by David Blixt
Before Pietro could think of an answer, Tharwat had opened the door and gone.
Thirty-Four
Verona
Wednesday, 31 July
1325
Amazingly, the Scaliger kept his word. Two days after his interview with Pietro, at a special session of the city council, Cangrande formally adopted Cesco as his heir. The ceremony was remarkably brief. The bishop intoned prayers, Cangrande made the announcement, and the assembled nobles applauded as Cesco took his place by Cangrande’s side.
As the applause died away, Cangrande spoke. “It’s time for this wayward youth to learn the duties of a knight. He is of the age to act as squire to one of Verona’s many distinguished nobles. The question of which to choose has been weighing heavily on me these last few days. To show favour to one is a slight to another.”
Oh please God, thought Pietro. Don’t choose Mari or Antony. The other would never let it go.
“So rather than elevate one, I will elevate you all. Each of Verona’s knights and nobles will participate in young Francesco’s training. In the meantime, he will act as my personal squire.”
That raised several eyebrows. It was unheard of for a knight to mentor his own son. But Cangrande had an explanation waiting. “For the last eight years this lad has been raised by the brave and resourceful Ser Alaghieri. No one could have been a better foster-father.” He inclined his head to Pietro. “However, I want to have a hand in the shaping of this young man. If he is to be my heir, he must come to know me. Fear not! Lest I prove too forgiving a mentor, Verona’s best and brightest will help me overcome familial fondness.”
To the assembly, this statement made perfect sense. Of course a man should know his heir! For his part, Cesco showed no reaction. Which did not mean he did not have one.
“Lord Nogarola,” said Cangrande, formally addressing his brother-in-law. “You were my master when I was young Cesco’s age, and I had planned to return the favour by mentoring your eldest son. Will you forgive me if I renege on that agreement. I think,” he added with a sly smile, “that I shall have my hands full.”
There were chuckles, and Cesco was smiling too. Pietro was not.
“Of course,” rumbled Bailardino. “But then who will take my little brat?”
“Little?” asked Petruchio Bonaventura. “He’s as big as my twins put together!”
“Then why don’t you take him off my hands?” demanded Bailardino.
“Only if you’ll do the same for me when mine are of age!”
“One! I’ll take one.”
Petruchio shook his head. “It’s double or nothing! I bet my best horse you can’t manage both at once.”
“You’re cruel to an old man!” cried Bailardino, amid a chorus of light-hearted jeers. “Fine. Both. I’m sure each will turn out to be twice the swordsman their father is.”
“Care to wager on that, too?” challenged Petruchio with a grin.
Cangrande cut across their boisterous good cheer. “Now that Bailardetto’s future is certain, let’s go out and amuse the people rather than ourselves.”
On the way out, Pietro touched Morsicato’s shoulder. “Have you seen Tharwat?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not since he told us about – about his past.”
“He hasn’t been back to the Nogarola house. Cesco is worried.”
“Cesco doesn’t know what we do, now, does he?”
Tharwat’s parting words repeating in his mind every hour, Pietro had been wracked by guilt for two days. Thus he was quick to come to Tharwat’s defense. “He’s the same man he’s always been.”
“That was true about the Scaliger. Before and after you found out about his real nature. His deeds were the same, only his motivations were blacker. Who’s to say that isn’t more true of the blackamoor?”
“The blackamoor?” echoed Pietro. “That’s a friend you’re talking about.”
“A friend of circumstance,” retorted Morsicato.
The crowd was almost done filing out of the Domus Nova, and servants were busily clearing benches. Pietro guided the doctor outside where the noise of the mob covered their talk. “We owe him. And we need him.”
“I know we do,” said Morsicato grudgingly. “What I can’t decide is, now that we have an Assassin on our side, do I feel better or worse?”
“Keep that word inside your teeth,” hissed Pietro warningly.
Morsicato scowled. “Well, wherever he is, I hope he stays away a few more days. Between watching Cesco for signs of addiction and treating my wife for nausea, I’d have no idea what to say to him.”
“Esta’s unwell?”
“Stomach’s bothering her. Change in venue, I think. Recent events have certainly upset my innards.”
“Stop that,” said Pietro.
“I don’t just mean him,” said the doctor hotly. “There’s also the little matter of a poisoner. Funny, though – isn’t that the chosen weapon of an Assassin?”
Biting back his angry answer, Pietro shouldered his way through the crowd, leaving Morsicato behind. It felt like he was losing his grip already. He’d hoped to see Tharwat before he departed. He desperately wanted to make amends. But clearly that was not to be. And now I’m quarreling with the doctor. Terrific. It was not lost on Pietro that the close-knit group of protectors around Cesco was beginning to unravel. Friends quarrelling, secrets, lies, ambitions - I must be in Verona.
Not for long. Saddlebags packed, groom and bodyguard hired, Pietro had already taken leave of Antonia and given a few wise words to Cesco, which he was sure would be ignored. Slipping through the crowd, he mounted his horse and met the waiting Nico da Lozzo.
“Exciting stuff,” said the former Paduan, rubbing his hands together. “Murder trials, secret offers, treachery, revolt – epic! And us as the heroes. It doesn’t get better than this. A shame that your father isn’t here to put it into verse.”
Fortunately, Nico wasn’t a man who needed a partner for conversation, just a vessel. He talked incessantly as their party exited Verona across the Ponte Pietro. The last time Pietro had passed under the massive stone arch and onto the bridge, it had taken him ten years to return. Now he hoped it would only be a matter of weeks – days, even, if Nico could persuade Dente to move in haste.
Against his will, a slice of him burned with excitement. Cangrande had known just the levers to pry Pietro’s feet from the earth. The title of judge was something by itself. But to regain his place before God, and do so by unseating the man responsible for the rift between Mari and Antony – it was too much temptation.
A warning voice told him things would not go as planned. No matter the assurances, the Scaliger had something up his sleeve. I am being played upon like a pipe, or a pawn on a board. But I’m not a lost teen anymore. If I am a pawn, I’m a pawn able to conspire with the other pieces against the player.
♦ ◊ ♦
Cangrande summoned Cesco to the loggia overlooking the rear of the palace. “Pack my bags, squire, and order the grooms to prepare the horses. We leave before dawn.”
Cesco bowed. “Of course, lord. What will you require?”
“Tullio will show you how I like to travel. Pack your own bag accordingly. Bag, not bags. I do not like a parade of pack animals behind me. Light is the word.”
“Will we have any train, lord, or is it just us two?”
“A small train, a dozen or so.”
Cesco blinked in surprise, then bowed again. “Good night, lord.”
“Sleep well.” The tone of the order conveyed a private amusement.
Closing the door to the loggia, Cesco decided to speak to the groom first – better to order the horses before packing. Skipping down the stairs and through the private yard at the back of the palace, he’d just entered the stable when a fist slammed into his bicep.
“What the hell are you doing here?” demanded Detto with a smile. His language was already growing saltier now that he was a squire.
Cesco rubbed his arm. “Haven�
�t you heard? I’m the new stable-boy.”
“Demoted already? Too bad. But maybe you can help me. Petruchio wants some horses for tomorrow, break of dawn.”
“That’s funny. So does Cangrande.”
Detto beamed. “Does that mean—?”
“I think it does.”
Detto gave a little whoop at the idea of having Cesco along for his first day as a squire. “Any idea where we’re going?”
“None at all. Nor do I want to. Let’s agree to be surprised.”
“That’s amusing,” said a voice from the doorway. “I thought you liked giving surprises, not getting them.” Framed by the darkening sky behind him, Mastino leaned against the stable door.
“Ho, cousin,” said Cesco genially.
But Detto placed himself between Mastino and Cesco, fists raised to the ready. “Don’t come near him!”
Mastino gave Detto a withering glance. “Step off, child, before you get hurt.”
Cesco laid a restraining hand on Detto’s arm. “Yes, Detto, do be careful of the muddy Mastiff.” To Mastino, he bowed jauntily. “Another day, cos, another meeting. I haven’t seen you since our little giostra. Are you here to chastise me? How very wise. Pardon one offence and you condone many, they say.”
Mastino grimaced. “You definitely like to talk.”
“It passes the time. Where’s your friend Fuchs, O he of the slippery saddle?”
“Looking after some chores for me,” said Mastino airily. “You might not realize, boy, how lucky you were to slip away from us.”
“I’m sure your riding shames ours,” said Cesco. “In fair weather. If our horses were blown. And lame. And dead.”
Detto snickered, but Mastino was unmoved. “So young to have so many enemies. Aunt Giovanna, my friend Fuchs. This Donati fellow can’t be pleased that the story of his being bested by a child is beginning to spread back to Florence. And then there’s me.”
“You, cousin? Say it isn’t so!”
“Funny little fellow. You have some wit, I grant you that.”
“Generous of you.”
“But that is just the personal list. Then there are Cangrande’s enemies, who will all look at you as a way of hurting him.”
“As edifying as this is,” said Cesco, “you’re not telling me anything I haven’t already sussed out. Perhaps that’s why you aren’t the heir – mastery of the obvious is not enough to rule the Feltro.”
Stepping around Detto, Mastino used his height to tower over Cesco. “You are insolence personified, aren’t you?”
Looking up, Cesco sniffed the air. “How do you get your breath so fresh? Do you chew mint leaf? May I try some?”
Mastino smiled in one corner of his mouth. “You’re not at all afraid of me, are you?”
“I should be, I know. But it’s hard to hate the first family member you can ever remember meeting.”
Detto piped up. “I’m more family than he’ll ever be!”
Mastino stepped back to lean casually against a post. “Speaking of family, how was your chat with your mother?”
Cesco’s eyes glazed for a hair’s-breadth of time. Then with an excited smile he said, “It was wonderful. At first I wasn’t sure it was her, but after she’d suckled me at her teat, I was sold. Then she bathed me and dressed me and sang me a lullaby. Enough mothering for a lifetime.”
“It will have to be,” said Mastino. “You know you’ll not be allowed to see her again.”
“Then I shall treasure our time to the end of my days. If you’ll excuse me, Tullio is expecting me. You know how it is – one child disappears and everyone goes into a frenzy.”
“That’s not true of an adult,” said Mastino.
“Then I am fortunate, am I not, that I’m not yet as fully grown as, say – you. Detto, let’s find the groom. Cheers, cousin!” Cesco gave Mastino a light salute and walked away. Detto followed, staring daggers at Mastino.
When they were both gone, Mastino began to whistle cheerfully as he mounted his horse and rode off to meet Fuchs.
Thirty-Five
Illasi
Thursday, 1 August
1325
The party of fourteen departed before the break of day. The purpose of the outing was immediately clear – six servants bore great hunting birds on special perches built onto their saddles.
This was no normal hunt. Cangrande’s usual expeditions numbered over a hundred knights, each with attendants to swell their ranks even further. Today the only lord in company was Petruchio Bonaventura, renowned for his skill with falcons and hawks. If not the best hunter in Verona, he was acknowledged the preeminent expert in hunting birds.
Cangrande and Petruchio rode together, as was fitting, with their two squires just behind. The rest of the riding party trailed back at a decent distance, within reach of a raised voice but not close enough to overhear private conversations.
“Weather couldn’t be better for it,” said Petruchio.
“Really?” said Cangrande, amused. “The weather?”
“Well, what should we talk about with those two in company?” Petruchio jerked a thumb at Cesco and Detto. “Never had a squire before.”
“I don’t think it’s your squire you’re fretting over,” laughed Cangrande. “Cesco, would you be offended if we discussed gambling?”
“Yes, unless I’m permitted to make the odd wager. Then feel free.”
“We must do something about your manners,” Cangrande told him. “You may have been brilliant against the lesser lights of Ravenna. But it’s clear you were raised in the house of a poet. A touch too artistic for court.”
“I shall mimic you in all things,” said the boy, and for the next few minutes aped the great man’s every move and word, to the great man’s extreme consternation.
“A squire should be neither seen nor heard,” said Cangrande at last. “Invisible. But if this is to be an egalitarian outing – Lord Bonaventura, where is that amusing groom of yours?”
Petruchio’s beard twitched in a smile. “Grumio! Front!”
From the saddle of a dappled grey mare a middle-aged man in rough clothes groaned. “Now?”
“Not later!” snarled Petruchio.
Grumio clicked his tongue and the mare cantered forward until it was level with them. “Shall we set loose the birdies?”
“Not yet,” said Cangrande. “We just wanted your company.”
Grumio tugged his cap. If he was surprised at being summoned to join the nobility, he didn’t show it. “Right kind of you, m’lord.”
“We desired a touch of eloquence,” explained Cangrande.
“Just a touch? Tcha, all right. I’ll try to hold back.” Grumio winked at Cesco. “Lords and hordes, little master. Always pays to leave ‘em wanting more.” The way he said hordes, it was quite clear he was referencing another word.
Cangrande laughed. “A lesson the boy has yet to learn.”
“One of oh so many,” said Cesco.
“So, bumpkin,” said Petruchio to Grumio, “what had you so busy that you answered me roundly in front of the Capitano?”
“We had a wager going.”
“And you didn’t invite me, churl?”
“The wager wasn’t genteel, lord.”
“We’re not genteel lords,” said Cangrande. “What was the wager?”
“Well,” said Grumio seriously, “we were wondering – since most women’s privates smell of fish, and the fish is the sign for our Lord,” he crossed himself, “I was willing to lay a bet that any theologian worth his salt would say that the best path to redemption lies in the conjunction of a lady’s legs.”
Cangrande bit his tongue to keep from laughing aloud. Cesco and Detto made disgusted faces, Detto mouthing the word, Fish?
“Heretical lecher!” Amid his roaring laugh, Petruchio slapped his groom upside the head. “Impious villain!”
Grumio bent under the open-handed assault. “Begging forgiveness, but it strikes me as I’m being the soul of piety!”
“That’s me striking you, fool!” Petruchio used his reins to whip his groom’s knee.
The older man recoiled. “Mercy, mercy! Lord Capitano, is it right that a man should be beaten for seeking salvation?”
“For that, perhaps not. But for wagering on it, absolutely.”
“Ah,” said Grumio, nodding at the Scaliger’s wisdom. “Then while my master beats me, you can beat him.”
“Beat me, fellow?” cried Petruchio.
“Beat you, master. For I have often heard you cry out, ‘I’ll bet on that, by God!’ Now, if wagering on God is sinful, then placing a flutter in His name must be a hundred times worse. I’ve sinned this once, and it’s earned me a half dozen blows. You’ve sinned a hundred times, and every sin a hundred times worse than mine. Let’s see, in blows that comes to—” He screwed up his face, counting on his fingers.
“Grumio?”
Grumio’s head came up. “Aye?”
“Mum.”
Grumio’s head went down. “Aye.”
Delighted, Cangrande pointed at Grumio. “Master groom, if Lord Bonaventura ever releases you from his service, look to me for hiring. As a fool,” he added.
“What’s a fool?” asked Grumio.
“Asks the walking definition,” muttered Petruchio.
“Beg pardon, master,” corrected Grumio, “but I’m riding.”
“Yet somehow you knew I meant you.”
“A fool is a teller of amusing truths,” said Cangrande.
“Or a teller of truths as amusement,” added Cesco.
Grumio scratched his chin. “And what’s a fool’s pay?”
“Fool’s gold, of course,” said Cesco and Cangrande together.
Grumio nodded wisely. “Then if you please, I’ll keep to my station. To be paid for foolishness is beyond me. I don’t want to be putting on airs.”
“Magnificent.” Cesco grinned from ear to ear. “Capitano, can I become the groom’s apprentice instead?”
“I can certainly arrange it. But you’ll miss the hawking. Grooms don’t hawk.”
