“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 a 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 hadtheir 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 towards him with drawn swords. Then the third Telmarine had leapt 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 armywas rushing toward 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 they 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 southwester 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， wasrushing 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 woken， 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 towards 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， not 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.
