DISASTER

Three months flowed peacefully past from their distinguished guest's departure. There was no sign of pestilence or plague any where in the kingdom (not that Eustace dared point out the fact to Glenstorm, however much he might have liked). Lucy was certain she had never been happier in her life.

At least until it happened.

The island castle of Cair Paravel lay silent. Only a few lanterns glinted in upper windows, to show where the last few inhabitants worked, or read, or talked before retiring. The Royal Apartments stood in darkness. In their finely-furnished guest chambers high in the seaward tower, Edmund, Eustace and Lucy slept soundly. Even the corridors were deserted.

In the silence the hoof beats of a single horse thrumming on the soft grass of the mainland, the snorts of the animal's breath as it was urged on, echoed louder than a thunderclap. From the forest the animal emerged foamy with sweat, its rider bent forward over its neck, half-fainting with exhaustion. The ghostly glow of the full moon caught on the silver of his spurs and the deadly glint of naked sword at his hip. He reached the wooden drawbridge, always left lowered (except in time of war), and spurred his steed across with a clatter and a hail. "Open the gates! I am Cor, Count of Lionwood! Give me entrance, in the Lion's name!"

From nowhere, footsteps began to sound behind the castle's golden walls. Voices called in sleepy confusion; a key scratched rustily, and with a squeal the great castle gate was swung open. "Wha's the palaver?" shouted the Captain of the King's Guard, brought from his bed over the gate, half-dressed and groggy. "Who disturbs His Majesty's peace?"

"Take me to the King!" cried the wild man who slithered into a heap at the Captain's feet. "Of your mercy! My betrothed is gone - seized from my very gates! I must see the King!"

"Wha's the yellin' about?" To the Captain's great relief (as he tried to disentangle his legs from the panicked grip of the intruder) the Dwarf Trumpkin, foxy hair everywhere, stumbled from the inner court in his nightgown to assume command of affairs. "Soup and celery! Lord Cor! What's to do at this time o' night?"

"My lady - Calormenes - noble Dwarf, for the love of Aslan, take me to the King!"

"Calormenes?" Not a word of it made sense to Trumpkin, but the fellow was distraught (or mad, thought the Captain of the Guard) and the best policy was probably to humour him. "See to the gentleman's horse, guardsmen! If you'll follow me, my Lord, I'll rouse up the King."

"Thank you - Aslan bless you!" cried the anguished nobleman, who could manage no better than a staggering lurch in the bewildered Dwarf's wake. "We must make haste - six and thirty hours are lost already. Isabella!"

"What on earth's happening?" They were passing through the guest chambers. Tousled heads were emerging left and right, sleepy-eyed children staring at the newcomer's wild expression with alarm and not a little dread. "Trumpkin, what's the matter?"

"Dunno, Your Majesties; his Lordship's rambling on about the Calormenes."

Lucy, Edmund and Eustace tied their dressing gowns about themselves and trotted out into the halls behind him. "Do we have to make a procession of it?" Trumpkin demanded irritably, stomping up the next short flight of stairs to the King's own bedchamber. "Your Majesty! Here's the Lord Cor, begging admittance - says the Calormenes are coming! Whistles and whirligigs! Why not bring the cook up to hear as well!"

"The Calormenes have come! Sire, of your compassion, hear me!"

"What in the name of the Lion?" wondered Caspian, dragging open his door. "Cor! Trumpkin, what is the meaning…"

"Perhaps we might allow His Lordship to explain," suggested the steady voice of Queen Celesta from deep within the room. "And summon refreshment, good Trumpkin; if you are ridden hard from Lionwood, my Lord, you must be half dead!"

"Your Majesties!" Cor slumped onto his knees at the King's feet, and in his agony Lucy thought he looked nobler than one would ever have thought that insignificant creature could be. "At daybreak yesterday, thirty men at arms wielding scimitars burst into my home. Shouting their Tash-inspired war cries, they seized my affianced bride, your cousin Isabella from my house, murdering and wounding the faithful servants sent as her chaperones; bound her hand and foot and, holding me at the point of a dozen swords, carried her off by force!

"Your Majesties, I knew the leader; he spat into my face and cried that such a wretched slave as I was unfit to mate with a barbarian goddess. Sire, he was Rameesh, the second son of the Tisroc!"

"Rameesh!" whistled Eustace between his teeth. "Golly!"

"She is gone, Sire; stolen as a slave to that - that Calormene devil! 'Tis said there was a galley off the river mouth: our villagers confess they heard a woman scream, and two men were beaten off, one of them wounded severely, by the invaders as they sought to save her. Isabella is gone, and Sire, I know not what I'm to do!"

"Trumpkin, summon my lords of Council directly," ordered the King, when he had regained the power of speech. "Send to Etinsmere for my Lord Drinian; summon Peepiceek from his troop; rouse Cornelius from his cottage and Trufflehunter from his lair. We shall retrieve your betrothed, my Lord; I pledge the crown of Narnia itself on it. Lucy - boys - run to your rooms and dress. We shall gather in the Council Chamber the moment our friends are all assembled. Come, Cor, drink some wine and tell us exactly what occurred. And don't fear; all will be well. This outrage will not be permitted to stand!"