The Master of Verona (54 page)

She was still looking adoringly at Dante when he pointed. "That, my dear, is the Scaliger."

Tearing her eyes away from her father, Antonia had to stifle a gasp when she saw her father's patron. Ballads and poems were one thing, beholding the living man was quite another. He was a tower of might and self-assurance. His crop of chestnut hair was longer than she'd expected, making him look young. The fact that he
was
young didn't register in her mind. He was powerful — everything else flowed from that.

From the Capitano, Antonia's eyes moved on to Antony Capulletto. The nice fellow who'd shown her around the palace was now a pitiable sight. He looked wounded. Defeated. Shattered.

Antonia couldn't help thinking,
What a drama! Things like this never happen in Florence!
Not being in love with love as many girls her age were, she nevertheless understood the concept. After years of her mother's rule, she also grasped the desire for freedom, the impulse to disobedience. This girl, Gianozza, had taken hold of her own fate, however stupidly. Antonia tried not to admire the courage that must have taken.

A wide man with sandy hair, not particularly tall, stood shaking his fists at the center of the hall. Unlike Antonia's distinguished father, his ornate clothes were at war with the opulence of the hall. He was shouting, but he'd been shouting since the Alaghieri clan had arrived.

"— an outrage that the girl's own cousin was a party to this! It was an arranged match! A match that, as you all remember, bore my lord's seal of approval, and that of our esteemed visitor from Padua! What right did her cousin Marsilio have to grant the girl's hand in marriage when his uncle, the lord of his family, had already granted that right to my son?!"

Antonia tried to listen as Capulletto railed on, but her eyes kept returning to her father — entirely still, placidly watching events unfold. He glanced over and winked at her. Embarrassed, she shifted her gaze to the tapestry at their backs. It bore an amusing image of rabbits doing battle with mounted knights. Antonia giggled, a sound she quickly stifled for fear of disgracing herself before her father.

But Dante was bored with the Little Capuan's oration, into a fourth repetition. Hearing his daughter's smothered laugh, he glanced at the tapestry. "Absurd, isn't it? Look closer at the vines in the back," he added, nodding at the background, thick with the green of a forest. There were tiny demons there, causing the rabbits to behave as they were. "As you know, my Beatrice, even the most innocent things can be the tools of the underworld."

Antonia then listened as he explained the politics of the moment to her in whispers. "The girl who has eloped is Paduan, the niece of Giacomo da Carrara. Though our host is on friendly terms with Carrara, it is generally acknowledged that the struggle between them is only beginning. At the moment, Verona is at peace with Padua. Cangrande wants to keep it that way for a while longer."

"So," murmured Antonia, "whatever way Padua blows, that will direct the Scaliger's sails?"

"Just so."

Touching the hem of Dante's sleeve, Jacopo nodded across the hall. "Pietro's here."

Antonia looked up. A knight was entering the hall, accompanied by a little man and an enormous Moor with scars on his face and neck. The knight was clothed in a long doublet and breeches that, contrary to fashion, hid his thighs. The crutch he used did not bow his shoulders at all, just canted his body slightly right. At his heels padded a lean young greyhound. For a moment Antonia fancied they should have been the subject of the tapestry, not the demon bunnies. She tried to see around them to view her brother.

Then she remembered. Pietro had been injured in his leg. Glancing again, she now recognized the colour of the hair almost hidden by a hat and a bandage. She saw the familiar cant of the head. She saw her father's lean face, her mother's colouring. Somewhere in that well-shaped youth was the boy who'd pulled her hair when she'd been small.

Poco started to wave but Dante caught him by the wrist. This was not the time to draw attention. Antonia watched as Pietro edged through the crowd, eyes fixed on young Capulletto, face full of empathy for his friend.

She stole another glance at Dante, and couldn't help giving his arm a little squeeze. He patted her hand as they listened to Capulletto rant. Antonia knew dire events were transpiring in front of her, but she couldn't help smiling as she watched.

Across the room, Pietro didn't feel at all like smiling. His thoughts would have shocked his sister.
Damn Mari, damn him straight to Hell! Come on, Antony! Stand up, roar! That's the only way to get past this. Get angry, then get on with your life!

But Antony sat entirely still, his head down. Pietro was sure he wasn't hearing a word his father said. Old Ludovico didn't falter, his voice filling the hall as he cried, "And as for the cupidity of the Montecchi clan, we see now how old money can buy its way into any privilege. No doubt there was heavy bribery of young Carrara to give the girl away to the puffed-up stripling—"

Pietro halted close to the Capitano's dais, the crowd moving aside for the combined presence of a war hero, an astrologer, and his demon-like servant. Mercurio ranged near the other hounds, including his father, Jupiter. They sniffed then ignored each other.

Pietro had been in the Domus
Nuova only twice before. It was rare that Cangrande used this chamber for anything but business of state. For internal communal affairs he favored his loggia or the offices he kept in the Giurisconsulti. But today Cangrande had to deal out justice, and be seen to do so.

"What of our rights?" Capulletto was shouting. "Are we not as worthy of the protection of the law as the lowest citizen of this nation? Does an ancient line have more rights than one new to the state? Have we not proved our worth here? If there is any who deserves favor in the eyes of Verona's fathers, it is my son. Antony rode to Verona's defense before he was even a citizen. He earned his citizenship with his blood — blood spilled beneath the walls of Vicenza!" He was speaking well — he'd obviously spent time in the courts.
As advocate or client?
Pietro wondered.

As the 'Little Capuan' (
Apt, Father!
) railed on, Pietro turned his gaze to Cangrande. If the Capitano was angry, he didn't show it. Every few moments he would lean right to discuss something with Passerino Bonaccolsi, and once he conversed with Il Grande, seated on the Scaliger's left.

One august personage Cangrande did not consult was Gargano Montecchio. The father of the "bride-thief" sat rigidly on a bench with the other nobles of the city. No one spoke to him, nor would they until the Capitano made his ruling on the affair.
Last night he was full of joy
, thought Pietro sadly.
Now he's aged a thousand years. Damn it, Mari!

Among the cluster of Capulletti, Ludovico was spitting mad. Standing behind him, Antony's brother looked unperturbed, perhaps even a little smug. As for Antony himself, his face was blank, eyes glazed, a slight crease across his forehead as if he couldn't get his mind around it. Until he did, there was no room for anger. Just shock and confusion.

Ludovico had enough outrage for them both. "Was not my son knighted by the Scaliger's own hand just yesterday? Did he not race valiantly in the horse Palio? And was he not inches away from winning the foot Palio when the bride-thief got in his way? Did not the Scaliger himself confer upon our family the right to an ancient and respected title? Is this the show of favoritism Verona grants its citizens? To have wives and daughters stolen away, married off to foppish youths who bathe in perfume?!" He was no longer speaking to the Scaliger. He was playing to the crowd, trying to swing public opinion his family's way.

It did not appear that Capulletto would run himself out any time soon, so when he stopped to hack his phlegm into a napkin the Scaliger spoke. "We are, as you have pointed out, aware of all this, Monsignor Capulletto. I assure you, I am not staying my hand in this matter. I only wait for the parties involved to arrive. In the meantime," he said, raising his eyes to the crowd, "I have a decree. As in the days when my honoured father served this state as Capitano del Populo and
Podestà
of the Merchants, from this time forward private dueling is forbidden." There was an unhappy murmur in the crowd. "The settling of quarrels may not be determined by the sword, but must be litigated through the courts! This is not just true within the city walls, but in all the lands under Veronese stewardship!"

Pietro saw the purpose at once. Cangrande wanted no fresh outbreaks of feuding between families in his territories. The law his brother Bartolomeo had repealed a dozen years before to allow the final duel in the Capelletti-Montecchi feud was once more enacted. Those sharing family names could not exact revenge for wrongs to their kin. This struck Pietro as a cruel twist of fate.
Father was right. Ignazzio said it too. Even Mari's father. Names have power.

But Cangrande's new law went further, entirely ruling out trial by combat as a legal remedy. Several lawyers piped up to ask questions. Not that they were angry. Quite the contrary, it was a boon for their practices. If trial by combat was illegal, citizens would have no recourse but to hire lawyers to settle their differences.

Shouting down the lawyers, Ludovico raised an objection. "You're doing this to stop my son from regaining his honour!"

Cangrande shook his head. "No, I am making sure of the safety of my citizens. I am also protecting the honour of your son, and your family. You were not here, Monsignor Capulletto, when there was a feud inside Verona's walls. The participants put the public good aside in order to redeem what they mistakenly believed to be their honour. But their honour suffered far greater stains from the public hazards they caused than any slights, real or otherwise, from another family. This law will protect all our citizens, in a number of ways."

Ludovico wasn't done objecting, but a clamour outside forestalled him. All eyes came up as six Veronese soldiers entered clad in their best armour. Between them strode Marsilio da Carrara. Chin high, he ignored the collected Veronese nobles to lock eyes with the Scaliger. Though his face was composed, there was a hint of a smirk playing across his face.

Before addressing Marsilio, Cangrande turned to Il Grande. "Giacomo da Carrara. This young man is your nephew, and not a citizen of Verona. Do you consent to his being questioned in this matter here and now, or would you rather he be questioned in a Paduan court?"

Giacomo leaned forward. "As his actions have implications for the honour of my family, he must be questioned as soon as possible. I trust both in your wisdom, lord Capitano, and in that of your noble Veronese councilors. Let him be questioned in Verona!" As the crowd's murmur of approval died away, he added, "I might put a question or two to him myself."

"As you wish." Cangrande turned the full weight of his gaze on Marsilio. "Ser Carrara, there is a story circulating that you witnessed a marriage this morning between your cousin, the lady Gianozza della Bella, and Ser Mariotto Montecchio."

"I did more than witness it," said Marsilio. "I gave the bride away."

The Capitano ignored the hushed mutterings of the crowd and the not-so-hushed voice of Ludovico Capulletto. "I see. You did this knowing that both your uncle and the girl's father had arranged another match for her?"

"I did."

"Where did this marriage take place?"

"At the private chapel of the Montecchi, in their grand estates east of Illasi."

"Who officiated?"

"Some Franciscan monk. I heard Montecchio call him Brother Lorenzo."

Pietro recalled the good-looking young friar he'd met yesterday, the one who was embarrassed about being French. Cangrande glanced at the Franciscan bishop, who looked grave. "To clarify, Ser Carrara — when you say Montecchio, you mean Cavaliere, not Monsignore."

"Correct. I don't think Lord Montecchio knew anything about it," said Marsilio, smiling at the ashen-faced figure of Mariotto's father.

Damned gracious of him
, thought Pietro bitterly,
admitting what's clear to anyone with eyes!

Cangrande continued. "What do you know about this couple?"

"I know that before last night neither of them had laid eyes on one another."

"Do you know what happened last night?"

"She told me they — talked." Carrara's tone implied more than his words.

The mob shifted. Pietro wondered why the Scaliger didn't dismiss them. He could get to the bottom of this much more quickly without their interruptions. Then Pietro realized that if this were to be defused, it would have to be in public. Rumours had to be put to rest.

"We have no use for innuendo, Ser Carrara. Define your terms, please."

"Forgive me. Ser Montecchio read to the girl, from the latest work of your resident poet, Maestro Dante Alaghieri."

Oh Christ
. Without thinking Pietro joined the crowd in looking towards his father, who was standing between Poco and a short, stern-looking girl. Dante had the good sense not to react in any way. Pietro couldn't help thinking,
Well, it will probably help sales
.