The Master of Verona (89 page)

Cangrande paced over to the man Dante had beaten and checked to see if he was breathing. He must not have been, for Cangrande lifted the lifeless body over his shoulders and pitched it headfirst into the blaze. He did the same for the man he had killed. He then joined Dante and Pietro, kneeling by Katerina's side as they watched the fire. After several minutes Katerina spoke.

"He wasn't there." It took her several breaths to speak again, and when she was able, all she could do was repeat this single fact. "He wasn't there! He wasn't there, he wasn't there, he wasn't there!"

Dante shook his head. "He must have been stuck, or curled up in a corner."

Pietro wiped his eyes and face. "How could he be in there and not make a sound?"

"He was a remarkable child." The poet's voice trembled. "My lord, I am so sorry."

Dante was behind the Scaliger, as was Katerina. Only Pietro, prostrate on the ground, had a view of Cangrande's face. Pietro blinked in disbelief. Engraved on Cangrande's every feature was an expression of pure, boundless —

Joy. Ecstasy, raw delight, the face an angel might bear doing the bidding of the Lord. Only this face was delighting in the death of a child. Blood of his blood.

A giggle made them all whirl about. Stepping into the road from by the treeline was Cesco. With nothing worse than muddy knees and hands he stood in the light of the fire, smiling happily.

Dante goggled, Katerina let out a sighing sob, Pietro stared between the flames and the child. Then he looked to Cangrande.

The Scaliger's face was back to its old self. With a twinkle in his eye he bowed to the boy, who made a fine bow in return. Then Cesco ran forward to embrace his foster mother, who was too tired to deny him the affection he so clearly deserved. She wrapped her right arm about him and wept.

Later they would reconstruct his miraculous escape as something quite simple. The compartment under the seat also had a door leading to the rear exterior of the carriage, allowing the disposal of waste or stowing of luggage without disturbing the passengers within. Cesco must have forced the catch just as they halted, then dashed for the trees. That rear door also explained why the carriage went up in flames so swiftly — the two grooms had taken straw from a nearby hut and stuffed it into the compartment. What Katerina thought was Cesco moving about under her was really the murderers, planning their demise.

"It's a shame they didn't live," observed Cangrande. "We might have discovered who hired them."

"But we know, my lord," said Dante, blinking. Then he realized what he was about to say would be quite a blow to his patron. "I have a heavy tale to tell, my lord," he began, quickly outlining their deductions regarding Cangrande's wife, Donna Giovanna da Svevia.

When he was finished, the Scaliger turned away. "I see. That reminds me — Morsicato. He's nearby, unconscious. Rogue Paduan soldiers attacked us on the way here. He was knocked out, and I had to tie him to his horse to bring him along. If he's up to it, perhaps he can examine your wounds, Kat." The Scaliger vanished up the road.

With the two carriage horses, removed before the fire, and the two horses that bore Cangrande and the senseless doctor, they were able to slowly make their way back to Vicenza. Pietro rode one horse, Katerina another, Morsicato lay over Dante's saddle, and Cesco sat in Cangrande's lap.

No one spoke overmuch on that ride. For Pietro it was a ride filled with one thought, one image that returned over and over to his mind — Cangrande's expression when he thought that Cesco was dead. That horrible delight tormented Pietro's imagination the whole weary ride back to Vicenza.

Perched atop the roof of the Nogarola palace, his back to a turret, Pietro stared down at the sleeping city. The wet rooftops of Vicenza glistened under the light of the moon and the stars.

He heard bells.
Barely midnight.
So much had happened since the dawn. He'd lived a whole life in the span of the rising and falling of one sun. Yet while his inner eye ran over all the events, in his ears he heard only a child's voice singing through tears of fright.

They'd been dropped into complete oblivion, he and Cesco. Without each other, neither would have survived. Never out of reach, always conversing or singing, they had kept away the
korai,
the gods the Greeks believed called men to madness. It had seemed eternal, though he now knew it was less than an hour. He also knew how close they'd come to running out of air altogether. He wondered if he'd ever be comfortable in enclosed spaces again. Hence the rooftop.

Cangrande had insisted they creep into town unseen. Until it was clear that there were no more threats to them, the Scaliger deemed it best to keep their arrival a complete secret. Once Morsicato, singed scalp bandaged, had seen to Katerina's arm, he'd sewn up Pietro as well. The doctor hadn't bled him, deciding Pietro had already bled enough to release any foul elements in his system. Pietro had refused to add any contents to the doctor's
jordan
, rightly saying he was too parched to produce a drop. But Morsicato had insisted on bringing forth the maggots once more, this time wrapping them into the gash across Pietro's left hand. Recalling how close that cut had come to his face, he tried not to imagine the maggots embedded in his cheek.

Dante had been granted a set of rooms, and Morsicato had given the poet a sleeping draught. Jacopo was still at the revels by the hillside. Antonia was off with Gianozza somewhere. Bailardino, one of the few who knew of their return to the city, had stopped by briefly to pay his respects, but spent the rest of the time divided between his frightened son and his pregnant, injured wife. Left alone, Pietro had wandered up here, leaning heavily on his bloodied cane.

He'd heard the news of Lord Montecchio's death with real anguish. By now it was also common knowledge that the girl had been out during the day, and had spoken to Antony. She said she had seen him drop the silver dagger before leaving her. Pietro's sister had confirmed this. So the damning piece of evidence against Antony was now gone. There would be no trial, no execution. Everyone now believed that Pathino had found the knife and used it to steal lord Montecchio's horse.

Everyone except Mari, of course.

Bailardino had brought that news back with him. He also brought word that they had found Ferdinando's body. Bonaventura's cousin had never reached Detto's hiding place, but had fallen into the covered pit, the same trap that Mercurio had saved Pietro from entering just minutes earlier. It seemed Ferdinando had survived the fall only to be kicked to death by his thrashing horse. A horrible death.

It's my fault. Why didn't I warn him about it? I saw it and didn't even think to warn him. My fault…

Behind him a trapdoor opened and someone climbed the stairs to the roof. Listening to the fall of footsteps he knew precisely who it was. In the shadow of the turret Pietro was invisible, and he decided to stay that way.

"A lovely night," remarked Cangrande. "How are you feeling?"

At first Pietro thought the Scaliger was addressing him. Then he heard Katerina's voice. "Tired. My hand will look somewhat like al-Dhaamin's neck."

Shifting in his shadow, Pietro saw both brother and sister. Even after such a terrible day, even with her hand wrapped in salve and bandages, the lady was as perfect as the very first time Pietro had seen her. She had resumed her usual attire, her gown's hem barely brushing the rooftop. Cangrande too was immaculate in fresh clothes, though his skin was still unnaturally dark.

"And Bailardino's next son?"

"The baby should be fine."

"Regardless, you should be in bed."

"Morsicato has prescribed complete rest, but that is difficult to achieve with the Count raving like a lunatic in my own chambers."

"So you came hunting for me."

"Tharwat kindly offered to sit with the Count and transcribe all his visions, in case there are some portents in the man's dying imagination. Is there any news of Pathino?"

"Yes, in fact. We traced him to Schio, where he traded Montecchio's horse for another. Another vindication for Capulletto. Pathino seems to be headed for Venice. From there he can take ship to anywhere in the world. We'll try to head him off."

Pietro wondered if he was going to be sent to hunt Pathino again. It would be easier this time, knowing the man's name. In fact, it could be a good excuse to escape the quarrel between his two friends. That, and the other thing preying on his mind.

Because he was thinking it, he was startled to hear Cangrande say, "There's something troubling Pietro."

"I expect he wants to know the same thing I do. Though I doubt he has realized all your perfidies. Shall we begin?"

Cangrande drew his sword, the sword of his father, and began stroking the edge with a small honing stone. "It isn't fair. You're wounded."

"My soul, however, has never been more at ease."

"And if mine is not, that sets us on equal footing?"

"Your wounds don't show, is all. The time has come for us to have it out."

Cangrande threw back his head. "A duel! Excellent. As the challenged party, I have the honour of choosing the weapons. I choose Truth."

"Really? Perhaps I should go fetch Pietro. No doubt he would love to hear something so rare from you."

"Ah, we might as well begin there. What do you know of spies and what not?"

The lady's eyebrows arched. "I know you employ informants. These past few months, you are better informed than you used to be."

Cangrande raised a finger, wagging it in the air. "Ah, but did you ever wonder how I was receiving the information? Through whom?"

Light dawned. "Pietro." Her voice was grave, and in his shadowy perch Pietro felt a flush of guilt.

"Pietro," confirmed Cangrande. "You thought we were estranged, and you thought you knew why. But really I'd given him a task, a quest. With Tharwat acting as his eyes, Pietro was to track down the kidnapper."

"I see. A shame he didn't have all the necessary information. But today you were seen fighting side by side. How will that affect your fictional feud?"

"We'll say he and I fought together grudgingly, for the sake of your child. It is no secret how fond he is of you. Rather like a puppy." Hearing this, Pietro reddened. "I will rebuke him publicly, and he will return to Ravenna, smarting."

Pietro sat up straight. He'd thought that, after today, he'd be returning to Verona with all honour restored!

Katerina said, "I see I shall have to divorce him from you. I had no idea he was so much your creature."

"As much yours as mine, but that's not to the point. How do you intend the divorce?"

"What were your orders at Calvatone?"

Cangrande scowled slightly, laying his sword against the parapet. The lady pointed out, "You made the rules. You chose the weapons. You cannot complain of them now."

"True, true." Cangrande looked up at the night sky and sighed. "I ordered the town sacked. I ordered every woman and child raped, the men tortured, then all put to the sword. Havoc. That really was my seal."

"Why?" asked Katerina, echoing Pietro's horrified thought.

"Oh, it's obvious enough. A reputation for savagery is almost as useful as one of clemency. Ask Caesar. Or better, Sulla."

"And yet you had your German commanders executed for disobeying you."

"Yes, well, I couldn't have that sort of thing stain my honour. It's a pity, they were loyal men. Is that all you have, my dear? Perhaps you do require bed rest."

"Oh, surely you recognize an opening gambit."

"Testing my walls, looking for a breach? Then you'll set your siege weapons to work?"

"If necessary. I rather think I'll be able to find a tunnel through. Let's move on to the Moor. You recall that, directly after Cesco came into my care, I summoned al-Dhaamin to produce one of his miraculous charts for us. Upon arriving in Venice, he and Ignazzio were assaulted. Was the Count was responsible for that?"

"Of course not. Until today the good Bonifacio had no notion of your passion for astrology."

"Then whom do you suppose set the murderers at the heels of the astrologers?"

Cangrande shrugged. "There are really only two choices."

"I doubt your wife knew enough about al-Dhaamin at the time to guess at his coming."

Cangrande clapped his hands. "Very good! Oh, Kat, I didn't know you had it in you. I will confess. I tried to have them killed."

Katerina clucked her tongue. "And after Tharwat was so good as to reveal your star chart to you when you came of age."

"A true ingrate I am."

"Yet he continues to live. No doubt you've had plenty of opportunities since then."

"Yes, but once he completed the boy's chart, he could do no more damage. In fact, he's proved useful at times."

"I'm sure. I move on now to a matter more pressing."

"Giovanna?"

"No, not yet. I want to ask about Morsicato. I want to know what really happened on the road between the cave and our carriage."

Releasing a dark chuckle, for the first time Cangrande seemed unwilling to speak. "You have talent." He took a breath. "I distracted him, then struck him. He thinks I was saving his life."

"So there were no rogue Paduans?"

"Don't be absurd. I had to protect Giovanna. At that time I thought he was the only one who knew her trespasses."

Pietro felt a shiver pass over him.
He tried to kill both Tharwat and Morsicato? I don't believe it!

"And when you discovered that the rest of us suspected her as well, you decided to spare him. I suppose there was little point in his death if we all knew. Though I'm surprised you left him alive in the first place."

A shrug. "It pays to look ahead."

"True, foresight has reward. Like tucking loyal young Pietro in Ravenna and keeping him for when you needed him. I wonder how many other little surprises you have in store."

The Scaliger's eyes were bright, almost glowing. "She is my wife."

"And I am your sister," said Katerina. "Which is why the doctor lives. You cannot allow Giovanna to be maligned, but neither may you remove me. There was no point in killing Morsicato when all of us knew. But tell me — would you have killed Pietro, if he had been the one to discover it?"