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she learned to ride astride as countrywomen do. So she simply smiled at Sven and gathered up her skirts, lifted her leg over the horse's neck and settled herself astride.
    Prince Sven looked surprised at first to see that such a high-born lady knew how to ride like a peasant, but then his gaze became admiring. The Queen smiled down at him, took the reins, and kicked her heels. The chestnut sprang away, followed by the Earl.
    I thought Prince Sven would wait for the grooms who were bringing up the remounts, but no, he started running at the Queen's stirrup as if he were a gi-oom himself. I have to admit, he's got such long legs he's a very good runner. But when the Queen laughed and upped the pace, he turned back.
    I caught sight of John coming up quite close by and so did Prince Sven. The Prince grabbed the horse's reins, then lifted John's foot out of the stirrup and tipped him off! Which I thought was quite rude of him, seeing that John isn't even one of his own attendants but the Earl of Leicester's henchman. Then he vaulted into the saddle and laid onwith his whip. John's horse at once speeded up and Prince Sven galloped out of sight, bending low over the roan's neck.
    With a lot of kicking and huffing and puffing I got Borage to limp over to the bramble bush that John had fallen into. He climbed out of it, looking rueful but resigned.
    “I really don't like to gallop,” I said to him, watching as Jane and Sarah raced each other past, paced by three shouting Swedish noblemen.
    John had spotted the Queen's horse eating some grass just behind the brambles. He sidled up to it and caught the reins just as the horse shied away. Then he jumped up and rode bareback over to me.
    “Borage looks out of sorts, doesn't he?” John said sympathetically. “I saw him run away with you and I was racing to catch up. Are you all right?”
    My face went all hot. He'd been tipped off his horse by the Swedish Prince and he was asking after me?
    “Urn … I—I'm fine,” I stammered. “I hope you weren't hurt by your fall?”
    He laughed. “No, just a few scratches. I've fallen much more heavily than that at jousting practise.”
    We made the horses walk on together through the trees, with me wondering why I was so breathless. Probably all that galloping. I was quite proud I hadn't fallen off. “Do you think His Grace will catch up with the Queen?” I asked.
    “I should think so,” John said. “That strawberry roan
is
the best horse I ever rode. You did well to keep up with Her Majesty.” He smiled at me.
    “That wasn't me,” I said ruefully. “That was Borage loving to race.”
    We rode around peacefully in a wide circle to go back to the castle. Then the sounds of the hounds became stronger again and we stopped to watch them hurtle past with the Queen in pursuit. We saw the stag caught in a clearing by some coppice fencing. It turned there, panting, its flanks heaving.
    The hounds came boiling after it, then the Queen, the Earl of Leicester, and Prince Sven together. The Queen had her bow in her hand. Her horse stopped and she truly did look like Artemis in the tapestry on her bathing chamber wall. She dropped the reins, nocked an arrow to the string, drew, and loosed, then nocked another and loosed almost at once. You have to be a wonderful rider to shoot from the saddle. I was watching her, not the stag, because I didn'twant to see it killed. I know I'm soft, but I can't help it.
    The Earl and Prince Sven both cheered at once and the Queen smiled with satisfaction, so I knew the poor stag was dead.
    The huntsmen had arrived, some on horseback, some running with the hounds, and they called the hounds off the kill.
    The Earl and Prince Sven were both congratulating the Queen. Then the Earl of Leicester beckoned angrily and one of his grooms brought up a horse with a lady's side-saddle, but now the hunt was done, the Queen dismounted and so did everyone else.
    The Master of Hounds brought the knife to the Queen so that she