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attend me as I make trial of your gift at a hunt my lord of Leicester has arranged for today?”
    I expect the Earl had already told Prince Sven about the hunt on the way over to Kenilworth, but he bowed again and said, “Gladly.” And then came lots more Swedish in the direction of Lady Helena.
    “His Grace asks that he may withdraw to preparefor the hunt,” she said, and the Queen nodded graciously and let him kiss her hand again.
    As soon as he was gone, we had to come up here to change. I'm not looking forward to the hunt at all. I'm really not a very good rider, despite all the lessons I've had, so I always try to trail along at the back. Last time I fell off my horse into a bramble bush, and had to spend ages pulling thorns out of my bum.
    I've just had a brilliant idea for getting out of the hunting party. The Queen is in her Withdrawing Chamber, and the Chamberers are bringing in her hunting kirtle, so I'm going to see her now….

    My plan didn't work. I must go hunting, after all. Hell's teeth!

    I was so pleased with my plan to get out of hunting. I got one of the Chamberers to let me bring in Her Majesty's choice of gloves, and hobbled in pathetically with them laid out on a velvet cushion.
    The Queen was in a hurry, and smiled fiercely at me as if she was expecting me, though I don't know why. “Yes, Lady Grace?”
    “Um … Ybur Majesty …” I curtsied with what I'm sure was a very realistic wobble. “May I be excused from the hunt?”
    “What have you against hunting?” asked the Queen, picking up some white kid gloves with spring flowers embroidered on long cuffs.
    “Well, nothing, Your Majesty,” I said awkwardly. “I know it is the best way to get venison for the Court, and if deer were not hunted they would eat all the crops, but, urn, I hate looking at the deer being killed.”
    The Queen shook her head. “You are too soft for this world, Grace, my dear. Here it is kill or be killed.”
    “Er, yes, but I am not at all good enough to hunt with you and my riding is still very poor …,” I gabbled.
    “It will only amend with practice,” said the Queen, drawing on the other glove and wriggling her fingers.
    “And, urn, my ankle is sore where I twisted it, Your Majesty.”
    She smiled. “Which makes no odds at all, since itis your horse that will be running, not you. Come, Grace, I desire to have all my attendants to make a good show for the Prince. And you must overcome your timorousness with horses. I would do you no favours by listening to your fears.”
    I sighed. It's not that I'm afraid; it's just that I'm embarrassingly bad at it. But there was no point arguing, so I curtsied again and withdrew.
    Still sighing, I went to the stairs with the others and found John waiting for me. I leaned on him and hobbled all the way down the stairs, reminding myself which ankle was the sore one as I went.
    Behind me, Lady Sarah was laughing with Carmina. “At last we shall have a good run. I am so weary of ambling along roads in the sun,” she was saying.
    I wanted to kick her. It's not fair, she loves to ride and, what's worse, she's good at it. Her horses always do what she wants.
    “Urn … are you hunting too, John?” I asked.
    “Of course,” he said. “I shall follow you if it likes your ladyship.”
    “Oh, er, yes,” I said, wondering what had happened to my tongue, which felt as if Mary Shelton had been knitting with it. Really, John Hull makes me feel quite uncomfortable and flustered, thoughhe is most pleasant. I think it might be his eyes that unsettle me—I've never seen any so bright.
    I leaned on John all the way to the Earl of Leicester's enormous stables, which turned out to be the cleanest I have ever seen, even compared to the ones at Charing Cross. The stones were gleaming and there was not a wisp of straw out of place. Our palfreys were standing waiting. I had one called Borage, with small twitchy ears, who sidestepped as I came near.
    John took the bridle and brought