Authors: Peter Bently
Life Stinks! (7 page)
“Well now, dear boy,” said Sir Percy. “It seems like you kidnapped the wrong rat.”
“But I
did
catch the right rat, honest, Sir Percy,” I said. I went into the corner of the pavilion where I had put Bubo safely out of sight, and lifted a corner of the old sack that covered the cage. “See? Walter must have found a replacement.”
But Sir Percy didn’t seem angry. To my surprise he had a big grin on his face. Maybe he was finally resigned to doing the honourable thing and actually
fighting
Sir Roland.
“Never mind, never mind. We all make mistakes,” he said. “However, I am a man of my word, so I intend to keep my promise about letting you have some proper knighting experience.”
“Really?” I said in delight. “Can I ride Prancelot around Castle Bombast? Just once?”
“Oh, no need to wait until we get home, dear boy,” he smiled. “I am hereby giving you the honour of jousting against
Sir Roland at this very tournament. Just keep your visor shut and no one will know it isn’t me.”
So that’s why he looked so happy. He had no intention of fighting at all!
“But Sir Percy,” I protested. “The Knight’s Code clearly states that anyone caught impersonating a knight will be banished from the kingdom!”
“And the
Squire’s
Code clearly states that a squire must
never
refuse a present from his knight,” said Sir Percy. “You know what they say – never look a gift horse in the mouth, eh?” He chuckled at his own joke. “Now let’s get this armour off me and on to you.”
“But Sir Percy, I’ve only ever ridden Gristle the mule,” I pleaded, reluctantly helping him to unstrap his breastplate. “And I don’t know how to fight!”
“Mule shmule,” grinned Sir Percy. “A horse is just the same. Sit on its back, hold on tight and off you go. Just point your lance at Sir Roland and try to knock him off his horse. Don’t worry if you miss. You get three goes.”
“Three goes?” I said.
“Yes, dear boy,” said Sir Percy. “Three goes with a lance, three with a sword and three with a mace. That’s all there is to it. All a bit of fun really. Think of it as an excellent way to acquire some top-notch
knighting skills.”
Eeek! An excellent way to end up
dead
, more like.
Sir Percy’s armour was way too big for me. I stuffed it with several armfuls of hay, but I still rattled around in it like a pea in a dungeon.
“Right, now you’d better hurry up and get on Prancelot,” said Sir Percy. “I’d be delighted to give you a hand, but I have to stay out of sight. Good luck!”
Patchcoat was still off at the joke contest so I had to mount Prancelot on my own. It was only when I tried to get into the saddle that I realized quite how enormous she was. Gristle the mule was
one thing, but a walloping great warhorse was something else entirely.
I put my foot in the stirrup and tried to heave myself up, but I toppled flat on my back under the weight of the armour.
Prancelot looked down at me and gave a snort.
I struggled to my feet, took a deep breath and muttered, “Three-two-one–HUP!” This time I hauled myself up into the saddle – and almost toppled over the other side. I’d just managed to drag myself up when a man in grand robes appeared.
“Baron Buskin Fitztightly,” he said with a nod. “Chief Herald of His Majesty the King. Sir Percy, it is time for your joust with Sir Roland. Allow me to lead you to the lists.”
I gave Prancelot a gentle prod with my feet and held on tight as she headed for the jousting ground. It was tricky to keep my balance
and
hold Sir Percy’s lance. And to make things worse, it was starting to rain.
I can’t believe I’m doing this
, I thought.
I can’t believe I’ve ended up with a knight who’s such a wuss.
Ahead of me I saw the special tournament grandstand where all the top lords and ladies in the kingdom were waiting to watch the joust, sheltered from the rain. I was shaking with nerves so much that I was sure Sir Percy’s armour would start rattling.
My heart leaped into my mouth as I entered the narrow track where the joust was to take place. I saw the faces of all the spectators turn towards me and knew there was no way I could wriggle out of this now.
And then something weird happened.
The aristocratic crowd began to applaud and cheer. Ladies cried, “We love you, Sir Percy!” and started throwing me flowers and ribbons and silk scarves. For a few amazing moments I forgot how terrified (and stupid) I was and felt what it was like to be a
real
knight.
But only for a few moments. All of a sudden the crowd stopped cheering and went, “Ooooh!” as they looked away from me towards the other end of the jousting ground.
Entering the lists directly opposite me was Sir Roland the Rotten. Wearing his best blood-red armour and a bronze boar’s head on his helmet, he looked even
more terrifying than usual. In one hand he wielded a particularly sharp-looking lance. In the other was the black rat. It was wriggling a lot and Sir Roland seemed to be having a problem keeping it under control. A handful of people in the crowd cheered, “Go on, Sir Roland!” but most of them remained silent.
Sir Roland’s visor was up. Mine, of course, was firmly shut.
“Too scared to show your face, eh, Percy?” he boomed.
His few fans tittered. The rat squirmed. The rain began to bucket down. It dripped into the slits in my visor and made it harder to see.
Then several trumpets sounded a fanfare and the chief herald announced, “Pray silence for the king and queen!”
I gasped. For the first time I looked properly at the figures seated on large thrones in the centre of the grandstand. They were both wearing crowns and I realized that not only was I about to look an utter idiot – and possibly a dead idiot at that – but I was going to do it in front of none other than the king and queen. As I had this thought the king stood up and the crowd fell completely silent.
“Sir Percy and Sir Roland, I bid you welcome to the tournament,” the king boomed. He was a tall man with a red face
and an impressive black beard with a big white streak in it. From the way he filled out his splendid purple and green royal robes, I’d definitely say he was fond of the odd roast boar or two.
“Now then, chaps,” the king went on heartily. “I like nothing more than a jolly good joust, so I’m relying on you to give me and the queen here a tip-top afternoon’s entertainment, eh? Oh, if I were just a few years younger I’d be down there like a shot duelling with the pair of you. Just like at that tournament when—”
“Ahem!” said the queen in a very loud whisper. “Do get on with it, Fredbert. The guests are getting peckish.”
“Quite right, my dear. Mustn’t delay the after-joust banquet, eh?” the king guffawed. “Knights, let the joust begin!”
The crowd held its breath. The only sound was the
clunk!
of Sir Roland’s visor as he slammed it shut.
He lifted his lance and pointed it straight in my direction. Then he jabbed his horse with his heels and before I knew it a massive red mountain of metal was heading my way.
Right, this is it
. I thought to myself.
Why did I ever agree to this crazy plan?
Now Sir Roland was charging at full gallop, his horse’s hooves pounding the earth like thunder.
I was trembling so much that I lost my balance and had to dig my heels hard into Prancelot’s side to stop myself slipping out of the saddle.
Unfortunately, she took this as a command to charge and moments later we were galloping headlong in the rain towards Sir Roland.
“Go for it, Sir Percy!” cheered the crowd.
It was all I could do to cling on for grim life, my heavy lance swaying all over the place as the gap between me and Sir Roland got narrower and narrower.
Suddenly, we were almost level. I could see Sir Roland’s black rat scramble up on to his helmet as he aimed his lance
right at my heart.
I ducked just in the nick of time! I nearly fell off, but at least Sir Roland had missed me.
Then I heard a metallic clunk and a great “oooh!” from the crowd. It was only when I heard the king declare, “One hit to Sir Percy!” that I turned to see what had happened. Sir Roland had removed his helmet and was inspecting it. He looked furious. I spotted the boar crest lying on the ground. By some fluke, my lance must have knocked it off!
“You’ll pay for this, Percy!” fumed Sir Roland.
“Knights, prepare for your second
pass,” declared the king.
I gulped. I doubted I’d be so lucky next time.
And then I heard laughing, and someone shouted, “Look at Sir Roland!”
I glanced up to see Sir Roland with something wet and furry attached to his face.
“Gerroff!” he bellowed. “Blasted rat! Bit me on the nose! He’s never done that before!”
He succeeded in detaching the rat from his nose. But where the rat had been there was now a large black stain. The spectators roared with laughter.
“He’s got a black nose!”
“Look at his armour!”
“The rat’s leaking!”
It was true. The rain was washing streaks of black dye off the rat and all over Sir Roland’s polished red armour!
I gasped in astonishment. But that was nothing compared to Sir Roland’s reaction. Before his very eyes, the rat was turning from black to a very normal brown.
