The Master of Verona

Grinning, Pietro ordered his men to hurry up and find something to barricade the alley. The battle was far from over, and they had work to do.

At the other end of the yard Marsilio was greeting Asdente, at the center of the formation just spilling through the gate. "What in all-fired hell is going on?" cried the Toothless Master, looking at the smoking carnage.

"They were waiting! Bonifacio betrayed us!" Carrara slammed his mailed fist into his palm. "I knew it!"

"The Count?" Vanni found it hard to believe the old fox would set them up this way.

"I saw him," confirmed Marsilio. "He was here — even saved Cangrande's life, from what my sergeant said."

Asdente brushed that aside. "What's to do?"

Marsilio looked around. The bolts from the crossbows had ceased as all the fires took hold and archers leapt from windows to try and escape. Some managed to get away. Most were rounded up and pressed back into the burning structures to face their deaths.

"Bring your men in here — all of them. If we take the Nogarola palace, we can press outward and take the whole city."

"What about prisoners?" Last time they had come this way, Asdente had ruined his reputation by slaughtering innocents without orders. This time he wanted explicit instructions.

Marsilio paused. What would his uncle do? Take prisoners, ransom them, show them all the mercy and generosity that Cangrande had shown three years before. "No prisoners. Havoc. Kill them all."

Asdente loosed his twisted grin. "As you command." He returned to his men, crying, "Havoc! Havoc!"

We were betrayed, thought Carrara for the hundredth time. Of one thing he was sure. The Count of San Bonifacio would not leave this field alive.

Cangrande slashed right and left, trying to get through the soldiers barring his path to the church. His deadly smile was unchanged, but his thoughts were grim. If Uguccione didn't get the signal soon, the city would fall.

He heard, as he often did, his sister's voice in his head, scolding him. You always leave it too late, Francesco. You never think things through. You play your little games, have your theatrics, and forget what needs to be done!

Well, dear sister, his mind retorted in a parody of conversation, if you think I am too tardy, why don't you take care of it yourself?

His head came up as he heard bells. For an instant Cangrande della Scala was utterly, completely, totally stunned. Then he began to laugh, for he knew — knew — who was ringing the bells, giving the signal to the reserve army.

He turned his horse about and spurred back to the line being held by the Nogarolese. There was nothing more for him to do now but fight.

"It's got to be time," said Benvenito. "It's got to be! They've been in there for half an hour!"

"Fifteen minutes, more like," replied Mariotto, looking at the rising sun.

"I'm getting fed up with waiting," announced Bonaventura, not renowned for his patience.

"He'll give us a signal," said Uguccione softly. "He said he'd give us a signal."

As if in answer came the pealing of bells. Uguccione clapped his helm on his head and shouted, "On! On! Kill the bastards!!"

Bonaventura was already off. Mari kicked his heels as, down the line, Antony did the same, his brother Luigi right behind him. Nico whooped as he dug his heels into his horse's flanks. They led their forces towards Vicenza, towards the unguarded rear of the Paduan army.

The Count saw them come. Just moments before, he'd been waiting impatiently, his horse moving from foot to foot in reflection of his rider's mood. The young soldier he'd sent had come running back with the news that Carrara's men had entered the inner walls. Now they stood together on the wall of San Pietro, watching the army of Verona ride to the rescue.

"Dear God," breathed the red-headed soldier. "What do we do?"

"We can either warn Carrara or save our skins," replied the Count calmly. "Make your choice, son, and stick to it."

Benedick looked down at the Paduans still outside the walls. "I have to fight."

"Eager for victory?"

The red-headed young man looked the Count in the eye. "I don't have a title, or land, or prospects. If I'm going to make a name for myself, I have to fight, and be seen fighting."

"I admire your honesty, Signore Benedick. But let me point out that we are about to be routed. Fight a little, be seen by a commander or two, then melt away into the city. In a week return to Padua with a dramatic wound or two. You'll be a hero."