The Master of Verona

Slowly Cangrande edged them forward, and Pietro sensed rather than saw a structure of some kind. Possibly a hut or small house. Cangrande dismounted, and this time Pietro did the same. He stood for a moment, stretching out his muscles and arching his back.

A sudden bolt of lightning illuminated the sky. It was too quick to take anything in, but closing his eyes Pietro could see the afterimage of the building. At the top of its walls Pietro could swear he'd seen a jutting timber post. Were they going to a barn, a stable?

Cangrande led his horse to a tree a dozen yards from the building, using a low branch as a makeshift hitching post. Pietro copied him. As he was tying the reins, Cangrande leaned close. "Bring the sword."

Pietro drew the knife first and tucked it in his belt. Then he unsheathed the sword and paused. What to do about his crutch? Were they going into trouble? He had to assume they were. He decided to leave the crutch. Holding the sword low on his right side, he limped after Cangrande towards the unlit structure.

There was no door, just a stone frame. Cangrande paused under the lintel and stood there, listening and looking like a hound catching a scent. Pietro strained to hear something beyond the rain. Is there someone in there? Is it an ambush? Heart thudding, ears pricked to the slightest sound, Pietro stood in the door, facing the rain and guarding the Scaliger's back.

A rasping noise brought him spinning around, sword ready to strike. Cangrande was kneeling and striking a flint on the stone lintel, covering it close with his hand. In moments he had lit a taper. He lifted a candle from a nook near the door. Careful to shield it from the wind, he placed the lit candle back in its sconce. The illumination it cast was poor, as if the weather commanded the air to obstruct light's passage. But in the hazy light Pietro discovered that he was standing in a small chapel with benches set up in rows. At the far end was an altar with a massive carved stone cross suspended above it.

Cangrande crossed the chapel in just four strides. Kneeling before the altar, he used the haft of his sword for a cross as he prayed. Finished, he stood and shook himself as a dog would, throwing water everywhere. Then he turned and grinned. "Pietro, you're soaking. Don't you want to come in and get dry?"

Pietro didn't need telling twice. Genuflecting in the aisle, he followed Cangrande's example and spread his cloak on a bench to dry. He then gratefully settled himself on a bench a couple rows in, away from the rain spitting through the doorway. Cangrande had brought his two spare cloaks with him indoors, now hanging them up to dry on a peg by the door. Pietro felt foolish — he'd left his atop his mount. At least I remembered the sword.

Cangrande found another candle in a sconce and lit it off the one he'd brought, then rejoined Pietro in the pews by the door. Setting the leather satchel with its icon close to hand, he slapped his thigh. "Well well, here we are. I hope the Lord will forgive us our trespass, and our presumption of being armed. These are dangerous times. How is the leg?"

"Glad of the rest," said Pietro honestly, stuggling to find a comfortable postion.

Laying his broadsword close beside him, the Scaliger opened the neck of a wineskin and passed it across. Pietro gulped down a healthy draught. It was followed by a sweetmeat wrapped in a greasy cloth. The treat was sticky and oozed juices out through the pasty exterior, but it was still almost warm.

The Capitano ate his slowly, interspersing bites with pulls at the wineskin. Pietro was hungry, but his nerves kept him from eating much. Padua was less than twenty miles from Vicenza. If he was right about the distance and direction traveled, they had to be somewhere in Paduan territory. Still shaking from cold, Pietro rubbed his hands and tried to wrap his mind around what they were doing. Was this another of Cangrande's insane plans, one of those things only he could bring off? Had the agreement with Il Grande included a secret negotiation with someone? But no, then Cangrande would have brought someone else, someone like Passerino Bonaccolsi. This seemed somehow — personal.

Not knowing how else to phrase it, Pietro simply asked, "My lord, are we invading Padua?"

"Just the two of us, yes." The Scaliger glanced up from his treat, wiping his mouth with the wrapping cloth. "A little late to be asking, don't you think?"

Pietro reddened. "I was just — "