The Master of Verona

As promised, his sympathizers within the walls cheered the returning exiles. The Count saw a large man with dark skin and a floppy hat leading the citizens in their repeated brays for the invading force. Other citizens, seeing which way the wind was blowing, began slipping north or east, away from where a battle loomed. They would wait, expecting the Scaliger to again miraculously appear and rescue their city.

The Count, too, was hoping for Cangrande to come. He had a special treat in store for the wily lord of Verona.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. He had his men lash ladders to the battlements, making it a chore for the Vicentines to dislodge the invaders. As he beat the lax with the flat of his blade he glanced downwards and saw the man in the floppy hat disappearing around a corner. Excellent. He's off to spread the word. We're coming.

At the base of a hill just south of the city, Marsilio da Carrara waited for the Count's signal. Carrara was uneasy. It wasn't the impending battle. It was the Count's manner. The old bastard had seemed positively overjoyed to have Marsilio with him. Why?

That the Paduan Anziani had come to Marsilio and not his uncle was a measure of how his stature had grown — Vicenza, the Palio, the duel, a few skirmishes with Treviso last year — all marked him as the first in the new generation of Paduan nobles. When they'd presented this plot to him, Carrara had approved every measure except the involvement of the exiled Vinciguerra. But the plan relied on the Count. To counter-balance this, Marsilio insisted on picking his men, his place of hiding, and his own time to attack; on being present for every war council; and on reading over Vinciguerra's every order before it went out.

Like a beaten man, Vinciguerra had agreed. "Marsilio, I'm an old man. I've given up the hope of ever seeing Verona again — unless I'm in chains, and I'll die before I let that happen. But I can live to see Vicenza stripped from the Pup. For that, I need your help." He'd stood there, humble, begging for Marsilio's help. Knowing his uncle would never have approved, Carrara had decided it was worth the risk.

Still, he'd been suspicious. So he'd given the Count a new shadow, one that trailed him to secret meetings around Padua, assignations at a house and at a church in the countryside. Carrara had laughed aloud when he'd discovered the Count was just keeping a mistress as well as his childless wife. Randy old goat. If that was the extent of Bonifacio's deceiving, a broken man's solace, then the attack could go forward.

But this morning it had been a different Count saluting him and riding off to scale the walls. Cheerful, energetic, almost giddy with delight. It raised Marsilio's hackles. Yet the Count couldn't be planning a betrayal — he was spearheading the attack! If he chose to, Carrara could hold his reinforcements just long enough for Vinciguerra to be cut to ribbons. The Count had to know that.

Thrusting the question aside, Carrara gestured Asdente over to again discuss the order of riding. "Scorigiani, you're leading the second wave of men, mostly foot. Wait until I'm well into the city to start your charge. I'll flush out the figli di puttana, and you can come in and decimate them."

"Gladly," replied Asdente, his broken mouth looking old and evil.

Carrara grunted, remembering what Asdente had said upon being offered the junior command. "Of course I'm damn well coming. After the last Vicentine adventure, my reputation is covered in mud. They won't let me lead a band of eunuchs to a brothel. I'm in for anything that will restore my reputation."

Marsilio turned to his captain of the horse. "You ride with me — though I want a few hundred foot soldiers with us, too."

The captain nodded. The Paduan troops were happy to have Carrara at their head. They might not have been so serene to follow him had they known his uncle would have opposed this venture. Marsilio hadn't told them. He had more important things on his mind now than his uncle's approval. He had a city to win, and a treacherous Count to watch.

In a low dale two miles to the west of the Paduan forces, Uguccione della Faggiuola was also reviewing his own dispositions with Nico da Lozzo. Mariotto Montecchio was nearby, clad in new French armour. Also present was Benvenito Lenoti, soon to be Mariotto's brother-in-law.

"Where the hell is Bonaventura?" growled Uguccione. "The Illasi group was supposed to be here an hour ago."

"They'll be here," said Nico.

"They better get here soon. Twenty men could make the difference."

Mariotto was silent. He too wanted Bonaventura's men to get here soon. He had something to say to Antony.