CHAPTER 14　HOW ALL WERE VERY BUSY

A little before two o'clock Trumpkin and the Badger sat with the rest of the creatures at the wood's edge looking across at the gleaming line of Miraz's army which was about two arrow-shots away. In between, a square space of level grass had been staked for the combat. At the two far corners stood Glozelle and Sopespian with drawn swords. At the near corners were Giant Wimbleweather and the Bulgy Bear, who in spite of all their warnings was sucking his paws and looking, to tell the truth, uncommonly silly. To make up for this, Glenstorm on the right of the lists, stock-still except when he stamped a hind hoof occasionally on the turf, looked much more imposing than the Telmarine baron who faced him on the left. Peter had just shaken hands with Edmund and the Doctor, and was now walking down to the combat. It was like the moment before the pistol goes at an important race, but very much worse.

“I wish Aslan had turned up before it came to this,” said Trumpkin.

“So do I,” said Trufflehunter. “But look behind you.”

“Crows and crockery!” muttered the Dwarf as soon as he had done so. “What are they? Huge people—beautiful people—like gods and goddesses and giants. Hundreds and thousands of them, closing in behind us. What are they?”

“It's the Dryads and Hamadryads and Silvans,” said Trufflehunter. “Aslan has waked them.”

“Humph!” said the Dwarf. “That'll be very useful if the enemy try treachery. But it won't help the High King very much if Miraz proves handier with his sword.”

The Badger said nothing, for now Peter and Miraz were entering the lists from opposite ends, both on foot, both in chain shirts, with helmets and shields. They advanced till they were close together. Both bowed and seemed to speak, but it was impossible to hear what they said. Next moment the two swords flashed in the sunlight. For a second the clash could be heard but it was immediately drowned because both armies began shouting like crowds at a football match.

“Well done, Peter, oh, well done!” shouted Edmund as he saw Miraz reel back a whole pace and a half. “Follow it up, quick!” And Peter did, and for a few seconds it looked as if the fight might be won. But then Miraz pulled himself together—began to make real use of his height and weight. “Miraz! Miraz! The King! The King!” came the roar of the Telmarines. Caspian and Edmund grew white with sickening anxiety.

“Peter is taking some dreadful knocks,” said Edmund.

“Hullo!” said Caspian. “What's happening now?”

“Both falling apart,” said Edmund. “A bit blown, I expect. Watch. Ah, now they're beginning again, more scientifically this time. Circling round and round, feeling each other's defences.”

“I'm afraid this Miraz knows his work,” muttered the Doctor. But hardly had he said this when there was such a clapping and baying and throwing up of hoods among the Old Narnians that it was nearly deafening.

“What was it? What was it?” asked the Doctor. “My old eyes missed it.”

“The High King has pricked him in the arm-pit,” said Caspian, still clapping. “Just where the arm-hole of the hauberk let the point through. First blood.”

“It's looking ugly again now, though,” said Edmund. “Peter's not using his shield properly. He must be hurt in the left arm.”

It was only too true. Everyone could see that Peter's shield hung limp. The shouting of the Telmarines redoubled.

“You've seen more battles than I,” said Caspian. “Is there any chance now?”

“Precious little,” said Edmund. “I suppose he might just do it. With luck.”

“Oh, why did we let it happen at all?” said Caspian.

Suddenly all the shouting on both sides died down. Edmund was puzzled for a moment. Then he said, “Oh, I see. They've both agreed to a rest. Come on, Doctor. You and I may be able to do something for the High King.” They ran down to the lists and Peter came outside the ropes to meet them, his face red and sweaty, his chest heaving.

“Is your left arm wounded?” asked Edmund.

“It's not exactly a wound,” Peter said. “I got the full weight of his shoulder on my shield—like a load of bricks—and the rim of the shield drove into my wrist. I don't think it's broken, but it might be a sprain. If you could tie it up very tight I think I could manage.”

While they were doing this, Edmund asked anxiously, “What do you think of him, Peter?”

“Tough,” said Peter. “Very tough. I have a chance if I can keep him on the hop till his weight and short wind come against him—in this hot sun too. To tell the truth, I haven't much chance else. Give my love to—to everyone at home, Ed, if he gets me. Here he comes into the lists again. So long, old chap. Good-bye, Doctor. And I say, Ed, say something specially nice to Trumpkin. He's been a brick.”

Edmund couldn't speak. He walked back with the Doctor to his own with a sick feeling in his stomach.

But the new bout went well. Peter now seemed to be able to make some use of his shield, and he certainly made good use of his feet. He was almost playing Tig with Miraz now, keeping out of range, shifting his ground, making the enemy work.

“Coward!” booed the Telmarines. “Why don't you stand up to him? Don't you like it, eh? Thought you'd come to fight, not dance. Yah!”

“Oh, I do hope he won't listen to them,” said Caspian.

“Not he,” said Edmund. “You don't know him—Oh!”—for Miraz had got in a blow at last, on Peter's helmet. Peter staggered, slipped sideways, and fell on one knee. The roar of the Telmarines rose like the noise of the sea. “Now, Miraz,” they yelled. “Now. Quick! Quick! Kill him.” But indeed there was no need to egg the usurper on. He was on top of Peter already. Edmund bit his lips till the blood came, as the sword flashed down on Peter. It looked as if it would slash off his head. Thank heavens! it had glanced down his right shoulder. The Dwarf-wrought mail was sound and did not break.

“Great Scott!” cried Edmund. “He's up again. Peter, go it, Peter.”

“I couldn't see what happened,” said the Doctor. “How did he do it?”

“Grabbed Miraz's arm as it came down,” said Trumpkin, dancing with delight. “There's a man for you! Uses his enemy's arm as a ladder. The High King! The High King! Up, Old Narnia!”

“Look,” said Trufflehunter. “Miraz is angry. It is good.”

They were certainly at it hammer and tongs now: such a flurry of blows that it seemed impossible for either not to be killed. As the excitement grew, the shouting almost died away. The spectators were holding their breath. It was most horrible and most magnificent.

A great shout arose from the Old Narnians. Miraz was down—not struck by Peter, but face downwards, having tripped on a tussock. Peter stepped back, waiting for him to rise.

“Oh bother, bother, bother,” said Edmund to himself. “Need he be as gentlemanly as all that? I suppose he must. Comes of being a Knight and a High King. I suppose it is what Aslan would like. But that brute will be up again in a minute and then—”

But “that brute” never rose. The Lords Glozelle and Sopespian had their own plans ready. As soon as they saw their King down they leaped into the lists crying, “Treachery! Treachery! The Narnian traitor has stabbed him in the back while he lay helpless. To arms! To arms, Telmar!”

Peter hardly understood what was happening. He saw two big men running toward him with drawn swords. Then the third Telmarine had leaped over the ropes on his left. “To arms, Narnia! Treachery!” Peter shouted. If all three had set upon him at once he would never have spoken again. But Glozelle stopped to stab his own King dead where he lay: “That's for your insult, this morning,” he whispered as the blade went home. Peter swung to face Sopespian, slashed his legs from under him and, with the back-cut of the same stroke, walloped off his head. Edmund was now at his side crying, “Narnia, Narnia! The Lion!” The whole Telmarine army was rushing towards them. But now the Giant was stamping forward, stooping low and swinging his club. The Centaurs charged. Twang, twang behind and hiss, hiss overhead came the archery of Dwarfs. Trumpkin was fighting at his left. Full battle was joined.

“Come back, Reepicheep, you little ass!” shouted Peter. “You'll only be killed. This is no place for mice.” But the ridiculous little creatures were dancing in and out among the feet of both armies, jabbing with their swords. Many a Telmarine warrior that day felt his foot suddenly pierced as if by a dozen skewers, hopped on one leg cursing the pain, and fell as often as not. If he fell, the mice finished him off; if he did not, someone else did.

But almost before the old Narnians were really warmed to their work found the enemy giving way. Tough-looking warriors turned white, gazed in terror not on the Old Narnians but on something behind them, and then flung down their weapons, shrieking, “The Wood! The Wood! The end of the world!”

But soon neither their cries nor the sound of weapons could be heard any more, for both were drowned in the ocean-like roar of the Awakened Trees as they plunged through the ranks of Peter's army, and then on, in pursuit of the Telmarines. Have you ever stood at the edge of a great wood on a high ridge when a wild south-wester broke over it in full fury on an autumn evening? Imagine that sound. And then imagine that the wood, instead of being fixed to one place, was rushing at you; and was no longer trees but huge people; yet still like trees because their long arms waved like branches and their heads tossed and leaves fell round them in showers. It was like that for the Telmarines. It was a little alarming even for the Narnians. In a few minutes all Miraz's followers were running down to the Great River in the hope of crossing the bridge to the town of Beruna and there defending themselves behind ramparts and closed gates.

They reached the river, but there was no bridge. It had disappeared since yesterday. Then utter panic and horror fell upon them and they all surrendered.

But what had happened to the bridge?

Early that morning, after a few hours' sleep, the girls had waked, to see Aslan standing over them and to hear his voice saying, “We will make holiday.” They rubbed their eyes and looked round them. The trees had all gone but could still be seen moving away toward Aslan's How in a dark mass. Bacchus and the Maenads—his fierce, madcap girls—and Silenus were still with them. Lucy, fully rested, jumped up. Everyone was awake, everyone was laughing, flutes were playing, cymbals clashing. Animals, Talking Animals, were crowding in upon them from every direction.

“What is it, Aslan?” said Lucy, her eyes dancing and her feet wanting to dance.

“Come, children,” said he. “Ride on my back again today.”

“Oh, lovely!” cried Lucy, and both girls climbed on to the warm golden back as they had done no one knew how many years before. Then the whole party moved off—Aslan leading, Bacchus and his Maenads leaping, rushing, and turning somersaults, the beasts frisking round them, and Silenus and his donkey bringing up the rear.

They turned a little to the right, raced down a steep hill, and found the long Bridge of Beruna in front of them. Before they had begun to cross it, however, up out of the water came a great wet, bearded head, larger than a man's, crowned with rushes. It looked at Aslan and out of its mouth a deep voice came.

“Hail, Lord,” it said. “Loose my chains.”

“Who on earth is that?” whispered Susan.

“I think it's the river-god, but hush,” said Lucy.

“Bacchus,” said Aslan. “Deliver him from his chains.”

“That means the bridge, I expect,” thought Lucy. And so it did. Bacchus and his people splashed forward into the shallow water, and a minute later the most curious things began happening. Great, strong trunks of ivy came curling up all the piers of the bridge, growing as quickly as a fire grows, wrapping the stones round, splitting, breaking, separating them. The walls of the bridge turned into hedges gay with hawthorn for a moment and then disappeared as the whole thing with a rush and a rumble collapsed into the swirling water. With much splashing, screaming, and laughter the revellers waded or swam or danced across the ford (“Hurrah! It's the Ford of Beruna again now!” cried the girls) and up the bank on the far side and into the town.

Everyone in the streets fled before their faces. The first house they to was a school: a girls' school, where a lot of Narnian girls, with their hair done very tight and ugly tight collars round their necks and thick tickly stockings on their legs, were having a history lesson. The sort of “History” that was taught in Narnia under Miraz's rule was duller than the truest history you ever read and less true than the most exciting adventure story.

“If you don't attend, Gwendolen,” said the mistress, “and stop looking out of the window, I shall have to give you an order-mark.”

“But please, Miss Frizzle—” began Gwendolen.

“Did you hear what I said, Gwendolen?” asked Miss Frizzle.

“But please, Miss Frizzle,” said Gwendolen, “there's a LION!”

“Take two order-marks for talking nonsense,” said Miss Prizzle. “And now—” A roar interrupted her. Ivy came curling in at the windows of the classroom. The walls became a mass of shimmering green, and leafy branches arched overhead where the ceiling had been. Miss Prizzle found she was standing on grass in a forest glade. She clutched at her desk to steady herself, and found that the desk was a rose-bush. Wild people such as she had never even imagined were crowding round her. Then she saw the Lion, screamed and fled, and with her fled her class, who were mostly dumpy, prim little girls with fat legs. Gwendolen hesitated.

“You'll stay with us, sweetheart?” said Aslan.

“Oh, may I? Thank you, thank you,” said Gwendolen. Instantly she joined hands with two of the Maenads, who whirled her round in a merry dance and helped her take off some of the unnecessary and uncomfortable clothes that she was wearing.

Wherever they went in the little town of Beruna it was the same. Most of the people fled, a few joined them. When they left the town they a larger and a merrier company.

They swept on across the level fields on the north bank, or left bank, the river. At every farm animals came out to join them. Sad old donkeys who had never known joy grew suddenly young again; chained dogs broke their chains; horses kicked their carts to pieces and came trotting along with them—clop-clop—kicking up the mud and whinnying.

At a well in a yard they met a man who was beating a boy. The stick into flower in the man's hand. He tried to drop it, but it stuck to his . His arm became a branch, his body the trunk of a tree, his feet took root. The boy, who had been crying a moment before, burst out laughing and joined them.

At a little town half-way to Beaversdam, where two rivers met, they came to another school, where a tired-looking girl was teaching arithmetic to a number of boys who looked very like pigs. She looked out of the window and saw the divine revellers singing up the street and a stab of joy went through her heart. Aslan stopped right under the window and looked up at her.

“Oh, don't, don't,” she said. “I'd love to. But I mustn't. I must stick to my work. And the children would be frightened if they saw you.”

“Frightened?” said the most pig-like of the boys. “Who's she talking to out of the window? Let's tell the inspector she talks to people out of the window when she ought to be teaching us.”

“Let's go and see who it is,” said another boy, and they all came crowding to the window. But as soon as their mean little faces looked out, Bacchus gave a great cry of Euan, euoi-oi-oi-oi and the boys all began howling with fright and trampling one another down to get out of the door and jumping out of the windows. And it was said afterwards (whether truly or not) that those particular little boys were never seen again, but that there were a lot of very fine little pigs in that part of the country which had never been there before.

“Now, Dear Heart,” said Aslan to the Mistress: and she jumped down joined them.

At Beaversdam they re-crossed the river and came east again along the southern bank. They came to a little cottage where a child stood in the doorway crying. “Why are you crying, my love?” asked Aslan. The child, who had never even seen a picture of a lion, was not afraid of him. “Auntie's very ill,” she said. “She's going to die.” Then Aslan went to go in at the door of the cottage, but it was too small for him. So, when he had got his head through, he pushed with his shoulders (Lucy and Susan fell off when he did this) and lifted the whole house up and it all fell backwards and apart. And there, still in her bed, though the bed was now in the open air, lay a little old woman who looked as if she had Dwarf blood in her. She was at death's door, but when she opened her eyes and saw the bright, hairy head of the lion staring into her face, she did not scream or faint. She said, “Oh, Aslan! I knew it was true. I've been waiting for this all my life. Have you come to take me away?”

“Yes, Dearest,” said Aslan. “But not the long journey yet.” And as spoke, like the flush creeping along the underside of a cloud at sunrise, colour came back to her white face and her eyes grew bright and she sat up and said, “Why, I do declare I feel that better. I think I could take a little breakfast this morning.”

“Here you are, mother,” said Bacchus, dipping a pitcher in the cottage well and handing it to her. But what was in it now was not water but the richest wine, red as red-currant jelly, smooth as oil, strong as beef, warming as tea, cool as dew.

“Eh, you've done something to our well,” said the old woman. “That makes a nice change, that does.” And she jumped out of bed.

“Ride on me,” said Aslan, and added to Susan and Lucy, “You two queens will have to run now.”

“But we'd like that just as well,” said Susan. And off they went .

And so at last, with leaping and dancing and singing, with music and laughter and roaring and barking and neighing, they all came to the place where Miraz's army stood flinging down their swords and holding up their hands, and Peter's army, still holding their weapons and breathing hard, stood round them with stern and glad faces. And the first thing that happened was that the old woman slipped off Aslan's back and ran across to Caspian and they embraced one another; for she was his old nurse.

第十四章　大家如此忙碌

将近两点，特鲁普金、獾和其他生物坐在树林边，对面亮晃晃的是米亚兹的军队，两边相隔约两箭距离。两军之间，平坦的草地上用木桩围出一片地，用于决斗。格罗赛尔和索斯皮安分别站远处的两个边角，手握出鞘的剑。近处的边角则站着巨人威伯维德和胖熊，这头熊不顾大家的警告正吮着爪子，那样子看起来，说真的，傻极了。所幸作为弥补，格兰斯托姆站在决斗场右侧，一动不动，除了偶尔在草坪上跺跺后蹄，比左边场地站在他对面的那个台尔马男爵神气多了。彼得刚跟埃德蒙和博士握了手，此时正走向决斗场。此刻就像是重要赛事发令枪响起前的时刻，但气氛要凝重得多。

“我希望阿斯兰会在决斗前出现。”特鲁普金说。

“我也是，”特鲁弗亨特说，“可是看看你身后。”

“老天！(1)”一看之下，矮人喃喃自语，“那些是什么人？高大——美丽——像男神、女神和巨人。成千上万，正从我们后面过来。他们是谁？”

“他们是树精、树神和森林之神，”特鲁弗亨特说，“阿斯兰把他们唤醒了。”

“哼！”矮人说，“要是敌军不守承诺，这对付他们会很管用。可要是米亚兹剑术技高一筹的话，这对至尊王帮助不大。”

獾没出声，因为这时彼得和米亚兹各从一端走进决斗场，两人都没骑马，身穿盔甲，戴着头盔，手持盾牌。他们走到一起，鞠躬致意，好像说了什么，可无法听见。下一刻两人亮剑，剑在阳光下闪闪发亮。一时间两剑撞击声响起，双方军队开始呐喊，就像观看足球比赛的观众那样，将剑击声淹没。

“打得好，彼得，噢，打得好！”埃德蒙见米亚兹踉跄着退后了一步半不由得大喊起来。“继续进攻，快！”彼得攻了上去，有那么一刻，看似就要打赢了。可这时米亚兹镇定下来，开始利用自己身高体重的优势。“米亚兹！米亚兹！国王！国王加油！”台尔马人吼声震天。凯斯宾和埃德蒙脸色发白，紧张极了。

“彼得受了几下猛击。”埃德蒙说。

“喂！”凯斯宾说，“发生什么了？”

“两人分开了，”埃德蒙说，“都有些喘不上气，我猜。瞧。啊，他们现在又开始了，这次更谨慎了。两人转着圈，试探对方的防守。”

“看来这个米亚兹是在行的。”博士自语。他话音刚落，老纳尼亚人这方发出震耳欲聋的鼓掌声、叫喊声，还有扔帽子声。

“怎么了？怎么了？”博士问，“我老眼昏花没看着。”

“至尊王刺中了米亚兹的腋下，”凯斯宾说不停地鼓掌，“正好从锁子甲袖孔刺了进去。最先见血。”

“可形势看起来又不妙了，”埃德蒙说，“彼得盾牌用得别扭。他左臂肯定受伤了。”

真是被埃德蒙说中了。大家都发现彼得的盾牌是无力地挂在手臂上的。台尔马人的呐喊声更大了。

“你战斗经验比我丰富，”凯斯宾说，“现在还有机会赢吗？”

“可能性很小，”埃德蒙说，“我想他还是有机会做到的，这得靠运气。”

“啊，我们为什么要这样做呢？”凯斯宾说。

突然，双方的呐喊声减弱。埃德蒙纳闷了一会儿，然后说道：“哦，我明白了。他们同意休息片刻。来吧，博士。我们也许能为至尊王做点儿什么。”他们跑到决斗场，彼得也出了绳圈跟他们相会，他脸发红，满头大汗，胸膛起伏着。

“你左臂受伤了？”埃德蒙问。

“确切说算不得伤，”彼得说，“他把全部臂力都压在我的盾牌上——跟一大堆砖头似的——盾牌把手边缘勒进了手腕。我想手腕没断，但可能扭伤了。如果你帮我把手腕缠紧点儿，我想我还能应付。”

他们帮他弄着，埃德蒙担忧地问：“他怎么样，彼得？”

“难对付，”彼得说，“非常难对付。如果我逼得他不停地跳来跳去，直到他的体重和气力不足，成为他的劣势，加上在这样的大太阳底下，我还是有机会的。老实说，除此之外，我机会不大。要是他杀了我的话，埃德，代我向家里所有人问好。他重新上场了。再见，老弟。再见，博士。喂，埃德，代我特别问候特鲁普金。他是个大好人。”

埃德蒙说不出话来。他跟博士走回自己的阵营，心里很难受。

但新一轮决斗进展顺利。彼得现在似乎盾牌用得顺手了一些，而且步法灵活。他现在几乎是在跟米亚兹玩起了你追我逃的捉人游戏，不让他近身，不断移动，调动对手满场转。

“胆小鬼！”台尔马人嘘声四起，“你怎么不敢面对他？怕了吗，嗯？还以为你是来决斗，不是来跳舞的。羞呀！”

“噢，真希望他不会受他们影响。”凯斯宾说。

“他不会的，”埃德蒙说，“你不了解他——哎哟！”米亚兹终于得手，砍在彼得的头盔上。彼得摇晃了一下，侧滑，单膝跪地。台尔马人的叫嚣声如海潮般震耳。“机会，米亚兹，”他们叫嚷着，“机会。快！快！杀了他。”不过，确实，这个篡位者无须怂恿。他已经压住了彼得。当宝剑挥向彼得，埃德蒙紧张得把嘴唇都咬出了血。眼看他的头就要被砍下。谢天谢地！剑从他右肩划过。矮人打造的锁子甲很结实，没裂开。

“天啊！”埃德蒙叫喊，“他又站起来了。彼得，上，彼得！”

“我看不清怎么回事，”博士说，“他是怎么做到的？”

“趁对方挥下手臂时，他抓住了米亚兹的胳膊，”特鲁普金高兴得手舞足蹈，“真是个男子汉！把对手的胳膊当梯子。至尊王！至尊王万岁！起来吧，老纳尼亚！”

“瞧，”特鲁弗亨特说，“米亚兹恼怒了。这是好事。”

他们现在全力以赴：一阵你来我往的攻击，每一招都很致命。随着战斗越来越激烈，呐喊声几乎消失。观战者们屏住了呼吸。场面极其惨烈又极其壮丽。

老纳尼亚人大声欢呼。原来米亚兹倒地了——不是被彼得打趴下的，而是给草丛绊倒了。彼得退后，等他爬起来。

“噢，哥哥，哥哥，哥哥，”埃德蒙自语，“有必要这么绅士吗？不过，我想他一定会的。身为一名骑士和至尊王的本分。我想阿斯兰喜欢这种风度。可那畜生马上就会站起来，那就……”

不过，“那畜生”再也站不起来了。格罗赛尔和索斯皮安两位大人早有准备。他们一见他们的国王倒地，马上跳进决斗场，高嚷：“背叛！背叛！纳尼亚叛徒们趁他倒地不起，在背后偷袭。拿起武器！战斗，台尔马！”

彼得还没反应过来出了什么事，就见到两个魁梧的人拔剑朝他冲来。接着，左侧又有一个台尔马人跨过绳子跳进场来。“战斗，纳尼亚。这是背叛！”彼得呐喊。要是那三个人一起攻击他，他不会再有说话的机会。但格罗赛尔先是捅死倒地的国王，剑刺入时他低声道：“这是对你今早侮辱的报复。”彼得转身面对索斯皮安，由下往上朝他双腿砍去，一击之下，回劈时砍下了他的脑袋。埃德蒙这时来到他身边，叫喊着：“纳尼亚！纳尼亚！阿斯兰！”整支台尔马军队朝他们拥来。就在这时，巨人噔噔走上前来，低下腰，挥舞开棒子。马人们勇猛冲锋。矮人们在后面砰砰放箭，箭矢嘶嘶地从头顶掠过。特鲁普金在他左边战斗。双方战斗全面爆发。

“退后，里皮契普，你这个小笨蛋！”彼得嚷道，“你这是送死。这不是老鼠待的地方。”可这些滑稽的小家伙在双方士兵的脚边蹦来蹦去，用剑猛刺。那天许多台尔马勇士感觉脚上猛地一阵刺痛，好像被十几只烤肉扦子给扎中，只好一边单腿跳着，一边痛得咒骂，许多人摔倒了。要是有人倒地，鼠兵们就会把他干掉；要是他没倒，总会有其他人倒地。

但正当老纳尼亚人杀得兴起时，他们发觉敌军不断撤退。面露凶狠的勇士们脸色发白，恐惧地盯着，不是盯着老纳尼亚人，而是他们身后的东西，然后纷纷扔下武器，尖叫着：“树林！树林！世界末日来临！”

但很快他们的叫喊声和武器的打斗声都听不见了，因为被唤醒的树林发出大海般的轰鸣，淹没了那些声音，那些树木汹涌地穿越彼得那一排排的军队，然后继续向前，追赶台尔马人。当狂野的西南风肆虐时，你是否曾在秋天的夜晚，站在大森林边高高的山脊上？想象那个声音。然后想象，那些树木不是待在原地不动，而是朝你汹涌而来；而且树木不再是树木，而是变成了巨人；可同时又还像树木，因为他们那长长的手臂像树枝一样挥舞着，他们的头摇摆着，树叶在他们身边纷纷落下。在台尔马人看来，他们就是这个样子。就算在纳尼亚人看来，也有点儿触目惊心。几分钟后，米亚兹所有的军队都跑到了大河边，试图过桥到对岸的贝鲁纳镇，然后凭借城墙和紧闭的城门来防守。

他们到达河边，却发现桥不见了。它昨天就消失了。他们极度惊恐，纷纷投降。

那大桥出了什么事？

当天清晨，睡了几小时后，女孩们醒来，见阿斯兰站在她们身旁，听他说道：“我们今天要庆祝节日。”她们揉了揉眼睛，四下看了看。树木们已经走掉了，还看得见他们黑压压的一群正往阿斯兰堡垒方向移动。酒神巴克斯和他的侍女们——那些热情疯狂的少女——以及森林之神西勒诺斯还跟她们待在一起。露西得到了充分休息，跳起身来。大家都醒了，人人欢笑，笛声响起，铙钹敲打起来。动物们，并非能言兽，从四面八方朝他们蜂拥而来。

“怎么回事，阿斯兰？”露西问道，她眼神飞扬起来，脚也忍不住地雀跃。

“来吧，孩子们，”他说，“今天再次骑上我的背。”

“噢，太好了！”露西叫起来，她们两人爬上他那温暖、金黄色的背，就像不知多少年前她们曾经做过的那样。然后整群人出发——阿斯兰在前领路，巴克斯和他的女侍们跑着，跳着，翻着筋斗，野兽们在他们身边活蹦乱跳，西勒诺斯和他的毛驴尾随在后。

他们稍稍向右转，快速走下一道陡峭的山坡，来到贝鲁纳长桥前。就在他们要过河时，忽然，从水里升起一个湿漉漉、满脸胡须的大脑袋，比人头要大，顶着芦苇头冠。他看着阿斯兰，嘴里发出低沉的声音：

“向主人致意，”他说，“请解开我的锁链。”

“那到底是谁？”苏珊低语。

“我想他是河神，别说话。”露西说。

“巴克斯，”阿斯兰说，“帮他解开锁链。”

“我猜，锁链指的是那座桥。”露西心想。确实如此。巴克斯和他的手下蹚水来到浅水处，一分钟后，最奇怪的事情发生了。粗大的常春藤沿着桥墩曲折向上，像蔓延的火焰一般迅速生长，包裹住石头，撕裂瓦解，把石头一块块分离。桥上的墙转眼间变成了山楂树树篱，色彩鲜艳；紧接着，整堵墙消失不见，而整座桥伴着隆隆的响声瞬间坍塌，落入涡流中。伴随着戏水声、尖叫声和欢笑声，狂欢者们或蹚水，或游着，或舞蹈着过了浅滩（“好哇！这里又变成了贝鲁纳浅滩！”女孩们喊道），他们在河对面上岸，然后进了城。

街上的人见到他们便四散而逃。他们最先来到一所学校：那是所女校，很多纳尼亚小女孩正在上历史课，她们头发扎得紧紧的，脖子上紧紧系着难看的衣领，脚上穿着厚得令人发痒的长筒袜。在米亚兹统治下，纳尼亚所教的“历史”比你读过的最真实的历史还要枯燥，比最激动人心的历险小说还要荒唐。

“格温德伦，要是你不专心听课，”一个女教师说，“我将扣你的纪律分，别再往窗外看。”

“听我说，普利兹小姐……”格温德伦开口。

“你没听到我刚才说的话吗，格温德伦？”普利兹小姐质问。

“听我说，普利兹小姐，”格温德伦说，“外面有一头狮子。”

“上课胡说八道，扣两分纪律分，”普利兹小姐说，“现在……”一声狮吼打断了她。常春藤从教室的窗户爬进来。四周的墙很快变成绿油油一片，长满叶子的枝条覆盖在头顶上，那里原是天花板。普利兹小姐发觉自己正站在森林空地的草坪上。她抓紧桌子想稳住自己，却见桌子变成了玫瑰花丛。她做梦都想不到的狂野人群向她围拢过来。接着她看到狮子，惊叫一声便逃跑了，跟她一起逃走的还有她班上的学生，她们大多是长着胖腿、循规蹈矩的矮胖小女孩。格温德伦犹豫着没走。

“你愿意加入我们吗，亲爱的？”阿斯兰问。

“噢，我可以吗？谢谢，谢谢。”格温德伦说。她立刻拉起两位侍女的手，她们让她转起圈来，一起跳起欢快的舞蹈，还帮她脱下那些不舒服的累赘衣服。

在贝鲁纳小镇上，他们每到一处，情形都一样。多数人逃开，有些人则加入他们的行列。当他们离开小镇时，他们的队伍更庞大，大家也更开心。

他们席卷一般穿过河流北岸（即左岸）的平原。每经过一个农庄，牲口们都会加入他们。那些忧伤的老毛驴，以前从不知快乐为何物，如今忽然焕发了青春；被锁着的狗挣脱了锁链；马儿蹬烂自己拉的车子，嘚嘚，嘚嘚地小跑着跟随他们，蹄下泥巴飞溅，嘶鸣不已。

在一座院子的水井边，他们见到一个男人正在鞭打一个男孩。那男人手里的棍子突然开了花。他想扔掉棍子，棍子却粘在了手上。他的手臂化成一根枝条，身体成了树干，脚生了根。刚才还在哭泣的男孩突然大笑起来，加入他们的队伍。

在去往两河交汇的河狸大坝的途中，他们经过一个小镇，来到另一所学校，一个神色疲倦的姑娘正在给一群男孩上算术课，那些男孩一脸蠢相，像猪一样。她朝窗外看去，见到极开心的狂欢人群，他们沿街欢唱，此景让她心里感到一阵喜悦。阿斯兰在窗下停了下来，仰望着她。

“噢，不，不，”她说，“我想去。可不能去。因为我必须忠于职守。孩子们要是见到你，会被吓坏的。”

“吓坏？”最像蠢猪的男孩说，“她正跟窗外什么人讲话？我们去报告督导员，说她在上课时间跟窗外的人谈话。”

“去看看是谁。”另一个男孩说，接着他们都拥到了窗边。可当他们那俗气的小脸刚朝外看时，巴克斯大喊起来：“尤安，尤——安！”那些男孩被吓得哀号起来，一个个互相踩踏着或夺门或跳窗而出。据说（不知真假），再也没人见过那些小男孩，不过当地倒是出现了很多不错的小猪，那里之前还不曾有过猪仔。

“走吧，亲爱的。”阿斯兰对那女教师说，她马上跳出窗子跟他们走了。

到了河狸大坝，他们再次蹚过河流，沿着南岸往东走。他们来到一间小屋，一个小孩正站在门边哭泣。“亲爱的，你为什么哭？”阿斯兰问。那个孩子从未见过狮子的图片，所以不怕他。“姨妈病得很厉害，”她说，“她就要死了。”阿斯兰走到小屋门前想进去，可对他而言，门太小了。这不，他先把头伸进去，然后用肩膀挤（他这么干时，露西和苏珊从他背上掉了下来），结果他把整间房子给顶了起来，接着房子向后倒去，散架了。他们眼前出现一个矮小的老妇人，还躺在床上，不过床成露天的了。这老妇看似有矮人的血统。她已经奄奄一息，可当她睁开眼，见到一个多毛、睿智的狮子脑袋正看着她，她没有尖叫或晕倒。她说：“啊，阿斯兰！我就知道传说不假。我等这一刻等了一辈子。你是来带我走的吗？”

“是的，最亲爱的，”阿斯兰说，“不过，不是去另一个世界的漫长旅途。”随着他的话语，如日出时云的底边被慢慢染红，她苍白的脸颊恢复了颜色，眼睛明亮起来，随后她坐起来说：“哎呀，我得说，感觉好多了。我觉得今早能吃些早餐。”

“早餐来了，大娘。”巴克斯回答她。他用水罐从小屋水井提水，然后递给她。不过，现在罐子里装的不是水，而是最浓郁的葡萄酒，颜色红似红酸栗果酱，油般润滑，跟牛肉一般有营养，温暖如茶，又如露水般清爽。

“嗯，你对我们的水井施了魔法，”老妇说，“这带来了好变化，真的。”接着，她从床上跳了起来。

“骑上我吧。”阿斯兰说。他又对苏珊和露西说：“你们两位女王现在得自己跑。”

“我们同样喜欢。”苏珊说。他们重新上路。

就这样，一路上他们雀跃着，跳着，唱着，伴随着音乐声、笑声、吼声、吠声、嘶鸣声，终于来到米亚兹军队缴械、举手投降的地方。彼得的军队，还握着武器，喘着粗气，包围了敌人，人人脸上既严肃又开心。他们抵达后发生的第一件事就是，那老妇人从阿斯兰的背上跳下来，穿过众人，跑到凯斯宾面前，然后拥抱在一起；原来她就是他那个老保姆。

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(1) Crows and crockery：直译为“乌鸦和陶器”，这两个英文单词押头韵，不作字面义解，用作感叹词。