THE RULES FOR TRAVELLERS

1. Stay on the Path: By ancient covenant those on any obvious road, path, or trail are safe so long as they stay on the road. Thus many would be predators attempt to lure the unwary off the path with offers of wealth, threats of force, or seemingly urgent requests for assistance. The traveller in the Fair Lands would do well to remember this simple advice: never, under any circumstances, leave the road. No matter how tempting, no matter how dire, no matter what reasons one might have for leaving the road it is rarely worth the risk. Once off the road not only is a traveller in danger from possible assault or worse, the nature of the Fair Lands is such that a path once left might not be found again, even after only a few steps.

2. Neither eat nor drink the things of the Fair Lands: All things in the Fair Lands are tainted with the magick of the place, and seemingly doubly so the food and drink. One can never be sure of the effects such items will have. At the very least a character who does so may gain the Fey Touched feat, but worse fates are more likely. Alice, in her rash reading of directions, got off easy by simply changing size. In the poem The Goblin Market one of the heroines foolishly exchanges a lock of hair for some fruit, resulting in an addiction and wasting sickness that is only cured by more fruit. A more common occurrence is that mortals that eat of the things of the fey are forever bound to the Fair Lands, unable to return home. Some fey encourage humans to drink, and once they have done so bring the mortal under their control. Fortunately, while a human in the Fair Lands will get hungry and thirsty they will not die from lack of food or water for the very nature of the Land sustains all life.

3. Mind your manners. What is always good advice is especially true in the Fair Lands. The fey value good manners above all else and find bad ones the worst of crimes. Intent seems to be the main issue; thus while one may not know proper etiquette if one attempts to be respectful and demonstrates a desire to be well behaved, it usually is enough. Exceptions do exist, of course, and some evil minded fey will attempt to use breaches of etiquette as an excuse for all manner of trouble. The traveller should remember that the rules of good manners work both ways, and a clever person can turn the trap back on his would be trapper. Fey are so bound by the law of manners that while they may deceive and try to mislead, all answers to direct questions must be the truth as far as they know it to be. This does not mean, however, that they will not try to get out of giving a direct answer.

4. Accept no gifts. An unspoken part of fey etiquette is that a gift binds the recipient to the giver. A gift creates a disparity between the two, allowing the giver to exercise control over the recipient to various degrees. While it would be improper to demand a lifetime of service for a small favour, a year of service could easily be required with total enslavement likely for any gift of value. The very nature of the Fair Lands compels obedience in these matters, but as with all things in the Fair Lands there are ways out of it.

5. Repay in kind, no more and no less. This is a sub-rule of 3 and 4. Anything short of an equitable exchange risks evoking the no-gifts rule. No fey wishes to be part of such an exchange and will be insulted, a violation of rule 3, as a result.

WHO SAW THE FIRST INKLING OF NARNIA?

Other writers might have invented a single rule for moving characters into Narnia and out of it. Lewis invented new tricks whenever he felt like it: a wardrobe, a painting, the call of a horn, magic rings. This casual attitude toward the rules of Narnia is one reason Lewis’s friend J.R.R. Tolkien didn’t love the Chronicles.

Tolkien might have laughed by the time he read The Magician’s Nephew. The magical green rings and gold rings that transport Digory Kirke and Polly Plummer to Narnia and back are a sly tribute to Tolkien’s The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. That tribute isn’t the only one. Lewis and Tolkien had a friendship and an informal working relationship that was very important to both men, personally and professionally. It altered their careers. It changed Lewis’s life.

Lewis and Tolkien were brought together by a love of adventure. Armchair adventure, that is. They met in Oxford, where Tolkien was a professor of Anglo-Saxon (Old English). Both, they discovered, adored Norse myths—Old Icelandic sagas about gods and heroes. Tolkien asked Lewis to be part of a group he was forming that would read these sagas in the original Old Icelandic.

Both men were clubby. Lewis loved rowdy conversations about literature fueled with beer. Tolkien had been forming groups to talk about literature since he was a schoolboy. Both agreed: no girls allowed.

Tolkien’s club was called the Kolbitars (“Coalbiters”), an Old Icelandic term for taleswappers who sat so close to the fire they could bite the coals. Once a week the friends would gather by a fireplace in their slippers, beer at the ready, and read aloud. For Lewis, reading “the mere names of god and giant” in Icelandic was enough to give him a thrill.

Another club, which has since become famous in literary circles, grew out of this friendship in the mid-1930s. It was called the Inklings, which Tolkien said was a pun referring to “people with vague or half-formed intimations and ideas plus those who dabble in ink.” One evening each week (and often another morning, too) they met at a pub to drink, talk, and read to each other whatever they were writing.

Even within the club, Lewis and Tolkien had special influence on each other’s work. They didn’t always see eye to eye, but that didn’t matter to either of them. Lewis once observed, “The man who agrees with us that some question, little regarded by others, is of great importance can be our Friend. He need not agree with us about the answer.” (The Four Loves, 66)

THE SINCEREST FORM OF FRIENDSHIP

Lewis was a great encourager of Tolkien, who was obsessed with creating a whole set of myths about ancient Britain, despite the lack of interest from his publishers. Then, having encouraged Tolkien, Lewis drew on Tolkien’s creations just as he drew on classical myths and Icelandic sagas. Long before The Lord of the Rings was published, Lewis published books that alluded to it. As far as Lewis was concerned, Tolkien’s myths were as real as the others. He might have held that opinion even if he wasn’t Tolkien’s friend; but of course he knew all about Tolkien’s painstaking scholarship. Naturally, given their many discussions during the course of Tolkien’s work, Lewis’s allusions get right to the heart of Tolkien’s world.

HERE COME THE FLOODS

From childhood, Tolkien was haunted by a dream of a huge, dangerous wave. He came to believe it was an ancestral memory, and that it was connected to the myth of the lost island Atlantis, where a great civilization is said to have been wiped out in an instant. His efforts to understand the dream led him to write myths about Atlantis, which in his version was called Númenor.

One of its first appearances followed a challenge from Lewis during an Inklings meeting. Somehow a discussion led Lewis to say, “One of us should write a tale of time travel and the other should do space travel.” (The Inklings drank a lot during their meetings.) They flipped a coin and Tolkien drew the time travel. Woven into his story “The Lost Road,” was the tale of noble men on an island called Númenor. An evil wizard Sauron—the great enemy of The Lord of the Rings—corrupts the men, which prompts the God of Middle-earth to sink Númenor under a great wave.

Lewis heard about Númenor when Tolkien read the story to his fellow Inklings. He liked Tolkien’s version of the Atlantean myth so much that when he turned his space-travel story into a novel he included references to “Numinor” and “the last vestiges of Atlantean magic.” (The spelling is different because Lewis had only heard the story read aloud.) In the book’s introduction, he gave readers a teaser about Tolkien’s work. “Those who would like to learn further about Numinor and the True West must (alas!) await the publication of much that exists only in the MSS. [manuscripts] of my friend, Professor J.R.R.Tolkien.” (THS, 7)

PETRIFYING FORESTS

Tolkien hated the way humankind treats nature. His anger is apparent throughout The Lord of the Rings. He got his revenge by bringing a forest to life and turning it into an army that comes to the rescue of the heroes.

There is a great power in them, and they seem able to wrap themselves in shadow: it is difficult to see them moving. But they do. They can move very quickly, if they are angry. You stand still looking at the weather, maybe, or listening to the rustling of the wind, and then suddenly you find that you are in the middle of a wood with great groping trees all around you.

In Prince Caspian, the sudden appearance of the forest is described the same way:

Have you ever stood at the edge of a great wood on a high ridge when a wild southwester broke over it in full fury on an autumn evening? Imagine that sound. And then imagine that the wood, instead of being fixed to one place, was rushing at you . . . their long arms waved like branches and their heads tossed and leaves fell round them in showers. (PC, ch. 14)

The appearance of the living forest has the same effect on the evil armies in both tales. In The Lord of the Rings:

The Orcs reeled and screamed and cast aside both sword and spear. Like a black smoke driven by a mounting wind they fled. Wailing they passed under the waiting shadow of the trees; and from that shadow none ever came again.

In Prince Caspian:

Tough looking warriors turned white, gazed in terror . . . flung down their weapons, shrieking, “The Wood! The Wood! The end of the world!”

But soon neither their cries nor the sound of weapons could be heard any more, for both were drowned in the oceanlike roar of the Awakened Trees . . . (PC, ch. 14)

WEDDED RINGS

In The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien added a twist to the Icelandic sagas he and Lewis shared. Tolkien’s version was to find its way into Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew and The Voyage of the “Dawn Treader.”

There’s a famous story in the sagas about a magic ring that offers great wealth but is cursed to cause tragedy for any mortal who wears it. Tolkien’s first novel of Middle-earth, The Hobbit, made that ring a small part of the plot. Then, in the course of writing The Lord of the Rings, the importance of the ring grew, and its meaning changed. Tolkien added a Christian interpretation: the rings (there were several in Tolkien’s novel) were made through the trickery of Sauron, whose “lust and pride . . . knew no bounds” and who wants to take God’s role in Middle-earth. His arrogance affects all the wearers of the rings. They, too, deceive themselves into thinking they deserve glory and believing themselves strong enough to control the magic of the ring. Naturally, most of them are led to ruin.

The story of the rings in The Magician’s Nephew reveals a similar arrogance: a foolhardy pursuit of “knowledge” that Lewis, like Tolkien, believed was God’s alone. Lewis’s rings are made from Atlantean dust with “hidden wisdom.” Another sinful ring causes Eustace trouble in the Voyage of the “Dawn Treader” (see page 125).

“THE GREATEST MYTH”

If all we did was look at their books, we could be cynical about the friendship between Lewis and Tolkien. Lewis borrowed a lot from his friend. He sometimes wrote passages that were close to what he’d heard Tolkien read. What he took was at the core of Tolkien’s work. And he published books that drew on Tolkien’s works before Tolkien finished writing. But we’d be wrong to look at their friendship as competitive. Tolkien and Lewis didn’t. Tolkien believed he owed more of a professional debt to Lewis than Lewis owed him. Lewis was a great encourager of Tolkien. Borrowing from Tolkien’s myths was a way of letting Tolkien know he believed the myths were as valid as the classics. Tolkien understood the compliment. He needed that encouragement during the dozen years it took him to write The Lord of the Rings. “Only from him did I ever get the idea that my ‘stuff’ could be more than a private hobby,” Tolkien wrote. “But for his interest and unceasing eagerness for more I should never have brought The L. of the R. to a conclusion. . .”

The real debt Lewis owed Tolkien was personal. The myths he took from Middle-earth weren’t as important to him as another myth Tolkien gave him one night. On 19 September 1931, Tolkien, along with another friend, Hugo Dyson, brought Lewis back to Christianity. As they had dinner and went for a walk, they discussed mythology and religious faith. Although by 1929 Lewis had moved from an avowed atheism to accepting the idea of the divine, he continued to think of Christianity as just another myth. He didn’t see how Christ was more than a good example to people. The dynamic of death and salvation left him cold. Christianity, to him, was just another story like others before it. Tolkien disagreed. He argued that because man comes from God, there is always an essential truth in pagan myths. Because Lewis was moved by pagan myths of sacrifice to a feeling “profound and suggestive of meanings beyond my grasp,” he should feel the same about the story of Christ. (CLI, 977) In fact, Tolkien argued, he should feel it more profoundly because the story of Christ is true. There’s no record of exactly what evidence Tolkien presented to back up the last part of that argument. As Lewis himself explained many years later, you have to believe in miracles to accept it. But people who want to believe in miracles have no trouble finding evidence for them, and long before the conversation took place Lewis wanted to believe. From conversation to “conversion,” as Lewis called it, didn’t take long. Two weeks later, Lewis told a friend he had once again fully embraced Christianity: “My long night talk with Dyson and Tolkien had a good deal to do with it.”

ROMAN TRIUMPHANT COLUMNS

Hadrian set a standard for others to follow across the Empire. He developed the building industry at Rome, reorganized by Trajan, with the year 123 alone widely recognized as an annus mirabilis in the history of the Roman brick industry. According to an ancient biographer, he ‘enrolled builders, geometers, architects, and every sort of expert in construction or decoration on the model of the legions, in cohorts and centuries’. On his provincial travels he commissioned buildings himself and encouraged the architectural efforts of both local patrons and the Roman army. At Stratoniceia, renamed Hadrianopolis after his visit in the same year, he encouraged the local government to repair a neglected private house, rather than leave it to ruin. Despite his own interests in architectural design, he ordered all dining-rooms, porticoes, crypts, and garden areas (topia) existing in Roman camp buildings to be pulled down, on the grounds that they were offensive to the ideal of Roman fortitude, an anecdote which incidentally shows how misguided the conventionally austere image of the Roman camp is and how deep-rooted was the craze for aedificatio, even in such unlikely contexts. Hadrian removed all these trappings of architectural luxury and enforced a much more appropriate idea of construction.

In one of several speeches to the Roman troops at Zara on the border of Mauretania on 9 or 10 July 128, Hadrian admired an auxiliary cavalry detachment, the Ala I Hispanorum, for its proficient building work:

You have brought to completion in a single day [fortifications] which others spread over several days; you have built up a wall of long stonework of the kind made for winter quarters designed to last in a time not much longer than a wall is built from turf, which is cut in equal measure, easily transported from the quarry, handled and built without trouble, smooth and malleable according to its nature: but you [have built it] with huge, heavy, unequal blocks of stone which cannot be quarried or lifted or set in position without inequalities appearing between them; you have driven a ditch in proper fashion, hard and rough with gravel, and made it smooth by scraping the surface.

The emperor’s words mirror the rhetoric of the soldiers’ architecture. The whole imperial address was inscribed for posterity on the pedestal of a commemorative column in the auxiliary camp at Lambaesis in Numidia. Erected at the centre of a large precinct 200 metres square, this monument is comparable in size to other honorific columns erected later at other cities in the empire, particularly those at Hermopolis Magna and Alexandria in Egypt. Even the stonecutter’s work in recording the speech shows how certain parts of the speech were emphasized. He preserved the powerful impact of the language describing the large stonework of the wall by raising the initial letters of the key words, Lapi[dibus] Grandibus Gravibus Inaequalibus (‘with Huge, Heavy, and Unequal Stones’), a phrase which recalls the early Roman epic adored by Hadrian, with its striking rhythm of ascending tricolon and alliteration. The text placed emphasis on the form, size, and texture of the architectural materials used to make even this most routine of architectural creations. Whereas the grassy sods of earth (caespes) used for a typical earth rampart were smooth (planus) and pliable (mollis), the blocks of stone were heavy (gravis), huge (grandis), and of different sizes (inaequalis). A work in stone was a far more impressive achievement, one that deserved to be praised in an oration and recorded on a monument for posterity. Similarly, Apuleius later compared his literary rhetoric to the rapid and haphazard piling up of unworked stones in a wall without any attempt at achieving evenness, regularity, or alignment.The glorification of stones of large dimensions was intended to instil a sense of the ‘monumental’ nature of Roman architecture on the grand scale, and the use of language from ‘monumental’ Latin literature reinforced that. Moreover, once the construction was complete, it was thought to inspire the soldiers for a successful military performance. The epic tone of the emperor’s speech elevated their banausic labours in constructing a fort to a heroic military achievement. It marked the creation of monumental architecture.

A Biblical Perspective - The Psalter II

Moses Parts the Red Sea

The colour of the conical-shaped feature at the top right of the map has been specifically chosen for its literal association. This is indeed the Red Sea. As with several other features a 90° rotation of the main map makes it easier to recognize to our eyes. The Red Sea is a very significant location in the Old Testament. It is where Moses parted the waters to allow the Israelites to escape from the pursuing Egyptian army as they escaped to the Promised Land. Its prominence and colour on this map is clearly intended to invoke this story from the Book of Exodus. A closer look at this section of the map reveals that the Red Sea is actually 'split' with a dry passage shown between. Could the dark blue line on the larger section be intended to represent the wall of water held back by Moses' command until the Israelites had crossed and then released on the Egyptians as they attempted to follow?

Gog and Magog

This mountain-like walled enclave with its single gate represents one of the most apocalyptic stories from the Old Testament. The prophet Ezekiel had warned of the day when Gog, the chief Prince of the Land of Magog would sweep down from the North and devastate the land foretelling that the Day of Judgement was near. The gates shown were known as the Gates of Alexander and were reputed to be all that held these destructive forces back. The gates were so named because legend had it that it was Alexander the Great who had built them in a narrow pass to seal in the fierce tribes from the north. But it was also part of the legend that these could not last forever and Gog and the Magog would one day break through. It was a story that all Christians of this period would have been familiar with and this section of the map is intended to convey this threatening and ominous presence.

Noah’s Ark

The story of a gigantic flood and a boat in which a small group of chosen people and animals survive appears in many cultures around the world. Not surprisingly it is the biblical version that is portrayed on the Psalter map. The search for the ark itself has fascinated generations and continues today. This map has played its part in informing the search because, as can be clearly seen, the ark is shown marooned high between two mountain peaks with the words 'area noa' and 'armenia'. Just above 'area noa' can also be read the word 'Herat'. This is accepted as being Mount Ararat located on the present-day border of Turkey and Armenia. In the final years of the twentieth century satellites were used to take detailed photographs of the whole area and the images released caused great excitement in some quarters. However, in the thirteenth century when this Psalter map was created, there was no controversy or doubt about the ark's existence or location and it would have been drawn on with the same conviction as any of the other features.

A Biblical Perspective - The Psalter I

A Psalter is a book containing psalms, and this tiny map, barely 6 inches (15 centimetres) high and 4 inches (10 centimetres) wide, was created in England to illustrate such a book some time between 1215 and 1250. It was never intended to be used for travel purposes and would have been of very limited value if anyone had tried to do so. Rather it is a symbolic map, which was designed to convey and reinforce certain messages, as, of course, were the words of the psalms that accompanied it. Even so, it does provide a wonderful insight into the way the geography of the world appeared when seen through the lens of Medieval Christianity. Despite its size it contains a wealth of detail, some geographically sound, some pure fantasy, and much in between.

The map is dominated by the figure of Christ omnipotently presiding over a world spread out before him, almost like a table. The stars of heaven provide the backdrop, while angels worship him at either side. The two dragons crouching in the dark at the bottom of the world represent another, darker kingdom.

The world itself is presented as a circle surrounded by sea and at its centre is Jerusalem. As with many maps the choice of what is placed in the central position is usually deliberate. Perhaps more significantly, and even subliminally, it also acts as the point from which other features are then viewed and related.

This map is orientated with East at the top. This ensures that the highly symbolic Garden of Eden appears in a prominent position just below the figure of Christ and with the sun directly in between. The somewhat pensive faces of Adam and Eve and the Tree of Temptation can be clearly seen in the Garden, which is enclosed by mountains. Five rivers flow out of Paradise and the familiar names of Ganges, Tigris and Euphrates can easily be read. While the latter two are reasonably accurate in location, the Ganges is clearly not.

The details on the map actually become more familiar to the modern eye if it is rotated clockwise by 90° so that North is at the top. It is then possible to recognize the fan of blue zigzags representing the Nile delta as it enters the Mediterranean Sea. The green of the Mediterranean can also be followed to the West where it flows into the sea that encompasses the whole world. North of the Mediterranean one can make out Greece and its islands in the Aegean Sea, and Italy, although France and Spain seem to have been rolled up together. In relation to its purpose this would have been of little importance to the map's creator. When we look to the south of the Nile, myth and legend rather than fact informs the features presented. The lack of knowledge of this region had led to the belief that the people who lived here were different in form. Those shown here, especially the ones with faces in their chests, would continue to feature on maps of Africa for several hundred years.

With its audience in mind the map gives over half of the world it represents to the Holy Land. It strives to make as many biblical references as possible and invites the viewer to make others. The Rivers of Jor and Dan can be seen flowing into the Sea of Galilee in which a large fish swims. Whether this is an indication of its role as a food source or an invitation to think about the story of Jesus and the loaves and fishes is not known. Perhaps it was both.

This map is almost certainly a copy of an earlier one but the identity of the person( s) who worked on it is lost forever. It is most likely that he undertook the work in a monastery or religious house setting. Representations of the world through Christian teachings are collectively known as Mappaemundi of which only a small number survive. The one shown here is among the smallest of these, which makes the amount of detail contained so remarkable. The fate of the largest one, known as the Ebstorf Mappaemundi (some 11 ½ feet/3.5 metres across), is a reminder of just how precarious their existence has been over the centuries. It was destroyed in an air raid in 1943.