The Rashness Of The King
国王的轻率
About three weeks later the last of the Kings of Narnia sat under the great oak which grew beside the door of his little hunting lodge， where he often stayed for ten days or so in the pleasant spring weather. It was a low， thatched building not far from the Eastern end of Lantern Waste and some way above the meeting of the two rivers. He loved to live there simply and at ease， away from the state and pomp of Cair Paravel， the royal city. His name was King Tirian， and he was between twenty and twenty-five years old； his shoulders were already broad and strong and his limbs full of hard muscle， but his beard was still scanty. He had blue eyes and a fearless， honest face.
There was no one with him that spring morning except his dearest friend， Jewel the Unicorn. They loved each other like brothers and each had saved the other’s life in the wars. The lordly beast stood close beside the King‘s chair with its neck bent round， polishing its blue horn against the creamy whiteness of its flank.
“I cannot set myself to any work or sport today， Jewel，” said the King. “I can think of nothing but this wonderful news. Think you we shall hear any more of it today？”
“They are the most wonderful tidings ever heard in our days or our fathers’ or our grandfathers‘ days， Sire，” said Jewel， “if they are true.”
“How can they choose but be true？” said the King. “It is more than a week ago that the first birds came flying over us saying， Aslan is here， Aslan has come to Narnia again. And after that it was the squirrels. They had not seen him， but they said it was certain he was in the woods. Then came the Stag. He said he had seen him with his own eyes， a great way off， by moonlight， in Lantern Waste. Then came that dark Man with the beard， the merchant from Calormen. The Calormenes care nothing for Aslan as we do； but the man spoke of it as a thing beyond doubt. And there was the Badger last night； he too had seen Aslan.”
“Indeed， Sire，” answered Jewel， “I believe it all. If I seem not to， it is only that my joy is too great to let my belief settle itself. It is almost too beautiful to believe.”
“Yes，” said the King with a great sigh， almost a shiver， of delight. “It is beyond all that I ever hoped for in all my life.”
“Listen！” said Jewel， putting his head on one side and cocking his ears forward.
“What is it？” asked the King.
“Hoofs， Sire，” said Jewel. “A galloping horse. A very heavy horse. It must be one of the Centaurs. And look， there he is.”
A great， golden bearded Centaur， with man’s sweat on his forehead and horse‘s sweat on his chestnut flanks， dashed up to the King， stopped， and bowed low. “Hail， King，” it cried in a voice as deep as a bull’s.
“Ho， there！” said the King， looking over his shoulder towards the door of the hunting lodge. “A bowl of wine for the noble Centaur. Welcome， Roonwit. When you have found your breath you shall tell us your errand.”
A page came out of the house carrying a great wooden bowl， curiously carved， and handed it to the Centaur. The Centaur raised the bowl and said，I drink first to Aslan and truth， Sire， and secondly to your Majesty.”
He finished the wine （enough for six strong men） at one draught and handed the empty bowl back to the page.
“Now， Roonwit，” said the King. “Do you bring us more news of Aslan？”
Roonwit looked very grave， frowning a little.
“Sire，” he said. “You know how long I have lived and studied the stars； for we Centaurs live longer than you Men， and even longer than your kind， Unicorn. Never in all my days have I seen such terrible things written in the skies as there have been nightly since this year began. The stars say nothing of the coming of Aslan， nor of peace， nor of joy. I know by my art that there have not been such disastrous conjunctions of the planets for five hundred years.
“It was already in my mind to come and warn your Majesty that some great evil hangs over Narnia. But last night the rumour reached me that Aslan is abroad in Narnia. Sire， do not believe this tale. It cannot be. The stars never lie， but Men and Beasts do. If Aslan were really coming to Narnia the sky would have foretold it. If he were really come， all the most gracious stars would be assembled in his honour. It is all a lie.”
“A lie！” said the King fiercely. “What creature in Narnia or all the world would dare to lie on such a matter？” And， without knowing it， he laid his hand on his sword hilt.
“That I know not， Lord King，” said the Centaur. “But I know there are liars on earth； there are none among the stars.”
“I wonder，” said Jewel， “whether Aslan might not come though all the stars foretold otherwise. He is not the slave of the stars but their Maker. Is it not said in all the old stories that He is not a Tame lion.”
“Well said， well said， Jewel，” cried the King. “Those are the very words： not a tame lion. It comes in many tales.”
Roonwit had just raised his hand and was leaning forward to say something very earnestly to the King when all three of them turned their heads to listen to a wailing sound that was quickly drawing nearer. The wood was so thick to the West of them that they could not see the newcomer yet. But they could soon hear the words.
“Woe， woe， woe！” called the voice. “Woe for my brothers and sisters！ Woe for the holy trees！ The woods are laid waste. The axe is loosedagainst us. We are being felled. Great trees are falling， falling， falling.”
With the last “falling” the speaker came in sight. She was like a woman but so tall that her head was on a level with the Centaur‘s， yet she was like a tree too. It is hard to explain if you have never seen a Dryad but quite unmistakable once you have-something different in the colour， the voice， and the hair. King Tirian and the two Beasts knew at once that she was the nymph of a beech tree.
“Justice， Lord King！” she cried. “Come to our aid. Protect your people. They are felling us in Lantern Waste. Forty great trunks of my brothers and sisters are already on the ground.”