The Master of Verona

His generals turned, all uttering a verbal protest. He responded angrily. "O, it would look good, wouldn't it! Even if we take Cremona without starving first, which we won't, this will be what gets the credit! Not honour. Brutality!"

"What about the note?" asked Castelbarco. "Did you discover who sent it?"

"If it even existed," said Nico.

"He insisted he'd gotten the order," said Cangrande, who'd spent the night in his tent with the mercenary leader. "Though I am loath to believe him, it remains a possibility that one of us did this."

"Someone with access to your seal," Castelbarco pointed out.

"Or a decent copy," said Bail. "You'll have to have a new one made." Cangrande nodded.

"I think he was lying," opined Passerino, spitting at the dying man twenty feet away.

"Possibly," said Cangrande. "If not, Heaven help the man who did this. My martial honour has been marred. I will not rest until the stain is expunged."

"This is a good start," said Bail. The first man had ceased to kick and was cut down, his replacement already being marched into position.

"No, Bail," said the Scaliger. "A poor one, since it shouldn't be necessary. How we win is as important as the victory itself."

They watched to the end without further comment. When the others turned to go, Nico grasped his page's arm. "Pack your bags. You're going back to your father. There's no room for coward in this army. Or for drunkards who care more for sack than for orders. In a day of dishonour, you added more shame to the tale."

It sounded strange, coming from the easy going Nico. Another man might have shown more compassion for a youth facing his first real taste of warfare. Certainly, if applied to, the Capitano would overrule the dismissal.

But Jacopo didn't care. He'd already decided that his brief career as a soldier was over.

Milazzo, Sicily

7 March 1316

"Signore Ignazzio? The wine stands by you."

The astrologer's mind was elsewhere as he fingered the medallion's twisting cross, touching upon each remaining pearl. Hearing himself addressed, he roused himself and passed the fine glass carafe to the regent of Sicily. It never did to keep a king waiting, even a vassal king. Frederick III was king outright of the island of Sicily and ruled its surrounding lands for his brother, King James II of Aragon. That Frederick was only the second of that name to rule Sicily was a touch confusing to Ignazzio, but he didn't bother asking. He had other business on his mind.

Yesterday the king had ordered the arrest of certain bankers, despite what it had done to the local financial markets. Ignazzio and the Moor had been allowed the night and morning to question them. In return, Ignazzio had spent the better part of the day going over the king-regent's star chart, reinterpreting it in light of recent world events. Frederick was a practical man, and such men often disdained astrology. But this king seemed to feel that any information gained was worth something.

The sky was red by the time the reading was through, and the king was pleased enough to invite Ignazzio to join him in a cup of wine. The cup had become a bottle, the bottle two. Now, as the king-regent refilled his glass he said, "I begin to think you have spies in Palermo. You have described me down to the last wisp of hair on my head. But it seems you spent more time telling me about myself than what awaits me."

"Your majesty, astrology is as much the art of seeing who we are as of where we are going." It was a favorite phrase of Ignazzio's, learned at the foot of his master.

"Mmmm." King Frederick was a lean man, with angular features and dark skin — not Moorish dark, but indicative of a life spent outdoors. His hair was indeed thinning, but he retained a youthful vigour. It showed when he spoke, waving his arms before him to saw the air. "It seems a cheat. But still, it must open many doors at court. I mean, here you are, alone with a king."

Of course, they weren't truly alone. Servants hovered somewhere behind them. The Moor was among them. It was awkward, but there was nothing to be done about it. At least here the Moor did not stand out in any way.

Frederick resumed gesticulating. "I'm fascinated by your travels. You must visit many far off lands. What other princes have you shared wine with?"

Understanding dawned. It was not the reading of the charts but the passing on of news that would repay Frederick's hospitality. Well, Ignazzio wasn't averse to spending the evening singing for his supper. He only wished they could have gotten to this point sooner and spared him the afternoon hunched over parchment. "As you know, recently I called upon your brother the King of Aragon in Zaragoza."

"Lovely city."

"Before that, Theodoro and I were in England. Before that, France. A year ago we were in Venice."

"Well traveled. It is something I sometimes miss. I got around more in my younger days. So tell me, what-"