Peter’s First
Battle
W
HILE the dwarf and the White Witch were saying
this, miles away the Beavers and the children were
walking on hour after hour into what seemed a deli-
cious dream. Long ago they had left the coats
behind them. And by now they had even stopped saying to one
another, “Look! there’s a kingfisher,” or “I say, bluebells!” or “What
was that lovely smell?” or “Just listen to that thrush!” They walked on
in silence drinking it all in, passing through patches of warm sunlight
into cool, green thickets and out again into wide mossy glades where
tall elms raised the leafy roof far overhead, and then into dense
masses of flowering currant and among hawthorn bushes where the
sweet smell was almost overpowering.
They had been just as surprised as Edmund when they saw the
winter vanishing and the whole wood passing in a few hours or so from
January to May. They hadn’t even known for certain (as the Witch
did) that this was what would happen when Aslan came to Narnia. But
they all knew that it was her spells which had produced the endless
winter; and therefore they all knew when this magic spring began that
something had gone wrong, and badly wrong, with the Witch’s
schemes. And after the thaw had been going on for some time they all
realised that the Witch would no longer be able to use her sledge. After
that they didn’t hurry so much and they allowed themselves more
Clive Staples Lewis66
rests and longer ones. They were pretty tired by now of course; but
not what I’d call bitterly tired — only slow and feeling very dreamy and
quiet inside as one does when one is coming to the end of a long day
in the open. Susan had a slight blister on one heel.
They had left the course of the big river some time ago; for one had
to turn a little to the right (that meant a little to the south) to reach
the place of the Stone Table. Even if this had not been their way they
couldn’t have kept to the river valley once the thaw began, for with
all that melting snow the river was soon in flood — a wonderful,
roaring, thundering yellow flood — and their path would have been
under water.
And now the sun got low and the light got redder and the shadows
got longer and the flowers began to think about closing.
“Not long now,” said Mr Beaver, and began leading them uphill
across some very deep, springy moss (it felt nice under their tired
feet) in a place where only tall trees grew, very wide apart. The climb,
coming at the end of the long day, made them all pant and blow. And
just as Lucy was wondering whether she could really get to the top
without another long rest, suddenly they were at the top. And this is
what they saw.
They were on a green open space from which you could look down
on the forest spreading as far as one could see in every direction —
except right ahead. There, far to the East, was something twinkling
and moving. “By gum!” whispered Peter to Susan, “the sea!” In the
very middle of this open hill-top was the Stone Table. It was a great
grim slab of grey stone supported on four upright stones. It looked
very old; and it was cut all over with strange lines and figures that
might be the letters of an unknown language. They gave you a curious
feeling when you looked at them. The next thing they saw was a
pavilion pitched on one side of the open place. A wonderful pavilion
it was — and especially now when the light of the setting sun fell upon
it — with sides of what looked like yellow silk and cords of crimson
and tent-pegs of ivory; and high above it on a pole a banner which
bore a red rampant lion fluttering in the breeze which was blowing in
their faces from the far-off sea. While they were looking at this they
heard a sound of music on their right; and turning in that direction
they saw what they had come to see.
Aslan stood in the centre of a crowd of creatures who had grouped
67The Lion, the Witch and the wardrobe
themselves round him in the shape of a half-moon. There were Tree-
Women there and Well-Women (Dryads and Naiads as they used to be
called in our world) who had stringed instruments; it was they who had
made the music. There were four great centaurs. The horse part of
them was like huge English farm horses, and the man part was like
stern but beautiful giants. There was also a unicorn, and a bull with
the head of a man, and a pelican, and an eagle, and a great Dog. And
next to Aslan stood two leopards of whom one carried his crown and
the other his standard.
But as for Aslan himself, the Beavers and the children didn’t know
what to do or say when they saw him. People who have not been in
Narnia sometimes think that a thing cannot be good and terrible at the
same time. If the children had ever thought so, they were cured of it
now. For when they tried to look at Aslan’s face they just caught a
glimpse of the golden mane and the great, royal, solemn, over-
whelming eyes; and then they found they couldn’t look at him and
went all trembly.
“Go on,” whispered Mr Beaver.
“No,” whispered Peter, “you first.”
“No, Sons of Adam before animals,” whispered Mr Beaver back
again.
“Susan,” whispered Peter, “What about you? Ladies first.”
“No, you’re the eldest,” whispered Susan. And of course the longer
they went on doing this the more awkward they felt. Then at last Peter
realised that it was up to him. He drew his sword and raised it to the
salute and hastily saying to the others “Come on. Pull yourselves
together,” he advanced to the Lion and said:
“We have come — Aslan.”
“Welcome, Peter, Son of Adam,” said Aslan. “Welcome, Susan and
Lucy, Daughters of Eve. Welcome He-Beaver and She-Beaver.”
His voice was deep and rich and somehow took the fidgets out of
them. They now felt glad and quiet and it didn’t seem awkward to
them to stand and say nothing.
“But where is the fourth?” asked Aslan.
“He has tried to betray them and joined the White Witch, O Aslan,”
said Mr Beaver. And then something made Peter say,
“That was partly my fault, Aslan. I was angry with him and I think
that helped him to go wrong.”
Clive Staples Lewis68
And Aslan said nothing either to excuse Peter or to blame him but
merely stood looking at him with his great unchanging eyes. And it
seemed to all of them that there was nothing to be said.
“Please — Aslan,” said Lucy, “can anything be done to save
Edmund?”
“All shall be done,” said Aslan. “But it may be harder than you
think.” And then he was silent again for some time. Up to that moment
Lucy had been thinking how royal and strong and peaceful his face
looked; now it suddenly came into her head that he looked sad as well.
But next minute that expression was quite gone. The Lion shook his
mane and clapped his paws together (“Terrible paws,” thought Lucy,
“if he didn’t know how to velvet them!”) and said,
“Meanwhile, let the feast be prepared. Ladies, take these Daughters
of Eve to the pavilion and minister to them.”
When the girls had gone Aslan laid his paw — and though it was
velveted it was very heavy — on Peter’s shoulder and said, “Come,
Son of Adam, and I will show you a far-off sight of the castle where
you are to be King.”
And Peter with his sword still drawn in his hand went with the Lion
to the eastern edge of the hilltop. There a beautiful sight met their
eyes. The sun was setting behind their backs. That meant that the
whole country below them lay in the evening light — forest and hills
and valleys and, winding away like a silver snake, the lower part of the
great river. And beyond all this, miles away, was the sea, and beyond
the sea the sky, full of clouds which were just turning rose colour with
the reflection of the sunset. But just where the land of Narnia met the
sea — in fact, at the mouth of the great river — there was something
on a little hill, shining. It was shining because it was a castle and of
course the sunlight was reflected from all the windows which looked
towards Peter and the sunset; but to Peter it looked like a great star
resting on the seashore.
“That, O Man,” said Aslan, “is Cair Paravel of the four thrones, in
one of which you must sit as King. I show it to you because you are
the first-born and you will be High King over all the rest.”
And once more Peter said nothing, for at that moment a strange
noise woke the silence suddenly. It was like a bugle, but richer.
“It is your sister’s horn,” said Aslan to Peter in a low voice; so
low as to be almost a purr, if it is not disrespectful to think of a Lion
69The Lion, the Witch and the wardrobe
purring.
For a moment Peter did not understand. Then, when he saw all the
other creatures start forward and heard Aslan say with a wave of his
paw, “Back! Let the Prince win his spurs,” he did understand, and set
off running as hard as he could to the pavilion. And there he saw a
dreadful sight.
The Naiads and Dryads were scattering in every direction. Lucy was
running towards him as fast as her short legs would carry her and her
face was as white as paper. Then he saw Susan make a dash for a
tree, and swing herself up, followed by a huge grey beast. At first Peter
thought it was a bear. Then he saw that it looked like an Alsatian,
though it was far too big to be a dog. Then he realised that it was a
wolf — a wolf standing on its hind legs, with its front paws against the
tree-trunk, snapping and snarling. All the hair on its back stood up on
end. Susan had not been able to get higher than the second big
branch. One of her legs hung down so that her foot was only an inch
or two above the snapping teeth. Peter wondered why she did not get
higher or at least take a better grip; then he realised that she was just
going to faint and that if she fainted she would fall off.
Peter did not feel very brave; indeed, he felt he was going to be sick.
But that made no difference to what he had to do. He rushed straight
up to the monster and aimed a slash of his sword at its side. That
stroke never reached the Wolf. Quick as lightning it turned round, its
eyes flaming, and its mouth wide open in a howl of anger. If it had not
been so angry that it simply had to howl it would have got him by the
throat at once. As it was — though all this happened too quickly for
Peter to think at all — he had just time to duck down and plunge his
sword, as hard as he could, between the brute’s forelegs into its heart.
Then came a horrible, confused moment like something in a night-
mare. He was tugging and pulling and the Wolf seemed neither alive
nor dead, and its bared teeth knocked against his forehead, and
everything was blood and heat and hair. A moment later he found that
the monster lay dead and he had drawn his sword out of it and was
straightening his back and rubbing the sweat off his face and out of
his eyes. He felt tired all over.
Then, after a bit, Susan came down the tree. She and Peter felt
pretty shaky when they met and I won’t say there wasn’t kissing and
crying on both sides. But in Narnia no one thinks any the worse of
Clive Staples Lewis70
you for that.
“Quick! Quick!” shouted the voice of Aslan. “Centaurs! Eagles! I see
another wolf in the thickets. There — behind you. He has just darted
away. After him, all of you. He will be going to his mistress. Now is
your chance to find the Witch and rescue the fourth Son of Adam.”
And instantly with a thunder of hoofs and beating of wings a dozen or
so of the swiftest creatures disappeared into the gathering darkness.
Peter, still out of breath, turned and saw Aslan close at hand.
“You have forgotten to clean your sword,” said Aslan.
It was true. Peter blushed when he looked at the bright blade and
saw it all smeared with the Wolf’s hair and blood. He stooped down
and wiped it quite clean on the grass, and then wiped it quite dry on
his coat.
“Hand it to me and kneel, Son of Adam,” said Aslan. And when
Peter had done so he struck him with the flat of the blade and said,
“Rise up, Sir Peter Wolf’s-Bane. And, whatever happens, never forget
to wipe your sword.”
