Knight Quest (Time Hunters, Book 2)

by Chris Blake

  “The king’s the man, eh?” he said.

  Isis nodded eagerly. “Yes! Tell us more! It sounds dreadfully exciting.”

  Al mounted his horse and turned to the three travellers. “You lot must be thirsty. Why don’t you come to my hut for some mead and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Al’s hut was shabby, with a patchy, thatched roof and a smouldering fire in the corner. Tom and Isis sat on the floor and listened to Al’s grand plan.

  “I’ve been practising to be a knight for years,” the pig-boy explained, reclining on his bed of straw. “Then I heard King Arthur was visiting today. It’s my big chance! I borrowed that horse there from my cousin, Philbert. He’s a lovely beast, he is. The horse… not Philbert!”

  Tom looked out at the plump horse that was busy munching grass outside. He doesn’t look like he can gallop very fast, Tom thought. “He looks… er… solid,” he said, nodding.

  Al swigged from his flagon of mead. “Aye. He’s called Acorn. I gave him that name because I’ve been trying this trick where I pick up things from the ground while we’re riding.” Al grinned. “At first it was big stuff like this flagon here, or a turnip. Now I can pick up a single acorn when we’re galloping at full speed.”

  His words were drowned out by a terrible din coming from outside. A herd of squealing pigs stampeded past the hut.

  “Oh no!” Al wailed. “My pigs must have escaped from the field.”

  Tom jumped to his feet and followed Al outside. “Don’t worry,” he shouted above the noise. “We’ll help you catch them, won’t we, Isis?”

  Isis looked uncertainly at the fat, pink animals. “We will?”

  “Let’s see who can catch the most!” Tom challenged.

  “You’re on!” she said.

  When they had rounded up all the pigs, Isis was plastered head to toe in mud. “Look at the state of me!” she wailed. Then she grinned at Tom. “At least I rounded up more pigs than you did!”

  Al scratched his head. “Stumped if I know how they got out,” he said.

  Just then, a young man with neatly brushed, long hair strolled past. He tossed a rich blue velvet cloak over his shoulder with a flourish, and kicked Cleo out of the way with a fine leather boot as he stopped just outside Al’s hut and snapped his fingers.

  “Hey, pig-boy!” he called. “Keep your animals under control in future. They’ve almost ruined my father’s garden.”

  Wringing his hands, Al said, “I’m so sorry, sir. I have no idea how they escaped.”

  “I opened the gate to get to my horse,” the man said in a haughty voice. “My family owns this field, after all. It’s not my fault if your pigs run all over the place.”

  “Sorry, sir. Yes, sir,” Al mumbled.

  The rude young man looked round the hut, disdain on his face. He brushed a cobweb off his shoulder and said, “Ugh. I hate spiders. This place is only fit for a pig… or a pig-boy!” With a shudder, he turned on his heel and stomped off.

  “Who was that?” Tom asked.

  “Percival, the squire’s son,” Al said.

  “Why were you so nice to him?” Isis asked, picking up Cleo and giving her a cuddle. “He was vile!”

  Al sighed and rolled his eyes. “I know. But if I don’t keep in the squire’s good books, I could lose my job.” He poked glumly at a hole in his boot. “My dreams don’t count for anything in this village. Folks like Percival and his father… as far as they’re concerned, I’m just the lowest of the low.”

  “Well, they can all go and stick their heads in a pile of pig poo, because you’re going to be a knight,” Isis said, wiping her dirty hands on Tom. “And we’re going to help you.”

  Tom nodded. “Yeah. Today’s your lucky day,” he said. “Let’s go and meet King Arthur!”

  “I can’t believe we’re going to meet the real King Arthur,” Tom said. “I mean, really real!” He punched the air with excitement.

  As they followed Al and Acorn through a tunnel of lush, green trees, Tom drank in the mossy woodland smell. In his mind’s eye, he was already lost in his own medieval adventure, riding through the forest with King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table.

  “What do you mean, really real?” Isis said, walking carefully with the hem of her cloak gathered in her hands.

  “Well, there are lots of stories about him,” Tom said. “But there’s nothing to prove he ever actually existed.”

  “The Egyptians didn’t need to make up kings to tell good stories,” Isis said, tripping on a loose rock. She tutted loudly. “Our roads were better too.”

  Presently, the dense woodland came to an end. Tom could see small thatched huts dotted about on the edges of a grassy clearing.

  Al turned round, flashing them his crooked smile. “We’re here.” He pointed to a large building that was open on all sides.

  “This is the meeting place.”

  “Make way!”

  Tom leaped to one side as two burly villagers stumbled past him. They were carrying a heavy-looking table and pushing through the gathering crowd.

  “I want to sit there,” Isis said, pointing to a large, beautifully carved chair at the very front.

  “Listen, the people here have come to see the king, not a ten-year-old girl,” Tom said. “You’ll have to stand at the back with the rest of us lowly mortals.” He was getting jostled on all sides by villagers trying to claim the best spot.

  “Out of the way, pig-boy!” a man in a fine linen tunic with a velvet cloak said to Al. He pushed Al aside so roughly that the boy bumped into another wealthy-looking villager.

  “Oi! Pig-boy! You stink,” the second man said, holding his nose.

  Tom saw Al gulp and bow. “So sorry, sir. I did take a bath last week.”

  Stepping away from the man, Al accidentally stepped on Percival’s shiny boots.

  “You clumsy oaf,” Percival hissed, glaring. “You’re not even fit to clean my boots, pig-boy.”

  “Yeah, why did you even bother coming?” the second man said, sneering at Al. “Haven’t you got pigs to tend?”

  “Here! You leave young Alymere be!” an old woman shouted. She slammed the basket full of clothes that she was holding on to the ground.

  The mean man looked down his nose at the woman. “I don’t need a lesson in manners from a washerwoman, thank you very much,” he said.

  Tom pulled Isis aside. “These villagers are a pretty nasty bunch, aren’t they?” he said.

  Isis nodded. “I know. I hate to see people looking down their noses at the likes of Al, just because he’s poor,” she said.

  “Oh, really?” Tom asked, chuckling. “And you’re not a bit snooty, are you?”

  “Me?” Isis squeaked. “I’m not like them!” Her eyes widened. “Am I?”

  “Ooh, just a teensy bit!” Tom said.

  Isis blushed and looked at her feet. “It’s a princess thing,” she muttered. “We’re used to getting our own way. I don’t mean to be nasty…”

  “I know.” Tom said. But sometimes I feel a bit like Al around you.”

  Suddenly a fanfare of horns rang throughout the meeting place.

  “Listen! They’re coming!” Tom said, beaming with anticipation. “I can’t believe we’re going to see King Arthur with our own eyes.”

  The sound of jangling reins, clopping hooves and snorting horses could be heard getting closer. When Tom finally got a glimpse of the king’s party, he gasped at the troop of impressive-looking men riding enormous horses.

  “Look at those big, beefy guys,” he said. “I bet they’re bodyguards.” Tom marvelled at the broadswords swinging in scabbards at their sides. The men were wearing gold-stitched cloaks and sitting in saddles bearing colourful coats of arms.

  “Amazing,” Tom breathed.

  Finally, a grey stallion trotted into the centre of the meeting place. Everyone moved aside to let its rider through. They all knelt on one knee on the ground.

  “Hail the King!” the villagers shouted.

 
King Arthur leaped down from his saddle. He stood by the carved chair, surrounded by the sea of kneeling villagers. In place of the grand, strapping giant that Tom had expected, he saw a disappointingly short, bearded man. The king wore just a simple white tunic and dark trousers beneath a travel cloak that was utterly plain, apart from a narrow trim of white fur. His hair was short, messy and blond, rather like Dad’s. He wasn’t even wearing a crown.

  “Gather round!” he said in a booming voice that seemed to make the entire village stand to attention.

  A smile spread across Tom’s face. Now he realised why this ordinary-looking man was a legendary hero. He could feel admiration pouring from everyone around him, as they hung on to the king’s every word.

  King Arthur cleared his throat. “What a fine and pleasant land God has given me to rule! Look at you, my admirable subjects,” he said, spreading his arms wide.

  Everyone smiled.

  King Arthur clenched his fist and thumped his chest.

  “The sturdy, noble-hearted people of England are the envy of the world. Our green pastures and glorious forests are closer to heaven than any other realm.”

  The villagers began to clap and whistle.

  King Arthur held his hand high. “But wait! Even as I speak to you, there are tribes in Germany hatching plans of great evil.”

  The horrified villagers gasped, like party balloons losing their air.

  “SAXONS!” King Arthur shouted.

  He said the word with such disgust in his voice that the room erupted into a frenzy of loud booing.

  “Saxons have a mind to sail here and take this blessed land as their own. But I have every faith that even the humblest English farmhand will protect his home fearlessly.”

  There was a rumble of agreement throughout the crowd.

  “And that is why I am here – I’m looking to recruit one more knight to my round table.” King Arthur flicked his cloak back and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Men of my country, if you believe that you can defend our land, if you have a horse, and you think you are brave, then step forward now and take the challenges I set you. Remember! I will bestow this special knighthood on one man only – the winner!”

  Tom and Isis exchanged glances. This was their big chance to become honorourable knights and find the amulet.

  “Me! Me! I’m brave!” a young lad shouted. “I’ll fight for King and country.”

  “Me too!”

  A throng of men surged towards King Arthur.

  “Come on,” said Al, beckoning Tom and Isis towards him. “Let’s get in the queue before it’s too late.”

  Isis’s nose shot into the air so fast that her headband almost fell off. “Queuing? Pah! Princesses don’t queue. I’m going straight to the front,” she said, marching off.

  Tom grabbed her by her elbow and pulled her back. “Hey! You’re in England now!” he said. “People wait their turn here.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Even Ancient Egyptian princesses.”

  Tom pointed to Percival, who had barged to the front.

  “You’re not like him, are you?” Tom asked.

  “No, definitely not,” Isis said.

  With a sigh, she followed Tom to the back of the queue. She grimaced and wrinkled her nose. Cleo coughed and spluttered like she was choking on a furball. But queue they did – surrounded by villagers who smelled of everything from woodsmoke to sweaty feet.

  Next to Al, however, stood a tall villager, who was clearly wealthy. His clothes were fine. The hilt of his sword was decorated with rubies. His teeth were almost white! The villager looked down at Al as though he was a bogey on the end of his nose.

  Poking Al in the shoulder, he said, “Do you honestly think King Arthur is going to give a smelly pig-boy a second look?”

  Tom watched Al’s cheeks turn red. Al looked at his feet.

  “And didn’t you know you have to have a horse?” the snooty villager said.

  Al looked up and grinned. “Oh, well, that’s not a problem. I’ve got a horse; he’s called Acorn.”

  Tom and Isis nodded at Al encouragingly.

  The man snorted. “Can you imagine what that animal looks like?” he said, slapping his thigh. “We’ll have to call you Sir Stinkalot on his valiant charger, Dobbin!” He burst into peals of nasty laughter.

  Isis stood on her tiptoes and stared angrily into the villager’s face. “Ooh, you sneering, snotty, stuck-up…” she snarled between gritted teeth.

  Tom could see Isis was so full of rage, she could hardly choose which insults to hurl at the man first.

  “I’m going to make you wish you hadn’t said those nasty things!” Isis shouted, aiming a kick at his leg.

  The man was glaring down at her now. His hand was raised, ready to cuff her ear. Then he seemed to think better of it.

  “I know,” he said. “Perhaps a day or two in the stocks, having rotten vegetables and stones thrown at you, will teach you how to behave.

  Or, better still, I could arrange for you to have a go on the ducking stool. Yes! A plunge in the freezing river will cool you down. If you drown, at least we’ll know you weren’t possessed by demons. Hee hee hee! And if you live… why! We can burn you!”

  The man reached out and grabbed Isis by her cloak.

  “Put my friend down, you big bully!” Tom said.

  Cleo hissed and scratched at the man.

  “That’s not how a nobleman’s supposed to behave!” Al said, clearly horrified. “You let go of my friend now, sir, or I’ll… I’ll challenge you to a duel!” He slapped his fist against the palm of his hand.

  The nasty villager, however, seemed tobe enjoying himself too much to take Al’s threat seriously. “Out of my way, Sir Stinkalot!” he said, pushing Al aside.

  Isis kicked out and wriggled. “Let go of me, you ugly old man!” she cried.

  But no matter how hard she struggled, the man would not let her go.

  Tom heard a growl that sounded like it was coming from a tiger… but looked down and saw it was really coming from a little striped cat. Cleo hissed at the man holding her mistress and sank her teeth into his leg.

  “Ow!” shrieked the man, dropping Isis.

  “Serves you right, you big bully,” said Isis, scooping up Cleo and stroking her fur.

  “Gather round, men!” King Arthur shouted.

  Tom, Isis and Al were standing among the group of would-be knights that had assembled in a grassy clearing.

  Tom whispered in Isis’s ear. “It was brave of you to stand up to such a meany, but next time think before you start hurling insults at people. No wonder you got into so much trouble with Anubis!”

  Isis swirled her cloak regally over her shoulder. “A princess can say whatever she wants.”

  “Shh!” Tom said. “Right now, you’re a boy, trying out to become a knight. Got it?”

  King Arthur beckoned everyone to him. “Come closer!”

  They all shuffled forward so that even the men standing at the back could hear the king’s deep, rich voice.

  “To sort the true knights from the lily-livered hopefuls, there will be a series of contests,” King Arthur said. “First, we will have shooting, then lances, and finally sword fighting. You may choose your preferred method of combat, but you must supply your own weapons. We will begin in ten minutes.”

  Tom thought about the armoury in the medieval room of Dad’s museum. There were bows and arrows, swords, lances and spiked maces. Tom loved the shining suits of armour that knights wore, along with shields and tunics of chain mail that covered the head as well as the body.

  “Knights fought with some really brilliant, deadly weapons,” Tom said to Isis. “But we’re unarmed!”

  Al turned to them, grinning with delight. “So, what are you two going to make, then?” he asked.

  “MAKE?” Tom cried. “I’m rubbish at arts and crafts.”

  “Don’t fret, Tom!” Al said. “I’ll help you pick a nice, sturdy tree branch. Makes a smashing lance, see? There’s n
othing to it!” He turned to Isis. “What about you?”

  Isis picked up five or six sharp pieces of flint from the ground. “I know exactly what I’m going to make,” she said. First she cut a small triangle of leather from the top of her boots. Then she tore three strips of cloth from the hem of her tunic and plaited them together.

  Al clapped his hands. “A slingshot! What a cracking idea, Isis! Are you any good?”

  “Good?” Isis said. “I was taught to use one of these when I was just five by a general in my father’s army. I can bring down a fast hare at a hundred paces!”

  Al whistled in awe. Tom rolled his eyes. But Isis just strutted off to join those who were taking part in the shooting trial.

  King Arthur blew a horn and held his hand high. “The test of your shooting skills will be a knock-out round. Contestants may use a bow and arrow or a sling. If you get shot, you’re out. First, we’ll have the short lad with black hair and that fine gentleman.” He pointed to Isis and then to the man who had complained that Al was stinky. “BEGIN!” commanded King Arthur.

  Tom watched as Isis wedged a chunk of flint inside the leather triangle.

  She laughed and said, “Brace yourself, Lord Bullypants!”

  Before the man could even raise his bow, Isis whizzed her sling round twice and released her stone. It sped across the clearing… thunk!… and found its mark. The villager clutched at his foot and started to hop around.

  “Ow!” he said.

  Isis pretended to sniff the air. “Does anyone else smell that?” she said, grinning at Al. “The sweet scent of victory!”

  One by one, King Arthur sent forward villagers to duel against Isis. She was a crack shot. Each man ended up clutching at bruised ribs, arms and legs.

  Isis looked over at King Arthur to see if he was watching.

  Sure enough, he was staring straight at her!

  “Pretty good, yes?” she boasted, aiming at an archer, who was sprinting and tumbling round the clearing to avoid being hit by her.

  But suddenly Isis pulled back her sling and the fabric ripped.

  “AARGH! USELESS!” she shouted in frustration. “These bits of cloth aren’t fit to line a bird’s nest!” Isis threw her sling onto the ground and stamped on it. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and turned round.