The Master of Verona (67 page)

"Stay close, and keep an eye behind us. But don't be obvious about it." Pietro's fear wasn't so much the man in the road as the possibility of a dozen men behind them. A man who took in taxes for the church was a ripe plum for highwaymen, and there were a lot of unemployed soldiers in the world who had to make a living somehow.

The figure was remarkably still, and remarkably odd. Tall, he was dressed in loose robes, and had what looked like a cloth helmet on his head. Then Pietro took in the man's skin colour and the shape of the sword at his side and kicked his horse into a faster trot. "Where the devil have you been!?" he demanded, a grin stretching his face.

"In hiding," said the Moor baldly. "You got my warning?"

"I did," said Pietro, sobering at once. "Ignazzio's dead?"

"He is." The Moor turned his horse around to the direction Pietro had been traveling. "I have news, and orders. Come, we can talk as we ride."

"You'll come home with me," said Pietro, half question, half offer.

"No," rasped the Moor. "Best if we are not seen together." He looked at the page and saluted. "Hello, young master Fazio. You have grown." Fazio didn't know how to respond, so he gave a hesitant half-bow. "Your master and I must speak in private. Will you ride ahead and keep watch?"

Fazio looked to Pietro, who nodded. Resentfully Fazio trotted ahead trying to remain within earshot.

Pietro pulled his horse level with Theodoro's. "You said orders."

"Yes. I have spent the last several months in Padua."

"Isn't that dangerous? You're fairly memorable."

"As long as you play into men's expectations, you can become invisible. I was in the guise of a lion tamer's assistant." Pietro couldn't keep a laugh from escaping, and the Moor flashed him a brief smile. "Yes. There is an Egyptian who owed me a kindness. He is a rather famous animal-master. At my urging he brought his menagerie to Padua. I went with him, wearing a covering on my face and throat. The story was that I had been careless one night and gotten mauled by the lion."

Pietro's smile took on an admiring quality. "So everyone pitied you, and thought you were a fool."

"Yes. I often sat in the street, drinking to soothe the pain of my injuries. As it happened, the house I lounged in front of belonged to the Count of San Bonifacio."

Pietro's smile vanished. "He's the one who paid the scarecrow." That piece of news had come with the news of Ignazzio's death. The two seals on the scarecrow's payment had belonged to the Scaliger, and the Count of San Bonifacio.

"Yes. And he's working with whomever is plotting against the Capitano. I watched his house for weeks, noting everyone who entered. Last month he received a visit from an acquaintance of yours — Marsilio da Carrara."

Pietro's eyes narrowed. "That can't be good. Do you have any idea..?"

"I had already determined the best way to break into the Count's lodging, and I thought that this meeting was the moment for it. I listened to them from the covert of the Count's loggia. The Count proposed a plan to your friend, and the other man accepted. Warily, I might add. Carrara doesn't trust the Count."

Pietro huffed. "Makes me like the Count a little more. What's the plan?"

"They mean to take Vicenza."

"Oh-
ho
."

"Yes. The Count has the support of maybe fifty dissatisfied Vicentine citizens, and all the exiles. He's convinced the Paduans that they can't lose. Vinciguerra's plan was to bribe one of the city garrison to admit his men and the Paduan army. They'll storm the gates and have the city within an hour."

"You told Cangrande, of course."

"Yes. Under the pretence of being sent to buy a unicorn, I met the Scaliger and informed him of their plans."

"So he's going to bolster the guards in Vicenza, make sure no one can be bribed?"

"He could do that," replied the Moor, "but he'd rather let the attack go ahead."

Pietro recalled a conversation years ago in a lonely church. "Because they'll be breaking the truce."

"Yes. If he waits seven days, he'll have a just war to fight."

Pietro wasn't sure if it was truly a just war if you chose not to avoid it. "Seven days?"

"Cangrande has arranged for a young Vicentine guard to accept a generous amount of gold from the Count."

"Who?"

"A squire named Muzio. The young man seems to think our mutual master walks on water."

"What's Carrara's part of the plot?"

"Once Bonifacio has got the gates open with a smaller force, Carrara will lead the full Paduan force in and sack the city."

Pietro protested. "But his uncle —"

"His uncle will have nothing to do with it. He is to be kept entirely ignorant until the venture is complete."

Pietro thought about that for a moment, then posed the real question. "And what does the master of Verona want me to do?"

The Moor lowered his voice, forcing Pietro to slow his mount and lean closer. "On the day of the attack Uguccione della Faggiuola will hide a small armed force outside Vicenza. He'll be outnumbered, but that's the only way to keep the secret. Cangrande's troops have two years of constant warfare under their belts while the Paduans have been sitting on their laurels. But Verona's side needs an edge. You are to enter Vicenza a day or two before with a hand-picked group of soldiers. Those men can't know what is happening, and the group must raise no suspicion."

Pietro frowned thoughtfully. "I'll go to visit Donna Katerina. It's known that I'm friendly with her, just as everyone knows I'm out of favor with her brother. But why will I have soldiers with me?"

"The pope has requested an accounting of your time here in Ravenna. You'll be transporting money for the papal coffers at Avignon. Of course, you'll bring along a squadron of soldiers for protection."

Clearly this plan had been worked out well ahead of time. "And Cangrande wants me to do this? What about the fiction that we're quarrelling?"

"You're there by accident, and defending his sister's city. It will only enhance your reputation. But do you have your own men? The plan hinges on them."

"I have twenty-three men in the militia. Is that enough?"

"Make it thirty."

"Well, my neighbour has a son who's been itching to carry a sword. But what am I supposed to do when the attack starts?"

"For Cangrande to have his legal pretext for war, the gates of Vicenza must be breached. The Paduans must get inside the walls. That's when Uguccione will attack."

"If I'm letting them in," asked Pietro, "what's to stop them from slaughtering me where I stand?"

"Ah, that's the clever part." The Moor related his reason for smiling.

Pietro couldn't resist returning the grin even as sweat started to run down his back. "Where will Cangrande be?"

"He needs to be seen far away, otherwise the Paduans won't attack. He's leaving this to Uguccione."

Though it worried him, Pietro saw the wisdom of this. "When should I leave?"

The rest of the planning followed. Pietro's band would depart two days hence, giving their destination as France. Long before they passed Padua, Pietro would loudly declare his intention to visit his friends, Lord and Signora Nogarola. The party would shift its track and head for Vicenza. As long as they were within the walls by sunset on the twenty-first, all would be well.

"You may see a familiar face in Vicenza," added the Moor. "Another of Verona's exiles is returning. The Capitano has recalled Montecchio."

"Really? Well, it makes sense. Mari's sister is getting married, and I know Mari was asking permission to attend."

"He's done well in Avignon. He kept the Scaliger from being excommunicated through charm alone. But even charm runs out. Cangrande needs a man with more influence, probably with a title. He means to ask Bailardino."

"I don't think Bailardino would want to go," said Pietro. "Rumour is he's enjoying fatherhood too much."
Besides
, he didn't add,
Donna Katerina is pregnant again
.

The Moor kept Pietro's thoughts on topic by asking, "Are you and Mariotto friends?"

Pietro sighed. "Yes, I think we are. We write, at least. His first letters pleaded for my forgiveness. I don't know… I gave it, but without my blessing. And pretty soon everything was back to normal."

"And his feelings towards Capulletto?"

"Hmm! Two years, and every letter he writes still laments that Antony refuses to answer his letters. I can recite you the form his letter will take. A greeting, a vow of friendship, a curse on Antony's stubbornness, then a page or two praising Gianozza to the stars. Then there will be a little court news that he thinks will interest me. Like some young Italian fellow he's met in Avignon who shows promise as a poet. The boy's father is a tyrant, but the boy writes in secret. Petrarca, the family is called. His family knows mine — Mari would be better off writing to my sister. She knows far more about poetry than I ever will." Pietro gave the Moor an amused glance. "Have you heard? Antonia has made the unlikeliest of friends — Mari's wife, Gianozza. Both share a love of poetry, and it's brought them together. So I get yet another letter talking about the bitch — excuse me, about Gianozza. My sister, Mari, and Antony."

"Capulletto writes of her?"

"Of her and little else! His letters follow the same form as Mari's — praise, oath of loyalty, a rant against Mariotto, and page after page about Gianozza. He saw her in the street, he heard about her from someone, do I think she regrets her action. I hope Mari's return will end this one way or another." A sparrow crossed the road in front of them, and the dog ran ahead to bark at it. Pietro said, "What about the Scaligeri seal? Have you discovered who…?"

"No. I have been focused on the Count."

"Oh." Pietro watched the bird torment the hound by swooping low, then up out of reach. "I haven't either. Cangrande wrote and said there were only two men who had access to the seal, as far as he knew. He was one. His butler was the other. He sent the butler away, gave him to Uguccione to serve. But I don't think he really believes it was him."

"No. If he did, the butler would be dead." The Moor frowned a little. "I have traced the medallion, though."

"What?"

"The scarecrow's medallion, the one that was stolen back from Ignazzio the night he was murdered. That trinket, or one very like it, was sent nearly twenty years ago by a Scotsman called Wallace to an Italian as a token of thanks. The Italian had sent this Wallace arms and a few knights to help train his men."

"And the Italian was..?"

"Alberto della Scala. Cangrande's father."

Pietro's head reared back as if he'd been struck in the face. "What? But…what the hell does that…?"

"I don't know what it means. Cangrande claims he has never seen the medallion in his lifetime. But the object obviously has a great deal of meaning for its owner. While we were tracing him, he was hunting for us, waiting for a chance to steal it back."

"So it's more important than we thought."

"Evidently so."

They rode along together for a while, each with his own thoughts. Mercurio padded along nearby, and Fazio rode ahead, happy to do his job now that the two men weren't sharing secrets. Suddenly Pietro said, "What did the Egyptian lion tamer owe you?"

"I made a star chart for his son. It allowed the family to make certain provisions for the future."

Pietro nodded, looking the Moor over from head to foot. "Ignazzio wasn't the astrologer. It was you."

"He was born with a certain skill at the pendulum, and came to me as an apprentice."

"And also a walking target."

"That, too, was part of his duties."

That's cold
, thought Pietro with discomfort.
Clever, but cold.
"Is there a way I can reach you?"

"The menagerie is leaving Padua, and I shall rejoin it on the road."

"Let me guess — they're heading for Vicenza next."

"Yes."

"Are you still Theodoro, or…?"

"They call me the
Arūs
. But my true name is Tharwat al-Dhaamin."

"I can't even say it. But I'll remember."

"Do. And be alert in Vicenza. The stars tell of a coming change in the boy's life."

"What kind of change?"

"I am unsure, but it is drastic. All the charts agree. During his fourth year the boy comes under a new influence that will help to shape him. You are involved."

"Me? How?"

"Again, I cannot say. The stars show danger for you during this change."

Pietro looked accusingly at the Moor. "You've made a chart for me."

The Moor shook his head. "No. I have been to Florence to study the chart your father commissioned when you were born. It has the value of more precise omens."

Pietro blinked. "My father had a chart made?"

"He did. It shows what I suspected all along — you are important in the Greyhound's life."

"If he even is the Greyhound. Did you ever—?"

"I made several more charts, taking into account your idea of two falling stars, crossing in the sky. Some were wonderful, some horrifying, but until events unfold there is no way tell which is the true chart." The Moor reined in his steed. "I will part from you here. If things go awry, or if you ever need me, send a message to the cobbler in the town of Alhambra, in the Spanish province of Grenada. It will eventually reach me."

Pietro was aware of the honour being done him, the trust reposed in him, and bowed his head to acknowledge it.
Though is it for me, or because he's seen my chart?
They saluted, and the Moor rode off. Theodoro of Cadiz, the
Arüs
, Tharwat al-Dhaamin. How could a man live with so many names? But then, reflected Pietro, Cangrande had just as many. Francesco della Scala, the Scaliger, the Capitano.

But not the Greyhound.

That's what this is really about
.
The Count wants the boy, and his agents have failed. The only way he can think of now is to take the whole city.

But what does he want with Cangrande's heir? What value is he? Ransom? Revenge? What is the goal?

Fazio fell back to ride beside his master. "What was all that? Are we going somewhere? Is there news?"