The Master of Verona

The hurtling chain bit into the spear's haft and the metal ball curled underneath and around it, passing the Scaliger's face by inches. The chain wrapped itself harmlessly around and around the wooden pole, leaving the spiked ball hanging impotently.

Cangrande yanked forward, pulling the handle from Asdente's grasp. In a continuation of the same move the spear was reversed and thrust backward. The butt connected with the Paduan's groin. Doubling over in his saddle, Asdente gasped.

"Be grateful, Vanni," said Cangrande. "I could have used the sharp end."

"Go — to Hell," gasped the Paduan.

"You should really stick to making shoes, Asdente," observed the Scaliger. Pietro laughed at the literary allusion, but Asdente looked blank. Cangrande sighed. "For Christ's sake, man, read a poem!" He cracked Asdente's skull with the spear's butt, and the Paduan's limp body toppled out of his saddle to land in an ungainly heap on the trampled earth. For good measure, Jupiter bit him on the upper thigh.

The Capitano dropped to the ground and retrieved the morning star. Weighing it in his hands, he flashed a bright grin at Pietro. "Sneaky bastard."

"Yes, my lord," agreed Pietro.

Cangrande climbed back into his saddle. "Pietro, my darling boy, you just came between me and death. That renders something as formal as 'lord' a trifle ridiculous, don't you think? Come up with another title. And I'll think of one for you."

Hearing the hinted promise of distinction, Pietro flushed. "Thank you, lord. I mean…"

But Cangrande was already spurring after the fleeing Paduans. "Giach giach giach giach! Come on!" The Scaliger touched his spurs and his mount raced forward.

Pietro tried to follow, but his spurless heels did nothing to convince his horse to move. Pietro hissed at it, hit its sides with his fists, shook the reins — nothing. I guess I'm stuck, he thought.

He glanced around him, looking for danger. If his horse wouldn't move he was a sitting target. The battle was carrying on past him, and try as he might he couldn't get the beast to budge.

Suddenly loosing a frightened whinny, the horse reared violently. Whatever spooked it, a noise, a wasp, a sudden blinding reflection off someone's armour, all Pietro knew was the lurch beneath him as his horse went up on its hind legs and pawed the air.

With a fierce thud the front hooves returned to earth. Pietro rocked back, his jaw snapping shut inside his helmet. He fought to sit upright again as the horse gallopped madly towards the battle. "Whoa! Whoa!!"

At the bridge of Quartesolo the fighting had grown desperate. The bridge was the Paduan path to freedom and the killing field between it and San Pietro was utter chaos.

It was at the bridge that the score of men gathered by the two Carrarese held their ground. This tight cluster of defenders had begun to notice how few the Scaliger's forces really were. They could turn the fight around with a hard push — as long as the archers on the walls did not open fire. Several men glanced up, wondering why they had not been hit with a hailstorm of arrows. Perhaps the archers didn't want to hit their own men? That made them all the more eager to engage in close fighting.

The Paduan ring naturally earned the attention of all the unengaged Vicentines. They pressed forward, only to have their horses speared and to fall under a trample of hooves. The bodies of the mounts provided a wall for the Paduans that the next wave of attackers had to navigate, exposing themselves as they did to their enemies' blades.

"Hold them!" shouted Marsilio, echoing his uncle a few feet away. He was again loading his crossbow and scanning the field to find quarry. His uncle disapproved of the weapon, as it was not strictly within the knight's code. But Cangrande had brought bowmen, and Marsilio was feeling rightously vengeful.

There! Cangrande was in sight, held up in helping some Vicentines deal with a smaller group of men who had turned to fight. It was a tricky shot — sighting down the length of the weapon, Marsilio waited for a clear line of fire. He tracked the riding figure, squinted, braced himself, and triggered the release.

Suddenly a knight in a plain helmet and gambeson darted into his vision, blocking Cangrande from view. Had the bolt hit its target? Marsilio couldn't tell. All he could see was the madman riding recklessly for the Paduan line. His horse was a giant destrier, fully armoured. A beast that size could tear a hole into the Paduan resistance, opening a gap that the other Vicentines would exploit.

Il Grande saw the same danger. "Stop him!"

Such a monster might not even feel anything less than a mortal blow. Marsilio began reloading his crossbow. He couldn't stop the horse, but the rider was easy pickings. His practiced hands racheted the new bolt into place as his angry eyes looked for a clear shot.