The Master of Verona

Not knowing what to say, Pietro bowed, his crutch clacking on the cobblestones as he used it for balance. Mercurio trotted to the end of his leash to be petted, and Cangrande crossed to scratch at the pup's muzzle. The Scaliger was dressed for the festival in a burgundy farsetto under a fine robe embroidered with red and white pastoral patterns. The only ornaments on Cangrande's clothes were tiny silver rosebuds along the fringes of each piece. Similar rosebuds adorned the folded cuffs of his boots. Bailardino's clothes were flashier, but also more comfortable — a doublet that laced down the front and an over-robe made of heavy black bear fur.

Still playing with the dog, Cangrande said, "You don't have to bow to me in here, Pietro. Only to God."

Bailardino shook his head. "He did the same to me. You'd think he wasn't the darling of every lass in the land!"

Rising, Pietro said, "That's Mariotto."

Cangrande laughed, but Bailardino pressed his point. "No, goddammit, really, I tell you, a wound is guaranteed sex! Pull up your breeches to show a girl that knee, and she'll pull them off you to see the rest."

Pietro flushed, but he was smiling hugely. It was simply impossible not to like Bailardino.

"Bail," chided the Capitano. "We are in a church."

Bailardino was unrepentant. "The Lord appreciates sex. Wouldn't've made it so fun if he didn't."

Cangrande sighed. "Pietro, Tullio's been to see you?"

"Just now, lord," Pietro confirmed. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry it's so long in coming."

"It's wonderful, lord," said Pietro wholeheartedly.

"You've come for confession, I imagine."

"What, is he supposed to confess to you?" asked Bailardino.

"Yes, lord," answered Pietro.

"Good. I cannot have a potential leader of men not conform to the all rules of knighthood. Many wink at them," he nudged Bailardino in the ribs, "and some of us fail, but we all must try."

Pietro took a breath. "Lord, I'm very grateful for the charity you've bestowed on me." Cangrande frowned and Pietro hurried on. "But I cannot accept the commission. Or the promissory note." There! He'd gotten it out.

Cangrande's face was grim. "Why, may one ask?"

"Because I can never fulfill the terms of the commission, and therefore I would be taking money under false pretenses."

Scaliger and Nogarola shared an amused glance. Nogarola said, "Is there such a thing as an honest pretense?"

Cangrande rose. "Your objection is nonsense, Pietro. The money is not extravagant. And it comes from my own purse, not the coffers of the state. So there are no pretenses, false or otherwise. Consider it payment for services already rendered. A solidus a day is a small price to pay for my life."

"Too much, by half," muttered Bailardino. "I wouldn't part with a florin for it."

"If you refuse me this," continued the Capitano, eyes twinkling, "I will be greatly offended. You'll be telling me my life is worth nothing. Besides, how else are you going to pay for the upkeep of your horses?"

"They are beautiful," Pietro admitted.

"The warhorse is a direct descendant of my own. When I'm not riding him, I have him covering some of Montecchio's mares. Now, as to the commission — in that, too, I am quite serious. It isn't the holiday you may think. A banneret is a leader of men, but those men must be his own. He pays them, he commands them, he takes responsibility for their behavior. You are welcome in any army I ever command, as soldier or civilian. But to be a banneret you must raise your own force, train it, and command it."

Pietro gestured helplessly to his crutch. "Lord — how can I? I'm…"

Bailardino clucked his tongue. "Are you sure you want him, Francesco? He seems a little thick." He laid a hand on his shoulder. "A knight is a mounted soldier, son. He does very little fighting on foot. In fact, only an idiot jumps off his horse." He dug his elbow into his brother-in-law's ribs.

Cangrande momentarily clasped his hands to plead to the cross on the far wall. "Dear Lord, what good is it to give me power when I cannot use it to smite those who ridicule me? But Bail's not wrong, Pietro. There is nothing preventing you from being a great soldier. Unless," he added, "you think it's not in your stars?"

"Don't answer him, Pietro," came a familiar, cool voice. "He doesn't believe in the stars."

Pietro hadn't heard that voice in months, not since he'd left the palace at Vicenza. She had been too busy with her new charge, and far too unwelcome in Verona these last months. Turning, he saw Donna Katerina emerge from the curtains enclosing the baptismal font. It was like breathing again.

Clasped in her arms was the child — Cangrande's bastard heir. The infant had grown in the months since Pietro had seen him last, limbs long and thin. Now his eyes were wide, his mouth working silently, his body damp.

A low huff came from the door. Turning, Pietro saw Mercurio's ears curiously flattened, his tail wagging intensely.