It looked just like the pictures in Mrs Wendell-Jones’ books.
I dashed down to the garden and ran up and down a few times, pretending I was on my bicycle, or even a horse. It looked even better close up. It had things carved into the wood, pictures of knights riding in armour, holding out their lances towards their opponents. Each of them had a flag waving above his head. I peered closely. They had names carved onto the flags.
Sir Bedevere.
Sir Lancelot.
Sir Gawain.
Oh!
At the end there was a shorter knight. Instead of a horse he was riding a bicycle. His flag read Tomos the Brave.
Oh wow!
‘Bedevere made it,’ said a voice. I turned round and there was Arthur, with all the knights behind him. They weren’t looking as mean as they normally did. Some of them were even smiling.
‘He stayed up all night finishing it so we could teach you how to joust properly,’ Lancelot said.
I stared. ‘You’ll teach me?’ I said. ‘Really?’
‘You don’t want that lane to go to waste, do you, lad?’ Sir Gawain laughed.
I looked at the jousting beam. It looked really good. I wondered where they had got the wood from.
Then I noticed that our garden table was missing.
‘Come on, Tomos,’ Arthur said. ‘Let’s try it out. Show them what you can do.’
He grinned at me. I wanted to do really well, to show the knights that Arthur had taught me something and that he wasn’t completely useless. I grabbed my bike and set it up at one end of the long wooden beam.
Sir Lancelot walked over to the other end and stood ready. He was pushing…
‘That’s Soppy’s bike!’ I said.
It was Soppy’s bike, only it wasn’t all buckled and bent out of shape anymore. The frame was straight and the wheels were perfectly round. It didn’t even make a squeaking noise when Lancelot wheeled it.
‘He can fix anything, can Bedevere,’ Arthur said. ‘Merlin says he has magic hands.’
Lancelot dropped his metal visor over his eyes and climbed up onto Soppy’s bike. He wobbled a bit, but I suppose he’d never ridden one before.
Arthur helped me onto my bike and handed me the swim-noodle.
‘Right,’ said Gawain, ‘what you need to do now is not look at Lancelot.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘But how am I going to hit him if I don’t look at him?’
‘Ah,’ said Gawain, ‘if you look at your opponent you won’t concentrate on staying solidly on your horse. Stare straight ahead of you and keep your lance … well … your … whatever that is, keep it out to the side so that it knocks him off, but don’t look at him!’
I nodded. Don’t look at Lancelot. If that was all it took then it shouldn’t be too tricky. I clambered onto my bike and waited for Arthur to give the signal.
Jousting is AWESOME!!!! Really really awesome.
You can go mega-fast once you practise, and Gawain’s tip really worked! We practised for ages and I was getting pretty good at it. I’d almost knocked Lancelot on the head loads of times. I figured if I could be this good against Lancelot, a great knight who had fought in real jousts with real horses and real lances, then it was going to be no problem winning against a load of school kids on wobbly bicycles.
‘You nearly had him that time,’ Arthur told me, beaming proudly as I cycled back to the start of the lane to have another go.
I nodded. ‘I’m doing everything that Gawain told me to,’ I said. ‘I don’t know though, I just can’t quite manage to…’
I tailed off. Who was I kidding? I was never going to beat Lancelot. He was probably pretending to almost lose just to make me feel better. I bet behind my back all the knights were still sniggering about how dreadful I was.
All of a sudden it didn’t seem so awesome after all.
‘I’m never going to win, am I?’ I said.
‘What sort of talk is that?’ Arthur said. ‘Is that the young knight who stood up to the entire Round Table?’
I shrugged. Arthur took me by the shoulders.
‘Now you listen to me, Tomos. That lot have never worked together on anything. They bicker and they fight and they lost loads of battles because they wouldn’t work together. Now look at them. They’re helping you and they haven’t tripped each other up or thrown things around once this morning. You did that. You. I reckon if you can do that, then you can do pretty much anything!’
I looked over at the knights. They didn’t look like they were laughing at me. Lancelot was waving at me while Bedevere helped him balance on Soppy’s bike. Gawain was keeping watch for Mum and Dad. The others were lined up along the joust lane smiling at me.
They looked like they were on my side.
‘OK,’ I said, ‘I’ll give it another go.’
I took a deep breath and leaned forward on my bike so that I could get up a good speed. I careered down the garden towards Lancelot and, just as I got within a few inches of him, I swung my swim-noodle at him and…
…I knocked Sir Lancelot off his bicycle.
I actually knocked him over.
WOW!
‘This is going to be ace,’ I cried, jumping off my bike. ‘I reckon I’m going to win. You all have to come and watch. Promise you will.’
Lancelot sat up, rubbing his head. ‘Tomos,’ he said, ‘you are going to be … what is that word you use … brilliant.’
I grinned. ‘I am, aren’t I.’
This was going to be great.
Chapter Fourteen
What is a hero?
The castle was stuffed full of people by the time we got there. Mum and Dad came with me and I told Arthur and the knights to sneak out of the garden and follow on afterwards. Half the town was dressed as a knight or a medieval lady so I figured they wouldn’t be out of place.
Our castle is the best one in Wales. You can climb right up to the top of the walls and look out for miles. There’s even a big ditch like a moat round the outside and a sort of drawbridge. It’s loads better than any of the other castles.
Everyone in town had turned up early for the Eisteddfod. Mr Jenkins had let Mrs Wendell-Jones go to town on decorations. Round the inside of the castle walls there were stands like medieval stalls selling bows and arrows, wooden swords and stuff like that. There was even a man from the local wildlife centre with a falcon on his arm. A real life falcon! Awesome!
Mrs Wendell-Jones was standing on a wooden platform in the middle of the grounds, pulling some red cloth over one of the school chairs made up to look like a throne. She was wearing a dress like Maid Marian wore in my Robin Hood book and she had this huge hat on, a long cone with some glittery cloth hanging from it. It made me want an ice cream.
‘Tomos! How lovely to see you,’ cried Mrs Wendell-Jones stepping carefully down from her platform. ‘And what a wonderful costume. You look just like a noble knight.’
I grinned. Mum had made me a great costume. It was made of cereal packets covered in tin foil and strung together so it was hinged like real armour. She had bought me a helmet too, with a visor that went up and down, and had got an old pair of boots and spray-painted them silver. I thought I looked great.
‘So, is the noble knight ready for the joust?’ Mrs Wendell-Jones waved her hand over to a spot by the wall of the castle where the old hall used to be. There was a jousting lane all set up ready for the competition.
I nodded.
I was ready.
Mr Deacon had drawn everyone’s name out of a hat that morning to decide who would face who in the first round of the competition. I was drawn against someone called Owain from the secondary school. He was easy to beat. He got on his bicycle, picked up his noodle-lance, lost control and rode straight into the crowd watching us. I managed to beat a few other kids.
Then I had to face Sharon Jones. She was really good. We rode up and down the lane four times missing each other by inches before I finally managed to knock off the sponge ball that was velcroed on top of
her helmet.
‘Wow, Sharon, you nearly got me then,’ I said as we walked away from the jousting lane.
Sharon shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose I’m lucky really,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want to face Gwion Gruffudd in the best of three.’
What?
I looked over at the leader board next to the jousting lane. Gwion was about to challenge Dafydd Baker and I was going to have to face whoever won. I’d been watching Gwion joust and he was very good, even against the bigger kids. He was fast on his bike and he had strong arms from all those years of holding little kids up against the wall to get them to give up their pocket money. Whenever he managed to hit someone with his swim-noodle, he didn’t just knock the ball off their head, he usually knocked them off their bike too.
Yikes.
I really needed some advice from Galahad or Lancelot. What was that move that Lancelot had shown me? The one that had helped him defeat the great Knight of Monmouth. If I could try that one on Gwion, then maybe I could win.
I was just going to look for the knights when Mum grabbed my arm and dragged me over to the poetry podium. Soppy stood there, clutching a huge pile of paper. There was a big crowd gathering. Everyone loves the poetry competition. Mum is always going on about how brilliant it is that Soppy writes poetry. She calls her ‘our little bard’ and shows every visitor the prizes that Soppy has won with her amazing poems like ‘Hammy Hamster’s Day Out’ and ‘Bestest Friends Forevermore’.
Soppy went first. Her poem was about wanting to be a star when she grew up and it went on for ages! Even Mrs Wendell-Jones stopped smiling after the first ten minutes. A few people wandered off in the middle and I saw Dad yawn before he was jabbed in the ribs by Mum. When she finally finished everyone clapped politely and Soppy swanned off to sit down on one of the chairs at the side of the stage.
Mrs Wendell-Jones looked down at her list of competitors. ‘Seren Jones, please,’ she called out.
Seren stood up and read out a poem about her pony and then there were a few poems about ‘summer holidays’ and ‘my cat’ and then Mrs Wendell-Jones called Arthur’s name.
Arthur walked slowly to the middle of the stage and coughed a few times. I waved at him and he smiled and coughed again.
‘Urm…’ he began.
Mrs Wendell-Jones patted him on the shoulder.
‘No need to be so shy,’ she said, ‘just think of all your friends wanting to hear your splendid poem. What a wonderful costume too, very convincing.’ She tugged on Arthur’s beard, which made him wince. ‘Your mum should be very proud of you,’ she said, and she pushed Arthur to the front of the stage.
‘Urm…’ he said again. ‘My poem … my poem is called Heroes,’ and he began.
‘What is a hero?
Strong and brave and clad in iron might?
What is a hero?
Fearless, hungry for the fight?
What is a hero?
Hunting legend’s beasts?
What is a hero?
Honoured at the feast?
No, this is not a hero,
Nor evermore will be.
A hero’s worth lays deep inside.
In places we can’t see.
This is a hero
A heart that’s honest, good and true
This is a hero
Who’ll do his very best for you
This is a hero
By your side till journey’s end.
This is a hero,
Simply this. A kind and loyal friend.’
When Arthur finished, everyone was really quiet. Mrs Wendell-Jones had tears in her eyes as she went off to talk to Mr Jenkins about who should win.
After a few minutes, she stepped forward.
‘I’m sure you would like to join me in a big round of applause for all of our contestants,’ she said. Everyone clapped, then Mrs Wendell-Jones invited all the poets to join her so that she could read out the winner of this year’s crown.
‘It has been a very difficult contest this year,’ she said, ‘so many lovely, different poems, but the winner is…’
There was a huge pause. Soppy stepped forwards, a big grin on her face. I could see her opening her mouth, ready to say, ‘Oh thank you!’ as she always does.
‘Arthur!’ called out Mrs Wendell-Jones.
Arthur grinned from ear to ear. Soppy’s eyes were as big as saucers. She’s never lost anything before. I felt a bit sorry for her then. Maybe being perfect all the time is just as hard as being rubbish at everything. I gave Soppy a ‘thumbs up’ to let her know that it was OK to lose stuff sometimes.
Mrs Wendell-Jones opened a wooden box on a table at the side of the stage and took out the battered Eisteddfod Crown. Arthur’s eyes shone as she walked across the stage towards him and placed it firmly on his head.
‘Well, there’s a thing,’ she said. ‘It’s normally far too big, but it fits you like a glove.’
There was a huge burst of applause and cheering from the side of the stage. It was the knights, all whooping and waving at Arthur.
Chapter Fifteen
The Joust
‘That was amazing!’ I told Arthur.
Arthur grinned and put his hand up to touch the crown on his head.
‘I couldn’t have done it without you, Tomos,’ he said. ‘Thank you for helping me win my crown back.’
‘But I didn’t do anything,’ I said. ‘I just kept nagging you to help me to joust.’
Arthur shook his head.
‘You stood up to Lancelot and Galahad,’ he said. ‘You were brave and honourable and tried to help me, even though there were twelve of them and only one of you. You showed me what a real hero is. That’s what I put into my poem, and that’s why I won.’
I thought Arthur was being a bit too nice.
‘I don’t feel like much of a hero,’ I said.
Arthur looked at me very sternly. ‘Tomos,’ he ordered, ‘kneel down.’
I did as he said, feeling a bit daft. Then, from the folds of his great cloak, Arthur drew Excalibur, the legendary sword that Mrs Wendell-Jones had told us all about. The one that had been taken out of a melon to make Arthur king. Arthur lifted it into the air and then brought it down, first on one of my shoulders and then the other.
‘I dub thee, Sir Tomos of Harlech,’ Arthur said.
OH WOW!!!!
All the knights applauded and Lancelot helped me get back on my feet.
‘You are a great hero,’ Arthur said to me, ‘and whether you win that joust or not, you will always be the worthiest knight I’ve ever known.’
Gwion Gruffudd was already at the jousting lane when I arrived, doing lots of elaborate stretches. His armour was super-shiny. He said it was bought in Cardiff and had been made specially to fit him. I didn’t care. Mum had done a really good job with mine, even though some of the paint was beginning to flake off my boots. I picked up my noodle-lance and wheeled my bicycle over to the end of the lane.
‘Ready to be beaten, huh, Jones?’ Gwion shouted at me.
I pulled myself up as tall as I could manage (which isn’t much) and climbed onto my bike, ready for the joust to begin. Mr Deacon picked up a trumpet with a flag hanging off the end and shouted, ‘When I sound the trumpet, competitors may begin.’
Gwion glared at me and leaned forwards on his bike.
I drew a deep breath and said, ‘Don’t look at him, don’t look at him,’ over and over.
Mr Deacon lifted the trumpet to his lips … and we were off.
Gwion raced down the lane towards me, shrieking as loud as he could. I was so startled that I looked straight at him and started to wobble on my bike. As Gwion soared past me he easily knocked me off my bike.
‘First pass to Gwion Gruffudd,’ Mr Deacon called out. Mair Gruffudd cheered and laughed and shouted something rude that made Mrs Wendell-Jones tell her off.
I limped back to the starting line. I’d twisted my knee and my armour was hanging off my shoulder at an odd angle.
The second
time I was ready for Gwion’s shrieking. I managed to avoid looking at him and threw my lance-noodle out at just the right time to catch him on the edge of his helmet. The ball velcroed to the top wobbled a bit and then fell off. Mair booed and Mrs Wendell-Jones gave her detention.
‘Second pass to Tomos Jones,’ Mr Deacon called out. ‘The next challenge is the decider.’
‘You might as well give up now, Jones!’ Gwion yelled. ‘That last one was lucky. But don’t worry – I’ll be thinking of you when I’m watching PowerUp!’
I started to get that feeling again, like I wanted to run away and hide. I was about to get beaten by Gwion Gruffudd in front of the entire school and there was no way he would ever let me forget it.
‘Look at him!’ Gwion jeered, ‘He’s afraid. Scaredy cat. Chicken. Squawk!!!!!’ and he started to make chicken noises and strut about up and down the jousting lane. A few of the kids laughed and some joined in.
Scaredy cat.
Chicken.
I started to remember something. Something about…
…the CHICKEN!!!!
Of course! Merlin’s killer chicken! It hadn’t really been dangerous, but Merlin had made everyone scared of it by pretending it was. And it hadn’t really been outside my shed, but I managed to scare the knights by pretending it was. Well, now I was going to pretend more than I had ever pretended in my life. If I could pretend I was a great knight, maybe I could make Gwion believe it. Maybe I could even make myself believe it.
I was going to give Gwion Gruffudd something to be scared of.
If I was a chicken, I was going to be The Chicken of Doom!
I brandished my noodle-lance in the air and shouted as loudly as I could.
‘Yes, it is I,’ I yelled. ‘Sir Tomos of Harlech. The great and mighty vanquisher of the Round Table and personal friend of Arthur, King of the Britons.’
Arthur and Me Page 5
