Mine Eyes Have Seen

What happened on the last voyage of King Caspian? A sequel for "Why the King Set Sail."

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When he had been young, it had been heart-wrenching. And now, a whole life-time later, the answer was the same. Go Back.

Sail no further. Seek no new adventure. Go no further eastward.

And there, on the yellowed winter grass, he had knelt before the great Lion. And there had come the most unreasonable sense of peace.

Peace. It was still with him, here. Here on the very bow deck of his ship, going westward. Going back. A strange, impossible, peace.

They were four days now from Muil. It was four days since the Star's Daughter had put in to that little anchorage for fresh water, on its tortuous cruising hunt among the Seven Isles for the source of the rumour that had brought them there. Aslan had been seen – somewhere. Anyone would gladly tell you that. Somewhere, and when you asked, they had only heard it from someone else, who had heard it from another, and another, and another. Each time he had asked the question, Caspian had felt a little more weary. Where, where, where? The weather was worsening, his crew was tiring of the days battling to and fro to gain a single channel against winter winds and currents. But – he had to know. The King of Narnia could not leave his land without an heir, could he?

And so, they had gone on. Not on and on, into the east as in that glorious voyage to the edge of the world, but on in small, tormenting hops. Here and there, asking, looking. Have you seen Him? Is He here?

Four days ago, it had been different. The little bay had no village or harbour, no dwellings at all, and they had put in merely for water. A plain little bay, nowhere in particular, but suddenly Caspian had wanted nothing more than to go onshore, to be free for five minutes of this impatient worry that nagged at him with every tilt and rise of the ship. To be free – and also to be away from the anxious, careful watch of the men on board ship with him. He knew the way the young Lords Bern and Mavramorn hovered behind him at every step, 'just in case.' He knew it! And their concern and youth and his weariness and age had risen to almost choke the King as he ordered: "The boat! And no attendants!"

On the island, the men had been busy filling the casks from the stream, and for a little while Caspian had stood and watched them. It was a familiar task from long years of seafaring, full of small, familiar things: the chuckle of the running water, the splash of the buckets, the laughter of the men as they worked, even on that grey autumn day. But the wind, on that grey autumn day, had been cold, and Caspian had turned to walk up and down a little. Those two young cubs pressed him quite enough without him catching a chill and going and actually needing fussing over.

He had only meant to walk up and down. The wind was cold, the bushes were bare, and the grass underfoot was sparse and muddy in the way that heralds winter. There was nothing particularly inviting, but somehow Caspian had found himself going on and on – until quite suddenly he had found the reason why. Around a bend in an old sheep trail on a deserted shore of Muil was a queer place for the King of Narnia to meet the Son of the Emperor Beyond The Sea. But Caspian had not thought of that. All he had thought of was the expression in the Lion's eyes, and the old phrase of Peter the High King which Trumpkin had recounted to him long ago.

"Oh, Aslan. I'm so glad. And I'm so sorry."

Remembering now, from on board ship, Caspian did not think the Lion had seemed angry with him. But He had been firm.

"Go back to Narnia. The one who will reign after you will be waiting there."

And with turning, there on the shore had come the sudden peace. And with the Lion's kiss upon his forehead, had come a kind of quiet joy. Joy in little things – in the sound of the sea and the sway of the ship and the crack and snap of the swelling sails overhead. All those things had been there on the outward journey, but as pleasures that he had had to grasp at, to clutch after with old shaking hands that caught only some weak ghost of the old joy. Now, it was as if they were poured out in abundance. No more tortuous creeping: the Star's Daughter rushed steadily before an fair east wind. Going back. Going home.

The crew were still watching him; perhaps, Caspian felt, even a little more since he had given the order to turn back. But now, he had a smile for them, and their anxious glances would break into the quick grin of comradeship that should exist between a captain and a crew. As for Bern and Mavramorn – the young cubs did not hover behind him any more. Caspian no longer felt weary, but somehow the swelling deck seemed unsteadier beneath his feet. And so, coming to the bow deck each time – for how else on board ship could he do anything to keep mind and body turning towards Narnia as he had been bid? – one or other of the young lords had walked with him, one arm around his shoulders as if he was one of them, not 'the old King.'

They too seemed to have caught his focus on going onwards, not looking back. At this very moment, while Caspian sat on the bow deck in the low chair they had brought for him, Lord Bern had vanished up into the look-out post in the bow itself, while Lord Mavramorn leaned over the gunwale, watching the water creaming under the bows and whistling softly to himself. It was the tune of a sea-shanty Caspian had learned from King Edmund on the Dawn Treader. Caspian could not help smiling. Whoever was to reign after him, Narnia would remain a sea-faring country.

Who would reign after him? Somehow, that question did not seem important any more. He was going back, and so the one who would reign after him would be waiting there. Again, that unreasonable sense of peace seemed to come into the matter. There would be a king for Narnia. Since the King must be a Son of Adam, not a Son of Earth, it would not simply be Trumpkin as a regent, as he had once in deepest despair feared. Perhaps it would be one of the other Narnian lords, or some son of the Duke of Galma, since both of those had distant links to the Telmarine royal line. Or perhaps it would be the second Prince of Archenland, whose lineage could be traced somewhat tentatively to the first Narnian royal line. Or perhaps – but these were arguments that had been old and stale even before Caspian had embarked on this last voyage. Now, they were irrelevant. He had turned back. And so there would be a King for Narnia.

Perhaps Narnia had been in some unsuspected danger, and a man had arisen to deliver them by the Lion's name, and prove himself worthy of the throne. Somehow, Caspian found it hard to concentrate on the matter. There would be a King – and beyond that, his mind seemed to wander a little, back to the faces of those he had turned back to last time. Master Cornelius, Glenstorm the Centaur, loyal and valiant Trumpkin, Trufflehunter … all his people. And somehow, there was Eustace too, and Lucy and Edmund, and the fair face of his wife, bright and shining as when she had only been known as Ramandu's daughter to him. His wife, and his son – and even there, there was only peace, not pain.

He was going back, and if his strength seemed to ebb from him with every mile they sailed, that did not seem to matter. The one who was to reign after him would be waiting, and after that, the Lion knew. And King Caspian the Seafarer felt that was quite good enough for him.

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