Voice of the Falconer

by David Blixt

  Chewing, Pietro paced the kitchen floor, his words seasoned with bitterness. “He just strode in with a smile – that smile! – and pretended to be shocked at the goings-on.”

  “Don’t let it upset you.” Antonia calmly poured him more thin wine from a clay pot.

  “Don’t let it..?! He was playing with us all! Because of him, Cesco almost died!”

  “But he didn’t. Cangrande won’t do anything to hurt Cesco.”

  Pietro stopped and pointed a finger at her. “There you’re wrong. He won’t kill Cesco, true. But there are other ways to wound.”

  Antonia saw his eyes drift off again into darkness. Determined not to let him brood, she pressed the stone cup into his hand. “So tell me, what happened then?”

  “The Anziani all stood and cheered, of course. Lasted an hour, it felt like. Then he walked over and sat in the chair that all the fuss had been over. He moved so calmly, so gracefully. Asked if anything interesting had happened while he’d been away. Everyone laughed.”

  “What did Cesco do?”

  “Just stood and stared. I can’t imagine what he was thinking. But Cangrande ignored him, so Cesco bowed his head and came to stand with me. I’m not sure how he was even conscious. Tharwat got a stool for him to sit on and we hid him between us while he closed his eyes.”

  “And Cangrande didn’t say anything about him?”

  “Not directly. He listened while Castelbarco outlined everything that had happened. Passerino Bonaccolsi, who arrived with him – he had to be a part of the deception. Another bastard. Anyway, Passerino stood by the doors and laughed the whole time. Then Cangrande called for his cousin Federigo. Bail dragged Federigo up in front of the dais, and Cangrande publicly accused him of instigating the rumour of his death and starting what he called ‘a war between children.’ Then, before anyone could suggest Federigo be hanged, Cangrande said he was hungry and invited everyone to join him for a homecoming feast at the palace. Word had spread all over the city by then. The people all came to see Cangrande for themselves. The usual forum frequenters were outnumbered two to one in the crush. We smuggled Cesco past them and back here.”

  “And the Anziani accepted Federigo’s guilt, just because Cangrande said so?”

  Pietro snorted. “Of course they did. Even Mari and Antony bought it. The great man sacrificed his cousin to give the city just what it wanted – someone to blame for all the trouble. You and I know it’s nonsense. Cangrande orchestrated it all. Damn his eyes!”

  “Wait.” Antonia held up a hand. “What do you mean, he was behind it all. Cangrande?”

  Pietro’s laugh was almost a spasm. “You had it right back on the road. Someone was flushing us out, you said. Hunting us for sport. That’s just what he did.”

  “But he already knew where we were.”

  “Don’t be dense!”

  “Don’t shout at me!”

  Pietro scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s like this. Cangrande made a bargain with his sister and with me that he wouldn’t send for Cesco until the boy reached his majority. By faking his death, he didn’t break the agreement – he let us break it for him. Brilliant, isn’t it? Cesco was supposed to live in Ravenna until he was fifteen. But now the world knows he’s alive, he can’t possibly go back. His life would be in constant danger. As the fire was supposed to demonstrate.”

  “Cangrande—?”

  “—set the fire, I’m sure of it.” Pietro made a face. “I thought it was Giovanna or Mastino. Of course it was Cangrande.”

  “What about the poison? Who did that?”

  That brought Pietro up short. “Honestly? I don’t think that was him – too unsubtle. But it could have been any of them. The Moor says he’s ruled out Giovanna. If I had to guess, my money would be on Mastino.”

  “But the curse – you said no one in the family would raise a hand against his own blood.”

  “They can’t take Cesco’s life, no. But they can hurt him. The curse is specific. Ten years ago Pathino refused to kill the boy, but he was perfectly willing to cut Cesco’s eyes out.” Antonia shivered, and Pietro pressed on. “I wonder if Cangrande isn’t thinking along the same lines. Cesco is protected by a prophecy – he can’t die until he faces the leopard, the lion, and the she-wolf, whatever they are. So if his life is in no danger, why not let someone poison him? Cangrande knows that Cesco won’t die yet, so there’s no risk of incurring the curse.”

  Antonia considered this for a time. “You owe Poco an apology. We both do.”

  Pietro sagged. “If he’ll even speak to us. If I’d thought about it for even a moment, I’d have realized that if Mastino knew, he would have been better prepared to face us. Damn me for a fool! I should have seen it. This was Cangrande’s plan all along. There’s no way to hide Cesco now. That curtain’s been torn away. Damn him!” Pietro rammed a fist into the stone wall with real force.

  “Aren’t you giving him a little too much credit?”

  Shaking his hand, Pietro laughed sourly. “You’ve never dealt with him, you don’t know how his mind works. I thought I was a cynic. Turns out I’m not cynical enough. I just can’t keep up.”

  “Pietro, it was Cangrande who insisted that Cesco be taken away. He’s never tried to have anything to do with raising the boy, even before Ravenna.”

  “He plays a long game. Silver-tongued bastard! Why did I believe him? After everything I heard that night, all the precautions I took to keep Cesco safe…” Pietro stilled for a moment, his expression searching. “Did she believe him, too? No, she had to – but then he was so damn triumphant, maybe she never saw it for another game. And I never dreamed – I had eight years and I still didn’t see it. He just wanted Cesco out of Katerina’s hands until he was old enough – eleven is the right age to become a page or a squire. His father’s squire,” he added bitterly.

  Antonia didn’t understand all of her brother’s rant, but his self-beratement made her reach out a hand to comfort him. “Pietro, he couldn’t have planned this all out. Not back then.”

  “You spent, what, two years here at court? Was he ever anything but charming and in control? Did anything ever not go his way?”

  “Well, no, but you’ve told me—”

  “Yes, somehow, I’m not sure how it happened, but I got to glimpse something close to the real creature that lies under that golden skin. And for that knowledge, I get to be a puppet that can see his strings. But only after he’s made me dance!” He slammed his fists onto the chopping block, sloshing some liquid out of the stone cup. His shoulders slumped and he rested his head on the gashed wood. “Everything’s gone just as he planned it. As always.”

  Antonia hugged him, laying her head on his back. “No matter why he did it, Cesco still got to live with us and father for eight years. He has that solid core, a family that loves him. That’s more than most.”

  Pietro was unmoving, unmoved. “He has the Scaliger’s wildness.”

  “Yes, he does – but look how he uses it. He teased you into not tithing the poor, even though you both knew what it would cost you.” Pietro’s head came up, surprised, and he turned to face her. “Tharwat told me. I know it bothers you, but you made the right choice. Cesco was a part of that. However sharp he is, however cruel his tongue, he has a good heart. That, he got from you. He’s Cangrande’s blood, but he is your son.”

  That broke him. Pietro began to weep. Waiting for just this, Antonia took her brother’s face in her hands. “Shhh.”

  “Not mine, not now. He’s theirs.” Tears running down his cheeks, he ceased being able to speak for some time.

  Holding him, Antonia pondered everything Pietro had told her about the relationship between Cangrande and his sister, wondering how it could have gone so wrong, and why.

  When the tears were done and he had drunk some wine, they faced each other. Hiccoughing, Pietro smiled wanly. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’ll never need to know. Suor Beatrice will always have time for her big
brother.”

  He took her hand. “We have to make sure we’ll always be there for him, as well.”

  “We will.”

  There was a pause while both of them followed different paths of thought. Suddenly Pietro said, “There was one fly in Cangrande’s ointment today.”

  “What?”

  “Dandolo. He didn’t like the Venetian’s presence. They’ve never gotten along. Cangrande and I once had a long talk about him. And he was right, Dandolo is definitely the coming man in Venice. I don’t think Cangrande liked the way Dandolo was staring at Cesco.”

  “You mean…?”

  “Oh, not a lecherous way. I suppose Cangrande would approve of that, if only to belittle Cesco. No, Dandolo’s look was more… pensive.” Antonia was about to voice her opinion of Dandolo, but Pietro got in first. “Listen. I’m probably going to be sent away.”

  Antonia’s spine straightened. “What?”

  “Cangrande will find a reason. He won’t want me here to interfere with whatever he has in mind for Cesco. Tharwat, too. And Morsicato will be sent back to Vicenza. But there’s a slim chance he’ll let you stay. He doesn’t know you, might not see you as a threat. If he does try to send you away, make up some religious reason – an oath to God, something about Cesco’s spiritual salvation. Tell him in front of witnesses. He won’t be able to deny you, not if he wants to keep face with the church. Just don’t cross him directly and you should be all right.” Pietro stopped talking with words still hanging between them.

  “What is it?”

  “If – if he thinks you are too much in the way, too troublesome, he may have you killed. It would look like an accident, of course. You won’t see it coming and we’ll never be able to trace it back to him. There’s no way to prepare for it except to be cautious.” Pietro’s mind was racing now. “We need to find you some kind of guard or companion. Someone local and inviolable, who doesn’t owe him anything.”

  “I don’t want a guard,” said Antonia with a touch of her usual stubbornness.

  “I don’t care what you want. I care what keeps you alive.” He was back to being her big brother. “Cangrande isn’t the only threat. I wouldn’t trust Giovanna, no matter what Tharwat says. And Mastino might hurt you just to get to Cesco. From now on, they’re blood enemies.”

  “You’re a bundle of sunshine, you are.”

  “What are big brothers for?”

  There was a respectful cough from the door as a servant entered. “Ser Alaghieri? The Venetian Ambassador requests an audience.”

  “With me?” Not being the master of this house, it seemed odd. “Tell him I’ll wait on him in just a moment.” When the servant exited, Pietro scrubbed at his face. “Speak of the devil and he appears.”

  Antonia’s face was grim. “Why is Dandolo asking for you?”

  “He must know Bail’s out celebrating. He met me in Vicenza years ago, and again when I was in Venice looking for Pathino.” He sighed and started for the door. “Best go see what he – where are you going?”

  “To meet the ambassador,” said Antonia, moving towards the door with purpose.

  The dark glint in her eye allowed Pietro to divine her intent. “Antonia, no!” he hissed, reaching out to stop her.

  Too late. She was already striding through to the receiving room. Damning his limp, Pietro raced after her. From the far room he heard her address Dandolo, first by his title, then with an additional name. “Murderer.”

  Pietro reached the door just in time to see Dandolo’s reaction. Not shocked surprise. The regal figure simply arched an eyebrow at Antonia, then bowed. “Forgive the intrusion, Ser Alaghieri. I called to pay my respects to you and your charge.”

  “A little late for respect to our family,” replied Antonia coldly.

  “It is true, the hour is late. But does keeping you from your rest qualify me as a murderer?”

  Before Antonia could clarify, Pietro said in his sharpest voice, “Antonia, be silent. Ambassador, forgive my sister. You are most welcome here. I regret to say that the events of the last few days have worn Francesco to exhaustion. I’m sure he’d wish to meet you, but he cannot receive visitors just now.”

  “Entirely understandable. Young constitutions are unpredictable, but resilient. I’m sure he will be in robust health tomorrow. I will entrust my goodwill to you, and you may pass it on as you please. Also, this gift.” He removed a silver globe from a satchel and rested it on a table. After so many years with Tharwat, Pietro instantly recognized the etched constellations. “Great men need to be aware of their stars.”

  “You are too kind.” As Dandolo made no motion to exit, Pietro sat and gestured the ambassador to join him. Antonia remained on her feet, glowering.

  Crossing his legs, Dandolo straightened his gonella over his knees. “So tell me, Ser Alaghieri – what did you think of today’s miraculous events?”

  “I could hardly believe my eyes,” said Pietro neutrally.

  “Yes. In terms of the strife that was brewing, it was the most fortuitous of outcomes. And now the Scaliger has an heir.”

  “Pardon me, but he always had an heir.”

  “Ah, of course. Yet an acknowledged scion to carry on for him, that will be a great comfort to the people of Verona, and for Ghibellines everywhere. You have done him a great service. I am just glad it was my humble person who was deputed to Verona, so that I might witness the joyful reunion of father and son.”

  Antonia snorted. “Was it decided in committee who would come?”

  “Actually, yes. It is the Venetian way.” Dandolo turned his smooth, smiling features back to Pietro. “Ser Alaghieri, please tell me how I have offended the charming and pious Suor Beatrice, so that I may make amends.”

  “You can’t—” began Antonia, but Pietro held up a hand and she clamped her mouth shut.

  Pietro looked Dandolo in the eye. “Antonia blames you for the death of our father.”

  Now came the shock, however feigned. “I? Responsible for the death of the great Dante? I am horrified!”

  Rigid with anger, Antonia had herself mostly under control. “Four years ago you were on the council he negotiated with. You remember – he was there to plead navigation rights on the Po for Ravenna.”

  “Yes, I met the man that once, for an hour. Most of that time I spent in admiration of his talents. Why on earth would that connect me with his death?”

  “Not only did you ignore his petition, you refused him safe passage on the way home.”

  “As I recall,” said Dandolo, “he arrived safely in Ravenna.”

  “After having been forced to travel through a swamp! The mala aria took him, the marsh fever, the ague. He died of it!”

  “Oh dear. I had not heard how he died. That is dreadful. I know it is belated, but please allow me to give my condolences for such a loss, which clearly still grieves you.”

  “Thank you.” Pietro matched the man’s diplomatic tones. “We are fortunate that he finished his epic poem. He died knowing his life’s work was safe in the hands of posterity.”

  Antonia rounded on her brother. “Pietro, how can you stand here and be civil to the man who murdered our father!”

  “Murder is a harsh term, Suora,” said Dandolo.

  “What else is it when you cause a man’s death?”

  “Politics,” replied Dandolo simply. “For all that we respected him, nay, honoured his genius, he was in Venice as the representative of Ravenna. We must be firm in our dealings with our neighbours. They have armies. We have none. So we Venetians must use our trade routes as—”

  “Weapons,” finished Antonia.

  “Levers,” corrected Dandolo gently. “Ravenna was illegally using our routes. How could we allow the Ravennese ambassador to return by those same routes they were trespassing upon? In this case, we treated the man according to the office he held, not his desserts. I am stricken to think it caused him any ill, much less led to his death. It is a loss for all posterity.”

  Dandolo’s s
peech was a deliberate misstatement of the facts. Venice owned a powerful army, but on ships, policing the waterways of its territories and exacting extortionate fees from any non-Venetian vessel. Moved by the plight of the Ravennese, urged by Guido Novello, Dante had still demurred to use his way with words to bring relief to the port town. Pietro had joined in, throwing his weight behind Novello, speaking of justice and the law. At his son’s behest, Dante had gone, and died from the journey home.

  Pietro wished he could blame Dandolo the way Antonia did. But things were never that simple. If Pietro had not urged the journey, Dante would not have gone. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d been poisoned. Unlike the plight of the boy upstairs, illness was illness.

  Dandolo rose. “Ser Alaghieri, pardon me. I did not realize my presence was unwelcome. I came only to inquire after the health of the boy. Forgive me for saying it, but he did not look at all well this morning. I thought perhaps he himself had a touch of the ague, and came prepared to offer my own physician. I am glad to hear such offers are unnecessary. I will leave this house with my best wishes for his speedy recovery.” He faced Antonia. “Lady, I had no idea you held me personally responsible for your father’s death. Had I known, I would never have intruded upon your peace. I assure you, my grief at the death of Dante is second only to his children’s. I hope some day I will be able to prove my sincerity on that score.” He didn’t try to take her hand. Instead he bowed to them both and departed.

  Pietro saw the Venetian out, then returned. “Oh, well done. Are we going to plan a war with all of Venice, or just Dandolo?”

  “Pietro, the members of that council caused father’s death.”

  “True or not, telling him so doesn’t help. We gain nothing. You’ve been worried about Cesco, and you vented your spleen on Dandolo.”

  “I don’t trust him.”

  “A bit unforgiving for a nun in training, don’t you think? No, please!” He held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not looking for a fight. After what I said to Poco, you’re all the family I have left.”

  Antonia let out a long breath. “You need to get some sleep. You look worse than Cesco.”