The Master of Verona

Jacopo, present as a courtesy to his father, was presently making moon-eyes at one of Giovanna's attendants. The ones he'd already bedded and discarded were full of barely concealed malice. Dante was ashamed and slightly awed by his younger son's prowess with the ladies.

Their hostess was lively, cheerful and active for such a gloomy day. Dante himself was weary of court and looking for an excuse to escape. So the messenger bearing a note for Maestro Dante was a welcome interruption.

Seeing his daughter's hand, Dante imagined this had something to do with copyists' fees or foreign translations. And she was supposed to be on holiday. The girl was as hard a worker as her father. Pity her brother Jacopo was such a -

Reading the first paragraph Dante gasped. Jacopo saw the blood drain from his father's face. Forgetting the girl, he darted forward. "What? What's the matter?"

"Wait." Scanning the brief single sheet again, Dante spoke to his hostess. "My son is in Vicenza."

"Your other son? The noble Ser Alaghieri? How wonderful!"

"Yes. But it seems he's joined my Lord della Scala, your husband, on another of his idiotic — I mean, wild flights of martial endeavor."

"May I?" Giovanna took the paper and read over the few well-shaped lines. "So, that's where my husband is. He forgets to tell me these things."

"But surely, lady," said Dante, "this is good news."

"Indeed." Aware of the anxious looks from the women around her, she said, "The Paduans have broken the treaty. They have tried to take Vicenza. If we are to understand our esteemed poet's daughter, the attack has been beaten back and Verona is victorious."

The women clapped their hands in relief. A couple of them wept. Alone among them Dante knew the second part of the message and was pondering what, if anything, there was to be done about it. "A great happiness, lady."

"Yes," said Giovanna. "Francesco does love his surprises. But what a joy that your son has returned to Verona! He seems determined to regain his lost glory. He's out searching for a missing child as we speak."

Dante blinked. He hardly thought that the lady would make that part of the message public. It was followed by the inevitable voices, all asking the same question. "What child?"

"It hardly matters," said Dante told them. But Giovanna surprised him when she said, "In the confusion of battle, Donna Katerina's son has been kidnapped. Bailardetto. And her foster son as well. I believe his name is Francesco."

There were many knowing looks mingled with the utterances of surprise and horror. Jacopo leapt to his feet. "Cesco! And Pietro is looking for him? Father, we have to go help!"

Dante knew full well the social perils of leaving this lady to join in the search for her husband's bastard son. But again the lady herself solved his dilemma. "We will all go. Send for my grooms, have them arrange a carriage and gather an escort. We ride to Vicenza. Immediately."

"This was a terrible idea."

Antonia's horse trotted beside Gianozza's, the rain falling steadily over them both. Their whole beings were focused on not falling from the sidesaddles. In the dark afternoon Gianozza's horse did not see the rabbit hole in its path. Gianozza shrieked as the horse stumbled and she fell skidding across the ground.

Antonia slid out of her wet saddle and landed running on the sodden earth. "Gianozza!" She reached her companion's side. "What's the matter?"

"My leg! My leg is broken!" cried Gianozza. Rolando whined in empathy.

It didn't look broken to Antonia, who was admittedly no great judge. She looked up to see Gianozza's horse limp away, whinnying pitifully. "I guess you're both lame." It was perfect. Trust the girl to end up a crippled and helpless heroine. "Can you ride on the back of mine?"

"No, no. It hurts!"

"I could walk," offered Antonia. Again Gianozza shook her head. "Do you want me to get help?" The girl nodded. Antonia took the knife from off her belt and placed it in Gianozza's lap. "Just in case you need it. And keep Rolando close!" She started towards her horse. "I'll find someone!" Climbing back into the saddle, Antonia spurred off in the direction she'd come.

Pietro silently digested Pathino's claim, wondering if it could be true. "If you're related, prove it."

Pathino reached into his shirt and withdrew the medallion. "This was a gift from a great Scottish warlord to my father. He passed it on to me. If I ever needed to prove whose son I was, this would do it."

"So that's why you had to have it back. But why didn't you ever..?"

Pathino was amused. "Why would I throw myself into a nest of vipers? No, it was far better to bide my time and let my siblings die off, one after another. Bartolomeo and Alboino are dead. Cangrande cannot last much longer, he has too many enemies. Then I would have stepped forward to claim my father's legacy to make up for his sinful ways."