Tilting the Quintain
Shelby ran toward the quintain with great speed. He struck the shield beautifully with the lance. There was an almighty crash and the half-knight spun around quickly.
But Shelby was smooth and fast, and the sandbag missed his back as he ran past.
“Your turn now, Roland,” said Mr. Wright. “Remember that there are two aims—to hit the shield in the center, and to avoid the sandbag.”
Roland put Nudge into the small cloth bag he always kept with him. He then placed Nudge carefully under a shady tree. Roland was worried. He was sure it wasn’t possible to “tilt the quintain” better than his brother had just done it.
Roland nervously picked up the lance and ran toward the quintain as fast as he could. But he was running too quickly, and as he got close he started to lose his footing. He struck the shield well and there was a huge clanging, but Roland was stumbling and he could hear the sandbag spinning through the air toward him.
Being hit across the body by even a small sandbag hurts. And this was not a small sandbag. It lifted Roland off the ground and threw him three or four body lengths away, facedown into the grass.
Roland felt like a house had been dropped on him. Everything hurt, even his eyelids. For a couple of seconds Roland was sure he would never move again. Then he clenched his fists, stuck out his bottom lip and painfully pulled himself off the ground.
“Did you learn anything?” asked Mr. Wright.
“Yes, I should close my mouth when I am heading for the ground face-first,” said Roland, spitting out blades of grass.
The brothers each had to tilt the quintain a second time. Shelby again struck the shield perfectly and managed to get away before being hit by the sandbag.
When it was Roland’s second turn, every step hurt. Even holding the lance made his arms ache. When he struck the shield right in the center he knew he was too sore to run away quickly enough. Instead he dropped straight to the ground and felt the sandbag pass over his back, just missing him.
The sandbag passed over Roland three times before it stopped swinging. He then felt safe enough to slowly pull himself off the grass. He knew his father said there were two aims: to hit the shield and avoid the sandbag. He had done it this time, even if it wasn’t in the normal way. Shelby, though, had done it twice, so had clearly won the quintain competition too.
Village green score: Shelby 2, Roland 0.
“Are you sure you are well enough to continue, Roland?” asked Mr. Wright.
“Of course,” Roland replied as cheerfully as he could. But everything still ached.
It was time for archery, which at least gave Roland’s bruises and sore bones a little time to settle down.
Roland put Nudge back into his top pocket for good luck. “We have to do this well, Nudge,” he whispered, “or it will be Shelby Wright—future knight.”
Mr. Wright handed each boy a bow and a quiver with four arrows in it. Neither had used a real bow and arrow before. Although the target looked close, Shelby missed it completely with his first shot. So did Roland. Shooting arrows wasn’t as easy as it looked. Even drawing back the bowstring was hard work.
With his second shot, Shelby sent his arrow into the target, though only on the outer ring. Roland did the same. Shelby’s third shot was excellent, making it inside the first ring. Then Roland surprised everyone by hitting the black circle in the center.
“Flaming catapults, Nudge,” he shouted out. “We’ve done it. It’s a bull’s-eye.”
They each had one arrow left. Shelby lined up his final shot, knowing he needed a bull’s-eye to have a chance of winning. But he didn’t look worried. He calmly turned to his brother and said, “Watch this, Roland Wright—future armorer.”
But Shelby was too relaxed and suddenly the fingers of his right hand slipped off before he had properly drawn back the bowstring. The arrow fell to his feet.
“That wasn’t my real go,” said Shelby. He quickly picked up the arrow. “I can take that shot again, can’t I, Father?”
“Perhaps,” said Mr. Wright. “That’s a decision for Roland.”
Roland looked at the ground. What should he do? He needed to win a contest at the village green. But was it a real victory if he won by anything other than being better?
Sir Gallawood had said Roland needed to be just and noble. But right now Roland wasn’t sure he could afford to be.
Roland looked down at Nudge, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then looked at Nudge again. What should he do? Nudge twitched his whiskers, rubbed his black eyes and stared up at Roland. “Yes,” thought Roland, “you’re right again, Nudge.”
“Shelby,” Roland said, “of course you can have another shot.”
Shelby concentrated much harder this time and sent his arrow whistling right into the center of the target, less than a finger space away from Roland’s last arrow.
“Aha!” yelled Shelby. “A bull’s-eye for me too.”
Roland couldn’t believe it. His kindness had given Shelby a bull’s-eye—and Shelby hadn’t even said thank you. With his last shot, Roland needed another bull’s-eye to stay ahead.
Roland was shaking with nerves as he prepared to shoot. If he could win the archery competition, the village green score would be two to Shelby and one to Roland. That meant if Roland had built the best weapons at the forge, the overall score would be two all. It might all come down to the final sword fight.
But first, Roland had to hit the target. He drew back the bowstring with all his strength. His arms still hurt. So did his eyelids. And his ears and his chest and his legs.
“Wish me luck, Nudge,” he whispered to his top pocket. Roland opened his eyes as widely as he could, jutted out his bottom lip and finally released.
There was a loud whooshing noise. From the moment the arrow left his bow, Roland knew it was the best thing he had done all day. He watched the arrow sail, almost in slow motion, from the tips of his fingers right into the center of the bull’s-eye.
It landed with a thwack right between the two arrows that had already been shot into the little black circle.
“We did it, Nudge. We did it!” Roland sighed with enormous relief. “Now I think I should put you back in the bag for the sword fight.”
“I think so too,” thought Nudge.
