They travelled across Ettinsmoor for many days， saving the bacon and living chiefly on the moor-fowl （they were not， of course， talking birds） which Eustace and the wiggle shot. Jill rather envied Eustace for being able to shoot； he had learned it on his voyage with King Caspian. As there were countless streams on the moor， they were never short of water. Jill thought that when， in books， people live on what they shoot， it never tells you what a long， smelly， messy job it is plucking andcleaning dead birds， and how cold it makes your fingers. But the great thing was that they met hardly any giants. One giant saw them， but he only roared with laughter and stumped away about his own business.
About the tenth day， they reached a place where the country changed. They came to the northern edge of the moor and looked down a long， steep slope into a different， and grimmer， land. At the bottom of the slope were cliffs： beyond these， a country of high mountains， dark precipices， stony valleys， ravines so deep and narrow that one could not see far into them， and rivers that poured out of echoing gorges to plunge sullenly into black depths. Needless to say， it was Puddleglum who pointed out a sprinkling of snow on the more distant slopes.
“But there’ll be more on the north side of them， I shouldn‘t wonder，” he added.
It took them some time to reach the foot of the slope and， when they did， they looked down from the top of the cliffs at a river running below them from west to east. It was walled in by precipices on the far side as well as on their own， and it was green and sunless， full of rapids and waterfalls. The roar of it shook the earth even where they stood.
“The bright side of it is，” said Puddleglum， “that if we break our necks getting down the cliff， then we’re safe from being drowned in the river.”
“What about that？” said Scrubb suddenly， pointing upstream to their left. Then they all looked and saw the last thing they were expecting-a bridge. And what a bridge， too！ It was a huge， single arch that spanned the gorge from cliff-top to cliff-top； and the crown of that arch was as high above the cliff-tops as the dome of St Paul‘s is above the street.
“Why， it must be a giants’ bridge！” said Jill.
“Or a sorcerer‘s， more likely，” said Puddleglum. “We’ve got to look out for enchantments in a place like this. I think it‘s a trap. I think it’ll turn into mist and melt away just when we‘re out on the middle of it.”
“Oh， for goodness’ sake， don‘t be such a wet blanket，” said Scrubb. “Why on earth shouldn’t it be a proper bridge？”
“Do you think any of the giants we‘ve seen would have sense to build a thing like that？” said Puddleglum.
“But mightn’t it have been built by other giants？” said Jill. “I mean， by giants who lived hundreds of years ago， and were far cleverer than the modern kind？ It might have been built by the same ones who built the giant city we‘re looking for. And that would mean we were on the right track-the old bridge leading to the old city！”
“That’s a real brainwave， Pole，” said Scrubb. “It must be that. Come on.”
So they turned and went to the bridge. And when they reached it， it certainly seemed solid enough. The single stones were as big as those at Stonehenge and must have been squared by good masons once， though now they were cracked and crumbled. The balustrade had apparently been covered with rich carvings， of which some traces remained； mouldering faces and forms of giants， minotaurs， squids， centipedes， and dreadful gods. Puddleglum still didn‘t trust it， but he consented to cross it with the children.
The climb up to the crown of the arch was long and heavy. In many places the great stones had dropped out， leaving horrible gaps through which you looked down on the river foaming thousands of feet below. They saw an eagle fly through under their feet. And the higher they went， the colder it grew， and the wind blew so that they could hardly keep their footing. It seemed to shake the bridge.
When they reached the top and could look down the further slope of the bridge， they saw what looked like the remains of an ancient giant road stretching away before them into the heart of the mountains. Many stones of its pavement were missing and there were wide patches of grass between those that remained. And riding towards them on that ancient road were two people of normal grown- up human size.
“Keep on. Move towards them，” said Puddleglum. “Anyone you meet in a place like this is as likely as not to be an enemy， but we mustn’t let them think we‘re afraid.”
By the time they had stepped off the end of the bridge on to the grass， the two strangers were quite close. One was a knight in complete armour with his visor down. His armour and his horse were black； there was no device on his shield and no banneret on his spear. The other was a lady on a white horse， a horse so lovely that you wanted to kiss its nose and give it a lump of sugar at once. But the lady， who rode side-saddle and wore a long， fluttering dress of dazzlinggreen， was lovelier still.
“Good day， t-r-r-avellers，” she cried out in a voice as sweet as the sweetest bird’s song， trilling her R‘s delightfully. “Some of you are young pilgrims to walk this rough waste.”
“That’s as may be， Ma‘am，” said Puddleglum very stiffly and on his guard.
“We’re looking for the ruined city of the giants，” said Jill.
“The r-r-ruined city？” said the Lady. “That is a strange place to be seeking. What will you do if you find it？”
“We‘ve got to-” began Jill， but Puddleglum interrupted.
“Begging your pardon， Ma’am. But we don‘t know you or your friend-a silent chap， isn’t he？ -and you don‘t know us. And we’d as soon not talk to strangers about our business， if you don‘t mind. Shall we have a little rain soon， do you think？”
