The Master of Verona

"I was at Castello Montecchio when word came that you'd been attacked. There are rumours flying everywhere — you're dead, Pietro's dead, Cangrande's son…"

"All fine. There was some trouble, and the Scaliger has much to contend with. But I am well, the child is unhurt, and your brother — your brother is braver than I ever dreamed. But dear, in all the excitement, perhaps you haven't heard about poor Ferdinando." Drawing her down to sit beside him, Dante related the news that she most needed to hear.

She took Ferdinando's death soberly, at least outwardly. Dante tried to peer beneath her controlled expression, but failed. They had not been betrothed, not even courting. She said only, "I will pray for him. He was a good friend."

What Antonia did not know — and what Dante would never tell her — was that recently Ferdinando had come to Dante and baldly asked the poet's permission to court her. Since Ferdinando was not his ideal notion of a son-in-law, Dante had asked for time to consider. He was now ruing his delay. His children should be allowed whatever happiness they could snatch in this turbulent world.

She was looking particularly distant at the moment. Long convinced that all good parenting rose from the art of distraction, the poet changed topics. "My dear, I am considering taking up Guido Novello's kind offer and domiciling myself in Ravenna. Jacopo will consent, if with little grace. We shall be near Pietro again, and the University at Bologna would enjoy my lectures. When you are able, I want to hear your thoughts on the matter."

"Oh Father." Wrapping her arms about his neck, she wept, but only from her eyes. Her voice remained almost steady as she related the horrible state of affairs at Castello Montecchio. "Mariotto is swearing vengeance, Gianozza's weeping inconsolably, and Aurelia is just wandering around like a ghost. Capulletto has evidently fled back to his father. It's dreadful. I was wishing all night for nothing more than to escape them all and return to you!" And now this, she didn't add. She didn't have to.

Dante sighed. "It's settled, then. When all the wounds are healed, all the affairs settled, we shall accompany your brother back to Ravenna. I will have my family together at last." With unaccustomed feeling he hugged his daughter to him. "Verona is no place to be, now. I think there are dark times ahead. Especially for the Capitano. Tomorrow I shall inform him of our intent."

What drew him to the room Pietro could never later guess. He entered the salon that was once again a converted sickroom. The scents from the brazier were sweetly familiar. Before him was a man he'd glimpsed once, three years before, on a battlefield just south of the city. He lay white-faced and bloodless now, yet still retained an air of authority.

"Who's there?" asked the Count of San Bonifacio.

"Alaghieri. Pietro Alaghieri."

"Ah. My shadow. The wounds I bear, I understand, were delivered for actions on your behalf — half behalf. Do you have any oysters, child?"

"What?"

"My armour!" The old man clutched the scarred bloody breastplate that Pietro had discarded in the streets that morning. "The Pup brought it me. Thank Heaven — Father, I have it back! I'll bring it. It won't pass to my heir — my heir…" He was raving. Pietro took a step backward but the Count caught him by the wrist. "I hear you rescued the child. The little bitch-pup. Did you kill Pathino?"

"He escaped," said Pietro.

"Good, good. She'll be pleased. Once I'm dead — dead, down, but never forgotten! Never, you hear me! Never forgotten! Of course — of course, the irony is lost on you."

"Tell me."

The deep-set eyes were momentarily lucid. The fog lifted. "The irony is, I have spent all my life trying to bring down the Scaligeri when all I had to do was let them alone. They are perfectly capable of destroying themselves." Sweat poured down the Count's face. Spittle flecked the corner of his mouth.

Morsicato appeared, followed by a priest. The doctor frowned and told Pietro that he shouldn't be up here. The Count had to receive extremunction. The last rites.

Bonifacio said, "Come back and see me, boy, when I'm dead. I have stories to tell. I have a secret. It's one secret no one else knows. Not even your master! It's only mine. All mine. Two secrets, twins, entwined snakes! The caduceus! When I'm gone, someone has to know. I want to tell someone — someone who will suffer in the knowledge — someone who will, can, when the time is right, tell Cangrande the truth of it-"

"Then tell me now."

"No, no, no! You'll tell him too soon! Too soon! I have to have my secrets! Their lies killed me, so my lies have to live to kill their lies! And you, too, boy! You wore my armour! They told me! From beyond the grave I'll haunt you! Down, down down!"

Morsicato pushed Pietro aside. "Go. He won't be lucid again."