” said Bree; and the mare said, “Oh do let's. I should feel much more comfortable. We're not even certain of the way. I'm sure a great charger like this knows far more than we do.”

“Oh come on, Bree,” said Shasta, “and let them go their own way. Can't you see they don't want us?”

“We do,” said Hwin.

“Look here,” said the girl. “I don't mind going with you, Mr. War Horse, but what about this boy? How do I know he's not a spy?”

“Why don't you say at once that you think I'm not good enough for you?” said Shasta.

“Be quiet, Shasta,” said Bree. “The Tarkheena's question is quite reasonable. I'll vouch for the boy, Tarkheena. He's been true to me and a good friend. And he's certainly either a Narnian or an Archenlander.”

“All right, then. Let's go together.” But she didn't say anything to Shasta and it was obvious that she wanted Bree, not him.

“Splendid!” said Bree. “And now that we've got the water between us and those dreadful animals, what about you two humans taking off our saddles and our all having a rest and hearing one another's stories.”

Both the children unsaddled their horses and the horses had a little grass and Aravis produced rather nice things to eat from her saddlebag. But Shasta sulked and said No thanks, and that he wasn't hungry. And he tried to put on what he thought very grand and stiff manners, but as a fisherman's hut is not usually a good place for learning grand manners, the result was dreadful. And he half knew that it wasn't a success and then became sulkier and more awkward than ever. Meanwhile the two horses were getting on splendidly. They remembered the very same places in Narnia—“the grasslands up above Beaversdam” and found that they were some sort of second cousins once removed. This made things more and more uncomfortable for the humans until at last Bree said, “And now, Tarkheena, tell us your story. And don't hurry it—I'm feeling comfortable now.”

Aravis immediately began, sitting quite still and using a rather different tone and style from her usual one. For in Calormen, storytelling (whether the stories are true or made up) is a thing you're taught, just as English boys and girls are taught essay-writing. The difference is that people want to hear the stories, whereas I never heard of anyone who wanted to read the essays.

第二章　途中遇险

次日，临近正午，沙斯塔只觉得好像有个温温软软的东西在他脸上舔来舔去，方从梦中醒来。睁开眼睛，他发现自己竟正对着一张长长的马脸，它的鼻子和嘴巴都快贴到他脸上了。他这才忆起昨夜里的种种惊心动魄，悠悠坐起身来，却忍不住呻吟出声。

“噢，布里，”他喘着气说，“我疼得厉害，完了完了，我一点儿也动不了啦。”

“早上好啊，小不点儿，”布里说道，“你大概会觉着身体有些僵硬，这可不是摔疼的。你又没摔个一二十回的，况且又都是摔在柔软而有弹性的可爱草地上，这简直是种享受呢。就只有一次算得上是糟心，在荆棘丛中划伤了脚。其实也不算什么，主要是你骑得太累了。你早餐要吃些什么？我可已经吃过啦。”

“噢，麻烦的早餐。我讨厌这一切，”沙斯塔说道，“我说过我动弹不了呀。”可马儿仍用鼻头蹭着他，用蹄尖轻轻挠着他，他也只好起来了。接着，他环顾四周，看看他们身处何方。他们身后是一小丛灌木林；他们面前是一片草地，点缀着星星点点的白花，一路下倾，绵延至悬崖岩顶；他们脚下则是一汪大海，远远传来海浪的呢喃细语。沙斯塔从未站在如此高的地方看过大海，也从未见过如此波澜壮阔的大海，他做梦也不曾想过大海竟是如此色彩斑斓。海岸自两侧延伸，海岬紧连，顶端处浪打岩石，溅起的白色泡沫依稀可见，只因相距太远，声音未曾入耳。炎炎烈日，天空中海鸥盘旋，地面上热气腾腾。但最能引起沙斯塔注意的还是空气的味道。他一时想不出有什么不对劲，最后才恍然想到，原来是空气中少了鱼腥味。因为不论是待在渔夫的小屋里，还是在缝补渔网间，他的生活总是充斥着鱼腥味儿。这里的空气是如此新鲜甜美，往日的生活好似过眼云烟。一时间，他忘了身上的瘀伤和酸疼的筋骨，说道：“喂，布里，你没说过要吃早餐的事吧？”

“不，我说过了呀，”布里答道，“我想你会在鞍囊里找到些吃的。就挂在那边的树上，是你昨晚——倒不如说是今儿一大早给挂上的呢。”

他们把鞍囊翻了个底朝天，倒是颇有惊喜——里面有一块馅饼，只是稍稍有点儿变味儿，有一大堆无花果干，一大块绿奶酪，一小瓶葡萄酒，还有一点钱（约莫有四十新月币，沙斯塔还从没见过这么多钱）。

沙斯塔忍着痛小心翼翼地坐了下来，靠在树上，吃起了馅饼。布里便吃几口青草陪着他。

“用这笔钱不算是偷窃吗？”沙斯塔问道。

“噢，”马儿抬起头来，满嘴青草，说道，“我可没想过这个问题。当然啦，一匹自由的能言马是决计不能去偷窃的。但我们不一样。我们是敌国的囚徒，是敌国的俘虏。那笔钱算是我们缴来的战利品。况且，没有这笔钱，我们拿什么给你买吃的呢？我想，和所有人一样，你肯定也不吃像青草和燕麦这样的天然食物吧。”

“我吃不了。”

“你试过吗？”

“我试过。我根本没法儿吞下。你要是我的话，你也吞不下。”

“你们人类真是奇怪的小家伙。”布里评论道。

沙斯塔吃完了他的早餐（这简直是他吃过的最美味的一餐），布里说道：“让我在套上马鞍前，再美美地打个滚儿吧。”说完它便打起滚儿来。“真是太舒服了，太舒服了呀！”它边说，边在草地里摩擦着后背，四仰八叉地在空中乱蹬着。“你也该来打个滚儿，沙斯塔，”它哼哧道，“这真是振奋精神哩。”

但沙斯塔忍俊不禁道：“你四仰八叉地躺着，看上去可真滑稽！”

“我一点儿也不觉着滑稽。”布里说。但这时它突然翻过身，站起来，抬起头，目不转睛地看着沙斯塔，还有点喘不过气来。

“那看起来真的很滑稽吗？”它焦急地问道。

“是的，”沙斯塔答道，“可这又有什么关系呢？”

“你是不是觉得，”布里说道，“能言马是不会做这样的傻事的——这都是我跟那些不会说话的马儿学来的拙劣把戏？等回到纳尼亚，要是大家发现我染上这些粗野的坏习惯，那就太可怕了！你是怎么想的呢，沙斯塔？你就和我实话实说吧。不必顾及我的感受。你认为真正的、自由的马儿——会说话的那种马儿——可以打滚儿吗？”

“我怎么会知道呢？总之，要是我是你的话，我才不会为此烦恼呢。我们得先到纳尼亚才行。你认得路吗？”

“我认得去塔什班城的路。过了塔什班城，是一大片沙漠。哦，我们总会顺利穿过沙漠的，别害怕。嗯，然后，北方的重峦叠嶂就尽在眼前了。你想想看！向着纳尼亚，向着北境！到那时，没有什么能阻挡我们。但我比较倾向绕过塔什班城。我们还是避开城市比较安全。”

“我们能绕得开吗？”

“那我们免不了要往内陆里去，这样我们会走到耕地和大路上去，但这路我不认得。这可不行，我们还是得悄悄沿着海岸走。从这儿一路向前，走到山谷之地，除了羊群、野兔、海鸥和几个牧羊人，我们不会碰到什么人的。行啦，我们要不出发吧？”

沙斯塔给布里戴上马鞍，自己再骑上去，只觉着腿疼得厉害。好在布里十分贴心，缓缓而行了一下午。到夜幕降临时，他们沿着陡峭的小道走到一个山谷里，那儿有一个小村庄。要进山谷前，沙斯塔便下马步行，到村庄里买了块面包，还有些洋葱和萝卜。马儿则在薄暮中绕着田野踏着小步，远远地等着沙斯塔。这成了他们每晚的例行公事。

这些日子对沙斯塔来说非比寻常，他在一天天地强健起来，肌肉开始变得结实，摔下马的次数也少了许多。即便训练都结束了，布里还是说他就像一袋面粉似的瘫在马鞍上。“就算你坐稳了，小不点儿，要是有人瞧见你骑着我走在大路上，我真是太丢人啦。”虽然布里讲话难听，但却是个耐心的老师。要论传授骑术，没有一个人能比得上一匹马。沙斯塔学会了骑马小跑、骑马慢跑，还有骑马跳跃。甚至在布里突然停下或者出其不意地左右晃动时——布里告诉他，这在战斗中随时都会发生——他也能在马鞍上坐得稳稳的。当然，沙斯塔也会央求着布里讲讲它随着泰坎四处征战的英勇事迹。布里便和他谈起了急行军、渡激流、骑兵间的冲锋陷阵和生死搏斗。在那时，战马就如同士兵一样骁勇善战，它们个个都是凶猛的公马，训练有素，能踢会咬。在关键时刻它们会挺起身子，将自己和骑手的重量都压向敌人的头盔，以便刺刀或战斧能给敌人致命一击。虽然沙斯塔很喜欢听这些打仗的故事，布里却不想多谈。“小家伙，这没什么好说的，”它总这样说道，“那只是蒂斯罗克的战争，而我不过是作为一个奴隶和一只愚蠢的牲口在战斗罢了。倘若我是为纳尼亚而战，我会同我的人民一起，作为一匹自由的马儿去战斗！那才是值得谈起的战争。向着纳尼亚！向着北境！布拉——哈——哈！布鲁——呼！”

沙斯塔很快就明白了，每当布里这么说的时候，它就要准备疾驰了。

他们就这样行进了一周又一周，沙斯塔都记不清他们究竟穿过了多少海湾、海岬、河流和村庄。一个月夜，他们白天睡足了觉，便在夜间启程。他们走过了丘陵，正在穿过一片广阔的平原，往左望去，半里之外是一片树林，右面差不多远的地方是一汪大海，被低低的沙丘挡住。他们慢悠悠地走了约莫一小时，时而小跑，时而漫步，这时，布里突然停下了脚步。

“发生什么事了吗？”沙斯塔问。

“嘘——嘘！”布里说着，伸长了脖子，拉长了耳朵，“好好听听，你有听到什么吗？”

“这听起来像是另一匹马的声音——就在我们和树林之间。”听了一会儿，沙斯塔说道。

“就是另一匹马，”布里说道，“这情形可不大妙。”

“说不定就是个农夫骑马晚归呢。”沙斯塔说着，打了个哈欠。

“这不可能！”布里说道，“这不是农夫骑马时会发出的声音。也不是农夫马儿的脚步声。你听不出有什么区别吗？那马儿健步如飞，而且是个真正的骑手在驾驭它。我和你说了吧，沙斯塔。树林边上有个泰坎。他没有骑着战马——那脚步声有点太轻飘飘了。我敢说，他准是骑着一匹纯种母马。”

“可是，不管它是什么马，它现在不走了。”沙斯塔说道。

“没错，”布里说道，“那为什么我们不走的时候他也不走了呢？沙斯塔，我的好孩子，我敢肯定有人在跟踪我们。”

“那我们该怎么办呢？”沙斯塔低声问道，说话声比往常更小，“你觉得他能看得到我们，听得到我们说话吗？”

“天色这么黑，只要我们安安静静地待着，就不会被发现。”布里回道，“你瞧！那朵云快要飘过来了，等到云遮住了月亮，我们就悄悄地往右边跑，下到岸边。万一有什么不测，我们还可以藏在沙丘里。”

等到云层挡住月光，他们就直奔海岸而去，开始还徐徐而行，而后便一路小跑了起来。

云层比起先瞧上去还要大还要厚，很快夜色愈发昏暗。沙斯塔一面自言自语道“我们现在肯定快到沙丘了”，一面只觉着心都跳到了嗓子眼儿，只听黑暗中突然传来一声可怕的叫声——那是一声长长的咆哮，充满哀怨又野蛮十足。布里立刻转过身来，重新拼尽全力往内陆狂奔。

“那是什么声音？”沙斯塔气喘吁吁地问道。

“是狮子！”布里回道，它仍在疾驰，头也不回。

之后，便只剩下马儿不停蹄地奔驰，就这样跑了好一阵子。最后，他们来到一条宽宽的溪流前，流水不深。他们水而过，等走到对岸，布里才停下脚步。沙斯塔只觉得自己浑身颤抖，直冒冷汗。

“过了这水，野兽或许就嗅不到我们的气味了，”布里喘了喘，才缓过气来，说道，“我们现在可以慢慢地走一会儿了。”

他们边走，布里边说：“沙斯塔，我真感到无地自容。我竟像卡乐门里那些寻常的哑巴马儿一样被吓得不轻。我可真胆小。我一点儿也不像匹能言马了。虽然我毫不在意那些剑呀、矛呀、箭呀之类的，但我可真受不了——那些野兽。我想小跑一会儿。”

可没过多久，它又飞奔了起来。这没什么奇怪的，因为这回从他们左面的树林里又传来了一阵吼声。

“有两只狮子啊。”布里哀怨道。

他们飞驰了好一会儿，没再听到狮子的吼声。沙斯塔说道：“喂，另一匹马现在就在我们旁边奔跑着。就在一石之遥的地方。”

“那更好，”布里上气不接下气地说道，“泰坎骑着马——一定配着剑——还能保护我们大家。”

“可是，布里！”沙斯塔说，“要是被逮住了，还不如让狮子吃了呢。一旦被抓，他们就会以盗马罪绞死我的。”比起布里，他倒没那么怕狮子，因为他从未见过真正的狮子，而布里却见过。

布里只哼哼了一声，以作回应，但它的确掉头往右去了。奇怪的是，另一匹马似乎也左转了。这样，没过多久，它们间的距离就拉大了。但就在此时，又传来了两声狮吼，此起彼伏。两匹马一左一右，开始越靠越近。显然，狮子们也在靠拢。两侧猛兽的吼叫声近得可怕，它们似乎轻而易举便能跟上马儿疾驰的步伐。之后，层云尽散，月光皎皎，照得四周如同白昼般明亮。两匹马儿，两名骑手，他们肩并肩，膝对膝，并驾齐驱，好似在赛马。事实上，布里后来说，它在卡乐门还从未见过这么精彩的比赛呢。

沙斯塔已经仓皇得不知所措，开始胡思乱想了起来。狮子是会很快吃了他呢，还是会像猫戏弄老鼠一样戏弄他呢，它伤起人来究竟有多可怕呢。与此同时，他又注视着周围的一切（有时人在极度惊恐中就会这样）。他看到了另一个骑手，他个头矮小，体量瘦削，身披铠甲（铠甲在月色中闪闪发光），骑起马来威风凛凛。他没有胡子哩。

只见一片开阔之地在前方铺陈开来，泛着金光。沙斯塔还来不及细想这究竟是什么，便扑通一声落入水中，嘴里灌满了咸咸的海水。那泛着金光之地其实是大海的一个长长的港湾。两匹马儿都在游着，海水漫过沙斯塔的膝盖。听见身后愤怒的嘶吼声，沙斯塔回头，只见一只毛发蓬松、面目可怖的庞然大物蹲伏在水边；但只有一只。“我们定是把另一只狮子甩掉了。”他心想。

那狮子显然觉着犯不着为这猎物弄得一身湿。不管怎么说，它倒是没下水来追。两匹马儿并辔而行，已经来到了小港中段，能清楚地看到对岸。泰坎仍是一言不发。“但他总会开口的，”沙斯塔心想，“我们一上岸，他肯定就要开口问话了。我该说些什么呢？我必须得先编一个故事了。”

紧接着，他身侧传来两个声音。

“噢，我真是累极了。”一个声音说道。“管住你的舌头，赫温，别像个傻瓜似的。”另一个声音应道。

“我是在做梦吧，”沙斯塔心想，“我敢发誓，另一匹马儿也说着话哩。”

很快，两匹马儿就不再游了，而是迈开步子来。海水冲刷着它们的身体和尾巴，溅起哗啦啦的水花声，八只马蹄踏在卵石上，发出嘎吱嘎吱的声音。伴着这些声响，他们走出小港，迈上了远处的海滩。出乎沙斯塔的意料，那泰坎没露出半点儿想问他问题的意思。他甚至都没看沙斯塔一眼，好像只是急着策马前行。但布里当即用身子挡住了另一匹马的去路。

“布鲁——呼——哈！”它哼哼道，“好好待着！没错，我听到你说话了。别再装啦，这对你可没什么好处，女士。我都听见你说话了。你是一匹能言马，一匹和我一样的纳尼亚马儿。”

“就算它是，和你又有什么关系？”那个陌生的骑手严声斥道，手都按到剑柄上了。但沙斯塔已经从那说话声中察觉到了不对劲。

“嘿，她居然是个小姑娘！”他大声喊道。

“我就是个女孩，关你什么事？”陌生人厉声说道，“你大概也不过是个粗鲁冒失、普普通通的小男孩——没准还是个奴隶，偷了主人家的马呢。”

“你根本就一无所知。”沙斯塔说。

“他不是小偷，小泰克希娜，”布里说，“要是说，有什么人偷了东西的话，也是我偷了他。但这可不是我的错，你总不能指望我在这个陌生国家里，遇到一位和我同类的女士，而不和她搭个话吧。这是自然而然的事儿。”

“我也觉得这是十分自然的事儿。”母马儿说道。

“我想你还是别说话了，赫温，”女孩说道，“看看你给我们惹的麻烦。”

“我可没看出有什么麻烦事，”沙斯塔说道，“要是你想走，你可以马上离开。我们不会留你。”

“当然，你们也留不住。”女孩说道。

“这些人类真能争口角，”布里对母马儿说道，“他们像倒霉骡子似的。我们来谈些正事吧。我想，女士，你的身世大概和我差不多吧？也是小时候被掳走——被卡乐门人奴役多年？”

“的确如此，先生。”母马儿说着，发出一声哀怨的嘶鸣。

“那现在呢，也许——你是要逃跑？”

“叫它少管闲事，赫温。”女孩说道。

“不，我不想这样，阿拉维斯，”母马儿收起耳朵，说道，“我是在逃跑，就和你一样。我相信像你这样高贵的战马，是不会出卖我们的。我们正在逃跑，要往纳尼亚去。”

“没错，我们也是在逃跑，”布里说道，“当然，你猜也能猜得出来。一个衣衫褴褛的小男孩，深更半夜的，骑着（或者说勉强骑着）一匹战马，除了是逃跑之类的，还能是什么事呢。还有啊，要我说，一个出身高贵的泰克希娜，三更半夜的，一个人骑着马儿，还穿着哥哥的盔甲，生怕有什么人要上前来问她些什么问题。唷，这要是没鬼，你就干脆叫我傻瓜好了！”

“好吧，”阿拉维斯说道，“你猜得没错。我和赫温是在逃跑。我们想去纳尼亚。不过，那又怎么样？”

“唔，要是这样的话，那我们不如一起走吧？”布里说道，“我想，赫温女士，你会欣然接受我在旅途中可能提供给你的帮助吧？”

“你为什么老是跟我的马儿说话，而不是跟我说话？”女孩问。

“真是抱歉，泰克希娜，”布里说道（耳朵微微后翘），“但那是卡乐门式的谈话。赫温和我是自由的纳尼亚马儿，我想，如果你到了纳尼亚，你也想做一个自由的纳尼亚人吧。这样的话，赫温就不再是你的马儿。人们甚至还会说，你是她的人哩。”

女孩张了张嘴，想要说些什么，又没有说。显然，她从前没这么想过。

“不过，”她停顿了片刻后说道，“我可没看出来大家一起走有什么好处。我们难道不会更容易被发现吗？”

“这样反而不会引人注目。”布里说道。母马儿说道：“我们一起赶路吧。这样，我会更自在些。我们不大认得路。我敢说，像它这样的战马远比我们要懂得多呢。”

“我们走吧，布里，”沙斯塔说道，“让她们走她们的路吧。你没看出来，她们不需要我们吗？”

“我们需要你们。”赫温开口道。

“听着，”女孩说道，“战马先生，我不介意和你一道，但这男孩要怎么办呢？我怎么知道他不是个间谍？”

“你干脆就直说我高攀不上你好了！”沙斯塔说。

“安静些，沙斯塔，”布里说道，“泰克希娜问这问题，也是合情合理的。泰克希娜，我能为这孩子担保。他真心待我，很够朋友。我敢肯定，他不是个纳尼亚人就是个阿钦兰人。”

“行，那我们就一起走吧。”但她还是没理会沙斯塔，很显然，她想要的是布里，而不是他。

“太好了！”布里说道，“现在我们同那些猛兽间隔了一大片水域啦，你们俩不如把我们的马鞍卸下，大家都好好休息一下，来听听彼此的经历吧。”

两个孩子卸下马鞍，马儿们吃了点青草，阿拉维斯从鞍囊里掏出了些可口的食物来吃。沙斯塔绷着脸说，谢谢，不必了，他不饿。他试着摆出一副高高在上、态度强硬的姿态来，可渔夫的小屋并不是什么学习高贵礼仪的好去处，这下局面便十分尴尬了。他大半意识到自己的示威并不成功，更加恼羞成怒、局促不安了。而此时，两匹马儿倒是相处得十分融洽。它们不约而同地想起了同一个地方——纳尼亚的“海狸水坝上的草原”，甚至还发现它们竟是第二代的表兄妹呢。这让两个小人儿越发不自在了。最后，布里开口道：“泰克希娜，讲讲你的故事吧。别着急——我现在可舒服得很哩。”

阿拉维斯立即开始讲了起来，她坐着一动不动，那腔调和平时截然不同。因为在卡乐门，讲故事（不论是真的，还是编造的故事）是要学的，就像英国的男孩和女孩要学写作一样。不同在于，人们想听故事，但我还没听说过谁想听文章的哩。