“Be merry， little ones，” he said. “We shall meet soon again. But before that you will have another visitor.” Then in one bound he reached the top of the wall and vanished from their sight.
Strange to say， they felt no inclination to talk to one another about him after he had gone. They all moved slowly away to different parts of the quiet grass and there paced to and fro， each alone， thinking.
About half an hour later the two Horses were summoned to the back of the house to eat something nice that the Hermit had got ready for them and Aravis， still walking and thinking， was startled by the harsh sound of a trumpet outside the gate.
“Who is there？” asked Aravis.
“His Royal Highness Prince Cor of Archenland，” said a voice from outside.
Aravis undid the door and opened it， drawing back a little way to let the strangers in.
Two soldiers with halberds came first and took their stand at each side of the entry. Then followed a herald， and the trumpeter.
“His Royal Highness Prince Cor of Archenland desires an audience of the Lady Aravis，” said the Herald. Then he and the trumpeter drew aside and bowed and the soldiers saluted and the Prince himself came in. All his attendants withdrew and closed the gate behind them.
The Prince bowed， and a very clumsy bow for a Prince it was. Aravis curtsied in the Calormene style （which is not at all like ours） and did it very well because， of course， she had been taught how. Then she looked up and saw what sort of person this Prince was.
She saw a mere boy. He was bare-headed and his fair hair was encircled with a very thin band of gold， hardly thicker than a wire. His upper tunic was of white cambric， as fine as a handkerchief， so that the bright red tunic beneath it showed through. His left hand， which rested on his enamelled sword hilt， was bandaged.
Aravis looked twice at his face before she gasped and said， “Why！ It‘s Shasta！”
Shasta all at once turned very red and began speaking very quickly. “Look here， Aravis，” he said， “I do hope you won’t think I‘m got up like this （and the trumpeter and all） to try to impress you or make out that I’m different or any rot of that sort. Because I‘d far rather have come in my old clothes， but they’re burnt now， and my father said-”
“Your father？” said Aravis.
“Apparently King Lune is my father，” said Shasta. “I might really have guessed it. Corin being so like me. We were twins， you see. Oh， and my name isn‘t Shasta， it’s Cor.”
“Cor is a nicer name than Shasta，” said Aravis.
“Brothers‘ names run like that in Archenland，” said Shasta （or Prince Cor as we must now call him）. “Like Dar and Darrin， Cole and Colin and so on.”
“Shasta-I mean Cor，” said Aravis. “No， shut up. There’s something I‘ve got to say at once. I’m sorry I‘ve been such a pig. But I did changebefore I knew you were a Prince， honestly I did： when you went back， and faced the Lion.”
“It wasn’t really going to kill you at all， that Lion，” said Cor.
“I know，” said Aravis， nodding. Both were still and solemn for a moment as each saw that the other knew about Aslan.
Suddenly Aravis remembered Cor‘s bandaged hand. “I say！” she cried， “I forgot！ You’ve been in a battle. Is that a wound？”
“A mere scratch，” said Cor， using for the first time a rather lordly tone. But a moment later he burst out laughing and said， “If you want to know the truth， it isn‘t a proper wound at all. I only took the skin off my knuckles just as any clumsy fool might do without going near a battle.”
“Still you were in the battle，” said Aravis. “It must have been wonderful.”
“It wasn’t at all like what I thought，” said Cor.
“But Sha-Cor， I mean-you haven‘t told me anything yet about King Lune and how he found out who you were.”
“Well， let’s sit down，” said Cor. “For it‘s rather a long story. And by the way， Father’s an absolute brick. I‘d be just as pleased-or very nearly-at finding he’s my father even if he wasn‘t a king. Even though Education and all sorts of horrible things are going to happen to me. But you want the story. Well， Corin and I were twins. And about a week after we were both born， apparently， they took us to a wise old Centaur in Narnia to be blessed or something. Now this Centaur was a prophet as a good many Centaurs are. Perhaps you haven’t seen any Centaurs yet？ There were some in the battle yesterday. Most remarkable people， but I can‘t say I feel quite at home with them yet. I say， Aravis， there are going to be a lot of things to get used to in these northern countries.”
“Yes， there are，” said Aravis. “But get on with the story.”
“Well， as soon as he saw Corin and me， it seems this Centaur looked at me and said， ’A day will come when that boy will save Archenland from the deadliest danger in which ever she lay‘. So of course my Father and Mother were very pleased. But there was someone presentwho wasn’t. This was a chap called the Lord Bar who had been Father‘s Lord Chancellor. And apparently he’d done something wrong- bezzling or some word like that-I didn‘t understand that part very well-and Father had had to dismiss him. But nothing else was done to him and he was allowed to go on living in Archenland. But he must have been as bad as he could be， for it came out afterwards he had been in the pay of the Tisroc and had sent a lot of secret information to Tashbaan. So as soon as he heard I was going to save Archenland from a great danger he decided I must be put out of the way. Well， he succeeded in kidnapping me （I don’t exactly know how） and rode away down the Winding Arrow to the coast. He‘d had everything prepared and there was a ship manned with his own followers lying ready for him and he put out to sea with me on board. But Father got wind of it， though not quite in time， and was after him as quickly as he could. The Lord Bar was already at sea when Father reached the coast， but not out of sight. And Father was embarked in one of his own warships within twenty minutes.
