by Chris Blake
“King Arthur!” she said.
He looked down at her and shook his head solemnly. “You’re a great shot, youngster, but my knights need to keep a cool head – even if the flames of hell itself should lick at their feet.”
“But—” Isis said.
“DISQUALIFIED!” King Arthur shouted.
Isis stomped off to the sidelines, her face red with shame.
King Arthur called the lancers next – now it was Tom’s go!
“Best of three!” the king announced. “READY…”
Tom stood with a thundering heart, facing the stocky man on the opposite side of the clearing. The branch that Al had chosen for him was far heavier than any cricket bat Tom had picked up.
“SET…”
The muscles in his arms quivered, but Tom ignored them.
“CHARGE!” King Arthur cried.
“Aaaargh!” Tom growled.
Mustering every ounce of strength he had, he sprinted towards his opponent. The harder he ran, the quicker the other man’s lance came at him. But Tom didn’t flinch.
Doof!
Tom took a punch in the belly from his opponent’s lance. He doubled up, feeling Al’s mead sloshing about angrily in his stomach.
Tom stood up quickly, readying himself for another charge. He had two more chances left.
“You can be a knight, Tom,” he muttered under his breath. “Be brave. Show no weakness.” By now, though, the muscles in his arm were really aching.
Once again, Tom sprinted at the man opposite him. Clonk! His lance started to trail on the ground. Clonk-a-donk! He stumbled and tripped.
King Arthur blew his horn. “Stop the duel!” he cried.
He marched up to Tom and took the branch from him. “I see you have the heart of a lion, young man. But I need knights that are strong enough to bear their lances through a full day’s hard riding.”
Tom groaned.
“DISQUALIFIED!”
Tom joined Isis on the sidelines.
“Poor Sir Smartypants,” she teased. “Shame they don’t have a fact-spouting duel. You’d definitely win that.”
“Oh, thanks!” said Tom.
Isis sighed and patted his arm. “It was just a joke. You weren’t too bad, all right?”
“You weren’t too bad, either,” said Tom. “But right now Al’s our only hope of getting close to a knight. And it’s a knight we need, if we’re going to find the amulet. So let’s cheer him on.”
The remaining contestants had all chosen to fight with swords. There were so many of them that King Arthur split them into two groups.
“Take that! Whoops! Sorry, sir! And that!” Al cried, using a sword made from a stout stick. He parried and nimbly sidestepped the blows that came from men much bigger than him. At every turn, Al darted forward and thrust his sword at his opponents until they were defeated.
“Go, Al!” Tom and Isis shouted.
Even Cleo purred loudly in support.
Al continued to knock out contestants, all the while politely apologising for any harm he was causing. Soon, the villagers started to cheer him on too.
“He’s brilliant!” Tom said. “All that practice really paid off! You’ve got to be as strong as a bear to carry one of those broadswords.”
Isis shrugged. “I suppose if you can lug barrels full of water and swill to a pig’s trough all day, you can lift just about anything,” she said.
Tom glanced over to the other group and groaned. “Oh, no!” he said. “Posing Percival’s still standing too. You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”
Isis nodded. “Al’s going to have to duel against him.”
Al and Percival stood side by side before King Arthur. Both were out of breath, but every other would-be knight had either keeled over with exhaustion, been disqualified or been injured.
“The final challenge shall be on horseback,” King Arthur told the crowd. “Fetch your mounts!” he boomed to the two young men.
Al hurried over to Tom and Isis, wiping his brow with his grimy rope belt, leaving a smear of dirt across his forehead. Al glanced over at Percival, who still looked immaculate in his fine clothes and shiny boots.
“Oh, Lord. How can a simple lad like me hope to win against a nobleman?” he said.
“Don’t worry,” said Tom. “Just because Percival’s got a title doesn’t mean he’s any better than you.”
“Too right,” agreed Isis. “You’re just as good as any noble.”
Al smiled at his new friends and went to fetch Acorn.
“Do you really think he’s got a chance?” asked Isis.
“We’d better hope so. Here he comes now!” Tom said excitedly.
Al entered the clearing at a trot, bobbing proudly up and down in the saddle. He waved as he spotted Tom, Isis and Cleo among the spectators, and cantered over to where they were standing.
“What on earth is under your saddle?” Isis said, pointing to the grubby green-and-red cloth that hung over Acorn’s flanks.
Al grinned. “He looks right dashing with that, doesn’t he?” he said. “It’s like one of those silk saddlecloths with knightly coats of arms on, only, get this…” He leaned down and whispered, “it’s a bit of an old blanket really. You wouldn’t know, would you?”
“Well, ye—” Isis began.
Tom clapped his hand over her mouth. “No, Al. You’d never know, would you, Isis? It’s really smart.”
“Thing is,” Al said, suddenly seeming gloomy, “that Percival’s going to gallop in on a thoroughbred charger. And I didn’t want old Acorn, here, with his fluffy, feathery old hooves, to feel scruffy.”
Sure enough, an ‘Ooooh’ rippled through the crowd of villagers as Percival rode in on a tall, black stallion. Tom couldn’t help but gasp at Percival’s shining suit of armour and the horse’s gleaming tack.
“What an idiot!” Isis said. “He looks like he’s about to lead an army into battle, not duel with a boy on a carthorse.”
She folded her arms and scowled. “I really can’t stand show offs!”
Tom looked sideways at her and laughed. “You can’t stand show offs?”
Percival sat smugly in his grand saddle, with the visor on his helmet raised up so they could see him smirk. He whispered into his stallion’s ear and made clicking noises.
Suddenly the horse began to prance round the clearing. Percival steered the horse up close to the villagers, so they could have a better view. The horse flicked its tail in a peasant woman’s face.
“Aargh!” she cried, dropping the wicker basket that she had been holding. “Oh no, my eggs!” The woman started to pick up what she could from the yellow, yolky mess on the ground.
Percival just laughed and trotted away. But Al jumped down from Acorn and helped the woman gather the unbroken eggs back into her basket.
“No need to fret, my good lady,” Al said to the woman. “There’s still a few that will make it into your pan.”
The woman smiled and patted Al on the arm. “You’re a good lad. I hope you put that horrid Percival in his place.”
“Now for the joust!” King Arthur announced. “These lances are deadly weapons. The stakes are high!”
Tom watched as King Arthur took two heavy-looking lances with shining, carved hilts from his servants and passed one each to the contestants.
“Which of you will show the kind of courage I am looking for?” Arthur asked.
Al sat astride Acorn’s broad back, looking slightly sick as he stared down at the gleaming lance.
“Al’s strong and knows his stuff, but I hope a real lance isn’t too different from a homemade one,” Tom said.
“Posing Percy seems to be struggling with the weight of his,” Isis said. “All the fancy armour in the world isn’t going to give him bigger muscles.”
Cleo led the cheering with a loud meow.
“Come on, Al!” Tom and Isis called out.
Percival snapped his visor shut.
Al raised the lance and stared s
traight ahead, looking determined.
“Charge!” King Arthur shouted.
The horses started to gallop towards one another. Clouds of dust billowed up under their thundering hooves. Tom watched as Al’s lance came down.
The horses galloped closer and closer.
Al’s face looked grim.
His lance made contact with Percival’s breastplate…
Thunk!
Percival grunted. Oof! The air was literally knocked out of him as he tumbled off his horse and hit the ground.
Clank!
Al had won the first round.
“Hooray!” Tom and Isis cried.
The villagers started to cheer and whistle loudly.
“Second round!” bellowed King Arthur.
Al smiled and waved cautiously at the crowd. He swung Acorn round to begin the second charge. Acorn seemed unruffled, despite all the noise.
Percival’s stallion, however, was not coping so well. The horse was wide-eyed and rearing up on its hind legs.
“Behave, you stupid beast!” Percival yelled at the stamping horse and kicked him with his spurs.
The horse whinnied. It pawed the ground, then reared up again. The weight of the lance pulled Percival out of the saddle and he landed on the ground with a clatter. The crowd started to laugh.
“Serves him right!” another peasant woman said.
Percival levered himself stiffly off the ground. Tom could see that his shining armour had been dented. Judging from his blazing-red cheeks, his pride had taken a knock too.
“You ridiculous animal!” Percival shouted at the horse. “Calm down, or I’ll turn you into food for Father’s hunting hounds.”
King Arthur clapped his hands. “Leave the horse be. Come here, both of you,” he said, beckoning Al and Percival forward. “There is no point in continuing the joust with that horse in such a state. Instead, you will both progress to the final and trickiest trial of all. This will be a true test of your valour.”
“As you command, sire! I’m ready,” Al said.
Underneath his short beard and moustache, King Arthur was smiling. “I have hidden a golden sword in a nearby cave,” he said, with an air of mystery. “I challenge you both to seek it there. The man who finds it and returns it to me shall become my knight…” His blue eyes twinkled as he continued, “… but only if you can get past the dragons who are guarding it. What say you?”
“Dragons?” Percival scoffed. “Ha! Easy,” he said, although Tom noticed his hands were shaking.
Al scratched his head and frowned. “Well, I’ve never met any dragons before. But I’ll give it my very best shot, Your Royal Magnificence,” he said, bowing low in front of King Arthur.
Tom turned to Isis. He was so desperate to get the words out that he didn’t really make sense. “Dragons! The riddle! Legend of the stone!”
Isis nodded eagerly. “Yes! Exactly! Everything in the riddle is coming true. King Arthur is the legend. I’m fairly certain my amulet is the stone in his sword. And Al’s about to track the sword down in the cavernous lair full of dragons!”
She jumped up and down on the spot with such excitement that she trod on poor Cleo’s tail. “Sorry, Fluffpot,” she said. Snatching up the yowling cat, Isis smothered her in kisses.
“We’re close now!” Tom said. “If good old Al finds King Arthur’s sword, we can get the amulet!”
“What’s Percival playing at?” Isis asked, looking towards the horses, who were drinking thirstily from a stone trough.
Tom glanced over and saw Percival crouching by the side of Acorn. Percival looked over his shoulder with darting eyes. Al was standing on the other side of Acorn, stroking his nose and feeding him a handful of hay. He was so busy tending to the horse, he didn’t notice his opponent’s shifty behaviour.
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “Maybe he’s adjusting his pants under his armour or something.”
“I think he’s up to no good,” said Isis, heading over to warn Al. But there was no time.
Toot ta toot too TOOOOT!
King Arthur’s servants sounded their horns and suddenly all eyes were on the king. He beamed at the villagers and then turned to Al and Percival.
“Stand by your horses,” he said. “It is time for the race to begin!”
Tom waved at Al and gave him the thumbs up. “Good luck!” he shouted.
“Take your marks,” King Arthur bellowed.
Al picked up Acorn’s reins.
“Set…”
Percival smirked at Al in a way that made Tom’s skin feel itchy.
“Go!”
Tom watched as Al wedged his muddy boot into Acorn’s stirrup and started to heave himself up. But then the entire saddle slipped from the horse’s back. Arms and legs flailing in the air, Al fell and landed in the mud with a splat!
The saddle landed on his head.
“Ouch! That’s got to have hurt,” said one of the villagers.
The wealthy villagers sniggered with delight, but the poorer ones shouted encouraging words to him.
“Come on, Al! Get back on your horse, lad!” someone called.
Tom and Isis rushed over to him.
“Are you OK?” Tom asked, pulling Al up out of the mud.
Al picked up his saddle and examined the girth.
“The saddle must have come loose,” he said, shaking his head.
Tom and Isis exchanged a knowing glance.
“So that’s what Percival was playing at,” Tom said, helping Al fasten his saddle back on. “What a cheat.”
The squire’s son had already streaked off towards the cave in a cloud of kicked-up dust.
Al hauled himself back into the saddle.
“Move up,” Isis said, vaulting on behind him.
“What are you doing?” Al asked.
“You didn’t think we’d let you face this last trial alone?” she asked. “Plenty of room for three,” she said, extending a hand to Tom. “Up you come,” she said.
Tom looked nervous.
“I’ve only ever been on a donkey at the beach,” he said.
Cleo, who had been twining herself around Acorn’s legs, mewed loudly and pawed at Tom.
“Fluffpot thinks you’re a scaredy cat.”
Tom snorted half-heartedly, swallowed hard and pulled himself up into the saddle behind them both.
“Your friends are going to be with you every step of the way, Al,” he said. “We’ll make sure Percival doesn’t cheat again. Let’s get going!”
“Friends! I got myself friends!” Al cried. “Good Lord, I’m a lucky lad.”
They thundered away, with Cleo running alongside. Peering into the distance, Tom could barely see Percival now, he was so far ahead.
“How can we possibly catch up?” Tom shouted as the wind gusted in his face, almost taking his breath away.
Al glanced back at him. “He’s on the road to the caves,” he shouted. “But there’s a shortcut.”
“Where?” Isis asked.
Al pointed to their left. “The woods!”
They paused and stared into the dark woodland. The tree trunks were growing very close together, barely letting in any sunlight.
“We’ll never get through there!” Tom said.
Al tapped his nose. “Trust me. There isn’t an inch of countryside round here that Alymere, the pig-boy, doesn’t know like the back of his hand.”
They plunged into the shadowy woodland. Tom covered his eyes, convinced they were going to collide with a tree trunk at any moment.
But Al was right. There was a route through! Acorn picked his way nimbly over the mossy floor, moving more quickly than Tom thought possible. As the horse cantered along, Cleo scampered at his side. Before long, they shot out from the gloom ofthe trees.
Ahead of them, Tom spied a massive, craggy rock face that loomed up in jagged points against the grey sky. It had lots of dark, house-sized holes.
“The caves!” he said.
“We’ve only gone and beaten Pe
rcival to it!” Al said, reining in Acorn behind a large boulder.
The three of them dismounted, then peered warily round the boulder. Outside the mouth of the largest cave stood two men, dressed head to toe in chainmail and carrying broadswords at their sides.
“They look like knights to me,” Al said.
Over their chainmail shirts, Tom noticed that they wore red tunics with gleaming gold dragons on the front.
“Dragons!” Isis gasped.
“So those are the dragons King Arthur was talking about,” Tom said. “See, Isis. I told you the fire-breathing ones weren’t real.”
Before Isis could respond, Al pulled her and Tom to the ground.
“Right,” he said, squatting in the dust. “Tactics. We’ve got to get past those guards. So, what’s the plan?”
Isis clasped a purring Cleo to her chest and pursed her lips. Tom scratched his head and found a pine cone tangled in his hair. Al wobbled a rotten tooth.
“Maybe we should just charge them,” Tom said. “There’s three of us and two of them.”
“Not likely,” Al said. “They’re the king’s knights! They’ll mince us into sausage meat with those swords, faster than you can shout… er… pork chop.”
“I know!” Isis said. “I’ve thought of a way to distract them. Then we can sneak in while they’re in a muddle.”
Tom tugged at the cone in his hair. “What are you going to do? Walk up there and ask them the way to Egypt? Or set Cleo on them?”
Cleo hissed and showed Tom her claws.
“Calm down, action cat! I was only joking,” Tom said.
“Don’t be silly,” Isis said. “Cleo is going to be our lookout.” Isis searched along the ground for a sharp stone. “Right, now watch this!” she said, holding up her slingshot, which she’d repaired. “The shoulder of the knight on the right. You see if I don’t hit him dead on target.”
She fired the stone towards the knight. It whistled through the air and caught him on the shoulder.