by David Blixt
"And why," said Pietro. "I mean, what would someone gain by kidnapping the boy? Why not just kill him? Ransom?"
"More like to have a hand in the destiny of Italy," said Katerina.
"To thwart the stars," said the Moor.
"Or just to take revenge on Cangrande," said Ignazzio.
Struggling with another question, Pietro turned to the astrologer. "This might sound foolish."
Ignazzio patted Pietro's shoulder. "There are no foolish questions save the one unasked."
"Uh, right. I was just wondering — what if there were two stars?"
The astrologer blinked several times. "What?"
I knew it was a stupid question. "Never mind."
The Moor darted out from behind Ignazzio's chair, crushing Pietro's shoulder with his grip. "Speak."
"Ahh. Well — that night, the night Cesco was born. If there were two stars, what would that mean?"
Ignazzio was leaning around the Moor to listen. "Two. One from the east and one from the west."
Stupido, stupido, stupido. "That crossed in the sky, yes. Would that change anything?"
A stunned expression hung on the astrologer's face. The Moor released Pietro's shoulder and crossed to stare into the brazier. Katerina and Pietro both watched Ignazzio, whose eyes seemed unfocused.
The Moor said, "From the mouth of babes."
Ignazzio roused himself. "Donna, forgive me. Ser Pietro has seen in a single hour a possibility I have not seen in weeks. I should be flogged."
"Never mind," said Katerina hungrily. "What would it mean?"
Ignazzio leaned forward, pressing his hands together. His smooth demeanor had vanished. He seemed more like a student puzzling through an unexpected test. "We have no way of knowing."
The Moor turned. "My master means it would depend on which star was closer, and which further away. The angles of descent, while relatively unimportant singly, would be vastly important if two were involved."
Katerina arched an eyebrow. "I want that chart made."
"Charts. Two at least. More, with variations." It was the Moor, playing the role of haggler for his master.
"I don't care how long it takes or the cost, get it done."
"As you wish." Ignazzio stood and bowed to Pietro, his façade back in place. "You have my respect, ser."
"I — it wasn't…" Flustered, Pietro didn't believe he'd done anything wonderful.
Thankfully a noise rose outside, some commotion in the street. He looked away from the astrologer, listening to the shouts that came burbling up from beyond the shutters.
"What the devil…?" Katerina walked to the balcony, Ignazzio and Pietro trailing her.
In the street below people were huddling in clumps, whispering, some scuttling back and forth between the islands of men. Some looked shocked, others tittered with glee. The overwhelming majority seemed to be amused, if rather darkly. For perhaps a hundred fifty men and a fair number of women something was deliciously exciting.
The doors to the suite opened and Bailardino came striding in, looking no worse for his long night drinking. "Well here's a coil! It'll cause some joy in Padua, I guarantee it!"
"What's happened?" asked his wife.
"You haven't heard? It's all the rage. Young Montecchio has eloped!"
"What? With whom?" asked Katerina.
Pietro leaned heavily against the wall. He didn't have to ask. Mari, what have you done?
Bailardino was mirthful. "With Capecelatro's little bride — the little Carrara girl! She scampered away this morning with her cousin to meet Montecchio and a priest!"
That opened up Pietro's eyes in a hurry. "Marsilio was there?"
"Acted as witness! So the rumours say, anyway."
"Where did this story originate?" Katerina obviously doubted its authenticity. Pietro didn't, but he was interested in the answer.
"The Carrara boy sent a note to his uncle immediately following the wedding and ordered his page to read it out in front of Cangrande and the court!" Bail chuckled. "He's got balls, does that Paduan. His uncle was furious! Giacomo can't rebuke him too strongly in public, though I imagine there will be hoarse voices in their suite tonight."
Pietro voiced the only question that really mattered. "Does Antony know?"
"How can he not? The whole city is buzzing with it. Old man Capecelatro must be pulling out his hair. He was telling me last night how delighted he was with the match, that he wanted to bring Padua and Verona closer together though this alliance."
"Well, this will do that as well," said Katerina evenly. "There are few families more at the heart of Veronese politics than the Montecchi."
"Capecelatro won't take this sitting down, you can bet on it," Bailardino said with a grin.
"Not Capecelatro," said Pietro, shaking his head. "Not anymore."
Bailardino snapped his fingers. "You're right! Now that's irony for you." Frowning, Bailardino noticed the astrologer for the first time. "Oh, you're here, are you? You probably think it was inevitable? Your precious planets spin at the right moment and Montecchio gets an itch in his pants?"
"I'm not sure it had anything to do with the stars," said Ignazzio.
"Oh, you're not?" Bailardino's dislike was palpable.
"More likely it was numerology. Names have power. When a man takes upon himself a new name, he changes. So too does his fate."
"Horseshit," growled Bailardino.
"This is an old argument," soothed Katerina. "It does nothing about the problem at hand. What has my brother done to quell this potential disaster?"
Bail turned his back on the astrologer. "He sent a messenger to Montecchio's castle with a summons for Mariotto to appear at the court. Until then, there's nothing he can do. It's up to the Capulletti now. How they respond will determine everything."
While the older occupants of the room stood discussing events, Pietro returned to his seat. A foul lump was growing in his belly. I saw it coming and I did nothing. How can I face Antony?
Something lapped Pietro's hand. Mercurio was pressing his muzzle into Pietro's palm. The hound had finally left little Cesco. Pietro's eyes flickered left to the crib and he blinked.
The crib was empty.
Oh God! Cesco's gone again!
Before he could even voice an alarum something tugged at his sleeve. Pietro saw Cesco looking up at him. Little Cesco, aged less than one, standing upright without aid. In his hand he held one of the puppets he had been playing with.
Pietro's eyes returned to the crib. All the bars were in place. How did he get out?
The wooden puppet head banged against Pietro's shoulder. The boy's face brightened as Pietro took it from him. Task done, Cesco turned and walked to the balcony. He didn't toddle. He didn't wobble. He walked. It was an easy movement, well-practiced. As if —
As if he's been doing it for weeks.
Pietro ran his fingers over the puppet in his hand. The tiger puppet. Near enough to a leopard. How astute was this child? How had he gotten out of the crib? And how long had he been hiding the fact that he could walk? For he had been hiding it, Pietro was certain.
The conversation stopped as the other adults noticed the little boy walking over to the balcony rail. Bailardino shouted, "The little imp! Kat! You never told me he could walk!"
Katerina stared at her foster son. "I didn't know."
At the balcony Cesco turned and grinned. Ignoring the three men, he looked only at Katerina. The lady met his eyes, then she deliberately sat down and lifted her loom to continue weaving.
The child's face fell. Turning again, Cesco's small hands gripped the carved stone railing of the balcony. The slats between the rungs were just wide enough for his body to pass though...
Mercurio barked sharply. Pietro saw the child's intent and leapt forward, but stumbled on his bad leg. The Moor was faster, catching a handful of the child's shirt between the fingers of his right hand. Pietro was there moments later, reaching around and over the railing to grasp Cesco, twisting in the
Moor's grip.
Angry, intent on being free, the child kicked and hit. To the mingled relief and disappointment of the crowd below they brought the child over the railing and back into the room.
Holding Cesco hard against himself, Pietro turned to Katerina, who said, "Thank you. Obviously we should keep rooms on the ground floor from now on. And I'll ask the carpenters to construct a new crib."
Thwarted, Cesco began to wail. He shook his tiny fists and wriggled violently. As the lady lifted him out of Pietro's arms his fighting became more frantic. Katerina ignored him. "Pietro, would you be kind enough to carry a message to my brother? Tell him, please, to reconsider calling Ser Montecchio to court just yet. Though I agree the young man must account for his actions, I believe that doing so now would only add fuel to the flames."
Pietro bowed formally, eyes not on the lady but on the furious child who beat at her breast and chin as best he could, a tempest in her arms. Yet he never kicked her pregnant belly. Bailardino made to take the child up, but the lady shook her head. "No, Bail. He is my cross to bear."
The Moor scooped up the scrolls. "With your permission, Donna, I shall remove these and have them resealed."
Katerina nodded, hands pinioning the wrestling child. Pietro lifted his crutch from the floor and began towards the exit. At a loss, Bailardino walked over to a carafe and poured himself a drink, downing the goblet's contents at a gulp. "Would you like a glass, Kat?"
"Yes, if you please. Oh, Pietro? Remember, as before..."
Pietro nodded. "Herkos odonton."
The lady smiled thinly. "Just so."
Pietro had to pull hard on Mercurio's collar. Ignazzio and the Moor followed him out, the little man bowing several times to Katerina. When the door was closed behind them, both Ignazzio and Pietro released a shared breath. "I've never seen anything like that."
"I'm not a subscriber to possession," said Ignazzio. "But still…"
"Was it like that with Cangrande?"
It was Theodoro who shook his head. "No."
As they descended the stairs, Ignazzio said, "You may regret being drawn into this little circle, young ser."
"Maybe," said Pietro. "But now I have to go and find out how much damage my friend has done."
"How will the spurned groom take his loss, do you think?"
"Badly," said Pietro with certainty. "Very, very badly."
"So there will be war, at least between these two young men, if not their families. How will you fare, caught between such animosity?"
Pietro shrugged. "If I'm closer to one, it's Mariotto. But Antony is completely in the right. Mari has behaved atrociously. Honour dictates that I side with the Capulletti family."
"But that is not where your heart lies."
Pietro shook his head. "How can I say?"
The Moor looked at him gravely. "You should get away. Travel, make a name for yourself."
"What about all this?" Pietro gestured at the room they had just exited.
"Theo's quite correct," said Ignazzio. "Who knows when they will need your services, or in what capacity. You can do nothing better than build a thriving career for yourself. It would also remove you from this current difficulty with your friends."
Sound advice, honestly given. Pietro decided that perhaps the Moor was not to be feared. Respected, definitely, but not feared. Still, he shook his head. "It would be cowardly."
"We saw you last night, and again just now. Cowardice is not a trait you own."
Pietro glanced at the Moor. "If you don't mind my asking — someone called you the Arūs. What does it mean?"
Theodoro shook his head. "Nothing. Merely a name given me long ago. Excuse me, I must dispose of these scrolls and help my master dress."
Ignazzio said, "Why don't you wait for us? Then we can go attend the Capitano together."
Pietro agreed. Alone in the hallway outside Ignazzio's chamber, Pietro recalled the Scaliger's words in that rain-soaked church:
How can a man live life as a myth? If I thought that I was truly the chosen champion of the heavens, I would fight it. Just to see her — to see them fail, I would fight it with all my might.
At the time Pietro had thought Cangrande had been talking of himself. Now he knew better.
TWENTY-FIVE
Antonia was so swept up just being in her father's presence that she hardly noticed the return to the Domus Bladorum, the removal of capes and scarves, or the many people moving about. Running up with some confused news about Pietro's friends, Poco spied his sister. "Imperia!" he cried with such obvious joy Dante couldn't help smiling.
After the greetings, Poco returned to his news. "We're summoned! Well, you are, Father. To the court! Montecchio has gone and married Capulletto's Paduan bride! It could mean the truce is off and we're at war again! Isn't that fantastic?"
Together they made their way next door to the great Scaliger court in the Domus Nuova. The chamber was replete with rich tapestries and ornaments. Though her father always praised Cangrande's disdain of open displays of wealth, here the wealth and prosperity of Verona was ostentatiously visible. If Cangrande had been king, this would have been his throne room.
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," mu
rmured 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.
