The Master of Verona

As he was carried off, the Count tried to look over his shoulder, but dizziness made the corners of his vision turn black. Lying back on the stretcher, he could see only the darkening sky above him. Then suddenly he passed under a huge stone lintel. He was entering Vicenza for the last time. Smoke drifted past his face and he closed his eyes, trying to remember every word of the exchange. It was all the victory likely to be given him.

At that moment Antonia was pleading with Gianozza, begging her to see reason. A broken army on the loose, no men left in the castle to escort her — this was no time to go riding through the woods. "Mariotto and Antony are surrounded by soldiers and have many more important concerns than some foolish duel. If you were to venture out, you'd probably wander all night without finding either one! And what could you do if you did? You might make matters worse. Come, write a letter to Antony if you must. But stay here!"

Gianozza was busy ordering her horse saddled. Seeing her companion was implacable, Antonia threw her hands in the air. "Fine. Fine! If you must go, I'll go with you, even if it means risking my life in the most ridiculous cause I've ever heard of. But if I die, it will be entirely your fault!"

She'd hoped this rant would make Gianozza think twice. Instead the foolish creature rushed forward and embraced Antonia fervently. "Thank you, thank you! You're such a friend! Whatever would I do without you?"

Predictable. I can't make her see reason, and so I become a part of her Romance.

They took the dog Rolando with them, but no men-at-arms. There were none to be had. Antonia brought a kitchen knife for comfort, certain that if they met with any danger it would do her no good.

Back at the tree that had sheltered the wounded Count, Katerina gazed her brother, seated high in his saddle. "That was quite a beating."

Cangrande shrugged. "He's a soldier. You saw how your threats gave him strength. I was hoping he was weak enough that the ploy would work. It didn't. After that, I hoped he might try to twist the knife, and in so doing give us something to go on. Again, nothing. Try again in a bit, by all means — you are, after all, the expert in killing with small cuts. News of Alaghieri?" This was asked of a messenger, running towards them. The boy said no, but that the doctor sent word that the Moorish astrologer would live. Cangrande grunted, then turned back to his sister, who said, "What about your plea for his soul? That was real."

"It was. Coming or staying?"

"I will be of little use in the hunt. I will return to our friend Bonifacio and we will talk more freely. Perhaps I can employ tactics other than threats."

"Offer him sweetmeats," said Cangrande, kicking his heels. "It always worked on me."

Watching him ride off, she murmured, "Nothing worked on you."

Her own horse was close by. Mounting, she returned to a city still reeling from the battle. As she felt the first pindrops of water, she cursed. The rain would aid in the extinguishing of the fire, but it would make the hunt for the children all the more difficult.

Katerina was not alone in cursing the cloudburst. Pietro had followed Mercurio back and forth across the river three times now. Pathino had evidently doubled back on his trail in an effort to throw off pursuers. Now they had left the river only to be drenched by rain.

The hound pressed on, nose low to the ground, oblivious to the pelting drops. But the rain bothered little Detto, making him huddle against Pietro's chest. Letting the boy burrow beneath his cape, Pietro covered him as best he could. Detto just shivered and whimpered, too tired to cry anymore.

By now Pietro had lost all sense of direction, though he thought the west bank of the river was behind them. If that was true, they were headed back towards Castello Montecchio. Perhaps they would come across some of Montecchio's men and enlist them in the chase.

Mercurio slowed to a prowl. Pietro knew the sign. The dog's quarry was just ahead of him. That meant Cesco was nearby.

Sliding from the saddle, Pietro led the horse into a tight group of trees, hiding it from view. Tying Canis' reins to a branch, he lifted Detto silently down. Putting the child under the horse, he unfolded a blanket from his saddle and covered Detto with it. Wet and cold, the child whimpered some more. Pietro whispered, "Wait here," and hoped the boy understood. He wished he could order the dog to stay with the toddler, but Mercurio was a hunting dog, not a guard dog.

Besides, Pietro needed him. They had to flush out the game.

His leg was agony, so against his will he lifted his cane from the saddle. It was made of mahogany, pitted and scarred where he'd fended off some cutthroats in Venice two years before. Using it was better than slipping and being unable to stand again. The noise of the rain would cover the occasional breaking of twigs.

Sword drawn, he crept forward.