新书开始The horse and his boy
CHAPTER ONE HOW SHASTA SET OUT ON HIS TRAVELS
This is the story of an adventure that happened in Narnia and Calormen and the lands between, in the Golden Age when Peter was High King in Narnia and his brother and his two sisters were King and Queens under him.
In those days, far south in Calormen on a little creek of the sea, there lived a poor fisherman called Arsheesh, and with him there lived a boy who called him Father. The boy’s name was Shasta. On most days Arsheesh went out in his boat to fish in the morning, and in the afternoon he harnessed his donkey to a cart and loaded the cart with fish and went a mile or so southward to the village to sell it. If it had sold well he would come home in a moderately good temper and say nothing to Shasta, but if it had sold badly he would find fault with him and perhaps beat him. There was always something to find fault with for Shasta had plenty of work to do, mending and washing the nets, cooking the supper, and cleaning the cottage in which they both lived.
Shasta was not at all interested in anything that lay south of his home because he had once or twice been to the village with Arsheesh and he knew that there was nothing very interesting there. In the village he only met other men who were just like his father—men with long, dirty robes, and wooden shoes turned up at the toe, and turbans on their heads, and beards, talking to one another very slowly about things that sounded dull. But he was very interested in everything that lay to the North because no one ever went that way and he was never allowed to go there himself. When he was sitting out of doors mending the nets, and all alone, he would often look eagerly to the North. One could see nothing but a grassy slope running up to a level ridge and beyond that the sky with perhaps a few birds in it.
Sometimes if Arsheesh was there Shasta would say, “O my Father, what is there beyond that hill?” And then if the fisherman was in a bad temper he would box Shasta’s ears and tell him to attend to his work. Or if he was in a peaceable mood he would say, “O my son, do not allow your mind to be distracted by idle questions. For one of the poets has said, ‘Application to business is the root of prosperity, but those who ask questions that do not concern them are steering the ship of folly towards the rock of indigence’.”
Shasta thought that beyond the hill there must be some delightful secret which his father wished to hide from him. In reality, however, the fisherman talked like this because he didn’t know what lay to the North. Neither did he care. He had a very practical mind.
One day there came from the South a stranger who was unlike any man that Shasta had seen before. He rode upon a strong dappled horse with flowing mane and tail and his stirrups and bridle were inlaid with silver. The spike of a helmet projected from the middle of his silken turban and he wore a shirt of chain mail. By his side hung a curving scimitar, a round shield studded with bosses of brass hung at his back, and his right hand grasped a lance. His face was dark, but this did not surprise Shasta because all the people of Calormen are like that; what did surprise him was the man’s beard which was dyed crimson, and curled and gleaming with scented oil. But Arsheesh knew by the gold on the stranger’s bare arm that he was a Tarkaan or great lord, and he bowed kneeling before him till his beard touched the earth and made signs to Shasta to kneel also.
The stranger demanded hospitality for the night which of course the fisherman dared not refuse. All the best they had was set before the Tarkaan for supper（and he didn’t think much of it）and Shasta, as always happened when the fisherman had company, was given a hunk of bread and turned out of the cottage. On these occasions he usually slept with the donkey in its little thatched stable. But it was much too early to go to sleep yet, and Shasta, who had never learned that it is wrong to listen behind doors, sat down with his ear to a crack in the wooden wall of the cottage to hear what the grown-ups were talking about. And this is what he heard.
“And now, O my host,” said the Tarkaan, “I have a mind to buy that boy of yours.”
“O my master,” replied the fisherman（and Shasta knew by the wheedling tone the greedy look that was probably coming into his face as he said it）, “what price could induce your servant, poor though he is, to sell into slavery his only child and his own flesh? Has not one of the poets said, ‘Natural affection is stronger than soup and offspring more precious than carbuncles?’”
“It is even so,” replied the guest dryly. “But another poet has likewise said, ‘He who attempts to deceive the judicious is already baring his own back for the scourge.’ Do not load your aged mouth with falsehoods. This boy is manifestly no son of yours, for your cheek is as dark as mine but the boy is fair and white like the accursed but beautiful barbarians who inhabit the remote North.”
“How well it was said,” answered the fisherman, “that Swords can be kept off with shields but the Eye of Wisdom pierces through every defence！Know then, O my formidable guest, that because of my extreme poverty I have never married and have no child. But in that same year in which the Tisroc（may he live forever）began his august and beneficent reign, on a night when the moon was at her full, it pleased the gods to deprive me of my sleep. Therefore I arose from my bed in this hovel and went forth to the beach to refresh myself with looking upon the water and the moon and breathing the cool air. And presently I heard a noise as of oars coming to me across the water and then, as it were, a weak cry. And shortly after, the tide brought to the land a little boat in which there was nothing but a man lean with extreme hunger and thirst who seemed to have died but a few moments before（for he was still warm）, and an empty water-skin, and a child, still living.‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘these unfortunates have escaped from the wreck of a great ship, but by the admirable designs of the gods, the elder has starved himself to keep the child alive and has perished in sight of land.’ Accordingly, remembering how the gods never fail to reward those who befriend the destitute, and being moved by compassion（for your servant is a man of tender heart）—”
“Leave out all these idle words in your own praise,” interrupted the Tarkaan. “It is enough to know that you took the child—and have had ten times the worth of his daily bread out of him in labour, as anyone can see. And now tell me at once what price you put on him, for I am wearied with your loquacity.”
“You yourself have wisely said,” answered Arsheesh, “that the boy’s labour has been to me of inestimable value. This must be taken into account in fixing the price. For if I sell the boy I must undoubtedly either buy or hire another to do his work.”
“I’ll give you fifteen crescents for him,” said the Tarkaan.
“Fifteen！” cried Arsheesh in a voice that was something between a whine and a scream. “Fifteen！For the prop of my old age and the delight of my eyes！Do not mock my grey beard, Tarkaan though you be. My price is seventy.”
At this point Shasta got up and tiptoed away. He had heard all he wanted, for he had open listened when men were bargaining in the village and knew how it was done. He was quite certain that Arsheesh would sell him in the end for something much more than fifteen crescents and much less than seventy, but that he and the Tarkaan would take hours in getting to an agreement.
You must not imagine that Shasta felt at all as you and I would feel if we had just overheard our parents talking about selling us for slaves. For one thing, his life was already little better than slavery; for all he knew, the lordly stranger on the great horse might be kinder to him than Arsheesh. For another, the story about his own discovery in the boat had filled him with excitement and with a sense of relief. He had often been uneasy because, try as he might, he had never been able to love the fisherman, and he knew that a boy ought to love his father. And now, apparently, he was no relation to Arsheesh at all. That took a great weight off his mind. “Why, I might be anyone！” he thought. “I might be the son of a Tarkaan myself—or the son of the Tisroc（may he live for ever）or of a god！”
He was standing out in the grassy place before the cottage while he thought these things. Twilight was coming on apace and a star or two was already out, but the remains of the sunset could still be seen in the west. Not far away the stranger’s horse, loosely tied to an iron ring in the wall of the donkey’s stable, was grazing. Shasta strolled over to it and patted its neck. It went on tearing up the grass and took no notice of him.
Then another thought came into Shasta’s mind. “I wonder what sort of a man that Tarkaan is,” he said out loud. “It would be splendid if he was kind. Some of the slaves in a great lord’s house have next to nothing to do. They wear lovely clothes and eat meat every day. Perhaps he’d take me to the wars and I’d save his life in a battle and then he’d set me free and adopt me as his son and give me a palace and a chariot and a suit of armour. But then he might be a horrid cruel man. He might send me to work on the fields in chains. I wish I knew. How can I know? I bet this horse knows, if only he could tell me.”
The Horse had lifted its head. Shasta stroked its smooth-as-satin nose and said, “I wish you could talk, old fellow.”
And then for a second he thought he was dreaming, for quite distinctly, though in a low voice, the Horse said, “But I can.”
Shasta stared into its great eyes and his own grew almost as big, with astonishment.
“How ever did you learn to talk?” he asked.
“Hush！Not so loud,” replied the Horse. “Where I come from, nearly all the animals talk.”
“Wherever is that?” asked Shasta.
“Narnia,” answered the Horse. “The happy land of Narnia—Narnia of the heathery mountains and the thymy downs, Narnia of the many rivers, the plashing glens, the mossy caverns and the deep forests ringing with the hammers of the Dwarfs. Oh the sweet air of Narnia！An hour’s life there is better than a thousand years in Calormen.” It ended with a whinny that sounded very like a sigh.
“How did you get here?” said Shasta.
“Kidnapped,” said the Horse. “Or stolen, or captured whichever you like to call it. I was only a foal at the time. My mother warned me not to range the Southern slopes, into Archenland and beyond, but I wouldn’t heed her. And by the Lion’s Mane I have paid for my folly. All these years I have been a slave to humans, hiding my true nature and pretending to be dumb and witless like their horses.”
“Why didn’t you tell them who you were?”
“Not such a fool, that’s why. If they’d once found out I could talk they would have made a show of me at fairs and guarded me more carefully than ever. My last chance of escape would have been gone.”
“And why—” began Shasta, but the Horse interrupted him.
“Now look,” it said, “we mustn’t waste time on idle questions. You want to know about my master the Tarkaan Anradin. Well, he’s bad. Not too bad to me, for a war horse costs too much to be treated very badly. But you’d better be lying dead tonight than go to be a human slave in his house tomorrow.”
“Then I’d better run away,” said Shasta, turning very pale.
“Yes, you had,” said the Horse. “But why not run away with me?”
“Are you going to run away too?” said Shasta.
“Yes, if you’ll come with me,” answered the Horse. “This is the chance for both of us. You see if I run away without a rider, everyone who sees me will say‘Stray horse’and be after me as quick as he can. With a rider I’ve a chance to get through. That’s where you can help me. On the other hand, you can’t get very far on those two silly legs of yours（what absurd legs humans have！）without being overtaken. But on me you can outdistance any other horse in this country. That’s where I can help you. By the way, I suppose you know how to ride?”
“Oh yes, of course,” said Shasta. “At least, I’ve ridden the donkey.”
“Ridden the what?” retorted the Horse with extreme contempt.（At least, that is what he meant. Actually it came out in a sort of neigh—“Ridden the wha-ha-ha-ha-ha.” Talking horses always become more horsy in accent when they are angry.）
“In other words,” it continued, “you can’t ride. That’s a drawback. I’ll have to teach you as we go along. If you can’t ride, can you fall?”
“I suppose anyone can fall,” said Shasta.
“1 mean can you fall and get up again without crying and mount again and fall again and yet not be afraid of falling?”
“I—I’ll try,” said Shasta. “Poor little beast,” said the Horse in a gentler tone. “I forget you’re only a foal. We’ll make a fine rider of you in time. And now—we mustn’t start until those two in the but are asleep. Meantime we can make our plans. My Tarkaan is on his way North to the great city, to Tashbaan itself and the court of the Tisroc—”
“I say,” put in Shasta in rather a shocked voice, “oughtn’t you to say‘May he live forever’?”
“Why?” asked the Horse. “I’m a free Narnian. And why should I talk slaves’and fools’talk? I don’t want him to live forever, and I know that he’s not going to live forever whether I want him to or not. And I can see you’re from the free North too. No more of this Southern jargon between you and me！And now, back to our plans. As I said, my human was on his way North to Tashbaan.”
“Does that mean we’d better go to the South?”
“I think not,” said the Horse. “You see, he thinks I’m dumb and witless like his other horses. Now if I really were, the moment I got loose I’d go back home to my stable and paddock; back to his palace which is two days’journey South. That’s where he’ll look for me. He’d never dream of my going on North on my own. And anyway he will probably think that someone in the last village who saw him ride through has followed us here and stolen me.”
“Oh hurrah！” said Shasta. “Then we’ll go North. I’ve been longing to go to the North all my life.”
“Of course you have,” said the Horse. “That’s because of the blood that’s in you. I’m sure you’re true Northern stock. But not too loud. I should think they’d be asleep soon now.”
“I’d better creep back and see,” suggested Shasta.
“That’s a good idea,” said the Horse. “But take care you’re not caught.”
It was a good deal darker now and very silent except for the sound of the waves on the beach, which Shasta hardly noticed because he had been hearing it day and night as long as he could remember. The cottage, as he approached it, showed no light. When he listened at the front there was no noise. When he went round to the only window, he could hear, after a second or two, the familiar noise of the old fisherman’s squeaky snore. It was funny to think that if all went well he would never hear it again. Holding his breath and feeling a little bit sorry, but much less sorry than he was glad, Shasta glided away over the grass and went to the donkey’s stable, groped along to a place he knew where the key was hidden, opened the door and found the Horse’s saddle and bridle which had been locked up there for the night. He bent forward and kissed the donkey’s nose. “I’m sorry we can’t take you,” he said.
“There you are at last,” said the Horse when he got back to it. “I was beginning to wonder what had become of you.”
“I was getting your things out of the stable,” replied Shasta. “And now, can you tell me how to put them on?”
For the next few minutes Shasta was at work, very cautiously to avoid jingling, while the Horse said things like, “Get that girth a bit tighter,” or “You’ll find a buckle lower down,” or “You’ll need to shorten those stirrups a good bit.” When all was finished it said：
“Now; we’ve got to have reins for the look of the thing, but you won’t be using them. Tie them to the saddle-bow：very slack so that I can do what I like with my head. And, remember—you are not to touch them.”
“What are they for, then?” asked Shasta.
“Ordinarily they are for directing me,” replied the Horse. “But as I intend to do all the directing on this journey, you’ll please keep your hands to yourself. And there’s another thing. I’m not going to have you grabbing my mane.”
“But I say,” pleaded Shasta. “If I’m not to hold on by the reins or by your mane, what am I to hold on by?”
“You hold on with your knees,” said the Horse. “That’s the secret of good riding. Grip my body between your knees as hard as you like; sit straight up, straight as a poker; keep your elbows in. And by the way, what did you do with the spurs?”
“Put them on my heels, of course,” said Shasta. “I do know that much.”
“Then you can take them off and put them in the saddlebag. We may be able to sell them when we get to Tashbaan. Ready? And now I think you can get up.”
“Ooh！You’re a dreadful height,” gasped Shasta after his first, and unsuccessful, attempt.
“I’m a horse, that’s all,” was the reply. “Anyone would think I was a haystack from the way you’re trying to climb up me！There, that’s better. Now sit up and remember what I told you about your knees. Funny to think of me who has led cavalry charges and won races having a potato-sack like you in the saddle！However, off we go.” It chuckled, not unkindly.
And it certainly began their night journey with great caution. First of all it went just south of the fisherman’s cottage to the little river which there ran into the sea, and took care to leave in the mud some very plain hoof-marks pointing South. But as soon as they were in the middle of the ford it turned upstream and waded till they were about a hundred yards farther inland than the cottage. Then it selected a nice gravelly bit of bank which would take no footprints and came out on the Northern side. Then, still at a walking pace, it went Northward till the cottage, the one tree, the donkey’s stable, and the creek—everything, in fact, that Shasta had ever known—had sunk out of sight in the grey summer-night darkness. They had been going uphill and now were at the top of the ridge—that ridge which had always been the boundary of Shasta’s known world. He could not see what was ahead except that it was all open and grassy. It looked endless：wild and lonely and free.
“I say！” observed the Horse. “What a place for a gallop, eh！”
“Oh don’t let’s,” said Shasta. “Not yet. I don’t know how to—please, Horse. I don’t know your name.”
“Breehy-hinny-brinny-hooky-hah,” said the Horse.
“I’ll never be able to say that,” said Shasta. “Can I call you Bree?”
“Well, if it’s the best you can do, I suppose you must,” said the Horse. “And what shall I call you?”
“I’m called Shasta.”
“H’m,” said Bree. “Well, now, there’s a name that’s really hard to pronounce. But now about this gallop. It’s a good deal easier than trotting if you only knew, because you don’t have to rise and fall. Grip with your knees and keep your eyes straight ahead between my ears. Don’t look at the ground. If you think you’re going to fall just grip harder and sit up straighter. Ready? Now：for Narnia and the North.”
第一章 沙斯塔启程
这个冒险故事发生在纳尼亚与卡乐门还有这两国的交界处。在至尊国王彼得和他的弟弟与两个妹妹的统治下，那时的纳尼亚正处于黄金时代。
当时在卡乐门遥远南方的小海湾住着一个名叫阿什伊什的穷苦渔夫，有个男孩与他同住并称呼他为父亲，男孩名叫沙斯塔。大多时候，阿什伊什在上午出海捕鱼，下午则套好驴车，载着一车鱼去往南边一两英里处的村庄卖鱼。若是卖得不错，他脾气就会好些，回家也不会对沙斯塔说什么，可若是卖得不好，他就会对沙斯塔百般挑剔，甚至毒打他。沙斯塔要干的活儿不少，修补、清洗渔网，准备晚餐，打扫他们居住的这间小屋，要挑刺总是不难的。
沙斯塔对于自家南边的任何事物都毫无兴趣。他曾和阿什伊什去过一两次村庄，所以他知道那儿没什么有趣的。在村子里，他只见到了一些像他父亲那样的男人，他们身穿脏兮兮的长袍，脚踩露出脚趾的木屐，脑袋上缠了头巾，脸上蓄着胡子，慢吞吞地和别人聊些索然无味的东西。但是对于自家北边的一切事物，沙斯塔都兴趣盎然，因为从未有人去过那里，而他自己也不被允许单独前往。独自坐在门外修补渔网时，他总会眼巴巴地看着北方。在那里，山坡郁郁葱葱地向上延伸至平坦的山脊，山脊之外便是天空，也许会有些飞鸟，可除此以外什么都望不见了。
有时阿什伊什在的话，沙斯塔会问：“父亲，山的后边有什么？”撞上渔夫脾气糟糕的时候，渔夫便会揪起沙斯塔的耳朵命令他专心干活，而若是渔夫心境正平和，则会说：“儿子，不要分心去想这些没用的问题。一位诗人曾经说过，‘专注于事业乃繁荣之本源，提出无关于此的问题之人皆是驾驶愚昧之舟向贫穷之礁驶去’。”
沙斯塔认定山后面绝对有些会令人兴奋的秘密，只是父亲想瞒住不告诉他。事实上，渔夫这么说是因为他并不知道北边有什么。不过他也不在乎，他的想法可是相当务实。
有一天，一个陌生男人从南方过来，他和沙斯塔之前见过的任何人都不一样。他骑着一匹强壮的花斑马，骏马套着镶银的马镫与缰绳，鬃尾飞扬。他身着锁子甲，头盔的尖端从他丝绸头巾的中间突了出来，一柄短弯刀挂在身侧，身后背着一块镶嵌黄铜的圆盾，右手持一杆长矛。他的脸黝黑黝黑的，卡乐门的人都这样，所以沙斯塔对此不以为意。令他感到惊奇的是这人卷曲的胡子，被染成了深红色，还闪耀着香油的光泽。但阿什伊什一看到那陌生人裸露手臂上的金饰便明白了他是一位塔尔坎，或是大勋爵，于是他弯腰跪倒在陌生人面前，胡子都触到了地面，同时还示意沙斯塔也下跪。
陌生人希望能够借宿一晚，渔夫当然不敢拒绝。他们把最好的食物全都拿了出来作为晚餐招待塔尔坎（不过对方并不喜欢），而沙斯塔，与以往家中有来客时一样，被父亲扔了一大块面包打发出门。每到这时，他通常都会去茅草棚和小毛驴一同睡觉。不过现在睡觉实在太早了。鉴于沙斯塔并不知道偷听他人讲话是错的，他便坐下来，耳朵紧贴小木屋墙上的一道裂缝，听大人们在谈些什么。如下便是他所听见的内容。
“现在，这屋子的主人，”塔尔坎说，“我打算买下你儿子。”
“哦，大人，”渔夫回应道（凭这阿谀奉承的语气，沙斯塔都能想象出说这话时阿什伊什脸上贪婪的表情），“尽管您的仆人十分贫穷，可他怎会为金钱引诱卖了他唯一的骨肉？有位诗人不是曾经说过吗，‘亲情浓于高汤，儿女贵于红玉’？”
“即使如此，”客人冷言道，“另一位诗人同样也说过，‘意欲欺骗智者之人，已然袒其背于鞭笞之下’。别再腆着老脸满嘴胡言了，这男孩显然不是你亲生的。你的脸颊同我一样黝黑，而那男孩的皮肤却白皙明亮，和遥远北方那些令人生厌却美丽动人的野蛮人别无二致。”
“有句话说得好，”渔夫答道，“‘利剑或许无法刺穿盾牌，但智慧之眼却能洞察一切防御！’啊，令人敬畏的客人啊，我因穷困潦倒，未曾娶妻也膝下无子。但在蒂斯罗克（愿他万寿无疆）开始他无上尊贵、泽被苍生的统治的那一年，某天夜里圆月高挂，众神以剥夺我的睡眠取乐，于是我便起床离开屋子去往沙滩，想要欣赏海水与明月，呼吸清凉的空气，好让我打起精神。正在此时，我听见海上传来船桨滑动的声音，那声音向我而来，随后我又听见了一声微弱的啼哭。很快，海浪推着一条小船来到岸边，船里别无他物，只有一个饥渴至极的男人、一个空水袋和一个孩子。男人看起来刚死，因为他的身体还存有余温，孩子倒还活着。‘毫无疑问，’我自言自语道，‘两个不幸的人定是从失事的巨轮上逃出来的，不过遵循令人敬畏的神意，年长者选择了确保孩子能够活下来，自己却在看到陆地时死了。’相应地，众神也不曾忘记嘉奖那些善待穷人、充满同情心的人（您的仆人我正是一个心地善良的人）——”
“省去那套吹捧自己的废话吧，”塔尔坎打断了他，“这些已经足够让我知道这孩子是你收养的了，而且谁都看得出来，你从他的劳动中获取的利益是他每天吃的面包的价值的十倍。现在，我已经听烦你的废话了，告诉我出多少钱你才肯卖他。”
“智慧的您自己已经提及，”阿什伊什回答，“对我而言，这男孩劳动力的价值大得不可估量，我若是把他卖了，显然得再买或再雇一个人来干他的活儿。所以在定价时，这一点也必须纳入考虑范围。”
“我出十五个新月币。”塔尔坎说。
“十五！”阿什伊什喊道，那声音介于哀号与尖叫之间，“十五！他可是我老年的倚靠和目光所及的欢悦！即使你是塔尔坎也不能如此愚弄我这样的老人。我要七十个新月币。”
听到这儿，沙斯塔便起身蹑手蹑脚地溜走了，他已经听到了想知道的全部。他听过村子里的人们讨价还价，也知道之后会如何。他非常确定，阿什伊什最终会以远高于十五又远低于七十个新月币的价格把他卖出去，不过要与塔尔坎达成一致，还得耗上几小时。
想象一下你我若是无意中听见父母要将自己卖身为奴会是什么感受，但沙斯塔与你我都不同。一方面，他现在的生活不见得比奴隶好些，就他所知，这位骑着高大骏马的贵族陌生人或许对他会比阿什伊什更仁慈；另一方面，得知自己是从船上被捡回来的，他也满心欢喜，如释重负。他知道孩子理应爱自己的父亲，可无论他如何尝试，他都无法爱这个渔夫，这时常令他心神不定。不过现在，很显然，他和阿什伊什没有任何血缘关系，这就令他卸下了压在心头的重担。“哈！我可以是任何人！”他想，“我可能是塔尔坎或者蒂斯罗克（愿他万寿无疆）的儿子，说不定还可能是神的儿子呢！”
他站在小屋前的草地上想着这些。暮色迅速笼罩大地，零星的一两颗星星已然探头闪烁，而西边的天空仍染有夕阳的余晖。不远处，陌生人的骏马正嚼着草，缰绳松松地系在茅草棚墙上的一个铁环上。沙斯塔踱步来到马儿边上，轻拍它的脖颈，不过马儿只是继续嚼着草，并没有注意到他。
沙斯塔的脑袋里又冒出来另一个想法。“我很好奇那个塔尔坎是个怎样的人，”他大声说了出来，“他若是个仁慈的人，那就很好。有些大勋爵的奴隶们几乎不用干活，而且每天都能穿着体面的衣服，还有肉吃。也许之后他会带着我去打仗，而我在战争中救了他一命，他便会还我自由、收养我，还会给我一座宫殿，赠我战车和盔甲。但如果他是个可怕残忍的人，那我可能就要被扣上铁链送去田里干活了。我好想知道他是个怎样的人啊，可我怎么才能知道呢？我敢打赌这匹马一定知道，可惜它不能告诉我。”
马儿仰起了脑袋，沙斯塔轻抚它那绸缎般顺滑的鼻子说：“老伙计，要是你能说话就好了。”
接着，一瞬间沙斯塔以为自己是在做梦，那声音虽然低沉，可他却清晰地听见马儿说：“我会说话。”
沙斯塔惊奇地盯着马儿的大眼睛，自己的眼睛也瞪得几乎和马儿的眼睛一样大了。
“你是怎么学会说话的？”他问道。
“嘘！轻点声儿！”马儿回答说，“在我原来生活的地方，几乎所有动物都会说话。”
“那是哪儿？”沙斯塔问。
“纳尼亚，”马儿答道，“乐土纳尼亚！那儿有石南丛生的高山，百里香遍布的开阔丘陵；那儿百川奔流，幽谷中流水淙淙，山洞里爬满青苔，一望无际的森林深处，小矮人们的锤子碰撞发出叮叮咚咚的回响。啊，纳尼亚的空气是那么香甜！在那儿生活一小时远胜于在卡乐门待一千年。”说完他发出了嘶鸣，宛若一声叹息。
“那你怎么到这儿来了？”沙斯塔说。
“被绑架来的，”马儿回答，“或者说是被偷来的、被捕来的，随你怎么说。那时我还只是个幼崽。我妈妈警告我不要越过南边的山坡去亚钦兰及其以南地区，可是我并没放在心上，于是，以狮王的鬃毛起誓，我为自己的愚蠢付出了代价。这些年来，我沦为人类的奴仆，藏起本性，假装不会说话，和他们那些愚钝的马一样。”
“你为什么不告诉他们你的真实身份呢？”
“我可不傻。一旦他们发现我会说话，他们就会要我在集市上表演，然后百般看守我，那我可就真逃不掉了。”
“那为什么——”沙斯塔刚开口，马儿就打断了他。
“现在，”他说，“不要再浪费时间问那些没用的问题了。你想知道我的主人安拉丁塔尔坎是个怎样的人。他可不是个好人。他对我不算太坏，毕竟对战马过于严苛的话，可能得付出极大代价。但若是要到他府上当奴隶，你不如今晚就一死了之吧。”
“所以，我最好赶快逃走。”沙斯塔脸色惨白地说。
“没错，赶快逃。”马儿说，“不如带着我一起逃跑？”
“你也打算逃走吗？”沙斯塔问。
“对，如果你愿意和我一起的话。”马儿回答，“这对我俩来说都是个机会。你想，如果我背上没有骑手独自逃走，那看到我的人都会认为我是一匹‘野马’，然后他们会第一时间追赶我。如果你愿意帮我，我背上有了骑手，那我就能轻松地离开了。另一方面，只靠你自己的那两条小短腿（人类的腿真是蠢极了！）你跑不了多远就会被追上了，但是如果有我帮你，骑在我身上，你就能远远甩开这个国家的所有马。顺便问一句，你会骑马吧？”如果你愿意帮我，我背上有了骑手，那我就能轻松地离开了。另一方面，只靠你自己的那两条小短腿（人类的腿真是蠢极了！）你跑不了多远就会被追上了，但是如果有我帮你，骑在我身上，你就能远远甩开这个国家的所有马。顺便问一句，你会骑马吧？”
“啊，当然，”沙斯塔说，“至少我骑过驴子。”
“骑过什么？”马儿极其不屑地反问道。（至少，马儿表达的就是这个意思。事实上，他说话时带有一些马嘶声——“骑过什——什——什——什么”。能言马在生气的时候说话的腔调总会更像马一些。）
“也就是说，”他继续道，“你不会骑马，这可不妙。我得一边走一边教你。如果你不会骑马的话，你会摔下来吗？”
“我想任何人都会摔下来的吧。”沙斯塔说。
“我的意思是你能不能做到摔下来以后不哭不闹地站起来，重新爬到我背上，并且毫不畏惧再次摔下来？”
“我、我尽力。”沙斯塔说。“可怜的小家伙，”马儿的语气温和了些，“我忘了你只是个小孩儿而已。我会尽快让你成为一名优秀的骑手的。现在——我们得等到那俩人都睡着才能出发，我们可以趁这段时间制订一下计划。我的塔尔坎主人此次要北上到大城市塔什班，他要去蒂斯罗克的宫廷——”
“我说，”沙斯塔的语气中满是震惊，“你不说一句‘愿他万寿无疆’吗？”
“为什么要说呢？”马儿反问，“我是自由的纳尼亚子民，为什么我要说那些奴隶们和傻子们才说的话？我并不希望他万寿无疆，而且无论我是否希望，他都不可能长命百岁。我看得出你也属于自由的北方，你我之间不需要这种南方套话了！现在，专注于我们的计划。刚刚我说了，我的主人要北上去塔什班。”
“这是不是意味着我们南下会更好？”
“我不这么认为，”马儿说，“你看，他认为我不会说话，和他那些愚钝的马一样。如果我真是那样，缰绳一松我就会踏上归途回家或者回牧场。往南两天路程就能到他的宫殿，他会去那儿找我。他做梦也不会想到我会独自去北方。而且，他也可能认为是前一个村子有人盯上了他，并且跟到了这儿把我偷走。”
“哇，好棒！”沙斯塔说，“那我们去北方。我一直都想去北方看看。”
“那当然，”马儿说，“你的身体里流淌着北方的血。我确定你一定是个北方人。说话轻一点儿，我想他们马上就要睡着了。”
“我还是溜回去看一眼吧。”沙斯塔提议。
“好主意。”马儿说，“不过小心别被抓住。”
好在天色暗了许多，四周鸦雀无声，只有海浪拍在沙滩上的声音，不过沙斯塔从记事起便日日夜夜听着海浪声，并未留意。他悄悄靠近小屋，屋子里并没有光。他把耳朵凑到前门，没有听见任何声音；他又绕到了屋后唯一的窗户那儿，每隔一两秒他就能听见老渔夫那熟悉的鼾声。如果一切顺利他就再也不用听这鼾声了，一想到这点他就感到开心。带着一丝歉意——不过他心中的喜悦可比歉意要多得多——他屏住呼吸溜过草坪，跑到了拴毛驴的茅草屋，摸索着到了藏钥匙的地方，打开茅草棚的门找到了被锁起来的马鞍和缰绳。他倾身向前吻了下小毛驴的鼻子。“抱歉，我们不能带上你一起。”他说。
“终于来了，”他回来时马儿说，“我都开始担心你是不是出事儿了。”
“我去茅草棚那儿拿你的东西了，”沙斯塔回应道，“现在，你能告诉我这些要怎么弄吗？”
接下来的几分钟，沙斯塔便小心翼翼地尽量不出声地按照马儿的指示操作了，“把肚带再收紧些”“你会在下面找到一个搭扣”或者“你得把马镫再弄短一些”。全部搞定后，他说：
“现在，出于表面功夫的考虑，我们需要戴上缰绳，不过你用不到它们。把它们系到鞍头上，松一点儿，这样我就能随意转动我的头了。记住，不要动它们。”
“那它们是用来做什么的呢？”沙斯塔问。
“通常是用来控制我的行进方向的。”马儿回答，“不过既然本次旅程的方向将由我来决定，你就可以解放双手了。还有一件事，你不要揪住我的鬃毛。”
“但是，”沙斯塔哀求道，“如果我不能握缰绳也不能揪你的鬃毛，那我该怎么才能坐稳？”
“靠你的膝盖，”马儿回答，“这是优秀骑手的秘诀。双膝用力夹紧我的身体，坐直了，像一根棍子那样笔笔直，然后手肘向内收。另外，你打算怎么处理马刺？”
“当然是放在脚后跟上，”沙斯塔说，“我知道这个。”
“还是把它们拿下来装进挂包里吧。到了塔什班，也许可以把它们卖了。准备好了吗？你现在该上来了。”
“噢，你实在太高了。”初次上马以失败告终后，沙斯塔喘着粗气道。
“我是一匹马，就是这样。”马儿回应道，“你刚才上马的动作只会让人觉得我是一堆干草！再来一次，好多了。现在，上身坐直，记得我告诉你膝盖要怎么做吗？想当年在骑兵队我可是领头的马，我还拿过赛马比赛的冠军呢，结果现在背上却是像个土豆袋儿一样的你，真是滑稽！好吧，无论如何，出发啦。”马儿一阵轻笑，不过听起来并无恶意。
万分谨慎的夜逃之旅就此启程。第一步是直奔渔夫小屋南侧那条流向大海的小河，马儿小心地在泥土上留下了些指向南方的脚印。然而一到小河浅滩中部，他便掉头逆流而上，涉水前行，直到比那渔夫的小屋还要深入内陆大约一百码的地方才停下。他精挑细选了一块布满碎石的河岸确保不会留下任何脚印，从北侧上了岸，以走路的速度慢步向北行进，直到小屋、小屋前的树、小毛驴的茅草棚，这些沙斯塔所熟悉的一切事物全部消失在了夏日灰暗的夜色之中。他们一路向坡上走，现在已经到达了山脊的顶部——一直以来，这山脊都是沙斯塔所知世界的边界。除了芳草丛生的开阔土地，他再也望不见其他，面前的土地一望无际，如此狂放，如此孤寂，如此自由。
“哇，”马儿看着这片草地说，“这里多适合纵情奔跑呀！”
“啊，不要，”沙斯塔说，“现在先别，我还没学会呢，拜托了，马儿。哎，我还不知道你的名字。”
“布里希——西尼——布里尼——霍奇——汉。”马儿说。
“我绝对记不住那么长的名字，”沙斯塔说，“我可以叫你布里吗？”
“好吧，如果你只能记住这个的话，你就这样叫吧，”马儿说，“那我该怎么称呼你呢？”
“我叫沙斯塔。”
“呃，”布里说，“好吧，你的名字才难念呢。现在我们来考虑一下飞奔的事儿吧。这其实比你知道的小跑要简单多了，你也不用再饱受马背上的颠簸之苦。夹紧你的膝盖，双眼直直地从我双耳之间望向前方，别看地面。如果你觉得你要摔下去了，就更用力地夹紧膝盖，坐得更直一些。准备好了吗？现在，让我们一路向北，向纳尼亚进发！
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