The Master of Verona

On the way in to dinner, Pietro met little Bailardetto, just being put to bed. Less than two years old, walking well and talking a little, Detto was certainly his father's son — same black hair, same strong face. He was a regular baby, no less wonderful for the lack of Cesco's brilliance. Pietro was surprised to realize he liked children. He'd never really thought about it before.

Dinner was pleasant. Pietro was surprised that Cesco was allowed to eat at their table. The boy was quiet, though, eating and staring off into space. He did perk up a bit as Pietro described for Morsicato an autopsy he'd attended. But then the talk turned to politics and he vanished behind his eyes again.

Pietro began the subject change by asking, "Do you think Frederick will be declared emperor?"

Bailardino shrugged. "No one knows."

This was the great event that had occurred in Verona during their absence. Just two months ago the Scaliger had come to a momentous decision, finally choosing which imperial rival to back. The Scaliger deemed Frederick the Handsome of Bavaria to have a better claim than Ludwig the Bavarian, so on the sixteenth of March, Cangrande della Scala had formally pledged his allegiance — and his armies — to Frederic.

"There's a candidate no one has mentioned as yet," said Morsicato slyly.

"Not Cangrande?" asked Pietro.

Bailardino laughed. "No no no. He means the Duke of Vienna, the reluctant Vincentio."

"Oh."

Katerina said, "I didn't get the sense that he is reluctant. From what I hear he's a shrewd administrator, and rather manipulative for one so young. He just doesn't like the pomp of office."

Her husband shrugged. "In spite of his Italian nickname, he's a good German candidate, with a distant relation to the throne. He could pursue it."

Talk shifted to the war Cangrande was waging, then to news from France, which brought the conversation around to the return of Mariotto. Pietro said, "I know Aurelia's getting married, but to whom?"

Bailardino frowned. "I'm not sure, to tell the truth."

Katerina slapped at her husband. "Then you're not paying attention. His name is Ser Benvenito Lenoti, and he is as handsome as he is brave."

"That doesn't mean much, unless he's uncommonly daring. Wait — Lenoti. Isn't he the tilter? Well, he's assured himself of a lifetime of good horses."

"M'I be 'cused?" asked Cesco, pushing his platter of half-eaten fruit away.

Katerina considered. "Finish the apples and you may." Cesco shoved a handful of apple slices into his mouth, hopped down from his seat, and ran from the room. "Finish them!" called Katerina after him. "Don't let me find spewed apple bits in the halls!"

The men were all laughing. "Oh, yes! It's all funny until the roof falls in. He's up to something," she added, motioning for a maid to follow him.

"Kat, let him alone!" sighed Bailardino.

"You'll be sorry when the palace burns down around your ears."

Pietro said, "And how is Cangrande's namesake?"

Katerina pursed her lips. "If I say he's brilliant, it will only be a mother's opinion. The same if I call him a trial. Perhaps the doctor has a more objective assessment."

A bemused look crossed Morsicato's face, making his forked beard jut out at an odd angle. "Well, he's active. I'm always bandaging up his scrapes, setting a sprain. Loves to whack me with his little wooden sword."

"Me too," said Bail, mournfully rubbing his backside.

"He took to riding like he was born to it — swimming as well. And I think he's reading now. But he seems to best enjoy fiddling with machines and things, seeing how they work. Donna Katerina has this horizontal loom with foot pedals. Cesco took the thing apart when no one was looking, then watched as it was reassembled — thought it a tremendous joke."

"He's not the only one," said Katerina with a sour look at her husband.

"Well, it was damned clever!" protested Bail. "Anyway, since then Cangrande's been sending the imp puzzles — interlocked rings, that sort of thing. We're all thankful. They keep him occupied for hours at a time."

"I saw one puzzle," said Pietro. "I'd think he'd finish them quickly."

"He does," replied Bail. "He has an uncanny knack for them. But when he's done with one, he studies it. He's fascinated at how pieces fit together. And he likes showing them to his little brother."

"Is he sleeping more?"

Katerina sighed. "I'm afraid not. I don't know if it's nightmares or if he simply believes that the moment he falls asleep is when we bring in the dancing elephants. Sometimes I have to ask the doctor for a draught to help him sleep, though always as a last resort. But even with the potion he only rests four hours a night."

Bail put his hand over his wife's. "What she's not telling you, Pietro, is that he wakes up shaking every night. He won't tell us what his dreams are about, but it must be dreadful."

Dinner ended and Bail dismissed the servants. That was when they began to discuss the plans for the next day. Unsurprisingly, Katerina stayed to voice her opinions.