The Master of Verona

Just then Frederick's eleven-year-old son Pedro, tousle-haired and smiling, had come in to be presented and to kiss his father goodnight. With him came a darker child, younger and just as handsome, if a bit leaner. He was introduced only as Juan.

"I'm raising them together," said the regent-king to Ignazzio. "Heir and bastard. That way there will never be a hint of enmity between them."

"Wise. But then, I already knew it."

"My chart?"

"My spies."

Laughing heartily, the king sent his two sons off to bed. In truth, Ignazzio wasn't sure of the wisdom in pairing those boys. Seeing them together made his fingers itch, and he had to force himself not to ask their respective dates of birth.

The regent clapped his hands together. "Where were we?"

"I was about to tell you of my travels." Taking a modest sip of wine, Ignazzio tried to separate news and gossip. "Beginning at the far corner of the earth, some Scottish barbarian named Edward the Bruce has just accepted the Irish crown from Ireland's nobles, so he is now able to add king to his title. His brother Robert has already declared himself King of Scotland."

"So there is a Scottish king?" laughed Frederick. "That must have the English beside themselves!"

"Actually, most men seemed more concerned with the trouble closer to home. When I was in London most everyone was talking about Edward II's continuing troubles with some earl — "

"Lancaster," supplied the king.

"Yes, and the rest of the Lords Ordainers."

"Well, they're the ones who truly rule," said Frederick, opening his hands expansively. "That has been going on, and will continue. But what of France? Is the new king dead yet? Has the curse struck him down?"

Ignazzio did not laugh at curses, though for the king he managed a feeble smile. "Not yet. But already there are riots and fighting in the streets. Examinations of the treasury found it bare, and inquests into the state of the finances led to the hanging of many of his father's advisors. To alleviate his finances, Louis has married the daughter of the king of Hungary. I hear they are expecting a son."

From there he expanded upon the news from Norway about a new kind of forge, from Bruges about the wool trade.

"Fascinating," said Frederick flatly. "What about Spain?"

Of course the regent already knew about the Spanish king's nephew assembling an army, ostensibly to attack Granada. At the last moment, however, the army had changed course in favor of an unauthorized attack on the frontier stronghold of Tiscar. "But," added Ignazzio, "the king is said to be much more disturbed by news from Egypt."

Frederick looked suddenly serious. "Which is?"

"Sultan Muhammad al-Nasir has finally completed his mad canal, dug between Alexandria and the Nile."

"Good God!" The king-regent stroked his chin for several thoughtful second. "So he must really be serious about trading in the Mediterranean!"

"Yes. At least your brother and the King of Spain think so. The canal reportedly took one hundred thousand men five years to dig."

This last snippet of news was clearly of real value to Frederick. The king relaxed, and the next flurry of questions was less urgent. Ignazzio assumed that he had sung enough for his supper.

The king wasn't so rude, though, as to dismiss him at once. They discussed trends in art, like a new painter in Sienna everyone was raving over. He was called Simone Martini, and he had just finished a work entitled La Maesta, an image of the Madonna and child. Already Martini was being compared to Giotto.

"From what I hear," ventured Ignazzio, "it is a comparison that makes Maestro Giotto laugh in despair."

"Truly? I have never seen Giotto's work. Have you visited the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua?"

"No, but I have seen some of his brilliance displayed in Verona. In fact," Ignazzio added, "I heard recently that the maestro has returned to paint an exterior fresco depicting the poet Dante and his patron, the Scaliger."

"That's too bad!" said the king, shaking his head and throwing up his hands in lighthearted dismay. "Exterior frescoes never last. But at least it will erode a little of this Cangrande. There has already been too much talk of this man, this so-called Greyhound. Ever since he humbled the Paduans we hear of little else. And that business in Calvatone last fall — disgraceful! Besides, we Sicilians feel a kinship for the Paduans. It was their man Antonio who came here to become a saint. You must visit his sanctuary before you leave us."

"I shall," vowed Ignazzio. He always made a point of visiting holy sites and churches. Too many men looked upon his art as witchcraft, devilry, and he worked hard to counteract such impressions.

Spurred by the empty carafe of wine, the regent soon brought the evening to a close. "I hope you learned all you needed from those pesky bankers."

"All they had to give," said Ignazzio, feigning sadness. "Alas, it was no aid."

"I am sorry to hear it. Do you think they were holding back? Shall I put them to the torture?"