The Master of Verona

Antonia looked away, but continued to study Montecchio out of the corner of her eye. He was even more handsome now that age had taken away some of his prettiness. But what clothes! He was dressed almost entirely in the latest French fashion. Leather doublet cut short, the better to show off the line of his upper thigh. Sleeves slashed to show off the fancy scalloped sleeves with bright rainbow-coloured lining. His hat was a curled liripipe. His practical riding boots, the only Italian feature to his attire, were sorely out of place.

Mariotto breathed in the scent of his wife's hair. "O Francesca, I've missed you!"

Paolo? Francesca? Realization struck Antonia. Francesca da Rimini and her lover? That's the basis for their great romance? The idiots! The fools! They didn't understand L'Inferno at all!

Gianozza pulled back from his embrace. "You beast! You knew you were coming home!"

Mariotto ducked his head sheepishly. "The Capitano released me three weeks ago. I wanted to surprise you." He frowned. "Who's with you?"

"Oh, this is Antonia Alaghieri."

"Pietro's sister?"

"Yes. I didn't want to come in here alone."

One arm still around Gianozza's waist, Mariotto crossed to Antonia and held out his hand. Hers was filthy, she realized. Yet he still bent low over it as he bowed in greeting. "Mademoiselle. C'est une plaisure, vraiment."

"Signore," she replied in Italian as she curtsied. Now that he was closer she saw the design on the tunic under the doublet. There was a finely embroidered rendering of the Montecchi family crest. Just beneath that, directly over his liver, were three initials — G.d.B. That, at least, was sweet.

They exchanged a few perfunctory pleasantries, Antonia feeling awkward as could be. The fact that the marriage had never been consummated was written in flaming words above their heads. Mariotto intended an assignation with his wife. Their first.

Mariotto smiled at Antonia. She returned the smile weakly. Gianozza was gazing at Antonia too, surely thinking of nothing but how to get rid of her.

Glancing down at her clothes, Antonia made a choking sound in her throat. "Oh! I must look frightful! Is there a stream or something nearby where I can clean up before I return to the castle?"

"Just head back the way we came," said Gianozza quickly, "and off to the south about a half a mile is a stream." Mariotto beamed, but Gianozza frowned in genuine concern. "Are you sure you can find your way back?"

"I'll take Rolando with me," Antonia said, reaching down for the dog's leash. "He can guide me."

"Of course he can!" cried Mariotto cheerfully. "This old mutt knows these lands better than I do!"

"Well, goodbye, then!" Antonia tugged on the leash, hard. Her cheeks burned. As she turned down the path she wondered, Would it be too indecorous to run? There was a cooing sigh from behind her. Oh, wait until I'm out of earshot please!

The dog resisted, straining back towards his master. "Come on, Rolando," whispered Antonia. "They don't want you there either."

Pietro rode north with Fazio and a band of thirty men. They were passing Ferrara when he was hailed by a large man ridiculously perched on the back of a mule.

"Hola!" Waving, the man almost fell off his mule. "Señores! Por favor — I need, ah, I need some aiudo." A wide floppy hat shadowed his dark skin, black hair, and beard. There were crimson stains on his shirt, but not blood. Wine. "I am riding to Treviso, and — well, I am, how you say, lost. May I ride with you?"

Pietro said, "We're not going that far."

"As far as you do go, then." His accent was definitely Spanish, but his Italian wasn't half bad. It was the drink that was giving him trouble.

"We're in a bit of a hurry…"

"So am I! It will work out so well, for me to come with you!"

It was common practice for a band of soldiers to take charge of any lone travelers. There were already three women and their grooms in Pietro's party, so he couldn't very well say they weren't taking on extra people. Still, this Spaniard could be a thief. "What do you do for a living?"

"I am a world-class notary, señor! Perhaps you could use a notary on your travels?"

"No, thanks. What's your name?"

"Oh, I am a lout! My name is Persiguieron La Mordedura. But if you allow me passage, you may call me whatever name you wish! Just do not call me early!" He laughed hard at his own joke.

Pietro sighed. "Very well. Ride up front, where I can keep an eye on you. And don't bother the ladies."

"Señor! What do you take me for? A cad?" He raised his hands in mortification and fell out of his saddle entirely. While he righted himself Pietro signaled Fazio to start the small band moving again.