The Master of Verona

Cangrande rubbed his hard hands together. "Eventually I have to take both Padua and Treviso. I know it, and so do they. I have the authority already, but only paper authority. Until they're mine I cannot step into the larger Arena. This damned rain means there will be peace, for now. I'll agree to it because it makes me look magnanimous and just. They'll agree to it because it buys them time." The allegria returned. "And because they have to. I just smashed the largest army they've ever had with fewer than a hundred men. Do you know, Pietro, how certain they were they'd win? In the tents and wagons they left behind we found goblets and dishes of gold, silver, beds with exquisite coverings and soft pillows, baskets and barrels filled with sweet delicacies. You'd be forgiven for thinking they were on their way to my nephew's wedding and not a war!"

Drawn into the great man's confidences, Pietro was paying close attention. However, it was difficult not to wriggle each time he felt his leg itch. Unwilling to shift his legs yet again, he contented himself with fidgeting his hands, running them across a few inches of the splintering bench, back and forth, hoping the texture of the wood might distract him.

It didn't seem to annoy the Scaliger, who now stood and walked to the open doorframe and stared out at the rain. "In any case, if the Paduan Anziani don't make peace, Dandolo will tell the Venetians to withdraw their money. Panicked and worried, they'll find their citizens in revolution again, the third time in a year. No, I expect that in a fortnight I will be sending my representatives to Venice to sign a treaty."

"Why Venice?"

"They have the power to enforce the terms and are officially neutral. Whatever their private inclinations."

"So why did you…" Pietro stopped himself.

"Why did I set out to make Dandolo the butt of the evening? Because he's one of the coming men in Venice. Because Venice and I are at loggerheads. Because I felt like it. Venice is still reeling from their tussle with the Pope over Ferrara — the excommunication of the whole city hurt their trade badly. If not for Dandolo they would be hurting still. I kept him humble because he has pulled off a great feat of diplomacy. Though the rumour is that the Pope made him crawl under the table and wear a dog's collar."

Pietro laughed. "So that's why you called him Cane."

"Yes. But this peace will be another feather in his cap, further advancing his candidacy to become the next Doge."

"Who suggested it?"

"Everybody. Once the rain started, taking Padua became impossible. Their natural defenses were swelling, my men were tired by the race to Vicenza. It had to be peace." The Scaliger leaned his back against the stone frame of the door. "The terms were proposed by Giacomo da Carrara. He came to us yesterday with the whole thing laid out. He knew granting me Vicenza was the concession I needed. We spent the rest of the day working out the rest."

Pietro leaned forward. "How can he make terms? He's not the Podestà."

"He's a smart fellow, our Il Grande. He'll go far. There's no central authority in Padua. I think he means to change that."

"How?"

"By making himself indispensable. Like Dandolo, he's the coming man. Il Grande is now the architect of a peace that will save his city from the deadly Scaligeri. I imagine within five years he'll be fully in control of Padua."

"So you're putting in power the man charged to defeat you."

"In a way, yes."

"I got the impression the two of you were becoming friendly."

"I like him very much. His nephew, too."

Pietro chose not to remark on Marsilio. "But if you want to rule the Trevisian Mark, you'll have to take Padua eventually."

"Even if I didn't plan on making my title a reality, I'd take Padua. I have to. It is a point of honour."

"In spite of the treaty?"

"Oh no. When I attack Padua I'll be sure to have a cause juste. As in this war, I'll find some legal pretext to take them down."

"But you'll be going up against Il Grande."

"Yes."

"Whom you like."

"Yes."

"What will you do then?"

"I will grind him into the dust."

There was nothing to say to that. Feeling the gusts of wind that blew into the church through the unbarred doorway, Pietro sat thinking for a time. Finally he said in a low voice, "Lord, if we're not here to invade the city, why are we here?"

"I promised you a picnic," responded Cangrande, gesturing grandly at the remnants of their meal. "Besides, this is a beautiful church. Look at the craftsmanship! I don't doubt that when you and I are long forgotten this house of God will still be standing."

A fierce gust of wind thrust into the church, blowing out the candle by the open door. Drops of rain struck Pietro's face, stinging like nettles. He breathed in the wet night air and waited until the Scaliger had relit the candle. "Lord, you didn't answer my question."