They’ve both agreed to a rest.
Come on, Doctor.
You and I may be able to do something for the High King.’
They ran down to the lists and Peter came outside the ropes to meet them, his face red and sweaty, his chest heaving.
“Is your left arm wounded?” asked Edmund.
“It’s not exactly a wound,” Peter said. “I got the weight of his shoulder on my shield—like a load of bricks and the rim of the shield drove into my wrist.
I don’t think it’s broken, but it might be a sprain.
If you could tie it up very tight I think I could manage.”
While they were doing this, Edmund asked anxiously.
“What do you think of him, Peter?”
“Tough,” said Peter. “Very tough.
I have a chance if can keep him on the hop till his weight and short wind come against him—in this hot sun too.
To tell the truth, I haven’t much chance else.
Give my love to—to everyone at home, Ed, if he gets me.
Here he comes into the lists again
So long, old chap.
Good-bye, Doctor.
And I say, Ed, say something specially nice to Trumpkin.
He’s been a brick.”
Edmund couldn’t speak.
He walked back with the Doctor to his own lines with a sick feeling in his stomach.
But the new bout went well.
Peter now seemed to be able to make some use of his shield, and he certainly made good use of his feet.
He was almost playing Tig with Miraz now, keeping out of range, shifting his ground, making the enemy work.
“Coward!” booed the Telmarines. “Why don’t you stand up to him?
Don’t you like it, eh?
Thought you’d come to fight, not dance.
Yah!”
“Oh, I do hope he won’t listen to them,” said Caspian.
“Not he,” said Edmund. “You don’t know him—Oh!” for Miraz had got in a blow at last, on Peter’s helmet. Peter staggered, slipped sideways, and fell on one knee.
The roar of the Telmarines rose like the noise of the sea.
“Now, Miraz,” they yelled. “Now. Quick!
Quick!
Kill him.”
But indeed there was no need to egg the usurper on.
He was on top of Peter already.
Edmund bit his lips till the blood came, as the sword flashed down on Peter.
It looked as if it would slash off his head.
Thank heavens! It had glanced down his right shoulder.
The Dwarf-wrought mail was sound and did not break.
“Great Scott!” cried Edmund. “He’s up again.
Peter, go it, Peter.”
“I couldn’t see what happened,” said the Doctor. “How did he do it?”
“Grabbed Miraz’s arm as it came down,” said Trumpkin, dancing with delight. “There’s a man for you!
Uses his enemy’s arm as a ladder.
The High King!
The High King!
Up, Old Narnia!”
“Look,” said Trufflehunter. “Miraz is angry.
It is good.”