The Master of Verona (62 page)

"I'm not sure. Medicine, perhaps. Or else law."

"When are you leaving?"

"Not for a couple of days," he told her. "I have to hire a groom to come with me and look after my horses, and maybe a page. I don't know. Wednesday, maybe. Thursday at the latest." Despite her every effort to keep them in check, he must have seen the tears welling in her eyes. "There's still time. Now, sit down. I have to tell you all about father's routine."

Pietro did not in fact depart Verona until sunup on Friday, the preparations having taken much more time than he'd imagined. On a kind recommendation of Cangrande's wife — who seemed to take pity on him — he'd hired a twelve-year-old boy named Fazio, the child of one of her servants, to act as combination groom and page.

Of course the rumours flew. Pietro had been in residence in Verona less than a month and already it was bruited about that he was being exiled, that Cangrande had thrown a tantrum after the duel and sent the boy packing. It damaged the Scaliger's reputation and only made Pietro appear more the tragic hero. Though it was also noted that Pietro spent a good deal of time during that week closeted with the astrologer and the Moor. Cangrande was said to be as displeased with them as with Pietro. The cause for this was unknown, though many heard about the murder of the oracle and wondered.

Dante was more prolific that week than he had been in months. Three whole
canti
were completed, including both the angry invective against Italy and a telling section in the Valley of the Princes having to do with father-and-son duos, good and bad.

On Friday morning Pietro was preparing his bags when Tullio d'Isola knocked on the door. In his arms he carried a neat bundle of letters, all signed and sealed. "The Scaliger wishes you to take these to the Ambassador Dandolo of Venice, with his compliments."

Pietro tucked the letters in the leather satchel slung on his shoulder. "Thank you, Tullio."

"I was also asked to deliver these to you, ser." The Grand Butler handed over two letters sealed with wax.

The first was from Antony, thanking him for sticking up for him with the Scaliger. His plain style mirrored the way he spoke.
'You're my one true friend. If you ever need anything from me — even my life — I'll give it in a heartbeat.
'

"Poor Menelaus," said Pietro. Two days after the duel, Dante had quoted Homer at court, calling the girl Helen and young Montecchio Paris. The Verona wags had found this particularly apt, especially as Mariotto was banished to France (though sadly not Paris). So Antony was suddenly saddled with the nickname Menelaus.

The second letter was from Mariotto, in which he expressed his deep regrets that his actions had affected Pietro. It ended,
'I hope someday you'll understand, and we can be friends again.'

Pietro tucked both notes in with his belongings.

"There is also a letter," said the Grand Butler, "from Donna Nogarola. She left instructions to give it to you in person."

The day after the duel, Katerina had left with Cesco for Vicenza. Pietro's breath shuddered a bit and he coughed to cover it. Opening the folded note, he read the brief message written in her fine hand:

Dear Pietro,

I know why you and my brother quarreled, and over what. I regret that I have placed you in a bad position. This exile will not last. You have my word on it.

Katerina

The paper held the faintest hint of lavender. Pietro tucked it in his shirt. "Say farewell to the staff for me. Brief though it was, they've made my stay more than welcoming."

"It was our pleasure," replied Tullio. He departed.

An hour later he mounted Canis and joined a small band departing the city. He and his new groom Fazio were not alone. Exiting the city with him were Ignazzio da Palermo and the Moorish servant. Their destination was also Venice, and they had offered to accompany Pietro that far.

Ignazzio and Theodoro led the way towards the Ponte Pietro, the eastern bridge out of the city. Pietro's
destrier
, newly christened Pompey, was tied to a lead that rested on Fazio's saddle. Atop Canis, Pietro lagged behind to allow Mercurio a last snuff at Dante. Father, brother, and sister were all there to see him off. Jacopo made a joke about the world ending if they were ever all in one place too long. Antonia and Poco both waved, but it was Dante's gaze that Pietro felt. The old scoundrel had a good nose, he could sniff out a lie. The poet knew something underhanded was going on, and was not pleased.

No doubt Katerina would have told him that Pietro was leaving because of the boy. That was true. But not in the way she thought.

Pietro hated lying to them all. But he couldn't very well tell them the truth, could he?

That he, the astrologer, and the Moor were off to hunt a scarecrow.

IV

Exhausted, the soldiers of Verona took their ease in one of the camps that surrounded the blackened walls of Calvatone. The fifth town to fall to Cangrande this month, it had been the hardest nut to crack. But this morning the town had surrendered, and the Scaliger had granted a single night for celebration before his forces moved on to the final goal — Cremona.

October was hardly prime campaigning season, but it had been a nasty summer. First a scorching heat, then heavy rains that ruined crops all across the north. Meat and eggs began to run out, capons and other fowl died of pest, swine could not be fed because of the excessive price of fodder. Even bread wouldn't bake unless the grain was first put in a vessel to dry.

Up until the rains, the ruler of Cremona, a staunch Guelph by the name of Cavalcabo, had been a worried man. He'd heard the rumours that with the Paduan wars suspended, Cangrande would be looking to expand west. The Scaliger's excuse would be an old claim that Mantua had rights in Cremonese territory. But without food, it would be madness to march.

In the first days of October Cangrande showed signs of madness. Staging his forces out of friendly Mantua, he swiftly took Ponte di Dossolo, Viadana, and Sabbionetta. This last was a huge blow, for it was where Cavalcabo had sent his money and women for safekeeping. Cangrande sent Cavalcabo an offer — food in exchange for his family. Cavalcabo cursed and, stalling Cangrande's messenger, secretly prepared Cremona for a siege.

Meanwhile Cangrande's soldiers survived on the supplies captured from each town, though the Capitano promised that any surrendering town would be allowed enough food to survive. Towns that held out, like Viadana, were left without means to last out the winter.

Even with the confiscated food, Cangrande knew he couldn't remain in the field long. To his good friend Passerino Bonaccolsi he said, "We have to strike like lighting. If we stall, we're through."

Cangrande's partner in this enterprise, the lord of Mantua had the promise of ruling over all the captured towns. Thus he was eager to keep the campaign moving. A week after taking Sabbionetta he led the attack that opened up Piadena, a bare fifteen miles down the road from Cremona itself.

The next city on that road was Calvatone. By now the combined armies of Verona and Mantua with their many mercenary
condottieri
were well accustomed to siege work. But the hardy Calvatonesi resisted mightily. Three times Cangrande himself led the assault, and each time he was repulsed just as he was on the verge of scaling the walls.

This morning Cangrande had pulled Passerino aside. "We're stalled. Another day and we'll lose our momentum."

"Do we want to make an all-out attack?" suggested Passerino. "Split our forces, hammer them on two fronts?"

"I'd rather not have a slaughter on our hands. I'm going to make them an offer."

"What kind of offer?"

"If they surrender, they can keep their provisions. I know, the men need food. But it's why they're holding out so fiercely. They don't love Cremona or Cavalcabo, and it's not pride, it's fear. We'll remove their fear, promise not to hurt a hair on their heads, just let us garrison the city and move on."

Passerino saw the sense in that. "Who should we send?"

Cangrande grinned. "Who's the most practical man we know?"

The offer was made by Nico da Lozza. Standing before the town gates under a flag of truce, the Paduan turncoat proposed the Scaliger's terms. "In return for your submission, the honourable Cangrande della Scala, Capitano of Verona and Vicar of the Trevisian Mark, promises to spare the lives of every Calvatonesi, be he old or young, Guelph or Ghibbeline! Moreover, he promises that the food and water that is currently yours will remain yours! There will be no looting, no rapine! Every man within Calvatone will remain unharmed, every woman virtuous, all property in the hands of its current owner."

The spokesman for the town called down from the wall, "We must be assured! There must be no reprisals!"

"There will be none! On that, you have the Scaliger's own word. And he is, as you all know, an honourable man! He has never broken a bond! But know this — if Calvatone refuses this generous offer, he pledges to remove your town from the face of the earth. No one will ever know you existed. The land will be salted, nothing will ever grow here again."

"He would lose the war with Cremona!" protested the spokesman. "We are not worth such vengeance!"

"His honour is! If you refuse his generosity, it will soil that perfect honour! His honour could not bear to let you defy him. He would not eat, not sleep, until that stain was removed! Citizens of Calvatone, why risk the wrath of the Greyhound of Verona? Why try his patience, when he wants nothing more than to garrison your city for as long as it takes him to smash Cremona? What do you owe the Cremonese? Is Cavalcabo a close ally, or a tyrant who taxes you and leaves you defenseless before his foes? Use your sense! Hate the Greyhound if you must, but do not stir him to anger! For I assure you, this hound has the both the teeth and the will to bite!"

As the spokesman withdrew, Nico turned to the page behind him and grinned. "How did that sound? Too strident? Did I give myself away? If they say no, he'll probably leave. He's never been one for slaughtering innocents, bless his soft little heart. Here, pass me that wine."

Jacopo Alaghieri shifted the flag of truce to one hand and passed his commander the wineskin. Dante had begged Cangrande to take his younger son on this campaign. "Make a man of him the way you did with Pietro."

"Pietro was already his own man," was Cangrande's reply. "But as you will."

Assigned Nico's service, Poco knew his commander wasn't well pleased with his performance so far. It was just that Poco couldn't see the sense in polishing something that was going to tarnish again within an hour, or in oiling the joints of some armour that wasn't even going to be worn today. His brother hadn't had to play the page. No, one madcap ride and Pietro was a knight. Poco longed for that kind of action, the moment when he could prove his mettle. Today might be the day. Consequently, seated atop a horse, riding with his master to an enemy gate, he behaved perfectly.

Now he pointed over Nico's shoulder. "My lord, look! They're opening the gates!"

"Of course they are. They're not fools." Nico passed the wineskin back to his page, who was so eager-eyed Nico couldn't help laughing. "Yes, yes, you did well! If by this afternoon my horse is properly rubbed down and my helmet so shiny I can see my reflection, you may join me in the command tent for the inevitable celebratory dinner. Now come on. And remember to look grave and respectful. These poor bastards may have done the wise thing, but it's hard for some men not to feel like a coward." Nico chuckled. "Not clever fellows like myself, you understand. I mean men with less imagination."

Poco went along to present the Calvatonesi leaders to Cangrande, then rode in the perfunctory tour of the town that was more about showing the Scaliger off to the people than to look over the battlements. An hour later they were all back in camp, with only some of Cangrande's German mercenaries garrisoning the town.

In Nico's tent, Poco rubbed, scrubbed, polished, and shined everything he could see. He accidentally ruined a finely engraved leg-greave by scrubbing with the wrong wire bristles, but he hid that at the bottom of a trunk. When Nico came to dress for dinner he was suitably impressed. "This is more like it. Go on, wash yourself up and change your shirt."