Knight Quest

Tom looked warily at Al’s filthy hand but shook it anyway.

“I’m Tom. This is Isis and her cat, Cleo,” he explained. “We’re travellers. We’re just passing through. Could you tell us where we are?”

“Oh, well, you’re on the farm where I work,” Al said, treating them to a welcoming smile. His teeth may have been rotten, but he looked very friendly. “I’m a pig-boy.”

Isis pointed at Al’s stick. “And does your job involve poking strangers with pointy sticks? Surely you didn’t mistake me for a pig,” she said stroppily.

Al blushed. “Sorry again, my beautiful lady,” he said. “You look nothing like a pig.”

Isis smiled and patted her hair. “Well, then, no harm done.”

“But I was practising my knightly skills, see?” explained Al. He looked down at his muddy boots. “One day, I’m going to be one of King Arthur’s knights.”

“King Arthur?” Tom gasped.

Al grinned again. “The one and only. He’s coming to the village today.”

Tom felt his heart beat faster as he remembered the words of the riddle. He looked over at Isis and winked.

“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.”