The Master of Verona (48 page)

In the scarecrow's arms was a bundle, something wrapped in a blanket—

"There.
There
!" shouted Pietro, pointing. "Stop that man!"

The fugitive glanced back in panic and Pietro got a good look at the man's face. Beneath the short beard it was grotesque, with long sallow cheeks under the shadows of the hood, conjuring up Pietro's every childhood nightmare. "There he goes! That's the man!"

Cangrande had barely reached the doors to the loggia. Now he whirled about and saw Pietro pointing out the window. The Scaliger cursed and cried, "The back stairs!"

Mercurio was ahead of him, his nose leading him to a door hidden in a recess just around the corner from the loggia. Cangrande reached it moments after the hound and pulled on the latch. It didn't move. "Why in the name of the Virgin is this door locked?!" He battered uselessly at it with one hand, then spun on his heel for the crowded front stairs.

At the window Villafranca stood beside Pietro. "Show me!"

"There!" Down among the populace the scarecrow was not able to run, but he was pushing steadily on, hugging the walls of the Giurisconsulti where the crowds were thinner because of the leopard on the steps. If no one intercepted him or the Moor, they were going to lose the child.

Pietro's leg was over the railing before he knew what he was doing. He beat away Villafranca's grasping hand with his crutch and used his left leg to propel himself, dropping off the balcony onto the crowd below.

Some saw him coming and threw up hands to protect themselves. Some were taken by surprise. Pietro's hip cracked on someone's head, but his outstretched arms grasped enough men to keep him off the ground.

There was a good deal of cursing until someone noticed his clothes. "It's a knight!" Thinking him drunk, they held him aloft and passed him from hand to hand. On a sea of men reeking of drink and sweat, he was being carried away from the kidnapper and the Moor. "No! Stop, dammit!" His frantic shouts were lost, so he started lashing out with kicks, swinging his crutch. One man ducked and let go, which sent the young knight rolling over face-first towards the earth. Pietro's left knee struck hard on the cobblestones but he forced himself to stand, thinking he was lucky it had been his left knee, not his right.

Ducking this way and that, he tried to see through the crowd. The hunched figure of the kidnapper was still jostling people near the leopard, trying to get by. Pietro stumbled in that direction, shoving bodies out of his path.

A great cry from behind him made him glance over his shoulder. The huge Moor in the hooded cloak was brandishing a falchion, scything the air above his head as he threw men out of his path, heading directly for Pietro, protecting the scarecrow's escape. Pietro's hand went instinctively to his belt, but he was armed only with the silver knife Mariotto had given him that morning, the one with his own name on it. The thin miseracordia was useless against the falchion's blade, which could remove head from neck in a single stroke.

The crowd parted for the Moor, who began moving faster. Pietro stumbled but kept on in the direction of the scarecrow, casting frantic glances behind him at the approaching falchion. Further back, he saw a sign of hope. Cangrande was emerging from the palace doors, a firebrand held high in one hand, Mercurio's leash in the other. Pietro's dog was straining towards the chase, and Pietro prayed Cangrande would let the hound free to aid his master.

Forcing himself to forget the Moor, Pietro trained his eyes on Cesco, squirming this way and that in the scarecrow's arms. The boy was crying now, shrieking for all he was worth. The kidnapper was obviously having trouble holding him. Pietro cupped a hand to his mouth. "Cesco! Francesco! Cesco!"

The little head turned and the frowning eyes found Pietro, a known face. A hand broke free from the blanket and reached for Pietro. Ignoring the terrible pain in his leg, Pietro broke into a full run.
Damn me and damn this leg and where the hell are Cangrande and Bailardino and the rest of them? And how close is the Moor?
In desperation, he threw his crutch over his shoulder, a weak missile. Maybe it would trip the Moor up.

Now all Pietro had was the silver dagger. Suddenly an idea struck him. He held the weapon up high. "Cesco, look!"

Cesco saw the dagger glinting in the torchlight and started to struggle, pulling both hands free and straining for the pretty weapon. The grotesque kidnapper cried, "God bless it, child! Be still, in the name of God!" The
spaventapasseri
shook Cesco, who cried out and grabbed onto a thin chain around the scarecrow's neck.

Mere feet away, Pietro saw the villain cast about in desperation. The crowd had backed off, but it wouldn't be long before they understood who was in the wrong. His path would be blocked, his life ended. The scarecrow had no hope of escape. Pietro drew a shallow breath and called, "Give up, man! It's over!"

"The devil it is!" The scarecrow whirled around. There was a knife in his hand, resting on the back of Cesco's neck.

Pietro checked his run. "Don't!"

A fierce growl cut him off. Nearby the leopard was straining its leash. The scarecrow glanced at the animal and Pietro saw the thought forming. A smile curled the edge of the fiend's mouth.
No. He can't!

The kidnapper heaved Cesco sideways at the leopard. The child was still clutching the man's necklace, but it broke and the child sailed through the air.

Far behind him Pietro's heard Katerina's scream drowning out the gasps and cries from the drunken crowd.

Wrapped in the blanket, Cesco bounced off the leopard's shoulder and fell. Landing roughly on the top stone step, the small bundle rolled down two more stairs. Cesco ended facing upward, looking at the snow falling from the sky. His mouth was open in a scream but there was no sound coming out.

The startled leopard crouched back on its hindquarters, looking at the boy and growling. Pietro gazed for a horrible moment at the beast's strange mouth and the row of teeth just within. Then the angry leopard lifted a forepaw big as the child's whole body, ready to crush the offending bundle. Cesco dragged in a huge breath, and this time his scream was audible.

Forgetting the Scarecrow, forgetting the Moor, forgetting everything else in this world, Pietro threw himself forward over Cesco's body, putting up his fist to ward off the leopard's blow. The weight that struck his fist was crushing. The leopard bellowed as something was torn from Pietro's grip. A second swipe hit him like a furry brick to the head. Damp stones buffeted his shoulders as Pietro was flipped in the air and landed flat on his back.

Dazed, he rolled onto his side, blinking hard. Something dark was blurring his sight, but he could hear the leopard howling. Pietro cuffed his eyes and squinted up.

Cesco was still laying on the nearby step, screaming bloody murder. The leopard was perched on the top step of the Giurisconsulti, but something was amiss with its right forepaw because it limped, trailing blood behind it. Pietro's dagger, forgotten when he'd jumped, had pierced the leopard's paw.

The leopard snarled again, letting out an eerie cat bellow. It's ears were back and it crouched again, ready to throw itself at the child—

Suddenly Cangrande was there, flaming torch in hand. He waved it back and forth to ward the beast back. To Pietro's eyes the Scaliger looked a thousand times fiercer than the animal.

Then a huge shape appeared close to Cangrande. The Moor! Standing behind Cangrande, that evil blade hovering over the child! "No no no," mumbled Pietro, stretching out a futile hand.

Cangrande didn't see the danger to Cesco. He was busy swinging the torch, forcing the leopard to hunch back. But fear of fire did not diminish the creature's rage. A snarl, a clamping of jaws, and it leapt into the air.

Cangrande lunged forward at the same moment, one arm protecting his head, the other still holding the brand. The Moor stepped right over Cesco and drove in behind the Scaliger, arms crossed, bashing the animal under its chin with the flat of his blade. The crushing weight of the beast landed on the Capitano's shoulders and the Moor's forearms. Its paws flailed wildly at the air as together they staggered, both throwing their legs wide for support. If they gave ground at all, the leopard would land squarely on the child.

Cangrande used the brand to fend off the claws of the uninjured paw, then pressed the flames upward, scorching the beast's underbelly. The massive cat screeched horribly. The Moor took a step forward and twisted himself so his back was pressed against the animal's wounded belly. Cangrande dropped the brand, twisted around the Moor and away from the animal. In two steps he swept up the shrieking Cesco and dashed to the edge of the crowd, handing the bundle to his sister, just arrived.

"Could someone help me, please?" Voice low and rasping, the Moor's calm tone disguised his enormous strain as the held the leopard at bay.

Someone in the crowd cried, "Let them kill each other!" The sentiment was echoed. Quick bets were made as the leopard was cheered on. Suddenly Ziliberto dell'Angelo appeared, a long stick with a leather noose on its end in his hand. With a flick of the wrist the Master of the Hunt collared the beast and hauled upward.

"You're not a light love, are you?" demanded Ziliberto. The leopard was angry, hurt and frightened. Landing on the steps it limped away from the crowd. Ziliberto followed it, cooing, making strange animal noises. Immediately the Moor stepped away, to the jeers and hisses of the crowd.

Pietro felt hands hooking into his armpits, but his eyes were on Cangrande. The Scaliger was breathing hard, and blood flowed from his shoulder and back, but he seemed steady. He looked around for Cesco. "Is he hurt?"

"The Capitano's fine," someone told him.

"No — the boy! Is he hurt?"

"He's fine," rasped a low voice as a dusky hand touched Pietro's head, feeling for damage. "Someone needs to look at those cuts."

Pietro looked into the Moor's face. "How — who are you?"

The man might have answered if a rock hadn't come hurtling from back of the crowd, anonymous and vicious. The blow struck the Moor on his back. He grunted and hunched down. A second projectile, this one a patch of ice, struck the back of his head. This was followed by snowballs with rocks inside them. Pietro threw his arms up about his ears and ducked under the volley of missiles aimed at the man beside him.

"How dare you!" cried Cangrande, leaping forward into the crowd. His torn doublet was gone, his shirt in tatters and his body streaked with blood. "You dare attack him? That man just risked his life while the rest of you stood by watching! Want to show how brave you are? Find the one who started this! The tall thin man in the patched cloak! I promise riches to the man that finds him, and death for the next stone thrown!"

As he spoke men in Scaligeri livery hustled the Moor away down a side street. The crowd departed quickly, though if to hunt the fugitive or to escape the Scaliger's wrath Pietro couldn't tell.

Pietro's head was still ringing from the leopard's blow, and he forced himself to sit down again on the Giurisconsulti steps. He stayed there for hours, if the pulsing in his head was any measure. He was roused by the Constable gently shaking his shoulder. "You need to go in, boy. The doctors will want a look at you."

Pietro accepted the man's help to stand. "Thanks."

"You're a damn fool, boy," said Villafranca, shaking his head. "Then again, never seen a brave man that wasn't."

Pietro cuffed at his face and noticed it wasn't sweat that came away but blood. "Where did he go?"

"Don't worry, we'll find the bastard."

"No, the other one — the Moor."

"Oh, him! Fearsome devil, isn't he? I swear, he may be a heathen, but I've rarely seen a feat like that. I'd forgotten — well, we hadn't seen him in years."

"Who is he?" persisted Pietro.

"I suppose you couldn't know, could you? They call him the
Arūs
, whatever that is. He's the property of Lady Katerina's personal astrologer. Damn sorcerous bastard. For all he's brave, I half wish they'd put an end to him just now. Him and his master both."

Katerina's man?
Pietro glanced at the Constable. "How did you get here?"

"The same way you did. You managed it better than I did." Villafranca nodded towards his left ankle, visibly swelling. "Broken, I think. Shall we go in to see the good doctor together? Mind you, first thing Fracastoro will do is squeeze the piss out of you. Then he'll smell it, taste it. If he's really upset he'll set it out for the flies, and if they like it, well, that's when you're in real trouble."

Pietro squinted at the square. "Cangrande?"

"Searching for the kidnapper with all my men. My orders are to look after you. Don't worry. I fancy he'll find us when he's through. Let's get you to the doctor." Pietro started to protest. "Young man, neither of us is in any condition to give chase to a snail, let alone that creature. Come inside like a sane man and get drunk."

In the confused aftermath of the foiled kidnapping, Mariotto Montecchio left the Scaliger palace only to return twenty minutes later, armed with a book. Making his way through the buzzing crowds in the Piazza della Signoria, he slipped into the church of Santa Maria Antica through the small western door. Had his thoughts not been elsewhere, it might have occurred to him to wonder at the state of his soul for bringing a book called
L'Inferno
onto holy ground.