The Master of Verona

Shock held the Paduan men-at-arms in place for a few seconds. Then as one they howled their pursuit. A sword edge came flying at Pietro's head. He took the blow on his shield even as his armoured horse drove on through the furious Paduans.

In his ear, Pietro heard a muttered, "Gracias, señor." He was too busy to reply, weaving in and out of the clusters of Paduan soldiers. He felt some movement in the saddle behind him as Cangrande dragged a weapon free and busied himself parrying blows from behind. There were too many, though — blows were coming faster and faster. Pietro could feel them glance off his armour. He was absurdly grateful for the extra padding of his disguise. It was far worse for Cangrande, who wore no armour and had to twist to avoid every blow.

Seeing a gap in the Paduan lines, Pietro urged his mount on. Faster! But destriers were bred for endurance, not speed. Only the smoke and Cangrande's quick hands kept them from mortal harm. Pietro saw more horses, closing in on them from the front. He caught a spear-tip on his shield, but saw a longsword descending for his skull.

Father, forgive me...

A falchion intercepted the weapon. Pietro slashed his attacker's face, not seeing but feeling the Moor riding beside him. There was a rumbled noise from deep within the black man's chest as his wicked point found an exposed throat.

Suddenly Cangrande shouted, "Veer right!"

The command turned them directly into a new line of oncoming knights, but Pietro's trust in Cangrande was unhesitating. He braced himself, but felt only a rush of air as the mounted knights raced past them. Suddenly Pietro found himself riding in the clear.

He looked back. Morsicato had led a charge of Pietro's men, protecting his retreat before wheeling around and sprinting back for safety themselves.

The Paduans decided not to give chase, choosing rather to reform their lines for the next attack. For the moment Pietro's party was safe. They were between the Paduans pressing Nogarola's men and Marsilio's force by the gate. It gave Cangrande a moment to assess the condition of the battle. "Pietro, Tharwat, get your men into the mouth of that alley!"

Pietro obediently steered for the alley indicated, the Moor protecting his flank. Morsicato and the men who had survived this latest ride followed. There were only a dozen now, a third of his original force. Pietro was pleased to see the face of his neighbour's son. "Glad you're still alive!"

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," the boy replied. He was just Pietro's age, yet he seemed to think Pietro some sort of hero and not just a lucky fool. His eyes traveled to Cangrande and opened even wider. "You — you're the Spaniard!"

"At times like this, I wish I were." It was a lie. The Scaliger had never looked so alive. He addressed Pietro's men, the same men he'd fooled for three days with his accent and his drunken manners. "My name is Cangrande della Scala. This is my city you're protecting. If we live through this day, I promise you all women, honours, and riches. Until then, obey Alaghieri like you would obey God and, for the love of the Virgin, enjoy yourselves!"

They cheered. Cangrande turned to Pietro, beckoning Morsicato and the Moor also. "The Paduans brought more men than we anticipated. A lot more. We'll still win this, but we have to hold. You understand. We must hold! Uguccione is coming, but he'll have to cut his way through the Paduans on the other side of that gate and break through to us."

Pietro asked, "Where do you want us?"

Cangrande nodded to the alley. "Right here. Pretty soon Marsilio is going to think of Thermopylae — he's going to use these alleys and side streets to cut around and bash Bailardino and Antonio from the sides. They'll be massacred unless we can hold these alleys for them."

"We'll hold them," said Pietro grimly.

Cangrande nodded. "Good to see you."

Pietro laughed. "I've seen you for three days but was too blind to know it. What did you dye your skin with?"

"Nutmegs." Cangrande flashed his perfect teeth. "You realize, if we live through this battle, my sister is going to have me eviscerated for letting you risk yourself to save me. Again."

"I won't tell her if you won't."

"A deal!" Cangrande lifted his stolen sword and glanced out into the main fray. "I'll send reinforcements when I can. But first I have to make sure the signal is given. That dimwit Bailardino let himself get cut off from the bells."

"No hurry," said Pietro, raising his voice to add, "We can hold the gates to the inferno!"

His men cheered again. Cangrande clapped the doctor on the shoulder, bowed to the Moor, then dashed out into the blood-slick streets. Grasping the mane of a passing riderless horse, he swung himself into the saddle. His blackened face looked like something from the netherworld. Cangrande saluted with his sword, then spurred towards Nogarola's men, slicing through the threefold lines of Paduans to get there.