Voice of the Falconer

by David Blixt

  It was tempting to demand their return, but Pietro held firmly to his line. “I want you to declare Cesco your heir in writing and in person before I leave.”

  This brought a stiffness to the Scaliger’s posture. “I thought I did well enough last night. But of course, if you wish it, I shall call a special council and perform a ceremony here in the Domus Nova. Or should I parade him through the streets on my horse, with me shoveling the shit behind him?”

  “No. You’ll extract an oath from Mastino, Alberto, and the nobility that they’ll see Cesco made Capitano upon your death.”

  Cangrande was no longer smiling. “Done. Anything else?”

  “That will do,” said Pietro.

  “Nothing about your sister?”

  The chill was back, but Pietro managed not to show it. “I don’t imagine you’ll be troubled by her. Or she by you. She is under the protection of her Order. When her oath to her abbess is performed, she’ll go back to Ravenna.”

  Cangrande’s brow furrowed. “Oath?”

  “She swore before God that she wouldn’t leave Cesco until she is certain of the state of his soul. Until then she will remain here, in the cloister. I’m not happy about it, but she’s as stubborn as I am.”

  Cangrande was nobody’s fool. “I see. An inviolable queen to put me in check. You’re quite the monster, to use your family so. I thought that was the very reason you abhor me.”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” said Pietro with the ring of absolute truth. “She made the pledge first to my father, then to her abbess. I’d rather she wasn’t here at all.”

  Cangrande grinned. “So she’s her own mistress. Excellent! The game needs more spice. Suor Beatrice. A funny name, that. Are you sure she’s your sister, and not your father’s whore? Or both, perhaps?”

  Pietro was too shocked to even speak, much less issue the challenge that remark deserved.

  Cangrande waved dismissively. “As amusing as you’ve been, ser knight, you have packing to do. The council will be called tomorrow and I will invest your little Cesco before your eyes. The next morning you will be escorted east with an honour guard of my soldiers. Now get out. I have real work to do.”

  Fuming, Pietro made for the exit. He didn’t know how many more interviews like this he could stand. He hoped he’d thrown enough dust in Cangrande’s eyes to blind him towards Antonia. If Cangrande thought that Pietro didn’t want her there, perhaps she was safe. Cangrande saw Pietro’s truthfulness as a weakness. This once it might work in his favour.

  His hand was on the door when Cangrande called out, “It was a girl, by the way.”

  Pietro turned. “What?”

  “Capulletto’s child. It was a girl. He’s named her already.” The Scaliger paused. “He calls her his Giulietta.”

  “O Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Pietro right from his heart. As he elbowed out the door, Cangrande’s laughter rang after him.

  Thirty-Two

  As Pietro suffered through his interview with the Capitano, Antonia conscientiously followed his instructions, insinuating herself back into Veronese life. Braving the elements, her first call was to San Francesco al Corso. Even in this tempest, the white walls were a shiny beacon.

  Naturally, she found the man she sought in the garden, pinning down a tarp to protect his plants. “Devilish weather!” cried Fra Lorenzo before he even knew who it was beside him.

  “I need to talk to you!” she shouted over the torrent.

  He waved her into an arched arcade. Throwing back his cowl, he looked at her warily as she said, “I’m afraid I need my chaperone again.”

  “More heretics to expose?” There was some bite in his tone.

  “More acquaintances to renew. But I also need an introduction to the sisterhood here in the city. Who better than a brother of the Order?”

  “Did your brother send you?”

  “No. Why?” The friar only grunted. “Brother Lorenzo, you’ve made your dislike of my brother plain. But I know no reason for it. He is a good man, honest and loyal to a fault.”

  “We have seen different sides of him.”

  “Perhaps,” said Antonia tartly. “Does your dislike of him extend to me? Should I look for another companion?”

  Looking out over his garden, Fra Lorenzo heaved a sigh. “There’s nothing much for me to do in weather like this, anyway. And no, I bear you no ill will. How could I? You are a sister in Christ. Allow me to explain my absence to my Prior, then we’ll be on our way.”

  Minutes later, huddled beneath heavy cloaks, they set out. “Where first?”

  “A return to the Capulletto household. I want to see if there’s anything to be done for the new mother or her daughter.”

  At first pleased at the Christian nature of the call, suspicion crept in. “No secret agenda? No one to interrogate?”

  “No!” laughed Antonia. “Though I suppose we should keep an eye open for Borachio—”

  “According to your brother, they had a bargain. Borachio would attend the ball. If he recognized a man’s voice in the crowd, he would say so. He did not recognize anyone’s voice, and so he had fulfilled the bargain. I took it upon myself to release him, in case your brother did not.”

  Pietro, what did you say to this holy brother to make him detest you so?

  Due to the rain, their conversation progressed in fits and starts as they raced from shelter to shelter, a doorway here, an archway there. Each time they were joined by other Veronese unfortunate enough to be out in this weather, and Lorenzo would greet them, introducing Antonia as Suor Beatrice.

  “I am glad of this visit to Lord Capulletto,” admitted Lorenzo at one point. “Last night I realized I’ve been remiss. I’ve avoided him these many years for fear of the anger he bears me, when I should be mending fences with him. Who knows? Perhaps in time I can effect a reconciliation between he and Montecchio!”

  “Good luck in that. They’re intractable. If you succeed where so many have failed, then my brother will love you the rest of his days.” Lorenzo considered that statement with interest.

  Reaching the brick tunnel to Capulletto’s house, they ran right into Antony, accompanied by several servants dressed for riding. “Sister! Father! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Antonia answered. “We came to visit the new mother and child, to bestow on them what comfort we can. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have left so early last night. But I thought the party would end with the impromptu race.”

  “That boy is a scalawag, isn’t he? Hey – Scala-wag! Ha!” Antony chortled, enjoying his inadvertent pun. “But you’ve come at the perfect time! She’s awake now, so go see her. She’s a delight! I’ve been holding her all morning. Me, myself! Can you imagine? She doesn’t look like much, of course, but her eyes are so bright. And she has my hair!” At the moment his hair was hidden by the hood of a heavy cloak. “As you can tell, I was on my way to my estates – a bridge has washed out, my tenants are in dire straits.”

  “Do you need my help?” asked Lorenzo instantly.

  The offer both surprised and pleased Capulletto. “Thank you, Fra Lorenzo! But no, we can take care of it. Have to keep the tenants happy. But you can do me a kindness.”

  “Anything,” said Lorenzo.

  “Well, with this weather… I wonder, could you baptize my little girl? It’s hardly the form, I know, and I’ll have the whole ceremony again properly in a few months time. But so many infants die untimely. Not that I think she will, she’s the hardiest little thing. But I dread the idea of my sweet treasure going to Limbo.”

  “I cannot think the Bishop would object.”

  “Cesco was baptized twice,” said Antonia.

  Antony blinked in pleasure. “Was he? Then my girl is in good company!”

  “What’s her name?” asked Lorenzo.

  “Giulietta,” said Capulletto with a happy sigh.

  Upon hearing the name, Antonia had a reaction similar to her brother’s, if not so blasphemous. Giulietta. The Little Giulia. Oh Anton
y..!

  “And do you have god-parents chosen? Or shall that wait?”

  Capulletto turned to Antonia. “Would you consider it? You, and your brother? I can think of no one better!”

  Lorenzo spoke before Antonia could answer. “Ser Alaghieri is sadly ineligible, being out of God’s view.”

  Antony scowled. “What nonsense that is! There’s no better man in the world. Well, Antonia is enough for the moment.” Horses were arriving, brought by the huge groom Andriolo. “I must be off. Antonia, thank you. And Fra Lorenzo – I am in your debt for this.” He said this last with some weight. Lorenzo bowed his tonsured head.

  Antony was heaving himself into the saddle when someone pressed a message into his hand. He snorted and, breaking the seal, struggled to read it in the poor light of the tunnel. The blood seemed to drain from Capulletto’s face and he let out a peculiar sound, rather like a mew. “Who gave you this?”

  His servant stepped back. “Someone on the street. I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Ill news?” asked Antonia.

  Capulletto crumpled up the paper and shoved it into the neck of his doublet. “Just a trifle. Money matters.” He kicked his heels and, without a farewell, rode out into the storm.

  “What do you think was in the note?” asked Antonia.

  “Exactly what he said. Money matters. He’s not a natural nobleman. He’ll have his fingers in some sordid business affair until he dies. Which is no sin, so long as he avoids usury.”

  “No sin,” agreed Antonia. “But hardly respectable.”

  “That is his affair. I’m content that he asked my help. A simple enough request, for so great a reward.”

  “Yes, a lovely olive branch for the new generation. Besides, Antony is not a man to—” She’d been about to say hold a grudge, but realized how untrue this statement was.

  Led to the highest room in the tower, they were greeted by clucking and cooing women. Holding court over them all was the nurse Angelica, a woman of broad shoulders, broad hips, and broad breasts.

  The young mother was abed, the bundle of joy in her arms. Announced, Lorenzo and Antonia were instantly brought to the bedside to view the little miracle.

  While Lorenzo asked for a bowl of water for the baptism, Antonia took a seat on the edge of the bed. “May I hold her?”

  Tessa handed the child over as if relieved to be rid of her. Antonia took the tiny, fragile thing in her arms, making sure to support the head – newborns were like wooden-headed puppets, giant heavy heads lolling about.

  The nurse hovered at Antonia’s elbow. “God love her, look at that face. She’ll be pinched raw by the time she’s five with cheeks like that! And look at me, fussing over her when I have my own baby girl to cuddle and coo. It’s sinful, I know, but I think I like this one even better than my own – she’s so fair! Susanna is a screamer, we have to bribe her with a touch of wine just to get her to sleep. It was my husband thought of that, God bless his heart. Just a little nip and she’s out like a candle in the wind. Thank God she’s thriving, so many babies die young. Our first two both died in their first weeks, which is how I became a nurse – all this milk and no one to drink it! Ah well, they’re with God, aren’t they, and living happier lives nestled into the Lord’s bosom, isn’t that right sister? Oh all right, Susanna, I’m coming!”

  As Angelica the nurse moved across the room to suckle her own daughter, Antonia pulled back the swaddling hood and took a close look at Giulietta.

  Capulletto was deceiving himself in thinking she had inherited his hair. Though as yet there wasn’t very much, hers was a far purer blond. But he was certainly right about her eyes. Like most newborns’ they were blue, but so light in hue they would likely retain that colour.

  Her nose was small and thin, like her mother’s. Her ears stuck out a little – not enough to make her look like an amphora, but marring her perfection enough to be endearing. She didn’t scowl the way new babies often did, didn’t squint or frown or wail. Instead she looked up with excitement at each new thing, bright and alert, surprise in every glance. Smart, thought Antonia. Of course, she is a girl. That gives her a head start.

  The nurse returned with Susanna, only two weeks old. Crib-mates, the two infants would grow to adulthood together, mistress and servant. The women passed several comments back and forth, and Antonia had no trouble adding her compliments to theirs. Hearing Capulletto’s request, Angelica was instantly panicked that her own little girl would also die and never get to Heaven. “She’s only two weeks old, and weather like this carried off my little Sylvia when Mistress Tessa here was only a babe.”

  Lorenzo agreed to baptize both girls. After blessing the water, they stripped both children bare and lay them in the basin of holy water, side by side. Both began to cry, but Lorenzo had his prayer ready, and in just a few moments he had completed a perfunctory baptism.

  Angelica clamped their mouths, one to each breast, to silence them. Red-faced, Lorenzo withdrew. The other ladies said their farewells. Antonia wished to stay and befriend the young mother, but Tessa complained of tiredness.

  “Perfectly understandable.” Rising, Antonia was intercepted at the door by the nurse, a sucking child on each teat. In an over-loud confidence, Angelica said, “She lost a lot of blood, but that’s not it. She wants to keep the master away from her as long as possible. Never met a girl who thought sex was as dirty as she does – except you maybe. You’re going to be a nun, aren’t you? What’s the matter? Don’t like men?”

  Antonia quickly joined Lorenzo in the stairwell, and together they fled their individual embarrassments, heading back into the rain coming down in sheets. Cowl over his head, Lorenzo observed, “I notice Ser Capulletto is very fond of you.”

  “Antony and I have been friendly since my first day in Verona. Sadly, that was the same day he and Mariotto fell out.”

  “Over another friend of yours.” In response to her curious look, Lorenzo added, “Lady Gianozza has long come to me for confession. She has nothing but praise for you.”

  “Ah. Yes, we were close, once. I haven’t seen her in years.”

  At the tunnel’s mouth, Lorenzo tried to shelter her with his greater size. “She mentioned her desire to call upon you, but she is much taken up with her son. Young Romeo.”

  “I haven’t met him yet,” said Antonia. “But I plan to rectify that now. She is our next call.” Ruefully, she waved a hand at the rain. “Perhaps I should leave it for another day.”

  “We are already drenched, and I am sure the lady would welcome the visit. Though—”

  “Yes?”

  “Forgive my saying this, but it seems an unlikely friendship. I remember you well enough from your previous stay to know how very practical you are.”

  “Whereas Gianozza is anything but practical,” said Antonia with a laugh. Gianozza Montecchio lived in a near-fantasy world, a romantic existence with Guineveres and Lancelots, a world where La Roman de la Rose actually happened. It was this view that had cast her and her husband as the principal players in a great melodrama – not a passion play, but a play of passion.

  “She may be less earthbound than I, but there are few women who have read as extensively. She knows literature, and her letters are always long and involved on some literary dissection. Her appreciation for meter and structure is above most poets’!”

  “I know little of poetry. I must confess, I haven’t even read your father’s epic. But now that I have you as a guide, perhaps I’ll give it a try. You are staying in Verona for some time?”

  “I mean to,” said Antonia. “That’s our third errand, the one for which I most need your help.”

  “Yes, the abbey. Well, best get moving!”

  Out in the storm, Antonia voiced one question about the lady they were to visit. “How is she coping with life as a wife?”

  Lorenzo considered, weighing his words as the lady’s confessor. “She seemed restless until God granted her a son. He is her true passion these days.”

 
A statement proven true the instant they arrived at Montecchio’s house. Barely were they out from under their sodden cloaks before Gianozza had her son brought before them.

  Romeo owned shining black hair, which he could have gotten from either parent. He had much of Mariotto’s overt beauty, but his features seemed more delicate than his father’s, as if Gianozza’s blood had refined Mariotto’s good looks even further.

  Presenting him, Gianozza smoothed her son’s hair. “Isn’t he precious?”

  That’s the very word, thought Antonia. Precious.

  “My little angel. Romeo, show Auntie Antonia how you make a leg.” Romeo dutifully bowed, one leg forward and straight, the other bent behind him. “Isn’t he brilliant?”

  Knowing what true brilliance in a child looked like, Antonia nodded neutrally. “He’s about the same age Cesco was when he came to Ravenna.”

  Romeo’s little head popped up. “You know Cesco?”

  “I am his aunt.” As she said it she remembered it wasn’t true. But it felt true.

  “Momma called you my aunt!” cried Romeo excitedly.

  “A different kind of aunt,” said Gianozza, laughing.

  “Oh. Can Cesco come and play?”

  “Not today.” Romeo’s face fell and his eyes began to fill. “But I’ll ask him to come see you sometime when he’s free.”

  Tears vanishing as swift as they had come, little Romeo smiled from ear to ear. He clapped his hands excitedly and dashed from the room.

  “He has high spirits,” said Antonia, politely hinting that he was overly emotional.

  “He has that,” said Gianozza happily. “He really feels! I mean, he feels his life! It’s how we’ve been raising him, to be deeper than other boys.”

  Antonia understood what Lorenzo had been hinting at. No longer at the crisis point in the novel of her life, Gianozza had been bored until her son had come. Typical Gianozza, she was attempting to mold the boy into Paris, or Tristan, or perhaps Pyramus. A part of Antonia believed the boy would have been better off if his mother ignored him. Deeper than other boys indeed!