The Master of Verona pa-1

by David Blixt

  "Two?"

  Pathino shook Cesco slightly. "Him, and me. I will be Il Veltro. I am the Greyhound."

  When Antonia's message arrived at the Scaliger Palace in Verona, the lovely Giovanna da Svevia was being entertained in her husband's parlor by the poet Dante. Feeling sour, he was reading aloud to the female members of Cangrande's court. Not that most of them listened, which was only to be expected. Bubbleheaded ninnies, wives of minor nobles. Only Giovanna, great-granddaughter of the Emperor Frederick II, paid him any heed. Related by blood or by marriage to half the rulers of Italy, Germany, and Sicily, she had a fine respect for the written word.

  Jacopo, present as a courtesy to his father, was presently making moon-eyes at one of Giovanna's attendants. The ones he'd already bedded and discarded were full of barely concealed malice. Dante was ashamed and slightly awed by his younger son's prowess with the ladies.

  Their hostess was lively, cheerful and active for such a gloomy day. Dante himself was weary of court and looking for an excuse to escape. So the messenger bearing a note for Maestro Dante was a welcome interruption.

  Seeing his daughter's hand, Dante imagined this had something to do with copyists' fees or foreign translations. And she was supposed to be on holiday. The girl was as hard a worker as her father. Pity her brother Jacopo was such a -

  Reading the first paragraph Dante gasped. Jacopo saw the blood drain from his father's face. Forgetting the girl, he darted forward. "What? What's the matter?"

  "Wait." Scanning the brief single sheet again, Dante spoke to his hostess. "My son is in Vicenza."

  "Your other son? The noble Ser Alaghieri? How wonderful!"

  "Yes. But it seems he's joined my Lord della Scala, your husband, on another of his idiotic — I mean, wild flights of martial endeavor."

  "May I?" Giovanna took the paper and read over the few well-shaped lines. "So, that's where my husband is. He forgets to tell me these things."

  "But surely, lady," said Dante, "this is good news."

  "Indeed." Aware of the anxious looks from the women around her, she said, "The Paduans have broken the treaty. They have tried to take Vicenza. If we are to understand our esteemed poet's daughter, the attack has been beaten back and Verona is victorious."

  The women clapped their hands in relief. A couple of them wept. Alone among them Dante knew the second part of the message and was pondering what, if anything, there was to be done about it. "A great happiness, lady."

  "Yes," said Giovanna. "Francesco does love his surprises. But what a joy that your son has returned to Verona! He seems determined to regain his lost glory. He's out searching for a missing child as we speak."

  Dante blinked. He hardly thought that the lady would make that part of the message public. It was followed by the inevitable voices, all asking the same question. "What child?"

  "It hardly matters," said Dante told them. But Giovanna surprised him when she said, "In the confusion of battle, Donna Katerina's son has been kidnapped. Bailardetto. And her foster son as well. I believe his name is Francesco."

  There were many knowing looks mingled with the utterances of surprise and horror. Jacopo leapt to his feet. "Cesco! And Pietro is looking for him? Father, we have to go help!"

  Dante knew full well the social perils of leaving this lady to join in the search for her husband's bastard son. But again the lady herself solved his dilemma. "We will all go. Send for my grooms, have them arrange a carriage and gather an escort. We ride to Vicenza. Immediately."

  "This was a terrible idea."

  Antonia's horse trotted beside Gianozza's, the rain falling steadily over them both. Their whole beings were focused on not falling from the sidesaddles. In the dark afternoon Gianozza's horse did not see the rabbit hole in its path. Gianozza shrieked as the horse stumbled and she fell skidding across the ground.

  Antonia slid out of her wet saddle and landed running on the sodden earth. "Gianozza!" She reached her companion's side. "What's the matter?"

  "My leg! My leg is broken!" cried Gianozza. Rolando whined in empathy.

  It didn't look broken to Antonia, who was admittedly no great judge. She looked up to see Gianozza's horse limp away, whinnying pitifully. "I guess you're both lame." It was perfect. Trust the girl to end up a crippled and helpless heroine. "Can you ride on the back of mine?"

  "No, no. It hurts!"

  "I could walk," offered Antonia. Again Gianozza shook her head. "Do you want me to get help?" The girl nodded. Antonia took the knife from off her belt and placed it in Gianozza's lap. "Just in case you need it. And keep Rolando close!" She started towards her horse. "I'll find someone!" Climbing back into the saddle, Antonia spurred off in the direction she'd come.

  Pietro silently digested Pathino's claim, wondering if it could be true. "If you're related, prove it."

  Pathino reached into his shirt and withdrew the medallion. "This was a gift from a great Scottish warlord to my father. He passed it on to me. If I ever needed to prove whose son I was, this would do it."

  "So that's why you had to have it back. But why didn't you ever..?"

  Pathino was amused. "Why would I throw myself into a nest of vipers? No, it was far better to bide my time and let my siblings die off, one after another. Bartolomeo and Alboino are dead. Cangrande cannot last much longer, he has too many enemies. Then I would have stepped forward to claim my father's legacy to make up for his sinful ways."

  Pietro tried a new tack. "You hate your father for being sinful. But what about you? You've committed murder. Not on the battlefield. You murdered the nurse in Verona — the one you stabbed in the chest."

  "A tragedy. I prayed for her."

  "Decent of you. What about Fazio? Have you already prayed for him?"

  Pathino shook his head in honest sadness. "Poor fool. He made a scene by begging. He didn't understand why he had to die."

  Pietro trembled again, but not with cold. "What a fine figure you'll cut before God, the slayer of women and boys. Did you kill the oracle, as well?"

  "No, I had nothing to do with that. I wish I had, the heathen bitch. The nurse, yes, I confessed to that sin and was forgiven. But the whoring soothsayer was killed by the Count's partner."

  Pietro squinted at him across the flames. "Partner?"

  A laugh. "You know so little. Yes, the Count's partner had the oracle killed. The message sent, the messenger had to die. Otherwise she might reveal the partner's name."

  This partner is the one who has access to Cangrande's seal. "I'm going to die anyway, so tell me — who's this partner?"

  Pathino smiled, a horrid version of Cangrande's famous grin. "That would be telling."

  But another odd suspicion was forming in Pietro's mind. "You're willing to kill women and children. So why didn't you murder Detto? Why haven't you killed him yet?" He pointed to Cesco, on his knees under Pathino's blade.

  Pathino was silent for a very long time. Suddenly he spat into the fire. "My father was a clever man. He told all his whores of a curse on his bloodline. I don't know who began the curse, or how. Perhaps it was Alberto himself. It may be he feared one of his sons doing him ill. Perhaps it was a guilty conscience, or simple foresight. But whatever the curse's origin, we are not allowed to take the life of anyone who shares our blood. Sanguis meus, the old bastard said. Blood of my blood. Anyone who does will suffer death untimely, and eternal damnation." Pathino shivered. "I will not be damned to fulfill my destiny. God would not ask it of me. That is why I did not kill Nogarola's boy — he is my nephew, through Cangrande's bitch of a sister. And that is why I will not kill this one."

  "But you will be damned, Gregorio. Is that even your real name? You've committed murder today, and you will not have a chance to confess or even pray before Cangrande comes here to kill you." Pathino just laughed, and Pietro pushed more. "Think on this. One hour. That's the head start you had. Four hours. That's how long it took me to catch up to you, even though I had to trace you back and forth across the river. One minute. That's how long i
t will take for Cangrande and his merry men to notice the signs I left for them — a broken twig, a sword slash in the base of a tree. I figure it'll take them about three hours to trace us here. How long have we been sitting here? Any minute you'll hear the hoofbeats of a thousand knights — and I mean real soldiers, not cowardly backstabbing, woman-murdering scum like you." There was consideration on Pathino's face. Perhaps even concern.

  Pietro pressed his advantage home. "I'll make a deal with you. Give up now, and I'll let you pray before they hang you. You can ask forgiveness. That way you won't be damned. Your soul will fly to Heaven. Now, give me the boy."

  It almost worked. But Pietro made to stand too soon. Pathino's dagger pressed against Cesco's face just below the eye. "Don't you move! I may not be able to kill him, but I'll take out his eyes. I mean it."

  Cesco was still, not even blinking. He made sounds that the gag muffled, but his eyes were on the blade that threatened his skin. Pathino shook him. "How would you like that, nephew? I hope you're not afraid of the dark, because you'll live in blackness forever. How does that sound?" Pathino's head snapped up again to snarl at Pietro. "The Count wants him alive? Fine. But he'll be blind. Is that what you want? Is it?"

  "No." Almost a whisper.

  "Then sit down. Sit!"

  "Listen-"

  "No! No more talking. We'll sit and wait for the Count to get here. And you better hope that your master missed the trail you left. If not, my beloved brother will get his son back, mutilated and scarred. Even dear sister Katerina won't be able to look at him without vomiting."

  Pietro opened his mouth to let an insult fly, but Pathino drew the knife lightly over Cesco's skin, making a small cut just under the eyebrow, off to the side. Blood trickled down the small face.

  Cesco didn't move, but made a sound almost like a growl. Pietro saw the child staring past Pietro at the ground nearby. Again the boy growled. Pathino shook him once, with real violence. "You shut up, too."

  Cesco looked straight at Pietro, green eyes direct and imploring.

  What's he trying to tell me?

  Thirty-Seven

  Surrounded by an armed escort of twenty men, the coach from Verona moved swiftly. At Soave they encountered Vicentines guarding the road. Giovanna and Dante were informed that the battle was indeed won, but there was no word yet of the missing children. Jacopo, all excitement, asked to borrow a horse and ride at the front of the small party. This was arranged and, thanking the Vicentines for their news, the lady ordered her men to press on without delay.

  Dante was now alone with Cangrande's wife in the carriage. The downpour beating down on the roof effectively drowned out polite conversation. When the lady said something Dante was forced to ask her to repeat it.

  "I said, do you find that great men are incapable of fidelity?"

  This was definitely not a path the poet desired to travel. But he couldn't not reply. "There is much to be said for the powers that lead a man to greatness — strength, will, grace, intelligence, the ability to persevere against all odds, ambition — a great man must embody all these in great quantities to survive the pitfalls of this world." A flash of lightning outside. Dante waited for the roll of thunder to pass. "An excess of these lead to other excesses."

  "If these great men are so intelligent, why do they not understand…?"

  "I never said they were wise, my lady, only intelligent. Wisdom is not innate in greatness. It can only be gained through the trials of a man's life."

  "Is infidelity admirable?"

  "Certainly not."

  "But you were not cruel to the promiscuous in your great poem," observed Giovanna of Antioch.

  "God punishes, not me," replied Dante. "To the matter of fidelity — think of Odysseus. He took lovers all his life. Yet there is not a couple more revered for their fidelity than the King of Ithaca and his Penelope."

  After a moment Giovanna said, "I have no children."

  Dante nodded. "And it is a mark of his affection for you that he has not set you aside."

  "Yet." Her voice was harsh. "Not set me aside yet. I suppose I should be grateful." She drew a curtain aside to stare out at the storm. It was Dante's impression that she was weeping, but he did not choose to look.

  Vinciguerra was dozing when Cangrande entered the smoke-filled room, his sister in his wake. "I understand I have another sibling. I rejoice. You must now tell me where I may effect a touching family reunion. I have no more time for these games."

  "Ah. In that, too, you are quite like all your charming siblings. No, no games. But I will not tell you where they are." Vinciguerra was determined to enjoy this last confrontation. "I have spent some time thinking about what my lady Nogarola has told me of star charts and prophecies. She clearly believes such nonsense. But I wonder — do you?"

  "We are men of the world, Vinciguerra. This world, no other."

  "That is hardly an answer. But I think you do. I think you believe in the story of the mythical beast who will transform the world. Certainly it consumes your brother. You both long to be that beast. So why not kill this child to begin with? He is nothing but a threat to you."

  "If he is the Greyhound," said Cangrande with a sour look at his sister. "There is some debate on that point."

  "But why take the risk?" demanded the Count. "Why let him live?"

  Cangrande smiled, but it was a cold smile. "For the same reason your Pathino has not, and will not, kill him. Sanguis meus. He is blood of my father's blood. Now tell me where they are."

  The Count swelled in his triumph. "They are as well hidden as if the earth had swallowed them. You will never see them again."

  "What did you say?"

  The Count froze mid laugh. Blood loss and spite had made him say too much. Now Cangrande's smile was warmer, friendlier. "What was that you said out on the battlefield, Count? Pathino had 'gone to ground?' And just now — 'as if the earth had swallowed them.' For a man of few words, that is a remarkable metaphor. Come, Kat. Perhaps we'll have that family reunion after all."

  Where the devil is Ferdinando? The question nagged at Pietro's brain.

  Time was running out. He had to try something. If he didn't move soon, he'd be no use at all. After a morning of battle and riding followed by hours of sitting in this damp cave, Pietro's limbs were stiff. In spite of the fire that blazed before him he was cold.

  The real question was, what was there to do? Bare-chested, barefoot, weaponless and tired, he was in no position to do much of anything. Pathino still sat with Cesco in front of him, the long miseracordia held loosely in his right hand. Even if Pietro could move, get a weapon, act somehow — as long as the other man held the child, there was nothing to be done.

  Pathino was gnawing on some smoked bacon. He'd removed Cesco's gag so he could feed the boy too. Surprisingly, Cesco found his voice. Across the fire he asked Pietro, "Why d'you like funny hats?"

  Pietro blinked. "Sorry?"

  "You like funny hats."

  Pietro had to grin. "How on earth do you remember that?"

  "Shut up," muttered Pathino, tearing into a bite of bacon.

  Pietro shivered again. "Mind if I stoke the fire?"

  After considering, Pathino lifted the dagger to Cesco's face. "No tricks."

  Pietro lifted a half-burnt branch, stirring up the fire and sending sparks up to vanish against the earthen ceiling. As he prodded the flames he watched Cesco. "How are you?"

  "Dog tired," said the boy.

  Dog tired? What did that mean? Where had he even learned the phrase? Besides, he didn't look tired. His eyes blazed as bright as the fire. What was he trying to say?

  Pathino noticed Pietro's hesitation. The dagger became actively menacing. "Sit down. Now."

  Pietro retreated slowly, lowering the piece of wood he'd used as a poker so that it was unthreatening. He left half of it out of the fire, the end protruding towards him. Cesco's gaze, even with a blade against his cheek, held the same scorn as yesterday when Pietro had been unable to solve the
puzzle. Slowly the boy's eyes moved down to the body of the dog. Blood was still seeping from its skull…

  Pietro saw Mercurio's chest move. Pathino's blow hadn't killed him.

  That was it. He looked across at Cesco, who grinned at him.

  Now it was just a matter of when.

  Gianozza was huddled in a ball, raindrops pounding on her head and back. She was wet despite her hood, and cold. Her ankle kept her from doing anything more than rocking back and forth.

  Slowly she realized where she was. It was not far from here to the cave she had shown Antonia, in front of which she and Mariotto had become properly married.

  She considered limping to the cave. It would be dry. She might be able to make a fire. But then she recalled the creature that had scared them from the cave. It was probably still there. Besides, if she went now, Antonia would return to find her missing. And there was her ankle.

  In an unaccustomed moment of practicality she chose to stay where she was, patting the dog Rolando who burrowed against her for warmth. This was no pleasant summer rain. This was what it must have been like during the Great Flood, when God wiped the face of the earth clean of evil. She closed her eyes. Perhaps the rain will wash away my sins as well.

  When she opened her eyes again, she saw a figure across the clearing. A man on horseback. He was massively built, with a large farmer's chest and arms. He was also wearing a farmer's straw hat, wide and drooping under the heavy fall of rain.

  Dismounting, the man began walking towards her. Ankle protesting fiercely, Gianozza struggled to her feet, drawing Antonia's knife. "Stay back!" she called, waving the weapon in front of her. "I have a knife!" Beside her the dog growled.

  The man said, "Giulia, I could never hurt you."