The Master of Verona

You gasp. You choke. You rear back in horror at the thought. Where did this curse originate, you ask? From the Scaliger's wife, say I. The blood tie to the Emperor Frederick has diminished over two generations, yet one can detect in Giovanna da Svevia's eye the gleam of that fiendish emperor's fire. Whereas Frederick fought only against three popes, his distant offspring must compete with a hundred mistresses all fighting for the Scaliger's favor. Of course, she is much older than he, and has turned a blind eye to the tomcatting of her canine husband. Until now, that is. With the evidence of Cangrande's philandering being flaunted before her eyes — by her own sister-in-law! — Giovanna has declared a silent war. And not against her husband. Like a jealous she-wolf, she has her teeth firmly locked into the back of Katerina's neck and is tearing mightily. It began with the invitations to Verona's Christmas feast, which I hear were mysteriously lost on the way to Vicenza. Then the new crib Katerina had commissioned was unexpectedly sold to another family at quite a loss to the maker — unless you count the payment he received from the Scaliger's wife. There are more, culminating in death by paper-cuts. Thus far Katerina has ventured no response. The whole court is waiting breathlessly for this feud to break into the open. If it does, my money is on the Scaliger's sister. She is a fascinating lady, as your brother has troubled himself to inform me no less than five times now.

On a side note about natural children — I regret taking delight in the demise of another man, but you know how satisfied I was by the death of the Scaliger's natural brother, Giuseppe, the despicable Abbot of San Zeno. Cangrande's father made this unnaturally natural child an abbot while he had one foot in the grave. He must not have been thinking clearly so close to the end, for never was there a more avaricious and spiteful man to hold the office of Benedictine abbot. But — I can scarcely credit it — his son is worse! I had an encounter with him on our first day in Verona, and he's another Ciolo degli Abbati, talented only in sponging what he can from the state and the church. Worse for Verona, the decent if ineffectual Bishop Guelco has been called to Rome indefinitely.