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Borage up to the mounting block. Then he helped me get myself settled into the saddle—which is always the tricky bit. The one good thing about side-saddles is that they are very hard to fall out of—though I've managed several times.
    Then I had nothing to do but wait. John went off—to see about the hounds, he said—and a little while later the Queen's horse was led up to the mounting block. Then some pages arrived shouting, “The Queen! The Queen!” And everyone stood, or sat up straighter, as the Queen came into the yard.
    The Earl of Leicester held the Queen's stirrup for her, as she mounted and settled herself in the saddle with her whip in her hand.
    The ladies dropped back as the gentlemen rodeup to surround the Queen, each more upright and dashing than the last, all desperately trying to impress her with their horsemanship.
    The Queen was now surrounded by gentlemen, with the Earl of Leicester and Mr. Hatton the closest. Sir William Cecil wasn't there—he doesn't like hunting, and was probably busy with paperwork. When everyone was ready we rode out and through the village, towards the forest.
    Borage snorted and trotted to keep up with the crowd of other horses. I sighed. I much prefer lazy horses to eager ones.
    The Queen was chatting to the Earl as he rode beside her, her face all lit up with excitement and pleasure. She beckoned to one of the grooms, who was carrying her quiver for her, and took out the bow to show the Earl.
    He examined it gravely.
    “Isn't it beautiful?' she demanded. “I have never seen a bow like it.”
    “It is very pretty,” agreed the Earl loftily. “But will it shoot?”
    “We shall try it, my lord. But do you not like it?” the Queen persisted teasingly.
    “It is well enough—a fair toy for a maiden,” said the Earl, scowling now. “But I fear “four Majestyshall find it bends but stiffly, and is not so apt to your hand as it may be fair to your eye.”
    Mary Shelton caught my eye and her eyebrows went up at this. We'd both guessed that the Earl was speaking in riddles. He was really talking about the Swedish Prince.
    “String it for me,” ordered the Queen.
    The Earl did so immediately, pushing the bottom end against his saddle-horn without much effort, which was quite impressive. Normally you string a bow by pushing the bottom end against the ground. He passed it back to the Queen, who twanged the string a couple of times, then took an arrow, nocked, drew, and loosed. It thunked into a tree nearby. “I think it is apt for the purpose,” she said, her eyes sparkling.
    ““four Majesty is a true Artemis,” replied the Earl, bowing from the saddle.
    We had come to the edge of the forest. Waiting there was the Swedish Prince with five of his men, looking dashing and handsome in their hunting jerkins. I couldn't see John anywhere, although I had seen him going to mount.
    I prefer it when the Queen waits in a hide for the beaters to drive up the game, and then shoots whatever tries to run past. But really, to Her Majesty,hunting is just an excuse to ride as fast as she can through woods and across country. She has no fear. If it would not make Sir William Cecil faint with horror, I think she would even hunt boar as the King of France does.
    The Earl had organized everything in advance, so the deer had already been found by the men with lymer dogs. One of the huntsmen showed us where to go as the dogs milled around snorting and trying to find the scent. I settled myself with my whip and found John riding nearby on a strawberry roan. I was quite pleased to see him there, though I really really hoped I wouldn't end up head-first in a nettle bed.
    At last the hounds gave tongue and started running. The huntsmen blew their horns, and the Queen showed off by blowing her own horn, and then grinning at Prince Sven. She used the whip, because her horse was sidestepping a little, and the gelding bunched himself straight into a canter and then a gallop.
    Borage saw all this and