“And the poet—don’t you think he was a lot like Prince Gianni?”
Pia considered this. “Yes and no.” The way the Wordsmith had described the poet, he looked like the Prince, but the poet in the story said beautiful things. He told the orphan girl her hair was as soft as a downy bird. She had liked that part.
“And, oh,” Enzio said, “it was so funny about the prince throwing the cabbage at the snake. I thought I would laugh myself right out of my seat!”
Pia giggled, remembering. “But it wasn’t real.”
“The story? He said it wasn’t, but how could he tell it, if it wasn’t real? How did he know what to say?”
“Enzio? It’s like when we pretend we’re a prince and princess, and we live in a castle. We make it up, out of the air.”
“Do you think we could tell a story like the Wordsmith’s?”
“What—with a king and queen and cabbage and snake and orphans?”
“No, with other things.”
“Whatever we want? I’ll start,” Pia said.
Not so long ago, and not so far away, there lived—a—a—fat master.
Enzio beamed in the dark. “My turn now,” he said.
And the fat master was extremely ugly, and he was forever shouting things—
Pia interrupted:
Like “you dirty cabbages!” and “you filthy beetles!”
Once they got going, they rushed on, snorting with laughter as they passed the story back and forth, long into the night, drowning out the moans and sighs of the castle walls.
Chapter Forty-four
Restless
Princess Fabrizia was restless. She had already summoned her Lady-in-Waiting to bring an extra blanket, and then again to remove it, and then to squash a spider. She couldn’t get the Wordsmith’s tale and the tasters out of her mind. The tasters had reacted to the story at every turn: they guffawed; they gasped; they clapped. It had seemed rather uncivilized at first, but then her mother and her eldest brother were laughing, too—not so much at the story, but at the tasters’ infectious laughter. Princess Fabrizia had found herself paying more attention to the story, to see what it was that made Enzio and Pia react as they did.
It wasn’t until she was lying in her bed that she realized the story was not entirely flattering to the princess in it. The princess in the story had seemed spoiled and sometimes mindless, always flitting about in a new gown. Princess Fabrizia reddened at the recollection. Was that me? Am I like that? Always, before, she had loved to hear tales of beautiful princesses in beautiful gowns. Why was this story different? She wondered if it was because of the orphans in it. The Wordsmith had made them brave and maybe even more important than the princess in the tale.
She wasn’t sure what to make of the end of the story, either, with those orphans finding out they were really royal children. Enzio and Pia, however, had loved that part, clapping loudly and shouting out “Ooh!” and “Bravo!” Princess Fabrizia wondered how she would feel if she suddenly found out that a couple of orphans were her siblings.
Prince Gianni’s thoughts, as he lay in bed, were similar. He imagined that Pia and Enzio were the orphan children and that, like the children in the story, they were really royal—not from his own family, but from another royal family—and if so, that would make Pia someone who—he blushed to think of it—would certainly be eligible to be his wife.
Prince Vito was already asleep, dreaming of duels. Enzio was with him, and the two of them were comrades, fighting off the enemy, who were throwing cabbages at them.
King Guido, too, was already sound asleep, but not dreaming. The story was not on his mind because he had not heard much of it. He had dozed off.
The Queen was not asleep, nor was she even in bed. She was standing at a narrow window which looked out onto the courtyard, and she was weeping. The Wordsmith had looked into her heart and offered her salvation. The poor peasant woman in the story was herself, she was sure, and when she married the future king and saved the villagers from starvation, the peasant woman was a heroine.
The Wordsmith was strolling in the garden, emptying his head, bound for the King’s hermit’s cottage. He knew they would have another visitor joining them tonight: the Queen’s hermit.
The castle did not sleep, either. It sighed and moaned, and even, once, seemed to laugh softly in the dark night.
And all the while, the leather pouch rested comfortably in the cool leaves of the hornbeam tunnel, a black hair lay tucked in a silk handkerchief beneath Prince Gianni’s pillow, a chestnut-and-gold feather reclined in Pia’s shoe, a small bean nestled in the palm of the Queen’s hand, and a black snake slithered quietly through the garden.
Chapter Forty-five
The Mission
In the kitchen storeroom, Enzio watched the Minister of Inventory of Vegetables. The minister held a scroll and a piece of charcoal, with which he marked his tally of vegetables.
“Seven, eight. Mm. Eight turnips.” He made a mark on his scroll and frowned. “Oh, dear. Six missing.”
Enzio peered over the minister’s shoulder. He couldn’t read the scribblings, but they intrigued him. “Minister? We had turnips last night, with the pork. Probably six.”
“Well, then!” The minister was cheered. “That accounts for it!” The minister counted twelve cabbages. “Oh, dear. Four extra ones.”
“Minister?” Enzio said. “Some were freshly picked this morning.”
“Oh? That’s it, then.” The minister altered his tally. “It is not so easy, all this inventorying, you know. Things coming in, things going out. One minute there are two cabbages; next minute there are twelve; turn your back again and someone’s taken away three cabbages for cooking!”
“It must be hard to keep track,” Enzio said.
“You can’t imagine! It’s not so easy, not so easy. And think of the other ministers—trying to keep a tally of nails or spoons or cows.”
“Cows? That shouldn’t be so hard. Cows are, erm, so big.”
“They hide, behind the bushes.”
“So,” Enzio said, “you mean it might appear that something is missing when really it is misplaced or has been eaten or—or—is hiding in the bushes?”
“Precisely!”
“Does it matter, if your inventory is exact?”
“It didn’t used to matter, but recently the King has become rather agitated about our inventories.” The Minister of Inventory of Vegetables shrugged. “I try my best.”
Pia rushed into the storeroom. “Enzio, Enzio, we are summoned!”
“To taste?”
“No, it’s the Queen. Quick!”
The Queen had awakened with a mission on her mind, and servants were dashing to and fro in the wake of her orders.
“Oats, vegetables, milk, chickens!” she called out. “Flour, eggs, pork! Gianni, see that Fabrizia and Vito are ready. Pia? Enzio? You’re coming, too. Quickly, now!”
“Coming where?” Enzio asked.
The Queen was already hustling to her chamber. “To the village!”
She had, technically, informed the King of her mission, but he was, as she’d anticipated, still in his morning fog.
“What’s that, Gabriella? Going to the village?”
“Yes, dear. I’d like an outing. And—and—I may take a few things along—trifling things—for the villagers.”
“But Gabriella, I was going to see my hermit this morning.”
“Now, now, Guidie, of course you have to see your hermit. Most important.” She leaned close to him. “Guidie, I will have the children and the King’s Men with me. You do not have to come.”
The King brightened. “Oh! Hrmph. Well, my dear, if you insist—”
“Of course,” she said.
Once the King was safely off to his hermit, the Queen had set the castle bustling with her orders. “Piles of food!” she said. “Quickly, quickly!” And as the King sat comfortably in his hermit’s dwelling, out of the castle gates poured the Queen, the royal children,
the tasters, twenty King’s Men, thirty servants, and sixteen wagons filled with food.
The mood of the troupe was festive. No one but the Queen knew what had prompted this mission, and no one, including the Queen, knew how they would be received, but it was a dazzling morning, with the sun glittering off the castle at their backs and flickering off the wide Winono River which lay before them. The carts rumbled, the servants hummed, the horses neighed and pranced.
Prince Gianni rode beside his mother; Prince Vito and Princess Fabrizia followed, all on their gleaming white horses. Behind them rode Pia and Enzio on two chestnut steeds, the children struggling to stay upright. Surrounding the royals and the tasters were the King’s Men in their red cloaks emblazoned with gold medallions, and in a long, trailing line behind came the servants and the carts laden with food.
Chapter Forty-six
A Favor
Hermit? I need to do something kingly.”
The King’s hermit sat across from him, hands folded gently in his lap. “Kingly?”
“Yes, something noble—or daring and bold. In all the Wordsmith’s stories, the king does something noble.”
“For instance?”
“The king has the answers to the problems. He makes things better. Like this thief business—in a Wordsmith story, the thief would be found.”
“And what would the king do with the thief?”
The King was going to answer, “Kill him!” but when he thought back on the Wordsmith’s stories, the king usually forgave the thief, or if the thief died, it was because someone—often a prince, rarely the king—had overzealously stabbed him, realizing too late that the thief was—it was strange to recall this now—the thief was often guilty of such a small crime, like stealing a loaf of bread to feed his family.
The hermit repeated his question. “And what would the king do—in a story—if he found the thief?”
“You would think the king would kill the thief and that would be that, but in those stories the Wordsmith tells, I admit, I feel a little sorry for the thieves.”
“And why is that?” asked the hermit.
The King detected a tawny fur ball on the hermit’s smock. He wanted to reach out and touch it. It looked like fox fur or cat hair. “The thieves, they don’t take much. A loaf of bread, a sack of oats. Their families are hungry. Of course, it is wrong to steal, especially from the King! People can’t go about stealing whatever they want.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said the hermit. “After all, the King is always right, is he not?”
“Of course,” said the King, although as soon as he said it, he knew it was not true. How could a king always be right? How was he to know what to do?
The hermit said, “Sire? I wonder if I might ask a favor of you.”
The King was rattled. A favor? He was waiting for wisdom and did not like being interrupted for a favor. “What, then?” he said. “What sort of favor?” The King could not disguise his impatience.
“I would like to meet the tasters, if Your Majesty does not object.”
“The tasters? You want to meet them?” It was an odd favor. No harm in it, the King supposed, but still, odd. He did not think to ask why the hermit wanted to meet the tasters, so preoccupied was he with his own concerns. “Fine, fine, if you wish.”
“Thank you.”
The King sat still, waiting, hoping that wise words would now come from his hermit. The hermit closed his eyes—a good sign that wisdom would soon flow—and breathed in and out deeply, slowly. When at last he opened his eyes, the hermit said, “If one’s head is in the clouds, one cannot see the gold at his feet.”
Gold? thought the King. He instinctively looked at his feet, but all he saw there were a few tawny hairs, which he reached for absently. “Ah, yes,” he said, accepting this apparent nugget of wisdom, but inwardly he was disappointed. Clouds? Gold? What has that got to do with noble deeds? As he took his leave of the hermit, he wondered if the Queen’s hermit was easier to understand.
Chapter Forty-seven
An Unexpected Reception
Down the hillside streamed the castle troupe. On horseback, the King’s Men, bedecked in their red cloaks, encircled the Queen, the royal children, and Enzio and Pia. Behind them rumbled the carts loaded with food and accompanied by servants walking alongside. Overhead, the sky was as blue as the cornflowers which dotted the hillside, only a few pure white puffs of cloud adorning its dome. Red poppies and yellow buttercups grew wild among the blue cornflowers and tall grass, all of them waving in the gentle breeze.
“A perfect day!” exclaimed the Queen.
Pia lifted her face to the sun, cherishing the air, so clean and warm on her cheeks. She was so high up on her horse, so far from the ground, so much closer to the sky.
Prince Gianni glanced at Pia, who was gazing upward. He followed her gaze, noting the blue of the sky and the whiteness of the clouds. He didn’t often look up at the sky. Now he wondered why that was. It looked spectacular.
Princess Fabrizia was watching Enzio. He looked so fine on his horse, so strong and handsome. She was confused by her interest in the taster boy, and she was also resentful that Enzio was not looking at her. Instead, Enzio’s attention was on the servants who walked near his side. In fact, he was smiling at one in particular: a young servant girl. A servant girl!
Prince Vito wanted to break free and ride ahead, to escape the group and race wildly along the banks of the river and on to the woods. He wanted Enzio to join him. The two of them would ferret out hidden danger and save the kingdom.
Down, down the hill they all came, a wave of people and carts surrounded by the glittering King’s Men. Before them lay the sparkling, winding Winono River and the bridge which led to the village beyond.
Clip, clomp, clip, clomp, over the bridge they surged. Pia noted the water, so clear, reflecting the sky so perfectly that the clouds seemed to be floating in the river.
It was not until they neared the far side of the bridge that she wondered what the villagers would make of this scene, and what they would think, seeing her and Enzio riding among the castle throng. She tried to imagine what she might have thought if she were still living in the village and if she had never lived at the castle.
I would be awed, she thought. A visit from the royal family! But it also occurred to her that she might be embarrassed, for she would not have had time to clean herself up, nor find her best smock. Always before, the villagers had received ample warning when the royals were coming. They had always had time to prepare themselves, to clean the streets, to gather flowers to offer to the Queen and the Princess.
Enzio, too, was wondering what the villagers might think. He thought they would be proud to see him—a mere peasant—among the royals, and on horseback, no less. He was eager to see the surprised looks of the villagers.
When the first wave of King’s Men and the Queen and Prince Gianni cleared the far side of the bridge, a group of peasants near the river shrank back, startled by the flood of people approaching.
Some slid into doorways to hide themselves, and one young boy cried.
The Queen raised her hand in greeting, a delicate royal wave, but the peasants did not smile and curtsy as they always had before. They seemed stunned, disoriented.
“What is the matter with them?” she asked Prince Gianni. “And why are they so dirty?”
The Prince could not answer her. He, too, was mystified by this reception.
On into the narrow streets poured the castle group, a vast swell surging through the streets, as peasants withdrew from its glittering, clattering mass.
“What is the matter with them?” repeated the Queen.
Although she did not answer the Queen, Pia understood what was wrong.
“Stop!” ordered the Queen. “Stop!” She was speaking to the King’s Men in front of her, who instantly halted, shouting orders for all to halt. To the nearest servants, the Queen said, “Give them some food.”
Unsure as to how to accompl
ish this, the servants were tentative, offering a few melons or apples to bystanders, who still hung back, reluctant to take the offerings.
“Prince Gianni,” pleaded the Queen. “Tell them what to do.”
“Uh. Erm.”
Prince Vito, frustrated by his brother’s inaction, swerved out of the line and rode up and down, alongside the trailing carts. “Go on,” he said, “tell them it’s free.” He turned to the frightened peasants. “Free! Take it!” He reached for a sack of wheat and threw it to a young boy. “Take it!” The sack landed at the boy’s feet. “Take it!” ordered Prince Vito. The boy, obeying, snatched the sack and raced down an alley.
The servants, intimidated by Prince Vito’s boisterous orders, began tossing sacks out of carts, aiming them at the feet of the villagers. Soon it was a chaotic scene, as other villagers, beckoned by the noise, arrived to see what was happening and quickly realized that if they did not grab the food, they might miss out.
It had been the Queen’s plan to ride on through the village, through its winding streets, passing out food in an orderly way as they went, but they were stalled, crowded on all sides by villagers clamoring for food. Some broke through the ranks of King’s Men and leaped into the wagons, throwing the contents to friends and neighbors. Flying through the air were fruits and vegetables, chickens, and sacks of oats and wheat. The peasants, who had been so timid and stunned at first, were now noisily shouting to each other, the din frightening the horses and making them skittish.
“Oh!” said the Queen. “I don’t understand—”
“I want to go home,” whimpered the Princess.
Out of the crowd, a man shouted, “Hey! It’s the antelope boy and the eagle girl. Pangini’s wards! Up there, see?”
A boy hooted. “Hoo! What are you doing up there?”
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