The Master of Verona

"No, of course not," mocked Katerina. "Your family is your weakness. You said it yourself. Our father's so-called curse."

Cangrande took in a short breath. "Sanguis meus."

"Precisely. He is blood of your blood. So you play the coward and let others spill it for you. The Count, your wife. As long as the blood is not on your hands."

Cangrande shook his head doggedly. "It isn't that simple, as you're well aware."

"You knew of the threat. You did nothing."

"Untrue. I left him with you."

"Effectively washing your hands."

"Effectively giving him even odds. But that's what I've never understood about you, Kat. If you believe the prophecy, why be concerned? The true Greyhound will survive, regardless of his situation."

"You still doubt that he is who he is?"

"I doubt everything I hear. It's a failing of mine. As for the boy, only time will tell."

"Yet you allowed the attacks to continue."

"Yes. Thanks to Pietro and Tharwat, we learned that it was Vinciguerra's purse behind the plot. Pathino was the missing piece. I didn't want to move until I knew who he was. Little did I realize we would discover a long-lost brother."

"So you let him into my house."

"No," said Cangrande pointedly, "you

let him into your house. It was your duty to protect the child. You failed. It took Pietro to rescue him."

"I wonder, are you pleased because I failed, or are you enraged because Pietro succeeded?"

The Capitano returned to where his sword lay. Retrieving the honing stone, he leaned against a turret as he again began working the blade's edge. "Neither. Both. Why would the boy's death please me?"

Katerina's lips were tight. "You cannot spill blood of your blood, but you can hardly stand to see him, however well you hide it."

"Any poor skill I have at dissembling I owe to you. But you obviously own the key to my soul, so tell me — why do I detest the child so?"

"Because you are like Pathino. Because you've always hoped, secretly, in your heart of hearts, that the Moor lied. Until Cesco was born, you could cling to the hope that you were the Greyhound."

Cangrande shook his head. "True or false, it means nothing. I do not want him dead."

"I saw your face, lord." Pietro's voice sounded oddly hollow. Legs shaking, he stood and moved out of the shadows. "When you thought he was dead. I saw your face, my lord."

Katerina started. "Pietro? How long-?"

But Cangrande was thoroughly unruffled. "Ah, our judge has arrived. Just in time. My sister brings up an interesting point. She says that, due to jealousy, I hate the boy, loathe the ground under which he burrows, want him as dead as yesterday's fish. But I cannot do the deed myself, or even order it. By her estimation, I wear both green and yellow in equal measure. Fine. I will confess. I confess that, in my weaker moments, I wish to be what I once thought I was. Of course I want to be Il Veltro — I was brought up to walk in his shadow! How much do I hate the boy for being what I should have been? There is no measure in human invention — if he truly is the Greyhound. On the other hand, he may be another me, and then my compassion is limitless. But Pietro, either way, I do not want him dead. I said this is a night for truth, so I tell you that is the one part of my sister's theory I will utterly refute. Let me say it again. I do not want Cesco dead."

"I saw your face," repeated Pietro.

Cangrande's head bent, he examined the edge of his father's sword. "I see I have much to explain. But first, let us examine Katerina's own feelings for Cesco, and by extension, for me. How much does it rankle her, I wonder, to be told that her only part in the raising of this legendary figure will be as mother?" The Scaliger paused, the moon's light on his face. "Mother. The giver of life. That was her role. Not the birth mother, but the true mother. Was that good enough? Not for Katerina." The scorn crept through his voice into the air. "She's a woman. The stars she so reveres gave her that form. You know better than most, Pietro, what it is to be held back due to a physical liability. But your leg is not nearly as damning as her gender. Imagine her frustration! Just as my stars withheld true greatness from me, they denied it to her at birth!"

Katerina said, "All that is irrelevant."

Her brother smiled mirthlessly. "Then pray tell us what is relevant."

"Cesco's future. Even if we are to believe that you don't want him dead, your wife does. Pathino, too — or at least removed from the field of play. He'll probably sell him into slavery or the like. Until they are dealt with, they are each a threat."

"True," agreed the Scaliger.

"Then Cesco cannot stay here."

"I concur."

Katerina showed genuine surprise. "You'd let him go? You'd let me take him off, someplace you cannot reach?"

"Ah-ah! Not so fast, my dear. One part of al-Dhaamin's prophecy will come true. Little Cesco will be passed into new hands to thrive. I'll make certain he's well taken care of. But you, my sweet — you will have no part of it."