The Master of Verona

A blow on his shield rocked him back in his saddle. He returned the blow with all the strength he owned. The attacker reeled back, then lunged again. Pietro dodged, swallowing smoke that had drifted into his helmet. His eyes were tearing up, his lungs were choked. He swung his shield, felt it connect, and used the respite to tear off the borrowed helmet. Already his adversary was back, but Pietro got there first, throwing the hereditary helmet of the San Bonifaci clan at the man's head. As the man ducked, Pietro got his sword around to bash in his skull. The Paduan sagged sideways in his saddle, then his face disappeared as Pietro's well-trained horse opened his mouth and clamped down on a target. The Paduan screamed in his throat as he died.

Pietro was already on to his next opponent, blocking a mace aiming to remove his head from his shoulders. "Where's Cangrande?"

"Don't! Know!" said the doctor, hacking with each word. Pietro let Pompey bite another horse's neck, then pulled the reins. In the melee the destrier managed to turn enough to let Pietro face the tavern. It was obscured in smoke, quick to burn because of the barrels of alcohol within.

Pietro's men moved to cover his back, several chanting a fighting song as they beat at the Paduans around them. Some of those Paduans began singing as well, and both sides of the struggle set up their cuts and parries to the sound of their mixed voices united in song.

A gust of wind cleared the smoke, inviting a hail of crossbow bolts from above. The archers had decided to risk the flames in order to snipe away when opportunity presented itself. Fifty Paduans dropped away in a hail of blurred streaks. Suddenly unopposed, Pietro looked up to wave his thanks.

Suddenly he spied Cangrande. Still atop the tavern, the Scaliger was hopping away from spears and pikes thrusting up at him from below. He'd run out of missiles to throw, and the untiled patches in the rooftop now blazed with fire. Any moment now the roof would collapse under him. The Paduans saw this and penned the Capitano in, jeering darkly.

Far from looking concerned, Cangrande called back lighthearted insults to his assailants below. A few Paduans ignored the flames and climbed the roof to confront him, hoping to claim the honour of having killed the great Scaliger lord. Unencumbered by armour, he danced around their slow and clumsy attacks, kicking them from the flaming roof. One, more determined than the rest, rushed at him with sword low, ready to eviscerate the Scaliger from groin to chin. Cangrande skipped backward across a piece of roof that was already showing some sparks flying up through a hole. It held — barely. When his attacker reached it moments later, the weight of his armour sent him crashing through the timbers and into the inferno below.

The Capitano picked up the tune the soldiers sang and blared it loudly, defying the smoke that billowed around him. The fire was burning so hot now that the Paduans had to cease their harassment and back away from the blazing tavern. Cangrande could only have moments before the timbers collapsed under him, too.

Pietro turned to Morsicato. "Pull the men back to the Nogarola line! We'll be slaughtered if we stay here!"

Morsicato was putting down a pesky Paduan. By the time he turned, Pietro was driving though the Paduan soldiers towards the tavern. "Pietro! Where are you going?"

Pietro didn't bother with his sword and shield. He dodged his mount between the Paduans, calling out as he did so. "Francesco! Francesco!" By using the Scaliger's baptismal name he hoped the Paduans wouldn't realize whom he was trying to rescue.

A thunderous crash came from the tavern. Clouds of sparks and great billows of smoke rose from the building. The Paduans let out a massive cheer. Still Pietro called. "Francesco! Francesco!"

Another gust of wind revealed the Scaliger. He was standing on the lip of the roof, covered in soot and smoke that made his dyed skin even darker. He coughed, staggering and half blind.

"Francesco!"

The Scaliger's head came around. Seeing the friendly face, Cangrande's eyes flickered about him. One Paduan was edging closer to jab upward with his spear. Ducking low, Cangrande grabbed the spear with both hands and kicked the shaft. The Paduan's grip slipped, allowing Cangrande to yank the spear free. Reversing the spear in his hands, Cangrande leapt.

How he saw where to place the spear's tip through the smoke Pietro couldn't tell, but the spear landed in a space between two cobblestones. Cangrande swung his body around the spear and vaulted like an acrobat three feet from Pietro. "Ride!"

Pietro was already giving Pompey the spur. Cangrande ran alongside, his hands clutching at the second arcione of the saddle. With a heave, the Scaliger leapt up across Pompey's rump. "Go go go!"