The Master of Verona

The moment she'd finished, Pietro had ridden back to the palace, exchanging his warhorse for Canis, collecting Mercurio and one of Cesco's shirts, then heading for the northwestern gates out of the city. He'd questioned everyone he saw, a task made more difficult since everyone wanted information from him as badly as he wanted it from them. Quickly he gave up until he reached the gates — the same gates he'd come through three years before, the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Vicenza. Here he asked the guards if they'd seen anyone pass out. They'd said yes, twenty minutes before a tall man had ridden out with two children perched on his saddle, a youth trailing behind. Ignoring their questions about the battle, he'd set off at once.

Pathino. It was good to have a name. Probably not his real name, but useful all the same. Pietro could focus all his loathing on that one name. Pathino. Gregorio Pathino. The man who had murdered Cesco's nurse in Verona, probably murdered the oracle as well. The man who, failing to steal little Cesco, had thrown him to the leopard. Gregorio Pathino. It was a name to hate.

Pietro couldn't help remembering the Moor's words last night. A new influence, a danger to Pietro and the child. Could that new influence be Pathino? Would the kidnapper escape? And then what? Give the child to the Count? Sell him into slavery? The possibilities were terrifyingly endless.

Once he reached an open space, Pietro dismounted and knelt next to Mercurio, holding the scrap of Cesco's clothing up to the greyhound's nose. Within seconds the greyhound lifted his snout to the air, then dropped it to the ground. Remounting, Pietro followed the dog south. South and west. The direction surprised Pietro, who had expected to be led towards Padua. If they headed far enough in this direction they would reach Verona in a few hours. Could that be? Was Pathino taking the boys to Verona? Or was he just making a wide loop to avoid the two armies? That made more sense. So where was he going?

Pietro hoped he was traveling more swiftly than the ex-banker, encumbered as he was with the children and Fazio. But what if Pathino decided he needed to move faster?

"Come on, Mercurio! Fly! Let's see those winged feet!"

The sounds of battle are unmistakable, even from far off. Eight miles to the southwest of Vicenza, at the Montecchio estate, the distant clashing was clearly audible in the still summer air. Forewarned, the residents of the castle were forearmed, but that didn't stop them from worrying. Lord Montecchio, dressed in full armour, fretted over his son, while his daughter kept plaiting and unplaiting her sister-in-law's hair as they waited for news.

Antonia Alaghieri hadn't intended to stay on at Castello Montecchio once the young master had returned. She believed her presence would be awkward as the two lovers settled down to a true married life. But a few kind words from Gargano and Aurelia as well as the pleas from Gianozza convinced her to stay. If Mariotto was heading directly out to war, the girls needed a friend to help ease the waiting. So Antonia found herself in the tallest furnished tower of the castle watching the three Montecchi fret over the outcome of the ambush just a few miles away. She was fretting too, concerned for Ferdinando, her — friend.

Distraction was the key. The girls had already admired all the fine clothes and gifts Mariotto had brought back from France, unpacked from the baggage that had arrived this morning. They'd pored through the illustrated pages of the many books he'd purchased at the papal court. They had discussed the furniture and the wine and all the little trinkets. Now they were experimenting with braiding pearls and jeweled combs into Gianozza's hair as a template for Aurelia's wedding day.

"I smell smoke," said Gargano. The girls, whose sense of smell was better, had detected the acrid scent long before. "There," he added, pointing, "there's a haze on the horizon."

"I'm sure they're in no danger," said Antonia reassuringly. "The Paduans will break and run, and they'll all be fine."

Lord Montecchio shook his head. "I should have gone with them."

"Lord Faggiuola wanted you here," she reminded him. Gargano's responsibility was to lead the hunt for Paduan fugitives once the battle was finished. Yet he was impatient. Barely forty in years, he was as fit as any man his age, a tried warrior anxious to take up a sword in the Scaliger's defense.

They heard hoofbeats. All four moved to the window to see a horseman ride through the gates. But the angle from the tower was poor, and the cluster of men surrounding him made it impossible to see. Someone shouted, and all the castle's soldiers took up the cry.