THAT AFTERNOON, Tommy joined the squires in the great courtyard for jousting practice.
When Sir Hugh entered, riding a large grey stallion, Tommy went up to him.
‘I’m sorry, Sir Hugh,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a horse today.’
Sir Hugh looked surprised. ‘Sir Benedict told me you’d be on Bess.’
Tommy ducked her head. ‘Bess … doesn’t like me,’ she confessed.
‘Doesn’t like you?’ Sir Hugh’s forehead creased in puzzlement. Then he shook his head. ‘We don’t have time to find you a new mount now, Tommy. You’ll have to practise on foot today. But mind you’re on horseback for tomorrow’s practice.’
‘Yes, Sir Hugh,’ Tommy murmured.
She went to the corner of the courtyard to fetch a lance and shield. As the squires mounted their horses, she could see them looking at her and whispering. Embarrassed, Tommy stared hard at her shield, which was painted with the Flamant Castle heraldry: a pink flamingo on a blue background. Her wooden lance, which was taller than her, was painted in pink and blue stripes.
The squires on horseback lined up and Tommy stood at the end of the line.
‘Yesterday we practised charging,’ Sir Hugh called. ‘Today, we’ll practise with the lance.’
Tommy concentrated hard as Sir Hugh demonstrated some movements with the lance. She would have to use her lance to knock her opponent off his horse.
For the next hour, Tommy practised with the others as Sir Hugh rode up and down the line, watching and making comments.
‘You handle the lance very well, Tommy,’ he told her. ‘But tomorrow we’ll be practising jousting against each other, and you can’t do that without a horse. So you and Bess had better learn to get along, understand?’
‘Yes, Sir Hugh,’ Tommy whispered, a miserable feeling welling in her chest. How could she make Bess like her? She didn’t even know what she’d done to make the horse hate her!
When the lesson ended, Tommy returned her lance and shield to the corner and ran down to the moat, hoping to find Lil.
There was no sign of the cat, but the crocodiddle was backstroking lazily up and down the moat.
‘Hello, Sword Girl,’ he said, flipping over onto his stomach and swimming towards her. ‘Why are you looking so glum? I thought you were excited about being in the tournament and riding horses?’
‘I was,’ Tommy said. ‘But I had my first horse-riding lesson this morning and it didn’t go very well.’ She explained how Bess had thrown her off. ‘I don’t even know what I did to upset her,’ Tommy finished.
‘Maybe you were sitting wrong,’ the crocodiddle suggested.
‘But I don’t know any other way to sit,’ said Tommy.
‘It’s all about balance and grip,’ said the crocodiddle knowledgeably. ‘I could teach you.’
‘You could?’ said Tommy doubtfully.
‘Of course! You don’t need a horse – I can give you riding lessons. Come on, get on my back.’
Hopes rising, Tommy slipped off her shoes and pulled her leggings up to her knees.
‘Ready?’ said the crocodiddle when Tommy was sitting astride his back, her legs dangling in the weed-choked water. ‘Here we go.’ He began to paddle slowly into the centre of the moat.
‘Oh!’ Tommy wobbled wildly.
‘Grip with your knees,’ the crocodiddle told her.
Tommy squeezed her knees into the crocodiddle’s side.
‘Not too tight, your knees are digging into me. Relax a little. Grip firmly, but don’t squeeze.’
Tommy was scared she would slide off if she loosened her grip, but she did as the crocodiddle said and found it was easier to balance if she wasn’t squeezing so hard.
‘That’s the way,’ the crocodiddle said. ‘Now I’ll go a bit faster.’
As the crocodiddle moved through the water, Tommy focused on the rhythm of his strokes and found that she was able to keep her balance quite well.
Faster and faster they went, circling the castle walls, the crocodiddle shouting advice. One lap, two … After they’d completed three laps of the castle, the crocodiddle, breathing hard, swam over to the bank.
‘I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about, Sword Girl,’ he panted. ‘You’re a natural.’
‘Thank you, Mr Crocodiddle,’ Tommy said as she clambered onto the grass. ‘You’ve really helped me. I’ll be much better on the horse tomorrow.’
‘Horses,’ she heard him muttering as she hurried back to the castle gate. ‘So stuck-up. All they care about is having ribbons in their tails. They should use crocodiddles in tournaments. We’re much more sensible.’