Digory The Dragon Slayer

wringing out his beard. ‘They’re a huffy lot these days.’
    ‘But, Your Majesty, I like to climb twiggy things with leaves and play the lute, and I would much rather talk to badgers and squirrels too!’ declared Digory boldly.
    ‘You would?’ said King Widget in amazement. ‘You like doing the very same things?’ The King looked thoughtful and Digory suddenly felt very shy.
    ‘Well, you’ve worked hard doing good deeds for me all day,’ the King smiled kindly at Digory. ‘Tomorrow we’re having um... a...
    a grass-in-the-sandwiches, you know...?’
    ‘A picnic!’ cried Digory.
    ‘Yes, exactly, a picnic. Come and meet Enid then.’
    And so it was arranged.

    That night, Digory composed a song for Enid, with a special crumhorn chorus for her to play. At last here was someone who liked the same things as him. For the first time Digory realised that he’d never had a friend. He was so excited he couldn’t sleep. So he sat in the moonlit courtyard on a sack of straw and played his lute to Barley all night long. Barley slept happily through every note, dreaming of soft ripe pears.

THE PICNIC

    The next day Barley’s dream came true. The picnic was held in the orchard under trees marked ‘Pear’.
    Digory arrived in his freshly oiled armour. He found the King playing leapfrog with a lady labelled ‘Queen’ but no princess anywhere.
    Digory felt disappointed and shy again. She probably heard my singing last night and is hiding somewhere with a basket on her head, he thought sadly.
    He remembered how the village boys used to tease him about his ginger hair and lanky legs and long sausage nose. How silly to think Enid would want to meet me, he told himself.
    Then suddenly a pear dropped on his head, and another. Digory looked up.

    There, sitting in the tree above, was a girl with brown hair sticking up like a hodgepig, balancing a crumhorn on her knee.
    Digory didn’t need to read her label to know that this was Princess Enid!
    ‘Come on up, Sir Digory,’ said Enid, ‘there’s room for two.’

    Well, I won’t bother to tell you everything that happened next. Enid had heard how Digory saved the cook’s cat and how he’d done so many good deeds for her father. Before long they were lost in lute and crumhorn talk, with plenty of laughing and turnip pasties. Enid knew all about music and animals and trees, and had many of the very same thoughts that Digory had himself.
    ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, Digory,’ she smiled.
    Digory thought of King Paunch’s knighting ceremony and Barley the carthorse and Betsy’s homemade armour.
    ‘I expect I’m not like the usual knights that come here,’ he said.
    ‘But I like you because you’re different,’ said the princess. ‘Lots of knights come to our castle, striding around, boasting of how strong and brave they are, talking about adventures and dangerous deeds. None of them would be gentle enough to rescue a cat, and we never become friends because they’re far too busy galloping around the moat to sit and talk to me.’
    ‘Oh, I’d like to talk to you best of all,’ said Digory, ‘and I can’t gallop anywhere!’ he added truthfully.
    ‘Good!’ said Enid. And, by the time the picnic was finished, Digory and the princess had become friends.

CAN IT BE TRUE?

    So, Digory stayed at King Widget’s castle all summer. He and Princess Enid spent happy hours building tree houses in the woods, playing duets, having picnics and thinking thoughts together.
    Enid showed Digory where badgers lived and he showed her how to dam a stream and make a stick bridge.
    On Saturdays Digory did good deeds for the King and, on Sunday afternoons, Enid pretended to be a damsel in distress and Digory saved her.
    Then, one afternoon, King Widget sent for him from the throne room. There the Queen and the princess sat looking serious and solemn.
    Oh dear, thought Digory, no one is smiling. Have 1 done something wrong? He tried to guess what it might be. He’d done a few things that were not quite right the week before, and a couple of things that should have been done in a different sort of way and one difficult thing that he’d given up in the middle. But none of these were as serious as the King’s stern face.
    ‘Are you happy here, Digory?’ began the Queen.
    ‘Oh yes,’ replied Digory, ‘very happy, Your Highness.’
    ‘You have been with us now a long time, Sir Knight,’ said the King stroking his beard thoughtfully, ‘and we are pleased to