The Master of Verona

Still, he was not as badly off as his father kept telling people. He could walk. He could even run, after a fashion. A skipping sort of gait he'd discovered chasing Mercurio around a table. It was more a run-hop that involved a hip twist in midstride, but it propelled him forward fast enough to catch his puppy, a major feat no one had witnessed. Nor had they seen him almost bite through his lip at the pain.

But the fact remained that Pietro would never take part in another battle. There was no use for a soldier who couldn't stand, couldn't put weight on his leading leg. Which made the Scaliger's generous gifts utterly useless. He couldn't accept.

Grasping the window's edge for support, Pietro leaned out. The torches below were held by two grooms and reflected off the snow in the piazza. In the reflected light, Pietro saw two animals. The first beast made him smile. It was the rust-coloured palfrey he had ridden on the night he and Cangrande had snuck across the Paduan border.

But the second animal took Pietro's breath away. Much larger than his palfrey and black as the night itself. Heavily muscled, it was standing rigidly still, forbidding and dangerous.

A destrier. A thrill ran through Pietro. Dear God! A warhorse! The true symbol of a knight.

A breeze ruffled the note in his hand. Sliding his forefinger past the wax seal, he discovered it was a promissory note, declaring that Ser Pietro Alaghieri would receive a silver Veronese solidus

a day in perpetuity. He did the math. That meant that every twenty days he would possess the equivalent of a pound of pure silver! His eyes opened wide as he looked up at the Grand Butler, smiling serenely back at him.

"In confidence I will tell you, Ser Alaghieri, the Capitano made no other such gifts." He nodded at the note. "I can also pass on to you a message from his own lips. He offers you a commission in his army as banneret whenever you wish."

"I–I…" Pietro couldn't find words. A banneret! The banneret was a man who led a whole squadron of knights. Was the Scaliger serious?

The Butler leaned out the window and gave orders for the horses to be taken to the Scaliger's own stables until such time that the young lord would find suitable arrangements for them. He then closed the shutters, saying, "You have the Scaliger's permission to use his private chapel for your confession. The priest is waiting." Smiling, he bowed himself out.

Pietro was dizzy. For a moment he allowed himself to be carried away in the thought — Pietro Alaghieri, leader of men, knight of the Mastiff, world-renowned soldier and swordsman.

"You cannot accept, of course," said his father, bringing Pietro's wild imaginings crashing down.

"What? Why not?"

"Oh, take the knighthood. It would be insulting to our host to refuse it, or these gifts. But you will not accept any money, nor will you take up the commission to lead men. Don't look at me that way, boy. You know I'm right."

Pietro began to protest, then realized his father wasn't being cruel, just honest. The commission was being offered out of charity. Out of pity. Pietro couldn't accept. Honour forbade it. "Yes, you're right."

"Now, now." Dante rapped his son on the head with his knuckles, then mussed his hair. "You're being knighted today, son. I'm — well, I'm proud, is what I am. Yes, I'm proud of you." Pietro looked up, startled, and Dante hurried on. "So go make confession, then get back here and get dressed in this ridiculous frippery. You'll want to make sure the hat fits perfectly, I imagine."

Pietro laughed and nodded. Dressing quickly in his own clothes, he left his proud father in the Domus Bladorum and stepped out into the crowded Piazza della Signoria, the puppy trotting along on a leash ahead of him. Not able to see in front of him through the mass of people, Pietro used the landmark towers of the square to navigate. He no longer needed Mariotto to name the buildings for him. There was the Palazzo del Ragione with its tower, the Domus Nuova, the Palazzo dei Giurisconsulti, and other smaller buildings angling for a space between the palace Cangrande's uncle had built and the one his father had ordered, just recently finished, on the southeast corner of the square. Called the Tribunale, Cangrande had brought in the famous Micheli to finish it, and it outstripped the palaces the architect had designed in Mantua and Treviso.

Beside the Tribunale was Pietro's destination. The church of Santa Maria Antica. Built around the year 1000, it owned a distinctive Veronese facing, consisting of alternating bands of light-coloured brick and stone. The church tower was surmounted by a fine square belfry, dimpled with mullioned windows and topped by a roof of conical brown tiles, now covered in snow. This was the Scaliger's private chapel, and where the family buried their dead.