by David Blixt
Heads came up from the pit. In a ringing voice Mari quickly explained. All the joyful mother could manage was, "Thank you, Mariotto. Thank you!"
This fresh success gave them all heart to continue at breakneck pace. Cangrande embraced Mariotto, just as covered in muck as himself. "Good God, Mari, you look like you just climbed out of your own grave. Good work. Perhaps in our haste we have overlooked some other clues out in the brush. Could you take a few of the more tired men and search the woods hereabouts? We can keep at the digging." The Capitano gestured to the fresh reserves just arriving.
Detto's father was among the latest arrivals. Seeing his son, Bailardino bellowed for joy. Katerina passed Detto, already asleep, to the weak-kneed father, who refused to let his firstborn out of his grasp for the rest of the night.
As ordered, Mariotto took some tired workers and led them down the slopes with torches and dogs. Cangrande followed him but turned away at the base, angling instead for the mouth of the tunnel. Beside the opening of the cave there was a growing mound of excavated earth. The Scaliger announced the discovery of one child, giving them even more incentive to find the other.
He was just turning away when he heard a shout. "My lord!"
Cangrande whirled about. "Have you found something?"
"No, my lord! There's a carriage on the path!"
"Damn you and damn the carriage! Keep digging!" But Cangrande was not so far gone that he missed whose carriage it was. Bare-chested, covered in mud, he crossed to where the carriage was reining in.
The door opened and his wife emerged into the rain. One of the two burly foreign grooms Giovanna of Antioch employed aided her descent to the sodden ground. The other groom attempted to hold a cloth over her head to keep the wet off. Ignoring him, she walked through the squelching earth and faced her husband.
Covered in filth, Cangrande stepped in to buss his wife on the cheek. She leaned away from him, saying, "Have you found the boy?"
"Not yet. Lady, you shouldn't have come."
"I could say the same about you." There were times when one could see the faint traces of Frederick II's iron will in Giovanna's face.
"I had little choice." Cangrande's consternation turned to surprise when he saw his client poet emerge from the carriage's high wooden door. "Maestro Alaghieri — you've heard?"
Coming close, Dante said, "I heard that my son was hereabouts, my lord, and something about a battle and lost children. Can you enlighten me further?"
"Please, Francesco," said Giovanna in her golden tone, "enlighten us all. We understand you're at war with Padua once more."
"That's for tomorrow," said Cangrande. "Of the lost children, one has been found. Bailardino's son. The other is lost, we think, in that mound — with Ser Alaghieri," he added darkly. Quickly he explained.
Dante's other son was atop a nearby horse. The moment Cangrande finished the story, Poco leapt from the saddle and started to run to the mound of earth. "Somebody get me a shovel!"
The poet's face was more rigidly controlled. "Is — is there any chance they're alive?"
Cangrande's answer was interrupted by a shout. "We've got something!"
Dante actually outpaced the Scaliger on the run to the tunnel. Shoving past the men crowding into the tunnel, they both struggled deep into the muck. "What? What is it?"
Face glowing in the torchlight, the lead digger waved the Capitano forward. "We heard something. A voice. It seemed to be singing."
Dante could hear nothing over the noise in the tunnel. "Singing?"
Cangrande snarled, "Quiet, you bastards!"
The men quieted, listening. All digging stopped. When they heard it, so faint it was barely distinguishable, they hardly believed their ears.
Hear the tramp, tramp
Foot soldiers stamp.
Tramp tramp tramp tramp tramp!
Hear how they go!
More than a voice. Two voices, both weak. Grasping a shovel, Cangrande began shifting earth with all his might. Dante and Jacopo joined him and the others as they pulled and rent the earth wide.
A hand appeared before their eyes. They heaved on it, but dislodged the roof, and the arm disappeared again in a fresh fall of earth. They worked to brace the top of the tunnel so that nothing more fell. The hand clawed free again. They made a hole, all the time shouting the names Pietro and Cesco.
"We're here!" came the faint reply.
They dug harder. Suddenly a hole opened and Pietro Alaghieri lunged sideways out of it. It was not pure air he emerged into, but enough like it to be a breath of spring. He blinked, obviously unable to make out shapes after the endless dark.
Dante and Cangrande stared back at him. "Pietro? Are you all right? How are you, boy?"
Pietro laughed, but it came out as a cough. Someone handed a wineskin forward, but he shook his head. He retreated into the alcove of space and air under the fallen support beams that had saved his life. Dante reached after him, but Cangrande restrained the poet, lest he collapse the makeshift supports wedged above them.
Another shape began to emerge from the little gap, a child as black as night, with eyes as wide as the new moon. He looked around the way Pietro had, unseeing at first. But something cued him to the presence of his favorite playmate, for he cried out, "Cesco!"
"Cesco!" echoed Cangrande, hauling the child through the opening and carrying him past the throng of cheering men and out into the rain.
Awaiting news, Katerina actually fell to her knees when she saw her foster son.
Cesco looked up at his namesake, coughed twice, then asked, "Wha's the matter with Donna?"
"She's just tired." Cangrande lifted the boy high above his head and shrieked a single word. "Scala!"
From all around him, above and to the sides, ranged about the hillside like a pack of wild animals, like the inhabitants of some ancient, primal civilization, the soldiers and nobles and common workers echoed his cry to a man. "Sca-la! Sca-la! Sca-la! Sca-la!"
This morning they had cried out for the man. Tonight, they cheered his heir.
Watching from the shelter of the carriage, Giovanna turned away to confer with her grooms.
Back in the tunnel, other men helped a weeping, cursing father pull his sore and breathless son out of the shelter. No one understood the nonsense the youth kept muttering over and over. Someone whispered that the ordeal had driven him mad.
"Giach giach giach," croaked Pietro, laughing through his tears and not caring who saw.
The mood on the hill turned festive. The rain lessened to merely a drizzle, and it was soon possible to build a real fire. There was enough wine about. A few ingenious men got a spit started in the mouth of the tunnel, where they roasted some hares. A game of tag had begun between some of the half-naked men and one of the rescued boys. Cangrande played right along, pretending that he couldn't outpace the child. Then Cesco spied one of Cangrande's hounds and began to weep.
Pietro and Dante were seated by one of the fires. While Katerina talked with the mourning Cesco, Cangrande joined them and listened to Pietro's story.
"The look on Pathino's face gave me a warning," croaked Pietro, sipping water. "I dropped my sword and threw my arms around Cesco. I kept a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't swallow the muck. There was an awful sound. I was sure we were going to die. But then the noise ended. In the darkness I felt around. The wooden slats in the trap fell at an angle, making a shelter. As long as we didn't move, we could survive."
"So long as the air lasted," said Cangrande.
"Yes," said Pietro with a shiver. "I did think of that."
"How did Cesco behave?"
Pietro shook his head. "He was a hero. In the dark, in the wet, everything waiting to fall on us, he let me teach him that song."
"You're a fool," said Dante. "You should have built a fire outside the cave — something to send up a signal."
Suddenly remembering, Pietro opened his mouth, croaked, swallowed, and tried again. "Ferdinando. I met Ferdinando — sent him back for
help."
Cangrande frowned. "Petruchio's cousin? Then where is he?" Pietro shrugged and explained entrusting Detto to Ferdinando's care.
Cangrande shook his head. "Mariotto found Detto with your horse. Which means we have another person to look for. I'll see to it." He called Nico over and gave him the order. Then he turned back to Pietro, his face showing real sadness. "I'm sorry about Mercurio."
Pietro bowed his head. "Thank you. He was a good fellow. But he will live on in his children. And in Cesco's memory." He swallowed again and said, "I'm sorry I let him get away."
Dante sputtered. "A choice! Let him escape or let the child die! I think God applauds the valiant more than the vengeful."
"Live a life that is worthy of respect and honour. Protect the innocent," recited the Scaliger.
"You remembered." Pietro's tired grin stretched from ear to ear. "How am I doing?"
"Damn well, I'd say."
From the confines of her carriage Giovanna emerged and approached her husband. "My lord, your young friend here is both wounded and tired. You should send him back to Verona."
"I'm fine." Pietro's protest was feeble in comparison to the exhaustion printed on his face.
Cangrande nodded. "You're right, my love. Pietro, you've done enough for one day. More than enough. You need Morsicato's attention. I'll send you to Vicenza —" He began looking around for horses.
"Might I suggest another conveyance?" Giovanna gestured to her carriage. "It seats four comfortably. If you're determined to send it to Vicenza, it could carry the child and your sister, with the knight's father as well. I shall ride with you, if you'll allow it."
After a long moment of consideration, Cangrande leaned forward and kissed his wife. "My angel." With an air of decision, he declared, "Amen. Let it be."
Pietro told Poco to take Canis and help find Ferdinando. Around them the revels were becoming extreme. Women had arrived from a nearby village and the men were attempting to impress them with tales of the day and with contests of stamina and strength. They would not be missed.
In the carriage Pietro sat beside his father, who clucked over him like an old hen. Seated across from him were Cesco and Katerina. Cangrande saw them all settled into the cushioned seats, then firmly closed the door and nodded to the groom. The man gave a loose salute with his hand, then snapped his whip. The horses trotted off towards the road.
Morsicato arrived at the mound just as the carriage was pulling out. He dismounted next to Cangrande, who was mildly surprised to see him. "I just sent off some patients to find you. Things under control in the city?"
"As much as they could be," said the doctor, staring after the carriage. "I thought I might be needed here."
"I'm delighted to say you're not. Ser Alaghieri has a few scratches that bear looking at, but otherwise no doctoring for you. He's heading back in that carriage. You might as well enjoy a flagon of wine. It seems our victory celebration has spontaneously erupted."
Accepting the flagon, Morsicato drank deeply. "That carriage — I thought I recognized the grooms."
"They belong to my wife." The Scaliger pointed to where Giovanna was standing with Nico da Lozzo, laughing more brightly than she had in a long time. "She volunteered her carriage to transport both child and hero back to the city."
Bail approached with little Detto. Nogarola's huge bear paws cradled his son against his chest while Detto sucked his thumb in blissful sleep. Smiling brightly, Cangrande clapped his brother-in-law on the shoulder. "I thought you'd left."
"I keep getting waylaid. Was that my wife you sent off in the carriage?"
"It was."
"Why weren't there any guards riding along?"
Cangrande blinked. "I ordered twenty men on horseback to accompany them. I thought that was enough."
"Well, they didn't go. I just talked to the commander. They were told they weren't needed."
Cangrande's voice grew icy. "By whom?"
"They thought the order came from you."
"Really?"
Bailardino seemed angry. "I'd think you'd be a little more concerned. Kat told me about the Count's secret partner. He's still out there, you know."
"Bail, don't worry. I'll send twenty men off right now. They should catch the carriage in no time."
"All right, peacock. I'm going to stay here and let Detto nap for awhile before heading home." Bailardino lumbered away, his sleeping son in his arms.
Cangrande turned to Morsicato. "Join me, Doctor? Or perhaps you'd like to ride back with them?"
"There are other doctors in the city. If you say Pietro's wounds aren't serious, I think I'll join you for another drink."
The Scaliger nodded. "Speaking of wounds, how is Theodoro?"
"The Moor? He's up and moving. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about him. He's been divining. Hardly was he awake when he had the pendulum out and swinging. Then he kept trying to get up, saying he had to leave. I had him tied to his bed."
"What did he divine?"
"A danger to Pietro and Cesco."
Cangrande laughed. "A little late! But when we return, we can put his fears to rest."
The doctor persisted. "What's this about a secret partner?"
"Some spy in my palace was working with him. He's the one who—"
Stopping in his tracks, the doctor grabbed Cangrande's arm. "That's it! That's where I've seen those grooms!"
"What grooms?"
"Your wife's! They were the ones in Vicenza last year, in the palace! The men with the accents!"
"What are you talking about?"
"They're the ones who tried to kill Cesco!"
Morsicato watched Cangrande assimilate that information. "You're certain they're the men you saw?"
"Dead certain."
Morsicato expected the Scaliger to leap onto a horse and cry for all and sundry to follow him as he raced to the rescue of his son once again. Yet this one time the Capitano stood frozen. The doctor's voice was urgent. "Cangrande! Those men have Cesco! He's in danger! We must go!"
Eyes unfocused, Cangrande nodded. "Quietly, just us. No soldiers. Not a word to anyone."
In moments they had mounted their horses and were off.
THIRTY-NINE
"This is taking a long time," observed Dante.
Cesco was playing with something. In the light from the covered lamp Pietro saw it was a coin. "Cesco, where did you get that?" Cesco clutched it to him and didn't answer. Pietro thought he knew what it was. "You can keep it. I'm sure Mercurio would want you to." Cesco didn't smile, but he relaxed and returned to fingering the old Roman coin.
They bounced hard and everyone had to hold onto the walls. "The road must be muddy," replied Katerina. "Why are they going so fast?"
"We are going at a good clip, aren't we?" Pietro was trying to keep his bruised and aching body from jostling overmuch.
"It's because the bad men are driving," said Cesco with a yawn.
Pietro looked at the boy. "What bad men?"
"Th' men who tried t' cut me last year. They tore my pillow," he added confidentially to Dante.
"Cesco, what do you mean?" asked Pietro.
The child looked out the window.
Katerina said, "Cesco! Pietro asked you a question. You didn't answer him."
"I said! Th' men on top're the ones who cut my bed."
Katerina's arms tightened protectively around Cesco's shoulders as she gazed at the others.
Dante said, "Is he imagining it?"
The child made a face and returned to his coin.
"How would they..?" began Pietro, only to see Katerina turn ashen. "What?"
"Giovanna!" she cried. "Giovanna is the Count's partner!"
It was like ice water flowing into his veins. "Cangrande's wife?"
Dante said, "No. You must be mistaken."
"I'm not. It all fits. She had the keys to let Pathino out of the loggia. When Pathino failed, she got tired of waiting and sent her own men."
"But why?" Pietro tho
ught he knew, but it was too awful. Cangrande's wife trying to murder his only son?
"Obviously to protect her future heirs. Francesco is a fool." The child looked up. "Not you, Cesco. Though why you didn't tell us this before we got into the carriage, I can't say."
"I thought you knew." The three-year-old closed his eyes again. "Besides, Pietro's here." The child shrugged as if that were all that mattered.
They were moving much too fast to leap from the carriage, even if they weren't a wounded knight with a game leg, an old bent poet, a woman, and an exhausted child.
"Quite right," said Dante. "Pietro's here. He'll think of something."
Nico da Lozzo was not drunk. He wanted to be, but his orders kept him sober. "I don't believe this! Pathino's still out there! He can't have more than a couple hours' head start. We could catch him!"
Bonaventura was far less sober, but just as adamant. "I agree. Hurting children! I'd like to take him home and let my brood at him."
Nearby, Uguccione shook the water out of his long hair. "But instead of that, all our men are hunting for your idiot cousin."
Bonaventura belched. "He'll turn up. He always does."
"I delegated and put Montecchio in charge of finding him," said Nico. "He's had the luck today."
At that very moment a grizzled old soldier stepped forward. "My lords — you'd best come see this."
"You find Ferdinando?" demanded Bonaventura.
"Yes, lord. But there's something else."
A quality in the man's tone made several other men follow behind Nico, Bonaventura, and Uguccione. After a winding walk through the wood, they came to a body. Young Montecchio was kneeling beside it. The figure was draped in a cloak the mirror of Mariotto's own, but this cloak was stained with blood.
Nico bolted forward. "Oh God. Mari — is it..?"
Mariotto gingerly turned the shoulders of the dead man, tenderly shielding the face from the rain as he removed the gilded helmet. Everyone stood for a long time without speaking.
Another blue-cloaked figure came riding over in haste. Benvenito reined in close by and dropped lightly from his saddle. "Mariotto! Somebody said—"
