The King stopped the Wordsmith. “You haven’t asked us what we want in the tale.”
The Wordsmith glanced at the Queen before replying. “Pardon, Your Majesty,” he said to the King, “but I thought I would not trouble you this evening for suggestions. I believe you will enjoy the ingredients I have chosen.”
“But you began with a prince. Usually you say, ‘There lived a noble king.’ Have you forgotten the king?”
“Pardon, sire, you are correct. I have begun with a prince, but the prince may become—in this tale—a king. A noble king.”
“Ah, very well, then, continue.”
The Wordsmith told of a noble prince who meets a young peasant girl coming home from the fields, carrying beans in her apron. The prince is enchanted with the girl and offers her a necklace, which the girl takes, but rudely.
This fact was particularly heeded by Princess Fabrizia, who interrupted the Wordsmith’s tale to say, “She doesn’t behave very well.”
“She is embarrassed,” the Queen said. “That’s why she is behaving that way.” Princess Fabrizia gaped at her mother, puzzled by her defense of the rude peasant.
As the Wordsmith continued the tale, the King, instead of dozing off as he usually did, sat upright, listening intently. When the Wordsmith described the noble prince, the King interjected, “Why, that’s like me, when I was young.” He was charmed by this element in the story. “And that peasant girl, why, that’s like you, Gabriella.”
The Wordsmith related how the young prince and the peasant girl fell in love, and how she left her family and her kingdom to come to the prince’s castle. “It was not easy for her, leaving her family behind, never to see them again.”
“Oh!” Princess Fabrizia said. “Why not?”
“Her parents died shortly thereafter, of influenza. Her sisters and brothers, one by one, succumbed to various illnesses. They were poor people, with inadequate food.”
“Oh dear,” the Princess said. “It’s so sad.”
The Queen dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
The tale continued. The listeners learned that the young prince’s parents also succumbed to illness and that he became the young king and his wife the young queen. The Wordsmith spoke of a happy time for the pair, and of the births of their three children, and as he described each of the young children, Prince Gianni, Prince Vito, and Princess Fabrizia recognized the similarities between the children in his tale and themselves.
Enzio whispered, “Is it them he’s talking about? The King and Queen and Gianni and Vito and Fabrizia? It’s them, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” Pia said, “but it is a story, remember.”
Next, the Wordsmith told of the king acquiring a hermit shortly after Vito was born. “This was a kind king,” the Wordsmith said, “and only the noblest of kings knows that wisdom must accompany leadership.”
The King was flattered by this revelation. “Excellent, excellent,” the King said. “Carry on, Wordsmith. An excellent tale you tell this evening.”
Prince Vito was the only restless member of the audience. A prince, a princess, love, children, a hermit. Where were the duels? The enemies?
Chapter Fifty-four
The Hermit and the Orphans
In the antechamber, a fire crackled in the fireplace and the candles flickered. The Wordsmith reached for his goblet and sipped slowly, refreshing his throat and preparing himself for the rest of his tale. When he continued, he told of the king’s meeting with the hermit. Pia and Enzio listened intently, for this was the part of the tale they had heard the previous day. They wanted to see if they had heard it correctly.
“And so,” the Wordsmith continued, “the king agreed to assist the hermit in settling his family obligations.”
Afraid that the Wordsmith might omit details, Pia said, “Wordsmith, what sort of family obligations?”
“Ah, yes. The hermit had two grandchildren. Their father had collapsed and died in the fields, and their mother had died during the birth of the second child. The grandfather, fearing that he had little to offer the children, arranged with the king that he would be the king’s hermit if the king would agree to find a home for them, and that when they came of age, the children would be brought to the castle to be apprenticed.”
The Queen and Prince Gianni looked at Pia and Enzio who, in turn, were gazing at the hermit. When Pia took her eyes from the hermit, she saw the recognition dawning in the Queen’s and Prince Gianni’s minds.
“Wordsmith,” Pia said. “How did the grandfather hermit know the king would keep his word?”
The King blurted, “The King always keeps his word!”
“Yes,” said the Wordsmith. “This king offered the hermit a written promise, as discussed, along with two of the king’s golden medallions and four coral cornos: two that the children would wear and two that would be held by the hermit as proof, in addition to the document and the medallions, of this promise.”
Enzio leaned forward. “But did the children in your story receive the cornos?”
“Ah, good question, Enzio. The hermit, fearing someone might convince the children to relinquish their cornos—so young were they at the time—deposited two of the cornos with a trusted elderly woman who lived in the village.”
Signora Ferrelli winked at them.
“And there came a time, when the children were older, that the elderly woman gave the cornos to the children—”
“But wait,” Pia said. “Wasn’t there a pouch, too? You didn’t tell about the pouch.”
“What’s she talking about?” asked the Princess. “How would she know what was in the story?”
Prince Vito slumped in his chair. “Aren’t there going to be any duels?”
“Ah, the pouch,” the Wordsmith said. “Duels! Thank you for reminding me.”
And so the Wordsmith livened his tale with a description of a frightening thief in the night and a stolen pouch, and a duel fought between one of the young princes and the thief. “In a noble gesture,” the Wordsmith added, “the prince spared the life of the thief.”
“‘Noble gesture’? That’s good, that’s good,” Prince Vito said.
“But was there really a thief?” asked Pia.
“There was a man, yes, who looked like me, dressed in black—like me—who set off on horseback with the pouch, but perhaps he did not steal the pouch. Perhaps he was given the pouch by the king’s hermit and perhaps he was taking it to the grandchildren. And perhaps someone with a vivid imagination called out, ‘Thief!’ and so everyone assumed there was a thief.”
“What?” Prince Vito said. “What do you mean, ‘perhaps’—is the thief a thief or not?”
“I am confused by all these perhapses,” said the King.
“And wait,” Enzio said. “Do you mean that the man—who looked like you—maybe was not a thief and was trying to give the pouch to the grandchildren, the ones who actually found it? So maybe they didn’t find it accidentally; maybe it was meant for them to find?”
“Isn’t there going to be a princess in this story?” Princess Fabrizia said. “It’s getting too muddled. I think you need a princess who does something.”
“Hmm,” the Wordsmith said. “I see the problem.” And so he continued his tale, allowing the thief to be a real thief and the prince to fight a duel and catch the thief, and the Wordsmith also included a lovely young princess who not only convinced the prince to spare the thief’s life, but who also saved the life of the orphan boy.
“And the eldest prince?” Prince Gianni asked. “You didn’t say much about him.”
“The gentle one?” said the Wordsmith. “He was a poet, kind and noble like his father, and he saved the orphan girl.”
“In a duel?” asked Prince Vito.
“Of course, of course, a tremendous duel, with both princes fighting a crowd.”
Pia preferred the original version of the story. “Wait, then,” she asked. “Are you sure the prince saved the orphan girl? Maybe she saved him
. Did you ever think of that?”
“What’s going on?” the King asked. “I am getting a headache.”
“Now, now, Guidie,” soothed the Queen. “It will soon be over. Wordsmith, are you going to say how the king and the queen and their children and the orphans and the hermits ended up?”
“Yes.” And so the Wordsmith told how the royal family opened the castle gates to the villagers and shared the bounty of their fields and how no peasant ever went hungry again, and how they all lived happily ever after.
Or at least mostly happily, most of the time…when there weren’t duels and thieves and such. The End.
Chapter Fifty-five
A Tale Ends
The Wordsmith completed his tale to a round of hearty applause.
“‘Mostly happily, most of the time,’” said the Queen. “So nice, that ending, don’t you think, Guidie?”
“I liked the beginning the best. There was more about the young prince who becomes a king in that part.”
“I loved the part about the princess!” gushed Princess Fabrizia.
“The duels, those were good,” added Prince Vito, “but next time there should be more.”
Prince Gianni joined in. “I think there should have been more about the poet prince. He sounded like a deeply interesting character.”
“The orphans—that part was especially good,” Enzio said.
Pia, standing beside the King’s hermit, said, “And the grandfather hermit—I thought that was a nice surprise.”
“But in the story tonight, it wasn’t really a surprise, bellissima,” the hermit said.
Signora Ferrelli tapped the Wordsmith’s arm. “You forgot to mention that the elderly woman was not always so elderly, and you forgot to say that she became the queen’s hermit. You forgot that part.”
“Oops, so I did. Please accept my most sincere apologies.”
Princess Fabrizia stamped her foot. “Wait, wait. How do they know the story?”
The Wordsmith looked sheepish. “I had some help with this one,” he admitted.
The King said, “It was a fine tale, Wordsmith, and maybe one day you will get it completely perfect.”
One might think, since the Wordsmith had completed his story, that the story ended there, but that night, surrounded by the castle walls which sighed and moaned and gurgled, each of the listeners of the Wordsmith’s tale encountered remnants of the tale—words and images and characters—floating through their minds.
The King and Queen lay awake wondering if the castle gates could be opened to the villagers. Prince Vito wondered if there could be a tale solely of duels, with no soppy feelings in it, but he also wondered about that noble gesture the Wordsmith mentioned. He would have to think about that, about why it was noble not to kill the thief. Princess Fabrizia cried to think of children without a mother or a father.
Prince Gianni’s mind raced as he attempted to reconstruct the Wordsmith’s story. He wanted to be able to tell a tale like that, to string words together in such a way. Could he learn to do it? And could he learn to be a noble king? And could a king also be a teller of tales?
Chapter Fifty-six
Ever After
Pia and Enzio listened to the sounds of the castle walls. “Moaning,” Pia said. “Hear that? It seems sad.”
“Pia? The orphans in the story, they still do not have a mother or a father.”
“But they have a grandfather, Enzio.”
“Like us.”
The castle walls emitted a soft sound, a light expulsion of air.
“Enzio? What did you think of what Grandpapa said about Master Pangini?”
“Which part? About being disappointed in how Pangini treated us? I felt sorry for Grandpapa. He looked sad to hear it.”
Pia reached for her pheasant feather and stroked it. “He was happy, though, that Signora Ferrelli scolded Master Pangini from time to time! And what about when the Signora said that she’d heard that Pangini misses us—”
“Ho! Misses us? He misses someone to cook for him and clean up after him, Pia. He’s a mean, old, snarly—”
“Dirty, paltry beetle!”
Pia retrieved the lock of hair with its purple ribbon from beneath her pillow. “Funny about this lock of hair, Enzio, that the King put it in the pouch. What was it the Wordsmith said? ‘A lock of hair from his firstborn child—’”
“‘The grandest assurance of his promise.’ Pia? Should we give it back now, the lock of hair?”
Pia slid the hair back under her pillow. “No one said anything about giving it back.” Pia sat up. “Enzio, we can show our cornos now!” She pulled hers out of her gown and studied it.
Enzio did the same. “They will protect us.”
“Maybe so, Enzio, maybe so.”
“Pia, will we always be tasters?”
Pia considered this. “Oh, no, I don’t think so.”
“But what, then? Do we have to go back to the master and clean his hovel? Become servants in the castle? Or, wait, marry a prince and become a queen? Marry a princess and become—what?”
“Ugh! We will never go back to the master—Grandpapa promised—and I would not want to be a queen if I had to be polite all the time or trudge around in all those heavy clothes.”
“But if you were a queen, you could say what you liked, and you could do what you liked, and the food is so tasty, Pia.”
“So what will become of us, Enzio?”
“Maybe we could be hermits—”
“Who don’t have to stay indoors—”
“—hermits who ride white horses—”
“—and feed the goats and chickens—”
“—and eat fine food—”
“—and give some to the villagers—”
“—especially the children—”
“—but not to Pangini—”
“—or Franco….”
Pia felt as if she could soar out through the window and across the river and swoop over the village and dip and dive. The walls of the castle murmured low, mysterious tones, teeming with intrigue and possibility. Pia listened for some time and then began a story:
Not long ago and not far away, a young peasant girl and her brother kneeled in the smooth, gray stones on the edge of the river….
About the Author
SHARON CREECH is the author of the Newbery Medal winner WALK TWO MOONS and the Newbery Honor Book THE WANDERER. Her other work includes the novels REPLAY, HEARTBEAT, GRANNY TORRELLI MAKES SOUP, RUBY HOLLER, LOVE THAT DOG, BLOOMABILITY, ABSOLUTELY NORMAL CHAOS, CHASING REDBIRD, and PLEASING THE GHOST, as well as three picture books: A FINE, FINE SCHOOL; FISHING IN THE AIR; and WHO’S THAT BABY? Ms. Creech and her husband live in upstate New York. You can visit her online at www.sharoncreech.com.
With full-color illustrations throughout by Caldecott Medal winner David Diaz
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Also by
SHARON CREECH
Walk Two Moons
Absolutely Normal Chaos
Pleasing the Ghost
Chasing Redbird
Bloomability
The Wanderer
Fishing in the Air
Love That Dog
A Fine, Fine School
Ruby Holler
Granny Torrelli Makes Soup
Heartbeat
Who’s That Baby?
Replay
Credits
Jacket art © 2007 by David Diaz
Jacket design by Neil Swaab
Copyright
THE CASTLE CORONA. Text copyright © 2007 by Sharon Creech. Illustrations copyright © 2007 by David Diaz. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced
into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition SEPTEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780061972454
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Sharon Creech, The Castle Corona
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