by David Blixt
“Still, they’re in good hands. But to see them I will probably have to remove the odium of excommunication from my name. I’m thinking of erecting a church in honour of my miraculous recovery from death. Santa Maria della Scala – it has a ring, don’t you think? It will certainly be finished before Anastasia is ever done. Thirty-five years and still no roof. Sad.”
“Is that why you wanted to see me? To solicit a donation?”
“Not unless you’ve been shirking your law studies to delve into architecture. Otherwise I have better use for you elsewhere.” Cangrande ruffled the papers on the low table. “I’m afraid your prognostications have come true, my noble knight. You’re leaving Verona tomorrow. Wednesday at the latest.”
“Am I?”
“Take off your hat, cavaliere,” said the Scaliger, a little sternly. “You’re having a private audience with the Capitano of Verona. A little respect is due. That’s better. So, you’re leaving. Why, you ask? Because, I reply, I need you to do me a favour.”
“Why would I?”
Cangrande stared pointedly.
“Lord,” Pietro added.
“There was a time I had to beg you not to call me lord. Ah, how the wheel does turn.” Cangrande sprawled sideways in his backless chair. “Why do me a favour? The oldest reason in the world. I plan to bribe you.”
“Nothing you can offer will tempt me, my lord.”
“Now now, don’t be hasty. Tell me truly, how are your studies coming? You’re, what, a year away from your examinations? Will they let you finish after your recent abrupt departure?”
“They will.” Pietro was not as sure as he sounded.
“What a relief! I’d hate to think you’d burned any bridges behind you. Like your house burned. Thankfully, these documents survived.” The Scaliger tapped the papers with two fingers. “It’s such an interesting choice, the law. Whatever made you choose it?”
“I couldn’t say, lord.”
Cangrande laughed. “I think I could! But that’s neither here nor there. You’ll make an excellent lawyer. You have the right combination of brains and moral outrage. But I sense a lack in your life. Since your dear father is no longer with us, you need your patron more than ever. What if I told you that I could accelerate your rise?”
“I’d say I can find my own way, lord Capitano.”
“I thought that might be your answer. But it really is unavoidable. The papers have already been signed and witnessed. You are to be my special envoy, an acting judge for the Trevisian Mark. Quite a plum assignment. Isn’t that nice?”
Pietro’s pulse began to race. “Special envoy?”
“Yes. A minor thing, really. You can pop off and take care of it on your way back to Bologna. With my title behind you, I daresay they’ll expedite your degree.”
“Or hold it up forever.” Verona was allied with Bologna’s enemies.
Cangrande shook his head. “Even Guelphs are not so short-sighted. The University may need my help one day. Or at least my money. Why worry? You’re the son of the greatest poet since Virgil, so of course they want to say you got your degree from them. I predict that within a year you’ll be teaching their classes on telling right from wrong. It’s so very clear for you,” added the Scaliger with unmistakable irony.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving Verona yet.”
“Oh, you can stay if you want. But it will get about that you refused this commission – one that’s been voted on by the Council. It doesn’t just bear my signature. Bail, Nico, Petruchio, Antony, Mariotto – even Castelbarco signed it. Thought it a fitting reward for your hard work all these years. Won’t it look churlish if you refuse? Worse than demanding my books back.”
Pietro flushed. “I’m not done here yet.”
“Of course not! Just as in your past exiles, however extended, you will return. It’s only that you’ve had him all to yourself for so long, I thought you might be willing to share him with me for a few months. You can visit at Christmas.” Cangrande sipped from a goblet. “You haven’t asked me what the chore is.”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Afraid of the Sirens’ song, eh? Stout fellow. Too much temptation is bad for the soul. Still, it’s quite plum!”
Pietro stood there, hating himself for wanting to know what Cangrande needed a special judge for, forcing himself to keep his lips pressed tight lest the question pop out.
Clearly able to read Pietro’s thoughts, Cangrande’s smile was prodigious, a cat with a mouthful of canary. “I need a reliable man of discretion for a mission of diplomatic delicacy. Summarize the state of Padua for me, please.”
Pietro could see no harm in this. “Technically the city is under the protection of the Emperor through his agent, Heinrich of Corinthia.”
“Ironic, since I’m the local Ghibelline.”
“A fact not lost on Heinrich. The Paduans went running to him for troops, letting the Emperor in just to keep you out.”
“Rather like turning whore to avoid being raped,” mused Cangrande. “The end result is the same. Pray continue.”
“So now there’s a titular Imperial Vicar and their usual foreign podestà – odd that Paduans refuse to be ruled by other Paduans. But the Germans don’t care what happens to the people as long as the taxes flow into Heinrich’s coffers. And the podestà is another straw man. Napoleone Beccadello. I met him in Bologna a few years ago, and he’s just a puppet for the real power in the city – the Carrara family.”
“Ah, the dear dear Carrarese, beloved of us both.”
“They’re in a shambles. The death of Giacomo Il Grande left his nephew in charge.”
“Marsilio,” said Cangrande. “Your friend and mine.”
“Friend is not the word I’d use.” It had been Carrara that Pietro had dueled that snowy day ten years earlier. He was related to Mari’s wife. A family of trouble-makers. “Moreover, the death of Perenzano, Marsilio’s father, left no one of the old generation to hold the family in check. This younger generation is nothing like the last one. Headstrong, arrogant, and violent. Marsilio’s cousins Ubertino and Niccolo are accused of all sorts of crimes – violence, extortion, rape. They’ve organized street gangs to terrorize the Paduan people in the name of law and order.”
“Irony always was lost on that family. I hear even Marsilio’s sister Cunizza has gotten involved in some unsavoury business.” The Scaliger bowed his head. “I keep interrupting. Please, do go on.”
Pietro wet his lips. “As you say, it’s an ironic situation. There’s a truce between Verona and Padua, and with no war to fight, their city has fallen into a shambles. A few weeks ago opposition to the Carrara family came to a head. The Dente family started to put mobs of their own together to oppose the Carrara gangs. While the other city leaders, including your devoted admirers Albertino Mussato and Pietro da Campagnola, were sent to Innsbruck as ambassadors to Heinrich, Ubertino Carrara and a friend murdered Guglielmo Dente in the street. This was just a month ago.”
“Awkward, as Ubertino’s mother was a Dente. Still, trouble for Marsilio.”
“He seems to have made the best of it,” said Pietro, too fair not to give even an enemy his due. “He seized the chance to declare a truce with the Dente and at the same time get rid of a troublesome relative. He exiled the murdering pair to Chioggia. That leaves Niccolo, whom he despises for being too friendly with you, and the Papafava branch of the family, who are all dogs on his leash.”
“Strong dogs, though. They’re as warlike as himself.”
Pietro was caught up in his narrative. “There’s something I doubt you’ve heard. Before I came from Bologna, I got my hands on a copy of a letter. Padua’s given up all government to Heinrich’s men. When Mussato and Campagnola went to Treviso on their way to Innsbruck, they were asked about some contested deeds. They said they’d made the matter known to their lord the Duke of Corinthia, ‘without whose consent we can do nothing.’ That’s a quote. But even though Heinrich’s men control the taxation, the law,
the mint, both treasuries, and the guilds, they’re either unwilling or unable to put an end to the violence in the streets.”
Cangrande clucked his tongue. “Poor Padua. Always caught between Scylla and Charibdis. They haven’t had a single year in the last twenty when there wasn’t some sort of riot or revolt. You’d think they’d be tired of it all by now. Or perhaps they just don’t think much of their leaders.”
“They shouldn’t. Those leaders have broken the bank. The people are being doubly taxed – once for the commune, once for Heinrich. That doesn’t even take into account the extortion gangs. How many men did the Germans send to help Padua last year?”
“Fourteen or fifteen hundred horse,” supplied Cangrande, “with three hundred crossbowmen for good measure.”
“Well, between paying for them and the extra taxation for the Emperor, they’ve run out of money. The new mint Heinrich’s men set up hasn’t spurred the city economy the way they’d hoped.”
“Padva Regia Civitas,” said Cangrande, quoting the latest motto for the city. It was on all the new coins. “I wonder if Marsilio misses his beloved patavinitas. What about the attack on Vicenza?”
“As far as I can tell, with Ubertino out of his hair, Marsilio saw the fire as the perfect chance to take it from you. It would save him – loot to fill Padua’s coffers, a personal victory to prove he’s a strong leader, and a stick in the eye to you. But the moment he marched, cousin Niccolo started stirring up trouble back home. Since the Germans are keeping their noses out of Padua’s internal affairs, Marsilio had to beat a hasty retreat and put his cousin back in line. He must be hating the fact that he has any family at all.”
“We all do,” said Cangrande. “The price of being prince.”
That brought Pietro up short. Beyond the implied jab at Cesco, suddenly Pietro’s mind was running along another track. The aborted attack on Vicenza – did Cangrande know that it would come to nothing? Was that why he risked faking his own death? But how could he know, unless—
Unless he has an agitator in Padua. The corresponding leap was an obvious one. Niccolo da Carrara. Cangrande is paying Niccolo to stir up trouble and undermine Marsilio. His next thought was, How can we use that to our advantage?
Cangrande prompted him to continue, but Pietro wasn’t much interested anymore. “That’s about all. Except the poet Mussato has been exiled again for stirring up resentment, and he’s ranting about Marsilio to anyone who’ll listen.”
“Then Carrara and I have an enemy in common,” said the Scaliger with amusement. “It strikes me, Pietro, that we’ve had this conversation before.” Cangrande studied him with an arched eyebrow, then gave him an approving nod. “You are the soul of restraint. Any other man would have asked after their mission by now. But not Ser Alaghieri. I applaud you.”
“I imagine you won’t be able to resist telling me, lord.”
“I resist few base impulses.” Cangrande took on a thoughtful expression. “What motivates man, do you think? Is it an inner force that propels us forward, or circumstance? Are we moved by morality or venality? Or is it as the poet says, Omne quod movetur, movetur propter aliquid quod non habet.”
Pietro bristled. This last quote was lifted from an open letter his father had sent to Cangrande discussing what was necessary in a prince. Because Pietro had never revealed Cangrande’s secrets to his father, Dante had died admiring Cangrande, dedicating the last part of his Commedia to the Scaliger.
There were moments Pietro regretted his restraint. “That’s certainly true for you. Not by what you cannot have, but what you cannot be. Est eius appetitus,” he added, quoting the same passage.
Cangrande made a weary sigh. “Pietro, you must sheathe that weapon. It grows tarnished with use.”
“I use what I have.”
“Then I’ll dispense with philosophy, since you cannot keep up. You mention the Dente family. You know of Paolo Dente?”
Pietro had to think for a moment. “The late Guglielmo’s half-brother.”
“Illegitimate. Now he is a man motivated by what he lacks – his sibling. He is ripe to be moved, and you are the man to move him, owning nearly as much reason to detest Marsilio da Carrara as he does. I want you to go to him and encourage him to follow his bliss – as long as that bliss is the overthrow of the Carrara clan. I will provide him connections and money, but no troops. Those he must find for himself.”
“I haven’t said I’m going,” said Pietro.
“You will.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not like me.” Cangrande fingered a cross hanging at his neck. “It has never really bothered me, my excommunication. I believe the Virgin watches over me, and can easily make the argument that a church based in Avignon is no church at all. But you – tell me, Ser Alaghieri, how does it sit with you, being out of God’s view? What ring of Hell will claim you? The Sixth? Or would your father put you in Cocytus’ Pit? Are Brutus and Judas good company, do you think?”
“I hope I do end up there,” said Pietro. “Then I can visit you in Antenora.”
“A little lower, if you please,” countered Cangrande. “I haven’t betrayed my country, just my friends. Poor Federigo. I knew I’d need a sacrificial lamb once the dust had settled. Nevertheless, I plan on buying my way into Heaven – French coffers are never full enough, as you already know to your sorrow. Yet, in spite of my current state, I have a great deal of influence. I can have you reinstated.”
Pietro’s hands began to tingle, his head felt light. “What?”
“Your excommunication. I can have it expunged. Removed. Bring you back into the fold of holy mother Church.”
Pietro was legitimately stunned. Cangrande was offering nothing less than salvation. Entirely without volition he said, “What do I have to do?”
“Go to Vicenza as my anointed judge. There you will set up a special tribunal and accept all accusations of murder. Paolo Dente will arrive with other members of his family. He will petition your court and you will hear him out. He will present evidence, and you will publicly condemn the whole Carrarese family for their complicity in the murder of Paolo’s brother. Then in private you make my offer.”
“Which is?”
“Funds, weapons, and a base of operations. No troops. As you know, I adhere strictly to the conditions of any truce. I will not let Verona’s soldiers attack Padua. But an army of exiles is completely outside my control.”
“What do you want in return? From Dente, I mean.”
“My only condition is that Dente throws out Heinrich’s minions and restore Nico da Lozzo to his proper place on the Paduan Anziani.”
“Effectively giving you a voice in Paduan politics. Paolo takes on Marsilio, you reap the rewards if he wins. Why should he do this?”
“Because he has a mean spirit, and a weak, petty mind. He is almost womanish in his need for revenge. Not at all like you.”
Pietro shook his head. “I already told you I won’t go.”
“Ah, so you did! But that was before you knew what the chore was. I thought that dispensing real justice at law combined with a chance to see Carrara’s face rubbed in the dirt and your promised return to God’s sight would stir you to break your knightly word, just this once. Perhaps I am the Biblical serpent, but instead of offering forbidden fruit, I offer a return to the garden. You are truly a man of honour to refuse. I stand in awe.”
What hurt Pietro was that his heart’s desire was so painfully obvious. Cangrande had indeed plucked not one but three of Pietro’s heartstrings, playing him like Cesco’s lute.
But after all, wasn’t it Pietro’s plan to let himself be sent away so Antonia could stay without suspicion? Still, it couldn’t look too easy. “Man of honour or no, I’m not going.”
“Resolve is a quality I admire. Stubbornness is not. I offer you the world. Is this enough? It is not, says he, and spits in my eye. Fame, titles, restoration of your honour – what more can I give?”
“A promise,” said Pietro quic
kly. “That I may return the moment the trial is concluded and the offer made. Whether Dente accepts or not.”
“Your professors may not like that,” said Cangrande, tactfully hiding his pleasure at Pietro’s implicit acceptance. “But then, you’ll already be a consul with a better income than they can dream, it being added to your knight’s portion, also from me. So let them hang, I say. Yes, Ser Alaghieri, I will do nothing to prevent your return to Verona. But only after the attack on Padua is made.”
“And if Dente refuses to attack?”
“He won’t. Either way, the moment this expedition is done, I give you full permission to return to Verona.”
“You should know, I will try Dente’s case on its merits. If the evidence does not meet my satisfaction, I will throw out the case.”
“Mmm. I suppose it was too much to hope that you would fix the case for me. Fine. But then it won’t be you making the offer to Dente. I’ll send Nico with you. He’ll be the one who has to rule Padua if this works, he might as well have some hand in it.”
“I need a few other assurances.”
“Anything for my faithful servant, Ser Giudice.”
“I want you to appoint my brother Jacopo to the Anziani.”
“Nepotism!” Cangrande shouted in delight, pointing an accusing finger. “Wonderful! You’re already starting down the path of corruption! Your wish is granted. What else?”
“Your word Tharwat will not be forced to leave Cesco’s side.”
Cangrande raised his right hand. “I swear by the Holy Virgin that I shall do nothing to divide Cesco from his keeper. What else?”
“You’ll let Morsicato choose his post.”
Cangrande considered. “As long as he doesn’t displace Fracastoro. I loathe change. But I imagine that personal doctor to the Heir was more what you had in mind.”
“Morsicato can make that decision. If he wants out, you’ll let him go.”
“Such a lawyer! You’re proving my appointment so very sound. Very well, Morsicato can write his own pass. What else? Would you like to bed my wife? It might be a little frosty, but I’m sure I could bribe her with something – these papers, for example.” He waved his hands at all Pietro’s correspondence.
