The Castle Corona

Pia and Enzio, who had both smiled at the first recognition, were shaken when a woman hissed at them. “Ssst. Spies!” she said. Others, suspicion and distrust in their eyes, ogled the pair.

  “It’s us,” Enzio tried to explain. “We’re the tasters—” But his words were drowned out by catcalls and by villagers bellowing for food. It had become a frenzy of snatching and grabbing. Some villagers raced off with their booty as others returned with wheelbarrows to load up the goods.

  In a tiny voice, the Queen said, “It’s not—it’s not—what I expected.”

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Interrupted

  The noise in the village streets was deafening: people shouting, horses neighing, sacks of food thudding to the ground, crows shrieking, dogs barking. The King’s Men had formed a tight circle around the royal family, but Pia and Enzio found themselves outside this circle, their horses rearing and thrashing.

  As her horse spun, Pia glimpsed two familiar figures lumbering down the street: Master Pangini and Franco. Franco was shouting to Pangini, and as her horse came around again, she saw Franco point at Enzio and then at her. She was not sure what expression she expected to see on their master’s face, but it was certainly not the one she glimpsed. It was not anger or distrust or disgust. It was more like jealousy and resignation.

  Pia was confused, but she did not have time to ponder further, for someone was roughly yanking her from her horse. “Hey!” she shouted. “Hey!”

  It was Prince Gianni, and he had pulled her onto his own horse. Swiftly he steered free of the crowd and off he rode, his horse clattering close along the sides of buildings.

  “But—Enzio—” she said.

  “He is safe,” the Prince said. “Vito has him.”

  Ahead Pia could see a tight circle of King’s Men racing the Queen and the Princess across the bridge. “But—Enzio?”

  “There,” said Prince Gianni, shouting above the noise. Pia could feel the warm breath of his words against her neck as she followed his gesture. Vito and Enzio were racing close behind them, and they were laughing, as if it were all a game.

  “And the servants?” Pia asked.

  “They’ll be fine. They’ll be along as soon as the carts are empty.”

  As they dashed over the bridge, Pia trembled. She was reminded of the last time she had been carried off on horseback over this bridge, when she and Enzio thought they were going to the dungeon. But in her tremble, too, aside from fear, was the warmth of the Prince’s breath on her neck and the feel of his arms around her waist. It was not an unpleasant sort of trembling, and yet she stubbornly wished she had rescued herself. She had not needed a prince to rescue her.

  Across the bridge, the King’s Men stopped, awaiting Prince Gianni and Prince Vito. As the two princes joined the group, a lone King’s Man thundered down the hill, coming from the castle.

  “The King! The King!” shouted the man, alarm in his voice. “The King! The King!”

  “What?” the Queen begged.

  The King’s Man pulled up sharply beside the Queen. “Come quickly, Your Majesty. The King is ill.”

  “Ill? How so?”

  “Poisoned!”

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Hermit in the Tunnel

  Not long after the Queen and her entourage had departed for the village, Signora Ferrelli and her cats emerged from their darkened hermitage. They were about to enter the hornbeam tunnel when a servant stopped them.

  “You’re not to go there.”

  “Oh?” Signora Ferrelli said. “And why not?”

  “It’s the Queen’s place. It’s her own tunnel.”

  “Ah. Her own tunnel, you say?”

  “Only the Queen goes there.”

  The Signora peered into the arched bower of trees which formed the tunnel. “And who keeps it so finely clipped, and the path so neatly swept?”

  “The gardeners, of course.”

  “So, they, too, enter the tunnel?”

  The servant look perplexed. “Only to trim it, that’s all.”

  After the servant departed and was out of sight, Signora Ferrelli entered the tunnel with her two cats, the calico one trailing her ankles and the midnight-black cat striding ahead, acting as the hermit’s sentry.

  The Queen’s hermit inhaled the scent of the leaves overhead and admired the long rows of slim trunks, the overarching branches, and the long, cool expanse of the tunnel. She walked the entire length of the tunnel slowly, and then retraced her steps. Her black cat darted ahead of her and leaped up a slim trunk, climbing into the branches above.

  “What are you after, cat?” the Signora said. “Have you found a tiny bird?” She stopped to watch the cat clamber through the branches, idly wondering about the Queen’s visits to this tunnel. The hermit could understand its appeal. It was so quiet and cool and silent, so comforting.

  A twig fell onto her head. “Cat?” She could hear the animal pulling at branches and leaves. “Are you tangled? Cat?” She briefly glimpsed his green eyes and the dark fur of his face and a tawny object dangling from his mouth. “So, you have caught something?”

  The cat scrambled back down the tree and dropped his catch at the hermit’s feet.

  “Well, well, well. Look what cat has found.” As she reached for the leather pouch which lay at her feet, the cat placed one paw on the pouch, possessively. She bent to stroke the cat. “Good cat, good cat. Let me see what you have found.”

  Chapter Fifty

  Poison

  The Queen was understandably distraught as she raced back to the castle. The King! Poisoned! She was terrified that she would lose her dear Guidie, and she was also racked with guilt. If only I hadn’t left. If only the tasters had been there. She felt a sharp pang, for if the tasters had been there, then it would be they who were poisoned. She was shocked by how deeply she cared and mortified that she had not considered the possibility of their endangerment before now. But Guidie, dear Guidie. Who would do such a thing to my Guidie?

  Pia and Enzio, too, were overtaken with guilt. They should not have left the King. It would have been better if they had been poisoned, but neither Pia nor Enzio wanted to be poisoned, and so they were grateful that they were not now dying. Pia wondered about Giovanna. She would have tasted the King’s food, wouldn’t she? Was she poisoned, too?

  Through the castle gates the group raced, sending up clouds of dust. Servants huddled in the courtyard. Some of the women wept. The Queen and her children, and the King’s Men, and Enzio and Pia rushed into the castle, up the stone staircase, and into the King’s chamber. The King was retching violently into a pail. The smell of the King’s vomit assaulted them. Surrounding the King were his doctor, his Man-in-Waiting, and four nurses.

  “Oh, Guidie!” At least he was still alive.

  “His condition is most grave,” said the doctor soberly. “Most grave.”

  “But when? How?”

  “After his meal. Poison, no doubt.”

  The Queen turned to her eldest son. “Gianni, please—”

  Prince Gianni, with uncharacteristic determination, took charge. “I will investigate,” he said. “Vito, come with me. Pia, Enzio, you, too. Fabrizia, you stay here.”

  Princess Fabrizia, torn between wanting to escape the dreadful smells and wishing to be near her parents, wept into her handkerchief. “No,” she said abruptly. “I want to do something. I’m coming with you.”

  Prince Gianni swept down the staircase, across the courtyard, and into the kitchen, with the Princess, Prince Vito, and Pia and Enzio in his wake. At the far end of the room, four King’s Men surrounded Giovanna, who was seated at the table, weeping.

  “Oh, Pia, Enzio,” she said. “It is terrible, terrible.”

  Prince Gianni moved quickly. “Who served the King his meal?”

  Giovanna sniffed. “I did.”

  “And did you not taste it first?”

  Giovanna stood, her face flushed. “But I did, I did. I tasted everything.”

  Prince Vito i
nterrupted. “How can that be? How is it that the King is poisoned and you are not?”

  The King’s Men regarded Giovanna suspiciously.

  Pia stepped through the throng and placed her hand on Giovanna’s arm. “Tell me what he ate.”

  “His meal. He ate all of it.”

  “But tell me what foods,” Pia urged. “Exactly.”

  Giovanna sniffed, trying to control herself. “Three melons.”

  Princess Fabrizia stepped forward. “Three slices of melon?”

  “No, three whole melons. I tasted each one first.

  They were especially sweet, and the King was quite taken with them.”

  “What else?” the Princess asked.

  “Strawberries and blackberries. The whole bowl.”

  “The big serving bowl?” Pia asked.

  “Yes. I couldn’t taste every berry, of course, but those I did taste were so delicious.”

  “And what else?” the Princess pressed.

  “A chicken. The whole chicken. It was so tender, the King said. And six or seven turnips, I believe. Eight or nine potatoes. Wine—I tasted that, too. And for dessert, the raspberry tart—”

  “The whole thing?” Pia asked.

  “Yes, it was so divine, the King said. Oh, and another tart, the apple one, with chocolate sauce, and—” Giovanna stopped. “Oh, do you think—?”

  Princess Fabrizia and Pia exchanged a glance. They had already arrived at their conclusion. The Princess took Pia’s hand in her own.

  “Mercy!” Pia said. “I think the King might be suffering from an overdose of food.”

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Beans

  When the Queen was assured that the King was indeed not poisoned but was, instead, suffering from overindulgence, she made her way to her hermit’s cottage. She could barely contain herself, so overflowing with thoughts was she, and so in need of wisdom. As soon as the Queen entered the dwelling and saw the still, silent figure of Signora Ferrelli, her words poured out. She described the trip to the village and the distressing reception and consequences.

  “I was only trying to help,” she said.

  “You thought they would be grateful?” asked the hermit.

  “Of course, and happy—”

  “But they were not?”

  “No. They were—it is hard to describe—like animals! They were dirty and rude and…”

  The hermit was sitting on the edge of her mattress, her calico cat cradled in her arms. “Did they know you were coming?”

  “No, it was a surprise.”

  “Ah,” said the hermit, “a surprise.” She stroked the cat gently. “And do you remember when you were a girl? Remember what you told me the other day?”

  The Queen blushed at the recollection of her outpouring. “Yes, but I don’t see—”

  “Do you remember saying that you, a poor peasant, were coming back from working in the fields when a young man—a prince—rode up to you? You were carrying—what was it in your apron?”

  “Beans,” the Queen said.

  “Ah, beans. And you were dirty, were you not, from working in the fields? And embarrassed that the young man should find you so?”

  The Queen was beginning to understand where the hermit was heading. “I wished I had had time to prepare.”

  “And you were rude to that prince, were you not?”

  “I was.”

  “And remember when you said that he dismounted from his horse and offered you a token, a necklace—do you remember how you felt?”

  “I snatched it from him,” the Queen said. “I was angry at him.”

  “And why were you angry?”

  The Queen leaned back in her chair, trying to remember that day. “Because I didn’t like that he had such things and gave them away so freely, whereas I and my family—we had only dirt and beans.” She stared at the hermit. “Ah! I see. I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so. The villagers were confused, maybe they were embarrassed, and oh!—” She reddened to think how foolish she must have looked, high on her white horse, bestowing food: the rich woman showering trifles on the poor peasants. The Queen groaned. “I have made a terrible, terrible mistake.”

  “Maybe not,” said the hermit. “Did you not ultimately fall in love with that prince? And marry him? And become his queen?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “And were you greedy at first for all the things the prince had? For the food, the clothes, the castle, the gardens?”

  The Queen was ashamed to recall her younger self. “I was.”

  “And did you feel you deserved to have those things?”

  “Yes!” the Queen answered. “Why should only the royals have them? Why couldn’t my family have them? Why shouldn’t everyone—?” The Queen stopped, aghast. “Oh dear, dear, dear. What must the peasants think? How could I not understand that?”

  The calico cat slipped from the hermit’s arms and sauntered over to the Queen, who reached down and picked it up, letting it rest in her lap. The cat was warm and comforting, soothing to the troubled Queen.

  “I think you have had much wind in your face today,” the hermit said. “And I think you are much wiser as a result. You agree?”

  As the cat purred in her lap, the Queen said, “Yes. I think you are right.”

  Chapter Fifty-two

  The Summons

  When a servant relayed the message to Pia and Enzio that they were summoned to the King’s hermit’s dwelling, they were, of course, surprised.

  “Why?” Pia asked.

  “I am not told.”

  “Giovanna said that only the King may go to the hermitage.”

  The servant clasped her hands together. “True, but you are summoned. The King knows.”

  Pia and Enzio walked slowly through the castle gardens, following the curving path. They stopped at the granite bench.

  “Enzio? I am thinking that the hermit is supposed to be wise, yes?”

  Enzio was raking his hand through the gravel at his feet. “Yes.”

  “And so it’s likely he can read, yes?”

  “Probably.”

  “Enzio? Let’s ask him about the parchment in the pouch. Let’s ask him what it says.”

  “He is the King’s hermit, and he will wonder how we got that paper, won’t he? What if it is an important document that belongs to the King?”

  “Then we will tell him the truth. We will tell him we found it.”

  “Maybe we should ask the Wordsmith instead.”

  “The Wordsmith? But who can we trust more, the hermit or the Wordsmith?”

  Enzio considered the question. “I am not sure.” As he sifted through the gravel, a black snake emerged from beneath the bench and slid slowly around Enzio’s feet.

  “Ho!” Enzio said. He and Pia were startled, but not afraid. They had encountered plenty of snakes in the woods and had even met a few in Master Pangini’s hut. The snakes did not bother anyone, and besides, they ate mice, which were more of a nuisance in the village than snakes were.

  The snake crossed in front of Enzio and Pia before slowly making its way across the path and into the bushes on the far side.

  “The snake is a sign, don’t you think?” Pia asked.

  “Of what?”

  “Of something hidden—that emerges.”

  “We’ll get the pouch.”

  They made their way to the tunnel and entered it, running their fingers along the trunks until they spotted the one that Pia had marked with the squiggle of a corno. Enzio scrambled up into the branches.

  “Pia,” he called. “Do you see anything from down there?”

  Pia examined the leaves overhead. “No, you hid it well.”

  “I thought so,” Enzio said, “but it’s not here.”

  “Enzio, don’t fool.” She watched as he raked the branches and leaves with his fingers, shaking the canopy. All that dropped were a few stray leaves and twigs.

  Enzio searched thoroughly. “P
ia, it’s gone.”

  As they arrived at the hermitage, Pia and Enzio felt they had let someone down, but who that someone was, they did not know. Downcast, they knocked at the door, which immediately swung open.

  Not only was the King’s hermit standing before them, but also two guests: Signora Ferrelli and the Wordsmith.

  “Enter, enter,” said the King’s hermit, ushering them inside. “You know the Queen’s hermit, Signora Ferrelli?”

  “We do,” Pia said.

  “And you have met the Wordsmith?”

  “We have,” Pia said. “It is only you we have not met.”

  The hermit smiled. “Ah, but you have met me, child. You have.”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  A Noble Prince, A Peasant Girl

  On the night after Enzio and Pia visited the King’s hermit, they joined the royal family for a tale from the Wordsmith. They had been specially invited, as had the King’s hermit and the Queen’s hermit. When the King entered the room, the guests were already assembled, but he took scant notice of who was there because he was still feeling weak from his recent bout with overindulgence. He had only been able to sip clear broth ever since.

  The Queen, however, knew who would be in the audience, for she had consulted with the Wordsmith about the tale he would tell. Prince Gianni sensed an unusual tingle in the air. Prince Vito’s mind was on duels. He and Enzio had dueled that afternoon, and the Prince was hoping for another skirmish the next day. Princess Fabrizia could barely sit still in her seat, so tempted was she to gape at Enzio.

  Pia felt as if her blood were full of tiny bubbles. She was eager to hear the Wordsmith’s tale. Part of it she had heard the day before, in the hermitage, but she knew there was more to the tale which the Wordsmith would relate.

  The Wordsmith cleared his throat, peered into his black bag, and began:

  Not long ago, and not far away, there lived a noble prince.