The Master of Verona (70 page)

Antonia took her time at the river. When she looked respectable again, she woke Rolando from his nap and set off in a roundabout path for the castle. She was in no hurry to get there. Arriving alone would cause a stir, and Gargano shouldn't learn of his son's return from a slip of a girl he barely knew. That was up to Mariotto and Gianozza.

Paolo and Francesca
, she thought with wry disgust. She'd laughed at the Paris-Helen-Menelaus triad her father had coined just after Gianozza's marriage. After that there had been Arthur, Guenivere, and Lancelot jokes. But Paolo and Francesca? Well, Gianozza had always said it was Dante's poetry that brought Mariotto to her.
People just don't understand that story
.

Antonia and Rolando strolled along the stream, looking at the green mosses and listening to the birds. When the mastiff sniffed some prey out, Antonia released him, then settled herself on a rock beneath a shady tree to wait. They were near Ser Bonaventura's land, Gianozza had said. Maybe she should go see Ferdinando. She had thought up some particularly demeaning taunts since their last encounter.

It bothered her that her feelings were so obvious that Gianozza could tease her about them. She hadn't really admitted to herself that she had grown to rather like Petruchio's awkward cousin. That they were consistently mean to each other was their defense, the unspoken agreement between them, each keeping the other at bay.

She forced herself to think of her father's work, determined not to think about
that person
. It was growing late when she finally angled back towards the castle. In another hour the sky would begin to redden.
If they aren't done by now…
Antonia primly refused to finish the thought.

Castello Montecchio stood at a hilltop some five miles southwest of Vicenza. Built on the ruins of a similar fortress constructed some centuries before, the new castle was well fortified. The horse stables for which the Montecchi were famous weren't within the castle, but had a separate walled compound to the north.

As Antonia drew close to the castle, she began to wonder. There seemed to be more men-at-arms on the ramparts of the castle walls than when she'd set out this morning. It was a little unnerving, seeing the lines of spears and helmets. Squinting up, she saw that all the soldiers were turned inward, looking down from the high walls into the main yard.

She managed to keep the mastiff restrained as she walked through the main gate. A hundred mounted men-at-arms occupied the yard in front of her with their squires, pages, and extra mounts. Among them their pages dashed, unstrapping a buckle here, replacing a thrown shoe there. The soldiers sat on their horse's backs, waiting for orders. Several had dismounted and now strolled through the compound to stretch their legs.

Antonia saw a face she knew, though not a face she was looking for.
God, what is he doing here, today of all days?
Approaching him she said, "Ser Capulletto?"

Antony turned at once, hoping she was someone else. Seeing who it was, he still smiled and greeted her. She asked what brought him here. "We've just been told that Padua's breaking its treaty," he told her. "My guess is that we've come to ram it down their throats. Uguccione is leading us, and he says we're to wait in these parts until we're needed." He glanced down at her. "You look like you've been rolling in the mud."

"Gianozza and I were out for a walk..."

"Yes, Gianozza. Where is she?" He tried to make it sound casual.

Antonia hedged. "I came back without her."

"You mean she's in the forest alone? Antonia, there're Paduans about! Spies and mercenaries, not to mention wild animals!"

"She's not alone," said Antonia quickly. "She — ran into an acquaintance and they fell to — talking."

"I'm going out there." Antony turned to his groom. "Andriolo, my horse!"

O God
,
isn't this a disaster in the making?
She opened her mouth to say something, anything. But a louder voice called, "Capulletto! I need you!"

It was on the tip of Capulletto's to snarl that he was busy, but he caught himself and walked to where Uguccione della Faggiuola waited in the company of Lord Montecchio and several other leading Veronese. Antonia followed, jostling though the crowd of soldiers and servants. Here were the familiar faces of Nico da Lozzo and Ser Petruchio Bonaventura, whose grin shone from under his beard. "Got my orders," he rumbled delightedly. "A leader of men at last. Won't that amuse my Kate."

"Take her mind off that bun in her oven," remarked Nico.

"The way she gets around while preggers, I doubt she's noticed it yet."

"How long have you been married, now?" asked Nico da Lozzo.

"Two and a half years," the proud husband declared.

"Two years, and four children," said Nico, clucking his tongue derisively. "Blessed with fertility! A girl, then twin boys."

"This next child will be another girl if the wisdom of nurses means anything."

"That might be a record. Unless you had a head start?"

Petruchio roared with laughter. "A late one! Ask cousin Ferdinando, or any of my servants. My wife took some particular wooing before she yielded to my charms."

At the sound of his name, Petruchio's cousin turned. His eyes fixed at once upon Antonia. She stared defiantly back, daring him to mention the state of her clothes. But instead he answered his cousin. "They fought like cats in a sack. Maybe passionate love requires a little bite back."

Some men traced his gaze to Antonia and chuckled. Antonia drew herself up and said, "I always suspected you were a backbiter, signore."

Ferdinando opened his mouth, stopped, then bowed. "I cannot spare the time to spar with you, lady. There'll be nothing left for the Paduans." He was booed.

"But you're a Paduan sympathizer, I thought."

"Still with that?" Ferdinando cocked his head. "I think every man here would cheer Padua on against Florence or Venice. A shame for you, but you can't help where you're born."

"Any more than you can help being a —" But Petruchio cut her off with a tut-tut. She curtsied to him, made a face to Ferdinando, then turned back to Capulletto, who was receiving orders from the general.

"...with the drought, there's not enough food here. I want you and Bonaventura to take some of the men and hole up at Illasi tomorrow. Nico will do the same, heading for Badia."

Capulletto was anxious to begin his hunt for Gianozza. "Is that all?"

Uguccione frowned. "Shame no one taught you manners, whelp. No, that isn't all. Take some hounds and some squires with you. Make it seem innocuous, like you're a hunting party."

"A very well-armed hunting party," quipped Nico da Lozzo.

"One hell of a doe," grinned Bonaventura.

Ferdinando was trying to catch Antonia's eye — he must have come up with a new retort. Normally she would have liked nothing better than to make mincemeat of him. But Capulletto was preparing to ride out. She hurried to Lord Montecchio side and tugged at his sleeve. The Lord of Montecchio looked down at her. "Antonia, my dear? What is it?"

It took remarkably few words to convey the problem. The lord of the castle's eyes opened in comprehension just as Capulletto said, "I'd be delighted to lead a troop. Now, if you'll pardon me, I've got an urgent errand." He yanked on his reins and mounted.

"Just a moment!" cried Lord Montecchio. Too late. Capulletto was touching his spurs to the horse's flanks. He shouted, "Clear a path!"

Antonia waved her hands. "Wait! Antony, wait!"

Capulletto suddenly checked. For a moment Antonia thought he'd heard her. But his eyes were fixed on the main gateway. Emerging from its shadow were Gianozza and Mariotto. Both on one horse, she was seated across his lap as they trotted forward into the courtyard. His doublet was unlaced, and her head was uncovered, hair was loose about her shoulders. She clung to him like a nymph to the prow of a ship.

Then the lovers saw him. Montecchio's horse came to a halt as its rider gazed at his former best friend. "Antony."

Capulletto was entirely still. "Mari."

Come on,
Antonia's mind cried out.
Put it behind you. Mari, say something, make it easier on him
!

"Mari!" cried Aurelia from a window. "Mariotto, is that you? You look like a Frenchman!" She bolted from the window and came tearing out, the rest of the household following. Amid the greetings Mariotto allowed his gaze to drop to where his father stood, waiting. Ignoring Antony, Mari set his wife gently on the ground, dismounted, and pushed past the servants to kneel at his father's feet.

Gargano Montecchio spoke stiffly. "The Scaliger has spoken highly of your service abroad."

"I regret that I was unable to do more," was Mari's neutral reply.

A moment passed, then Gargano reached out a hand. "Welcome home. We have all missed you." After their embrace, Gargano took his son by the shoulders and turned him to face Capulletto. "Now, greet your friend."

Capulletto had not dismounted, so Mariotto walked to stand next to his horse. "Antony. It's good to see you."

Through a rigid jaw Antony said, "Montecchio."

Mariotto's back stiffened, but he pressed on. "Please accept the welcome of this house, old friend." He reached up a hand. Antony looked at it then deliberately dismounted without the offered aid. They shook hands stiffly, then Antony stepped back, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Antonia heard a snort from nearby. Looking over her shoulder she saw Antony's brother Luigi, a wide grin plastered across his face. He was enjoying his little brother's misery.

In the center of the crowd Mariotto masked his disappointment by saying brightly, "So, what brings you all here?"

"A little vacation, a little war!" Uguccione della Faggiuola thumped him on the back. "Well, you're more solid than I remember. And your timing is perfect. We need strong men for the coming action!"

"Action?" Mari's eyes gleamed with excitement. "After two years surrounded by conniving priests and backstabbing courtiers, I could use a good fight."

"Come inside," said the general, "and I'll tell you all about it! Perhaps your father can spare a few men for you to lead."

"Of course," said Lord Montecchio. "Come inside, everyone! My servants have malmsey prepared."

Mariotto slipped his hand into Gianozza's as the crowd of knights and soldiers streamed into the hall.

Quite forgotten in the dispersing throng, Antonia walked across the courtyard towards the guesthouse. She would change into fresh garments before returning to the hall.

At the steps to the guesthouse she turned. Capulletto remained alone in the mouth of the castle gate. Reaching for his horse's saddle, he removed a long silver dagger. He studied it for a long time before slipping it into his belt. With a deep breath to steel himself, he strode into the hall after his lost love and the man that had once been his friend. It brought tears to her eyes.

"Well, that was awkward," said Ferdinando, appearing suddenly. He'd obviously returned to find her.

She turned away, wiping a tear brusquely away. "I'll be in soon. You can taunt me then."

Antonia was surprised to find a gentle hand on her arm. "Lady, you don't think much of me, I know. But I would be the lowest man to taunt a friend in distress."

She turned to look up at him, wiping her eye. "By what right do you call yourself my friend?"

He shrugged. "I make no claim. Not to sound dramatic, but in a few days I'm riding into a fight. I just wanted things to be, ah, clear. Right. Between us." Uneasily, he took her hand. "I would like to be your friend, Antonia Alaghieri."

He was an awkward-looking fellow, short with a long neck and sloping shoulders. But handsome wasn't the world. Let Gianozza have her Mari. There were better things. Like a mind. Like a friend.

"You are my friend, Signore Backbiter."

He laughed and sighed at once, his smile mirroring her own.

Pietro's small company of soldiers rode up to the gates of Vicenza. In the midday heat, the guards who policed the gates watched them come. This tiny
condottiere
wasn't girded for battle; most of the approaching soldiers gazed at the sights of a new city.

One of them rode up to discuss entry. He wore no armour and in the hot day his shirt under the red leather doublet was open. At his side stalked a sleek and panting greyhound. The fellow introduced himself to the guards, who formally asked the party's destination. "France, eh? Be sure to bring your own wine."

"Hell, I'm bringing my own cook." The guards chuckled and Pietro asked, "Are the Nogarolese in residence?"

"Yes, ser. Lord Bailardino and his family."

"Who's the giant?" asked another of the garrison. His eyes were fixed on the massive form astride an uneasy mule. The big man was slapping his knees at some remark from his neighbour, almost falling from the mule's back. He was clearly drunk.

Pietro scowled. "A Spanish notary who asked for protection on the journey. He's caused me a great deal of trouble." Last night he'd slipped into bed with a woman who'd also begged Pietro's protection for the trip. Not that she'd minded, but her husband wouldn't have been amused.

"He's a right monster," muttered a guard.

A gust of wind took the hat off the Spaniard's head. Reaching for it he fell out of his saddle again. His hair and beard were black as the night sky and his skin was deeply tanned.

Pietro shrugged. "He speaks seven languages, he tells me."

As the guards admitted Ser Alaghieri's band, they laughed at the swaying Spaniard. He didn't seem to notice that he was entering a city, so intent he was on his wineskin. His fellow travelers ignored him. For them it had clearly been a long ride. As they passed through San Pietro, the Spaniard called out to women passing by, his flow of vulgar language both wretched and constant, punctuated only with belches and nose-blowing. The way his mule staggered, it was clear the Spaniard had been debauching his steed as well as himself.

Fazio trotted up to Pietro. "Let's be rid of him, eh, master? We've gotten him here safely. Let's just dump him and be done."