Chapter 2: Lindenlea Farm

It was now dusk.

Gwyn trotted up the slope to the farmhouse where it sat on a shelf of land that looked up at the Archen Mountains and the southern sky. There was forest behind and a large garden spreading out down the hill. Then fields that dropped down to another tumbling river that was a tributary to the Archen.

He stumbled panting in at the house gate. He flipped the wooden latch and had the presence of mind to carefully drop it back behind him as he closed it. There was a lamp hanging on the front veranda. His mother was sitting on the veranda her legs spread wide as she used a knife to top and tail onions into her grubby apron. She gave Gwyn a tired smile of welcome but then looked at him again sharply as he came closer.

"What's wrong son? Did you have an accident or something? Any luck with the river prawns love?" she asked, as she took in his panting and the twigs and leaves that had caught in his hair. She stood up, onions falling onto the floor and reached out to brush some of the bits off him. She also noticed that the knee of his right trouser had been torn and she wasn't looking forward to patching it up, but no matter. "Do you know if they found the missing goats?" he panted, venturing to cover his anxiety with something closer to home. She simply said, "not yet", and then simply waited, watching him as he caught his breath..

After a few moments, Gwyn told her the story of what he'd seen. About the gryphon's headlong flight down the Archen Valley, its great grating cry and then disappearance into the late afternoon shadows of Narnia towards Cair Paravel. Now he told it out loud it didn't seem nearly as dramatic or important as it had felt at the time. It even occurred to him then that probably his mother had often seen the royal messengers flying to and fro and began to wonder if she would laugh and tell him he was being dramatic.

He looked doubtfully at his mother. But she looked back at him gravely, with a slight frown furrowing her brow.

Her clear brown eyes caught a little of the lamp light and glinted. Then she said, "I think you did well to come home quickly Gwyn. Not only was it high time to be home", she said with a wry hint of a laugh, "but I think when a royal messenger comes past in such a hurry and bothers to cry out, goodness knows it must have been breathless with all its effort, it was either in great distress or trying to warn us of something... or both."

It's a pity you couldn't hear its words clearly. But there is something afoot. Don't fret too much though Gwyn love. Let me think on it, and when your father gets home we'll talk it over and work out if there's anything to be done."

"Maybe the messenger birds will tell us something in the next day or two.", he added hopefully.

She paused and smiled at him. "Come on, time to come inside, dinner to be cooking".

With that, she leaned down, scooped up the onions, unhooked the lamp from the hook and holding it up for him to take, ushered Gwyn inside with it. Gwyn was getting to be a tall boy, his wavy dark locks nearly topping her shoulder. She looked down fondly on him.

He could be a scapegrace at times but he was a respectful lad and perceptive. And clever with his hands. She believed the farm would be in these good hands when eventually the time came for she and her husband to go to Aslan's country. Then, before going back inside, she paused on the threshold and holding the lamp behind her, stared for a few moments directly into the gathering darkness, listening.

The small entrance hall, that helped keep the heat in when people went to and fro in cold weather, had a few coats and boots and snow shoes hanging up, and a hook with a polished steel shield that could be used as a mirror. The farmhouse was dark except for her lamp and the glow that came from the large dwarf-made wrought iron cooking stove. She went to the stove against the far wall, took a dry piece of oiled river-rush, lit it at the stove and using it as a taper, briskly went round and lit three more lamps that hung from hooks around the walls.

If you had been there, you would have seen one very large room, with scrubbed dark timber floor, a great slab of dark grey stone at the far end with the with stove on top, shelves, benches, table, kitchen chairs and sitting room and workshop all in one. Bunches of herbs and smoked sausages hung from one rafter, a few burnished pots and pans from another. On one side of the stove was a door that led to a bedroom. On the other, was an alcove with a bath. Then a little set of steps that wound up to a loft next to the flue. This was where Gwyn slept.

On the right wall was a door that led to another small room that had belonged to someone else until fairly recently. On the left wall was another door that doubled as a woodshed and the sleeping quarters for Rastus and Clive, although Clive often insisted on sleeping on the hearthrug and Rastus usually stayed out with the dumb goats in good weather or in the barn on winter nights.

Sometimes in the spring both Rastus and Clive would get restless and go roaming, Rastus up to the higher fells in the neighbourhood looking for his people, and Clive to the more populous village lands along the great river. They would disappear sometimes for weeks on end. But they always came back, usually looking a little smug with a spring in their step but occasionally a little woebegone. They never spoke much about their doings to Gwyn, but just coughed in their goaty and doggy ways and sheepishly asked after everyone's health. Gwyn's parents would grin and simply say "sowing wild oats again?". If one of them came back looking woebegone, they might get some extra helpings of mash or warm soup and be made a fuss of for a few days.

Sometimes in the evenings Rastus joined Clive and the family as they talked about the goings-on at the farm and what the messenger birds had been reporting of wider events.

On these nights if it was inclement weather, Rastus would use his sleeping quarters but by morning he was usually gone and had been down to inspect the main goat herd and was ready to make a report on their state of health by breakfast. Sometimes it was "all fine today... so far" or it could be "Martha's got a sore left hoof, must be a thorn... no doubt you'll have her leg off by evening". Or, "Daisy's milk's not flowing, sore udder, the new kids'll probably die, I shouldn't wonder".

But despite his steady pessimism, he was such an asset to the farm because he could always tell when anything was wrong or which goat was antsy with another, that managing the goats and keeping them so happy and well could not gave been done without him.

Rastus certainly took Aslan's ancient instruction seriously, "the dumb beasts whom I have not chosen are yours also. Treat them gently and cherish them".

The farm also kept a small flock of capercaillies who had a roost and pen up close to the house. These mountain birds, a kind of grouse, were excellent foragers and were let loose every few days to browse the nearby undergrowth and find grubs, earwigs and slaters for their chicks and in the right season peck up grass seeds, and gorge on the wild cranberries, raspberries and blueberries that grew in clumps for miles around. In the winter they were happy to be fed needle trimmings from the many spruces and larches that grew on the heights behind the house. They always came back home and laid nearly all their eggs in their little roost.

For in the early days of Narnia, King Frank and Queen Helen had found that unlike the breeds of domestic dogs, horses, sheep, donkeys or goats which they knew from their younger days in Wales and Cornwall, there were no chickens of any kind, talking or otherwise in Narnia, and Queen Helen had gone riding on Fledge, accompanied by several of the Talking Falcons and Kites and Eagles, seeking high and low for any large ground bird that might fill the gap. They had found the capercaillies in the foothills of the Archen mountains and in the Western Wild and with some deft diving by the falcon, had managed to drive off parents from several nests of chicks. Queen Helen had carefully taken three or four from each nest and they had flown back to Narnia with them to care for. Most survived.

By a stroke of luck, in the milder climate of Narnia, as long as they were kept in the warmth of a barn in cold spells and could range freely at times to fly about and play their courtship dances in season, they were happy hirds and tended to lay 3 or so eggs a week right across spring and summer and sometimes a few in the Autumn. So capercaillies came to be the poultry of Narnian farms and the eggs they laid were extremely good for you.

Gwyn's mother was called Angharad and she had grown up halfway to Beruna in a forester's lodge. Her mother was a linden dryad whose tree grew nearby and during the spring frolics she had taken a liking to a young man called Sid who lived and worked there.

Angharad's mother had remained in human form long enough to bear a girl child and nurse her till she was weaned. But after this, she had returned to her ethereal existance as a being inside the tree and only re-emerged and came to see Sid and her daughter at the equinox and the solstice. This had been terribly hard for Angharad and she had been fostered to Sid's sister and mother who gave her all the love they could.

But Angharad had also learned that if she approached her mother's tree directly at other times that she could commune with her mother, share her doubts and angers and disappointments as well as seek her advice and comfort on all manner of things, in some ways more deeply than with anyone else... and she learned many secrets. So it was that Angharad had the knack of approaching any linden tree and could lay her hands upon it and ask for rumour of events far off.

Now, whilst she got the pot on the stove simmering with onions and greens, some grains and sausage, Angharad left Gwyn and went outside with no lantern.

A few stars were already strewn across the sky, winking and burning but mostly muffled by cloud. Across the houseyard was an ancient linden that towered over the capercaillie coop. She respectfully bowed her head, murmured a few words, closed her eyes and carefully laid her hands on its trunk.

The leaves of the tree whispered and rustled in the slight evening breeze. She remained this way for some time in the darkness, occasionally touching her forehead to the trunk to deepen her concentration. Angharad stood there for some minutes and at one point a shudder moved through her body. Then she steadied and became very still.

The full moon rose, showing the orange face of late summer through a crack in the clouds.

After a few more minutes of silence she turned and brushed her hands off on her apron and strode briskly back towards the house. At that moment, she heard the jingle of Rastus's bell, a short bark and the tramping of feet and with relief saw a torchlight bobbing into the houseyard. She knew her husband Albanac had returned with Rastus and Clive, and hopefully with all three missing goats.

Yes, the goats were back. She was sure she could see all three in the torch light carried by Albanac. The gleam of his dark hair and glow of his brown skin was a welcome sight. He looked tired but didn't speak yet. He gave her a smile.

"Well Angharad", bleated Rastus, "That husband of yours certainly needed all our help. If it hadn't been for Clive's forcefulness, and my gentle persuasion and charm, no doubt we'd all be stuck back in that thicket."

Angharad knew without asking that the truth would be slightly different, but she held her tongue and simply said "well thank goodness you're all back safe and sound, Aslan be praised."

Angharad was almost certain that Clive muttered something about Aslan not having much to do with it, but as he was also panting loudly and licking his chops as bulldogs do, she could not be quite sure.

So she made a fuss and made sure Clive had a nice bone to crunch near the fire and she quickly made Rastus a hot mash by pouring hot water over some chaff, vegetable peelings and a handful of oats.

After Rastus had chewed this over thoroughly, he said he'd rather get the spooked goats settled back in properly than watch Clive and the humans eat his poor dumb cousins and off he went down the track to their fold. A thick summer mountain fog had begun to come in from the east and with a bound, his tall curving horns were lost in it before you could say "pea soup".

When Albanac came back from taking the goats down into the fold, Angharad looked into Albanac's dark friendly eyes, gave him a long grateful hug, and they held each other.

She then whispered something in his ear and went to the pot on the stove, threw in some sausages and gave it a stir. Albanac gave her a meaningful stare for a moment, shrugged, smiled, took off his boots, washed his aching feet in a bowl of hot water, rubbed them with some sharp smelling ointment and then pulled on some soft buckskin slippers.

As soon as this was done, he washed his hands in some more water, leapt up nimbly, laid the table in a flash with a cloth, platters and mugs, went to the bench and quickly mixed some flour and water and oil and before you could say "pat-a-cake-pat-a-cake" had begun to cook little flat bread rounds in the skillet on top of the stove.

Gwyn, in the meantime had put some goats milk on to simmer in a pot and had a little vinegar ready to make it curdle.

Nearby he had a little piece of washed cheesecloth across a bowl, ready to squeeze the curds. When the rounds of bread were nearly ready, in went a little splash of vinegar and a pinch of salt and after about twenty stirs in each direction, he tipped the whole mess slowly into the cheesecloth until most of the whey was in the bowl, deftly twisted the cheesecloth and squeezed the rest out hard. The cheese went onto the platter.

Half the whey he tipped into a special wooden bowl on the floor carved with "Clive". Then Gwyn threw a handful of barley into the whey bowl with some dried plums and put it aside to soak for breakfast. He did all this with marked attention to precision and efficiency; he was a good study of his elders, but his expression was a little tense and his mind seemed elsewhere.

Clive was still crunching his bone but managed to somehow make a remark that sounded rather like "Thanks, I know I deserve it now, but I'll drink it later", except it was punctuated with slaverings and gruntings and swallowing sounds, so one couldn't be sure.

Then, it was time for supper and the three humans sat down on three legged stools, and they ate sausages and vegetables in onion soup with fresh white cheese on the little rounds of bread, using carved wooden spoons and carved wooden bowls. After a few minutes of careful eating and praise for each other's efforts, Albanac leaned his elbows on the table and said to Gwyn, "Your mother tells me you saw something today that took you by surprise, would you like to share it with me?".

Gwyn's eyes widened, looked a little uncertain for a moment and then began.

"Well, it was up in Torman's Reach. I went to the 5 cataracts, trying to catch some scampi for this soup" he began.

"But I had no luck. I tried each cataract about three times each! So I got tired… and bored… so I just watched fish but I looked up in time to watch a great big Gryphon come swooping down the valley. Could he have been from Anvard? He had the royal colours on his leg jesses anyway, red and gold! He was so close! I never saw a Gryphon that close before..."

Gwyn had started very calm and matter of fact but had quickly became animated.

"No son, that's a rare thing"

"And it looked pretty urgen! And sounded...um"

"Sounded?" asked Albanac?

"I'm not sure, but I think it called to me as it went over." said Gwyn, "Anyway, it screeched out something. I couldn't catch the words, maybe something about danger but I couldn't hear it so good. It just went over so fast... and it was in a big hurry!", he finished.

"I bet it was. It is said that those Royal Gryphons never show themselves unless there is some very urgent business at hand that won't wait. I've heard they usually just prowl around guarding the kings' and queens' treasure hoards, sleep with one eye open at night and go out hunting for wild wolves and the White Stag, if they can catch them.

Then of course there are the pair that guard the Tree of Protection in Lantern Waste. I've seen them there. People bring them offerings, live animals of course; they say they won't eat the apples."

"Ah me" he laughed, "I've often imagined what it must look like, a gryphon trying to eat an apple? I wonder if they do when no-one's looking"

"But then, let's see, if it was flying quickly from Anvard to Cair Paravel it had a very urgent message between the royalty. And if it was about danger that means either Narnia or Archenland are in danger…or one of the Kings or Queens is… and if you were warned of danger too it's because danger is coming this way. Sounds like Narnia might be in danger and that maybe Archenland already is or knows about it coming and is giving warning, or maybe is just calling for help! We might have to get out of harm's way."

"Or could we be just letting our imaginations get away from us?" offered Angharad, noticing Gwyn's alarmed look. "Maybe it was just running an errand in a hurry and thought it was time Gwyn came home, or got away from the river for some reason."

"Oh... yes, point taken my dear. I didn't think of that. I could be overreacting. But Gwyn was right to speak of this don't you think? Either way something urgent might be happening and we need to know all we can just in case."

"Yes we do", Angharad agreed.

"So I did a bit of 'listening out' on my own account, just as you were coming home earlier. I didn't note much near here though. None of the linden trees in Southern Narnia seemed to know much. I just got sleepy green hums and creaks from most of them. Mother Linden was alert though, she must have felt my questing, but there was nothing unusual in Narnia. So she said she'd try to find something too."

"Anyway, with her along with me, and the home tree here; though its dryad's not up to much (don't tell her I said that Gwyn, that's a dead secret), we listened up the Archen Valley and we finally did get an echo of something troubling. No words, no shape, no message really, hard to describe to people without half heritage like me. Like some things are just blotted out, we could not take our thoughts into the far tendrils."

"But then, faintly, further up, further out, a sense of something... like a creeping foreboding. The dryads much further up the valley seem to be feeling it keener. I'm hoping it doesn't mean that whatever the problem is, isn't slowly coming down the Archen Valley. Whether its just some fear that's been taken up or something solid you can grasp, who knows?"

"Sounds uncomfortable enough Ang, whichever it is. But it's best left till morning before we think about whether there's anything to do, Let the messenger birds bring us clearer news if there's any to be had." said Albanac.

Then he added kindly when he saw Gwyn's alarmed face, "If you feel a'feared son, you can snuggle in with us tonight if that helps."

And Clive was heard to mutter, "Yes and if something sneaks in here in the dead of night, the resident bulldog will take care of everything I suppose."