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got excited, lurching into a canter himself. And then, when I tried to pull on the reins to slow him down, he just put down his chin, took the bit with his teeth, and ignored me. Typical. I didn't want him to run fast—but there was the Queen racing ahead with the Earl of Leicester andPrince Sven. And Borage had decided to keep up with them, instead of sticking with the Maids of Honour further back.
    The Queen was leaning low in the saddle as she raced both the Earl and Prince Sven, and they went hammering through the trees and across the grass sward between them, with the Queen ahead by a neck and shouting with laughter.
    Suddenly, Prince Sven's horse checked—and would likely have thrown him if he hadn't been such a good rider. He urged the animal on, but he was behind now—while I was ahead of everybody except him, the Earl of Leicester and the Queen herself! And all I could think of was hanging onto the saddle-horn and trying to move my bum in time with Borage's mad bumping as you are supposed to do. It was exciting, but also very annoying because it was Borage's idea, not mine.
    I was staring ahead at the Queen, trying to do the same as her, when suddenly I saw that there was something wrong with the way the Queen was sitting. It seemed as if she wasn't as erect as she usually is. Then I realized that her saddle was slipping sideways.
    I shouted sharply, “Yout Majesty! Your saddle!”
    The Queen looked once over her shoulder atme—and that was when she knew her girth was broken. If she had tried to stop immediately, she would have gone straight over the horse's head, saddle and all. So she took her foot out of the stirrup and held onto the horse's mane. Her face was white, as her saddle continued to slip sideways. She looked ahead to the Earl of Leicester, but he hadn't seen what was happening.
    But Prince Sven had noticed by now. He spurred his horse on and the chestnut gave a burst of speed, bringing the Prince alongside the Queen, just as the saddle went completely sideways. The Prince leaned over and caught the Queen round the waist so she could unhook her leg and then, as the saddle came off, he lifted her bodily out of it and pulled his horse to a halt.
    Borage decided to stop, too, so quickly that he nearly unseated me.
    I saw the Earl as he spotted the Queen's horse careering past with no rider. He turned his horse on its haunches, his face as white as milk, and hammered back to see what had happened.
    He found the Queen sitting on Prince Sven's saddle-bow, pink-cheeked and breathing hard, but her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Elizabeth!” he shouted. “Thank God, for a moment I thought youhad fallen. …” He rode close, still very pale. “Are you all right? What happened?”
    I had never seen the Earl so upset. And I had certainly
never
heard anyone at all call the Queen plain “Elizabeth,” as if she were an ordinary person.
    “My wretched saddle fell off, my lord,” said the Queen. “But His Grace the Prince caught me, as you see, and saved me.”
    “I am in your debt, Your Grace,” said the Earl to the Prince, and even his lips were still pale. “If my sweet Queen had been hurt my life would have been a burden to me.”
    The Prince probably didn't understand the words but he inclined his head courteously.
    “Meantime, I am without a horse and the hunt is up,” said the Queen crossly. She looked across at my horse, which I would gladly have given her— except now the aggravating nag was limping as if he had strained one of his legs in his mad dash. Serve him right.
    “For Heaven's sake, which of you will give me a horse?”
    “Please!” Sven at once jumped down from the saddle, leaving the Queen still there. “You are welcome to take my horse,” he said. “But I have no side-saddle.”
    You can't ride side-saddle without a proper saddle for it. But the Queen was very poor when she was young and out of favour with her father, King Henry. Because she couldn't afford side-saddles,