A short fairytale, in traditional vein, set in Narnia at Christmas during the reign of the Pevensie siblings. It contains no bad language or violence.
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CHRISTMAS IN NARNIA
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"Go forth, ye servants, watch and wait"
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It was four weeks before Christmas and all Narnia waited in keen anticipation of the season. 'The Waiting Time' was (more or less) what we would call Advent. There was still a sense of liberation and joy throughout the land. As we might decorate homes and workplaces with greenery to symbolise life in the depths of winter, so did most Narnians. What great cause they had to celebrate too! A century of oppression had ended, just a few years before. The cold, stultifying hand of ice that had pressed them to the hard, frozen earth was lifted.
Native Narnians had always known the meaning of Christmas. How could they not, with their original Kings being descended from King Frank and Queen Helen? Could they have failed to understand when their world had been created through Aslan? They knew the light that shines in the darkness, illustrated by the passing of the darkest time of the year. In that magical land a lantern shone perpetually and the darkness could not overcome it.
Two weeks before Christmas Eve was the 'Unthrall' (or what we might call the Freedom Festival). It was a great, sprawling affair, but lately instituted. It centred on fields surrounding a small town that had mushroomed about the castle of Cair Paravel. A low winter sun did its best to add to the jollity by sparing more light and heat than expected. It thus gave the event its distant approval. A few bemoaned the lack of ice for skating upon (but then some folk are never happy).
Most of the stall holders and pedlars were Human, or Dwarf, with a few exceptions. Mr Tumnus, for example, hoped to sell his pungent, squashy cheeses to the unsuspecting public. The wiser sort gave his table a wide berth. An eccentric centaur, a little down on his luck, offered to tell fortunes. A surprising amount of fairgoers found that they were to meet a dark stranger or come into money. Some centaurs were rather snooty about him peddling his 'skills' like that. One of the more popular events was 'dunking the witch' not dissimilar to the Aunt Sallies once commonly found in British fairgrounds. "Roll up, roll up, tip 'er majesty in t' water," roared a barker, "only one 'tree' a go". A dummy of the White Witch sat precariously on a high chair, bedecked in a white robe and paste jewels. Striking the small target with a wooden ball would plunge the dummy into a barrel of water, to great hilarity. After one hundred years of misery under the self-styled Queen of Narnia, it was hardly surprising that the game was doing a brisk trade.
"There she goes, the old iniquity," roared one elderly Dwarf as the dummy fell again. He received a sharp dig in the ribs from his wife and was told to conduct himself with more decorum. It's a myth by the way that there are no female Dwarfs. Those who believe Dwarfs to be born out of the earth have clay in their own heads. The Queen was surprisingly popular at the fair, although she'd have been furious to know it. There was an archery competition with round targets held by stuffed 'Jadis' dummies. Every contestant got three shots and the more confident liked to waste one in trying to pierce a dummy.
"See their majesties and t'old witch, in our play," cried a Dwarf, paid to advertise a theatrical performance. "One tree to see the tale of t'late war; two trees gets you a bale of hay to sit on." A chattering crowd squashed inside a modestly sized marquee (borrowed from the royal court) and seemed likely to burst it at the seams. Self-conscious boys and girls played the Pevensie siblings with Edmund's earliest part in events being politely glossed over. Aslan only appeared as a shadow puppet cast upon a white cloth, because it was rude to impersonate Him. A wiry old fellow produced an unflattering portrayal of the late Queen however, which was worthy of any pantomime.
The exiles that had flocked back to Narnia from foreign parts brought new and interesting tastes with them. Spiced nuts, Calormene style, were a particular favourite with some. It must be admitted that others (including poor Tumnus) found the unfamiliar heat alarming. Several of the talking squirrels were inclined to be indignant and the word 'abomination' was freely used. Pieces of fish fried in breadcrumbs (or else dried and salted) were very popular as were the roasted chestnuts. One bold fellow, inspired, hastily advertised himself as an attraction: "man eating fish". He soon had to pull himself out of the midden in which his first customers had deposited him. Picking raisins from a plate of burning spirits was another – if unaccountably - well-liked game. There was a minor commotion when a blacksmith (three times a winner) found himself barred from further attempts.
I regret to say that there were two arrests that day, both for drunkenness. The pair were carted off to the castle to cool their heads in a chilly cell, until sober and chastened enough to release. Maybe it's best to attribute their condition to the strength of the Archenland cider they'd consumed. On a happier note, the High King Peter was tempted to try his strength against Gilath 'the giant' of Archenland in the wrestling ring. Gilath was indeed a huge fellow (but not of giant blood) who'd defeated all comers so far that day. Peter Pevensie, grown into a doughty man, did better than most: lasting into the sixth round. Finally though, Peter was dumped unceremoniously outside the circle, with one almighty heave. The King was a fair man of equable temper and laughed as he dusted himself down. Shrugging himself into his tunic he offered, "There's always a job for you in the Castle Guard my friend, if you ever tire of the ring. I mean it: come and see me." King Edmund faired creditably in the footrace, coming third out of twenty; finishing behind a ploughboy and a woodcutter's daughter. Both were renowned for being fleet of foot and the King took third spot with good grace.
Even during that golden age, Narnia wasn't entirely free of evil. The guards had spotted two known cutpurses who'd been advised to leave, for their own good. Several strangers also walked unnoticed amidst the throng, cloaked and veiled, anonymous and engaged on dubious errands. One such person was actually scanning those about her, hoping to find a particular face. Now, there were still some stragglers from the witch's army in the land. They were bitter and full of fear, for they hated the new regime and Aslan in particular. They lived on in the lonely places – the heights of the hills and the dankest glades of the forests – scared of being brought to justice. They were like witless ants scattered from a hill without a controlling, consuming force to direct them. Few had contemplated Jadis ever being toppled. They had no contingency plans; even finding another wicked soul to commune with wasn't easy.
The hag – for a hag she was – had a basket of fruit in hand as if to demonstrate her very ordinariness. She'd thought that she'd caught a glimpse of sister but had then lost her in the crowds. A further hour of walking about aimlessly made her tired and, if possible, even more ill natured than normal. She leaned against a fence to catch her breath, muttering to herself.
A young lad of seven watched her curiously. "Hullo!" he said.
"Huh," the hag grunted.
"Are you ill?" he asked. I think it's fair to say that was more curiosity than concern. He was watching her wheezing like a pair of old bellows, with some fascination.
"Brat," she muttered.
The young lad, Siward, was used to worse from his grown-up sisters so he didn't take offence. He cocked his head to listen to her wheezing. "My grandfather sounded like that," he began.
"Huh!"
"He died," the boy continued innocently. He didn't mean to upset the 'lady'; it was more a case of "out of the mouths of babes and sucklings."
"Brat," the hag repeated.
Siward wasn't a bad child at all but he did have a disconcerting habit of being extremely tactless. He was undeniably slightly irritating. Certain filters come to most people, with age. The brain learns to stop the mouth from saying whatever first pops up. Siward was not yet at that age. "No, 'tis true, he was all wheezy like you, just before he died." The hag lifted her head and stared at him over her veil. Siward would learn to keep his opinions to himself.
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"By hair, skin and bone, let his nose be overgrown"
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Ignoring the rumbles of his stomach, King Edmund heard the last petitioners of the afternoon. It had been a busy session, for many folks were doing business before Christmas began. "There's just one case left, majesty," said the clerk.
"Who is it?"
"A Mistress Bell from the town; she needs assistance for her son."
Columbine Bell entered the chamber looking nervous. However approachable they might be, it is always daunting petitioning a king. "Your majesty, I need help with my boy, Siward." She indicated the small lad draped in her cloak, who was staring at the floor.
"What may I do for you, madam?" Edmund asked.
"Oh, majesty, I'm at my wit's end. He crossed a witch or hag at the Unthrall. The poor boy," she said, trailing off suddenly.
"What ails the lad?"
"Take a look, sire," she said pushing back the child's hood. "Put your head up, Siward," she told him. The boy looked at the King and Edmund saw the most remarkable thing: his nose was abnormally shaped. Now many people with larger noses look handsome, noble or dignified. Siward's nose was none of those things. It was the length and thickness of a man's index finger and stuck out prominently. "Look what's been done to him," the lady lamented.
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"Behold, the bridegroom draweth nigh!"
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The Unthrall had been but a tantalising taste of Christmas. Until then however, the 'Waiting Time' had gone on. Animals were tended, goods traded, logs chopped, houses cleaned. The domestic business of the land continued, but mostly with a lightness of heart in anticipation of the festive season.
The day before Christmas Eve was a busy one. Floors were brushed, chimneys swept and stocks of fuel brought inside. Extra sacks of animal feed were carted to distant farmhouses to tide them over for the coming holiday. Baking went on apace; those that lacked stoves could use ovens at the castle. Pedlars and apprentice boys went door-to-door. There was a tremendous trade in small gifts and baked goods. Every time there was a knock at the door some further treat was on offer, from peg-dolls to whistles, porkpies to jam-tarts. Children were sent out in groups to gather greenery to deck their homes. They came back with carts loaded with holly, bags full of ivy and handfuls of mistletoe. Infants trailed about at their parents' heels, solemnly sucking on thumbs and wondering quite what all the fuss was about.
Christmas Eve dawned fair and many folks got up early, with a spring in their step. There was that special feeling in the air; an anticipation that is almost tangible. It was an ordinary working day for many, although the luckier few would finish their labours early and declare that Christmas had come.
A very light lunch of fish was served at Cair Paravel that day. Fasting was unknown in Narnia but everyone knew that a glut of feasts was to follow. Not only that, but there was a friendly horserace that afternoon. The Queens Lucy and Susan were riding in it, as were several of the great ladies of court. It was inadvisable to eat much lunch and feel sluggish. The race was a new tradition, being but the third of its kind. There was particular interest in seeing how Lady Reposco performed and many considered her to be the favourite. She'd come to the court disguised as a young knight and had won the respect of many.
Marshals were posted about the district to oversee the race. Not because cheating was anticipated, but the course was lengthy and it would be easy to go astray. Quite a crowd had gathered to see the riders depart. Courtiers, off-duty guards and those fortunate enough not to be at work, all jostled to watch the spectacle. The Captain of the Guards carefully checked all of the harnesses before the riders mounted their horses. Then, at a signal from the Gonaflon, they trotted elegantly behind him in a line, towards the main gate.
A caparison of cloth-of-gold awaited the winner: a magnificent horse-coat. The High King could see the eagerness in Lady Reposco's eyes; the other women would have to ride like the furies to deprive her of it. "My royal sisters; ladies of the court; you are symbols of all that is best of the new Narnia. You will ride hard and fair, I know. The winner will receive this magnificent caparison for her mount and will lead out the competitors in the New Year joust. In a moment, a horn will be sounded. When you hear the third blast, ride, ride like the wind!" King Peter then hurried out of the way for there was a very real prospect of being flattened. Reposco in particular had a determined look in her eyes, as did his sister Susan.
"Fare thee well, Queen Lucy," Mr Tumnus called out. He waved one hand, gripping a sandwich with the other (for he'd felt the ill effects of that light lunch most keenly).
"Thank you, dear Mr Tumnus," Lucy replied, waving back.
When the horn was winded for a third time the riders burst forth from the gate like a torrent from a cliff side. Watchers from the battlements called to those below, "Queen Susan is in front."
"Lady Augusta has taken the lead."
"The Lady Reposco is now neck and neck with her majesty, Queen Susan." It was going to be a hard fought race indeed.
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"Joyful and triumphant"
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There was a ripple of applause when Reposco entered the Great Hall that evening. Massive boughs of greenery dressed the room. Huge balls of bent willow, wrapped in holly and ivy, hung from the ceilings. The best wax candles lit the place, for the usual tallow ones were too smelly for such a special occasion. Some of the more eager were already at board, looking forward to the feast. Anyway, it was considered poor etiquette to arrive after the Royal Siblings. The Lady Reposco had jointly won the race with the Queen Susan. Her horse had stumbled in a rabbit hole towards the end and had nearly thrown her. Despite that, the two riders had come in neck-to-neck, impossible to separate. In true Queenly fashion, Susan had conceded her claim on the magnificent caparison to her subject. Queen Lucy came in a respectable seventh, looking flushed and windblown, having thoroughly enjoyed the ride.
When all but the royals were present there was a sudden fanfare and a solemn procession entered to cheers. At the front was a serving girl by the name of Myrtle. She wore a fine, heavy gown and a laurel wreath. She'd won, by lot, the right to be 'Princess of the Feast' and to head a table of other servants invited to the festivities. It was another recent innovation, a custom brought from foreign parts by exiles and it was reminiscent of the Boy Bishops of medieval England. The servants took their benches and looked around with a mixture of pleasure and shyness.
"Three cheers for Princess Myrtle," proposed a page.
"Hip-hip-hurray!" roared the crowd. Some of the younger, rowdier guests took the opportunity to fling bread rolls at each other. Mr Tumnus, a royal adviser, stared at them in disapproval.
Catching his hard stare, a young knight made a further proposal. "Three cheers for Master Tumnus, friend of their majesties…and a purveyor of fine cheeses!"
The guests again roared their approval and the good faun blushed (not recognising the sting in the tail). "Thank you my friends," he acknowledged, half standing.
"Three cheers for Christmas," the emboldened Myrtle suggested, stood on a bench. That rightly brought the greatest response of all. Then silence fell as the trumpeter at the door heralded the approach of their majesties. Benches scraped as the revellers got respectfully to their feet. The High King, a mighty warrior, entered with his sister, Queen Susan, on his arm. All of the young men (and a few of the older ones) sighed inwardly at her beauty. Behind them was the much respected King Edmund leading the beloved Queen Lucy. All were magnificently attired in honour of the season.
Whilst his siblings took their seats, Peter remained on his feet to address the court. "This is not a night for long speeches…" he began.
"Huzzah," a young and over-excited page shouted. He was roundly shushed and went red with embarrassment.
Peter smiled, "You are right, my friend. Tonight is a night to relish the liberty we all have. And so I give you just the one toast," and with that everyone raised their cups. "To liberty, Christmas and Aslan!" he called.
"Liberty, Christmas and Aslan," went the shout from all present.
Before the feast proper there was entertainment. The hungrier revellers had to content themselves with nuts or bread to stave off their pangs. A family of brothers and sisters from Archenland astounded their audience with an acrobatic display, finishing with a human pyramid. A juggler started his act with clubs, moved on to plates and finished with burning torches to appreciative applause. Finally however it was time for all to dine. The court used a system we'd find old-fashioned but that is actually very agreeable. All of the courses were served at table at once, with stocks replenished several times throughout the meal. If you wanted a plate filled, say, with beef, game pie, pickled onions, fruitcake, curd-tart and whipped cream then there was nothing to stop you.
As Edmund picked thoughtfully at a more cautious plate, he remembered the problem with the boy Siward. He leaned back in his chair to call out to the Court Astrologer, Saturnus, who was dining at the end of the table. It's not too easy for centaurs to join humans at a normal table but it can be done. "Master Astrologer," said the King, "What news of the boy, Siward Bell?"
Saturnus put down the plate, from which he had been filling his human stomach. "I'm at a loss, your majesty. He is clearly bewitched but I've found no remedy. I've scoured the works of my distinguished ancestors but to no avail. I have brought him to the castle, so that I can study the problem at first hand."
"What is the matter?" asked Queen Lucy, catching the conversation. Edmund duly explained and the kind-natured queen was most sorry for the youngster. "Poor boy; perhaps I might cheer him up. After all, tomorrow is Christmas morn and not a time for sorrow."
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"A maiden in her lowly place, became in ways beyond all thought, the chosen vessel of his grace"
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It should have been the most happy of mornings for Narnians throughout the land. A stay in a comfortable chamber, in the splendid castle of Cair Paravel, ought to have delighted Columbine Bell and her son. In the circumstances, though, they were very anxious because of the boy's nose. "Do you think it's any smaller, ma?" Siward asked when he arose.
The fond mother looked at his finger-like proboscis and told a little lie. "Why yes, I believe it is, just a bit." She got him dressed (for he was inclined to dawdle) and then there was a knock on the door.
"Her majesty, the Queen Lucy, would see you both for breakfast," said the waiting page. They hurriedly ran combs through their hair and the page then escorted them to the Queen's own parlour. The Bells made their respective curtsy and bow and the Queen rose to greet them.
"How nice to see you both, and a very merry Christmas to you," the Queen said.
"Merry Christmas ma'am," they said in unison.
"Please take a seat and we shall breakfast together." There was a pretty table set with smoked kippers, toast, marmalade and a special porridge (made with cream and cinnamon). The table cloth was of finely worked lace and there was a vase of greenery as decoration. As Lucy dropped her napkin into her lap she said, "I trust that you are being treated well?"
"Yes indeed, ma'am".
"You have been having a very uncomfortable time, though, Siward," the Queen went on. He was determined not to blub and so nodded with his lips tight. It didn't go unnoticed. "Pray don't be sad, for this is a happy day."
"I know," Siward said with a sniff.
"Our best people are working on it, and they won't be beaten." The boy nodded again but small tears had gathered in the corners of his eyes. Overwhelmed with compassion, Lucy rose and went around to him. She put a hand on his shoulder and said, "If only Aslan were here! He would cure you!" Even saying His name brought back the enormous comfort of His presence. 'Of course, He is always with me,' she said to herself, "when is He not truly here?" Finding that thought enormously reassuring she dropped a kiss onto the boy's head.
Whether it was due to Lucy's faith and love, demonstrated on that most sacred of days, I don't know, but Siward's nose began to shrink. At first it tingled but then began to itch wildly. He put his hand up and felt it diminish beneath his fingers. "My nose," he gasped, "something's happening."
"It's…I think it's…going down," said his mother.
"It is!" the Queen agreed, joyfully. They watched as his nose returned to its normal size and shape.
"Is it really alright?" Siward said in wonder.
"Here," Lucy said, snatching up a shiny, silver platter, "see for yourself." The lad studied his reflection in the plate and grinned. "Merry Christmas, Siward!" said the Queen; and a jolly day it was to be indeed.
In the afternoon, the Bells gathered with many others in the courtyard to watch a playful tourney. Four pairs of foot-knights were to compete, including Edmund and Peter. All wore padded suits and carried wooden swords and light bucklers. Despite the best efforts of the challengers, the Kings won both of their battles and distributed the prize money amongst those that needed it most. Mother and son were very nervous on the night, for the off-duty castle staff had generously made Siward their 'Prince of the Feast' and he led them into the Great Hall. The lad was nervous making the toast, but his ending of "and three cheers for Queen Lucy," went down a storm.
On Boxing Day, still full from the night before but loaded with yet more foodstuffs, the Bells returned to their home, on the back of a donkey cart, all the better for their adventures. I won't claim that Siward had become perfect overnight but he was starting to learn the wisdom of knowing when to be silent.
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The end
Notes
Astrology: in our world astrology is nonsense, but in Narnia it did actually work.
Boy Bishops: A tradition from the middle ages whereby a chorister was chosen to parody the adult Bishop, often on the feast of Holy Innocents (28th December)
Gonaflon: a royal standard (in Narnia, the title given to the standard bearer).
Man-eating fish: a fairground confidence trick; my late grandfather claimed to have once fallen for this as a boy.
Old iniquity: the possible source of 'old Nick', a name for the Devil.
Pantomine: a theatrical entertainment originating in Great Britain, often over Christmas, and frequently based on a traditional fairytale. Usually with broad humour, songs and audience participation.
Reposco: for more on Reposco please see my short stories inc. 'The Claimant'
Section headings: from various Christmas carols
Siward: Sea guardian; victory guardian (Old English)
Thrall: from an old Norse word meaning a person in bondage of serfdom. Narnian's added the prefix 'un' to proclaim liberty from bondage.
Tree: a small Narnian coin