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THE HERMIT OF THE SOUTHERN MARCH:
AFTER they had ridden for several hours down the valley, it widened out and
they could see what was ahead of them. The river which they had been following
here joined a broader river, wide and turbulent, which flowed from their left to
their right, towards the east. Beyond this new river a delightful country rose
gently in low hills, ridge beyond ridge, to the Northern Mountains themselves.
To the right there were rocky pinnacles, one or two of them with snow clinging
to the ledges. To the left, pine-clad slopes, frowning cliffs, narrow gorges,
and blue peaks stretched away as far as the eye could reach. He could no longer
make out Mount Pire. Straight ahead the mountain range sank to a wooded saddle
which of course must be the pass from Archenland into Narnia.
"Broo-hoo-hoo, the North, the green North!" neighed Bree: and certainly the
lower hills looked greener and fresher than anything that Aravis and Shasta,
with their southern-bred eyes, had ever imagined. Spirits rose as they clattered
down to the water's-meet of the two rivers.
The eastern-flowing river, which was pouring from the higher mountains at the
western end of the range, was far too swift and too broken with rapids for them
to think of swimming it; but after some casting about, up and down the bank,
they found a place shallow enough to wade. The roar and clatter of water, the
great swirl against the horses' fetlocks, the cool, stirring air and the darting
dragon-flies, filled Shasta with a strange excitement.
"Friends, we are in Archenland!" said Bree proudly as he splashed and churned
his way out on the Northern bank. "I think that river we've just crossed is
called the Winding Arrow."
"I hope we're in time," murmured Hwin.
Then they began going up, slowly and zigzagging a good deal, for the hills were
steep. It was all open park-like country with no roads or houses in sight.
Scattered trees, never thick enough to be a forest, were everywhere. Shasta, who
had lived all his life in an almost tree-less grassland, had never seen so many
or so many kinds. If you had been there you would probably have known (he
didn't) that he was seeing oaks, beeches, silver birches, rowans, and sweet
chestnuts. Rabbits scurried away in every direction as they advanced, and
presently they saw a whole herd of fallow deer making off among the trees.
"Isn't it simply glorious!" said Aravis.
At the first ridge Shasta turned in the saddle and looked back. There was no
sign of Tashbaan; the desert, unbroken except by the narrow green crack which
they had travelled down, spread to the horizon.
"Hullo!" he said suddenly. "What's that!"
"What's what?" said Bree, turning round. Hwin and Aravis did the same.
"That," said Shasta, pointing. "It looks like smoke. Is it a fire?"
"Sand-storm, I should say," said Bree.
"Not much wind to raise it," said Aravis.
"Oh!" exclaimed Hwin. "Look! There are things flashing in it. Look! They're
helmets - and armour. And it's moving: moving this way."
"By Tash!" said Aravis. "It's the army. It's Rabadash."
"Oh course it is," said Hwin. "Just what I was afraid of. Quick! We must get to
Anvard before it." And without another word she whisked round and began
galloping North. Bree tossed his head and did the same.
"Come on, Bree, come on," yelled Aravis over her shoulder.
The race was very gruelling for the Horses. As they topped each ridge they found
another valley and another ridge beyond it; and though they knew they were going
in more or less the right direction, no one knew how far it was to Anvard. From
the top of the second ridge Shasta looked back again. Instead of a dust-cloud
well out in the desert he now saw a black, moving mass, rather like ants, on the
far bank of the Winding Arrow. They were doubtless looking for a ford.
"They're on the river!" he yelled wildly.
"Quick! Quick!" shouted Aravis. "We might as well not have come at all if we
don't reach Anvard in time. Gallop, Bree, gallop. Remember you're a war-horse."
It was all Shasta could do to prevent himself from shouting out similar
instructions; but he thought, "The poor chap's doing all he can already," and
held his tongue. And certainly both Horses were doing, if not all they could,
all they thought they could; which is not quite the same thing. Bree had caught
up with Hwin and they thundered side by side over the turf. It didn't look as if
Hwin could possibly keep it up much longer.
At that moment everyone's feelings were completely altered by a sound from
behind. It was not the sound they had been expecting to hear - the noise of
hoofs and jingling armour, mixed, perhaps, with Calormene battle-cries. Yet
Shasta knew it at once. It was the same snarling roar he had heard that moonlit
night when they first met Aravis and Hwin. Bree knew it too. His eyes gleamed
red and his ears lay flat back on his skull. And Bree now discovered that he had
not really been going as fast - not quite as fast - as he could. Shasta felt the
change at once. Now they were really going all out. In a few seconds they were
well ahead of Hwin.
"It's not fair," thought Shasta. "I did think we'd be safe from lions here!"
He looked over his shoulder. Everything was only too clear. A huge tawny
creature, its body low to the ground, like a cat streaking across the lawn to a
tree when a strange dog has got into the garden, was behind them. And it was
nearer every second and half second.
He looked forward again and saw something which he did not take in, or even
think about. Their way was barred by a smooth green wall about ten feet high. In
the middle of that wall there was a gate, open. In the middle of the gateway
stood a tall man dressed, down to his bare feet, in a robe coloured like autumn
leaves, leaning on a straight staff. His beard fell almost to his knees.
Shasta saw all this in a glance and looked back again. The lion had almost got
Hwin now. It was making snaps at her hind legs, and there was no hope now in her
foamflecked, wide-eyed face.
"Stop," bellowed Shasta in Bree's ear. "Must go back. Must help!"
Bree always said afterwards that he never heard, or never understood this; and
as he was in general a very truthful horse we must accept his word.
Shasta slipped his feet out of the stirrups, slid both his legs over the left
side, hesitated for one hideous hundredth of a second, and jumped. It hurt
horribly and nearly winded him; but before he knew how it hurt him he was
staggering back to help Aravis. He had never done anything like this in his life
before and hardly knew why he was doing it now.
One of the most terrible noises in the world, a horse's scream, broke from
Hwin's lips. Aravis was stooping low over Hwin's neck and seemed to be trying to
draw her sword. And now all three - Aravis, Hwin, and the lion were almost on
top of Shasta. Before they reached him the lion rose on its hind legs, larger
than you would have believed a lion could be, and jabbed at Aravis with its
right paw. Shasta could see all the terrible claws extended. Aravis screamed and
reeled in the saddle. The lion was tearing her shoulders. Shasta, half mad with
horror, managed to lurch towards the brute. He had no weapon, not even a stick
or a stone. He shouted out, idiotically, at the lion as one would at a dog. "Go
home! Go home!" For a fraction of a second he was staring right into its
wideopened, raging mouth. Then, to his utter astonishment, the lion, still on
its hind legs, checked itself suddenly, turned head over heels, picked itself
up, and rushed away.
Shasta did not for a moment suppose it had gone for good. He turned and raced
for the gate in the green wall which, now for the first time, he remembered
seeing. Hwin, stumbling and nearly fainting, was just entering the gate: Aravis
still kept her seat but her back was covered with blood.
"Come in, my daughter, come in," the robed and bearded man was saying, and then
"Come in, my son" as Shasta panted up to him. He heard the gate closed behind
him; and the bearded stranger was already helping Aravis off her horse.
They were in a wide and perfectly circular enclosure, protected by a high wall
of green turf. A pool of perfectly still water, so full that the water was
almost exactly level with the ground, lay before him. At one end of the pool,
completely overshadowing it with its branches, there grew the hugest and most
beautiful tree that Shasta had ever seen. Beyond the pool was a little low house
of stone roofed with deep and ancient thatch. There was a sound of bleating and
over at the far side of the enclosure there were some goats. The level ground
was completely covered with the finest grass.
"Are - are - are you," panted Shasta. "Are you King Lune of Archenland?"
The old man shook his head. "No," he replied in a quiet voice, "I am the Hermit
of the Southern March. And now, my son, waste no time on questions, but obey.
This damsel is wounded. Your horses are spent. Rabadash is at this moment
finding a ford over the Winding Arrow. If you run now, without a moment's rest,
you will still be in time to warn King Lune."
Shasta's heart fainted at these words for he felt he had no strength left. And
he writhed inside at what seemed the cruelty and unfairness of the demand. He
had not yet learned that if you do one good deed your reward usually is to be
set to do another and harder and better one. But all he said out loud was:
"Where is the King?"
The Hermit turned and pointed with his staff. "Look," he said. "There is another
gate, right opposite to the one you entered by. Open it and go straight ahead:
always straight ahead, over level or steep, over smooth or rough, over dry or
wet. I know by my art that you will find King Lune straight ahead. But run, run:
always run."
Shasta nodded his head, ran to the northern gate and disappeared beyond it. Then
the Hermit took Aravis, whom he had all this time been supporting with his left
arm, and half led, half carried her into the house. After a long time he came
out again.
"Now, cousins," he said to the Horses. "It is your turn."
Without waiting for an answer - and indeed they were too exhausted to speak - he
took the bridles and saddles off both of them. Then he rubbed them both down, so
well that a groom in a King's stable could not have done it better.
"There, cousins," he said, "dismiss it all from your minds and be comforted.
Here is water and there is grass. You shall have a hot mash when I have milked
my other cousins, the goats."
"Sir," said Hwin, finding her voice at last, "will the Tarkheena live? Has the
lion killed her?"
"I who know many present things by my art," replied the Hermit with a smile,
"have yet little knowledge of things future. Therefore I do not know whether any
man or woman or beast in the whole world will be alive when the sun sets
tonight. But be of good hope. The damsel is likely to live as long as any of her
age."
When Aravis came to herself she found that she was lying on her face on a low
bed of extraordinary softness in a cool, bare room with walls of undressed
stone. She couldn't understand why she had been laid on her face; but when she
tried to turn and felt the hot, burning pains all over her back, she remembered,
and realized why. She couldn't understand what delightfully springy stuff the
bed was made of, because it was made of heather (which is the best bedding) and
heather was a thing she had never seen or heard of.
The door opened and the Hermit entered, carrying a large wooden bowl in his
hand. After carefully setting this down, he came to the bedside, and asked:
"How do you find yourself, my daughter?"
"My back is very sore, father," said Aravis, "but there is nothing else wrong
with me."
He knelt beside her, laid his hand on her forehead, and felt her pulse.
"There is no fever," he said. "You will do well. Indeed there is no reason why
you should not get up tomorrow. But now, drink this."
He fetched the wooden bowl and held it to her lips. Aravis couldn't help making
a face when she tasted it, for goats' milk is rather a shock when you are not
used to it. But she was very thirsty and managed to drink it all and felt better
when she had finished.
"Now, my daughter, you may sleep when you wish," said the Hermit. "For your
wounds are washed and dressed and though they smart they are no more serious
than if they had been the cuts of a whip. It must have been a very strange lion;
for instead-of catching you out of the saddle and getting his teeth into you, he
has only drawn his claws across your back. Ten scratches: sore, but not deep or
dangerous."
"I say!" said Aravis. "I have had luck."
"Daughter," said the Hermit, "I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in
this world and have never yet met any such thing as Luck. Them is something
about all this that I do not understand: but if ever we need to know it, you may
be sure that we shall."
"And what about Rabadash and his two hundred horse?" asked Aravis.
"They will not pass this way, I think," said the Hermit. "They must have found a
ford by now well to the east of us. From there they will try to ride straight to
Anvard."
"Poor Shasta!" said Aravis. "Has he far to go? Will he get there first?"
"There is good hope of it," said the old man.
Aravis lay down again (on her side this time) and said, "Have I been asleep for
a long time? It seems to be getting dark."
The Hermit was looking out of the only window, which faced north. "This is not
the darkness of night," he said presently. "The clouds are falling down from
Stormness Head. Our foul weather always comes from there in these parts. There
will be thick fog tonight."
Next day, except for her sore back, Aravis felt so well that after breakfast
(which was porridge and cream) the Hermit said she could get up. And of course
she at once went out to speak to the Horses. The weather had changed and the
whole of that green enclosure was filled, like a great green cup, with sunlight.
It was a very peaceful place, lonely and quiet.
Hwin at once trotted across to Aravis and gave her a horse-kiss.
"But where's Bree?" said Aravis when each had asked after the other's health and
sleep.
"Over there," said Hwin, pointing with her nose to the far side of the circle.
"And I wish you'd come and talk to him. There's something wrong, I can't get a
word out of him."
They strolled across and found Bree lying with his face towards the wall, and
though he must have heard them coming, he never turned his head or spoke a word.
"Good morning, Bree," said Aravis. "How are you this morning?"
Bree muttered something that no one could hear.
"The Hermit says that Shasta probably got to King Lune in time," continued
Aravis, "so it looks as if all our troubles are over. Narnia, at last, Bree!"
"I shall never see Narnia," said Bree in a low voice.
"Aren't you well, Bree dear?" said Aravis.
Bree turned round at last, his face mournful as only a horse's can be.
"I shall go back to Calormen," he said.
"What?" said Aravis. "Back to slavery!"
"Yes," said Bree. "Slavery is all I'm fit for. How can I ever show my face among
the free Horses of Narnia? - I who left a mare and a girl and a boy to be eaten
by lions while I galloped all I could to save my own wretched skin!"
"We all ran as hard as we could," said Hwin.
"Shasta didn't!" snorted Bree. "At least he ran in the right direction: ran
back. And that is what shames me most of all. I, who called myself a war-horse
and boasted of a hundred fights, to be beaten by a little human boy - a child, a
mere foal, who had never held a sword nor had any good nurture or example in his
life!"
"I know," said Aravis. "I felt just the same. Shasta was marvellous. I'm just as
bad as you, Bree. I've been snubbing him and looking down on him ever since you
met us and now he turns out to be the best of us all. But I think it would be
better to stay and say we're sorry than to go back to Calormen."
"It's all very well for you," said Bree. "You haven't disgraced yourself. But
I've lost everything."
"My good Horse," said the Hermit, who had approached them unnoticed because his
bare feet made so little noise on that sweet, dewy grass. "My good Horse, you've
lost nothing but your self-conceit. No, no, cousin. Don't put back your ears and
shake your mane at me. If you are really so humbled as you sounded a minute ago,
you must learn to listen to sense. You're not quite the great Horse you had come
to think, from living among poor dumb horses. Of course you were braver and
cleverer than them. You could hardly help being that. It doesn't follow that
you'll be anyone very special in Narnia. But as long as you know you're nobody
special, you'll be a very decent sort of Horse, on the whole, and taking one
thing with another. And now, if you and my other four-footed cousin will come
round to the kitchen door we'll see about the other half of that mash."
