The Master of Verona (94 page)

For an idea of what Cangrande's sword looks like, find Del Tin Armories online. Among the Italian sword-maker's exquisite reproductions is the sword that was unearthed when Cangrande was exhumed in the 1920s.

In a fit of silliness, I hid two Shakespeare-related anagrams in the text. Go drive yourself mad.

Those who have studied Shakespeare's sources will be critical of my choice of years. As stated above, Luigi da Porto, whose version of the story was penned in the early sixteenth Century, firmly places the events of the play between 1301 and 1304, during the reign of Bartolomeo della Scala, Cangrande's older brother. Working backward from there, the events of this book would have taken place about 1276. While this is a fascinating period in Veronese history, with such notable characters as Mastino della Scala (the first) and Ezzelino da Romano (the third), for me it lacked the drama of the fall of Verona. Verona reaches its greatest heights under Cangrande. That gives it so much farther to fall.

I claim da Porto was misinformed. The original feud between the Montecchi and the Capelletti was indeed buried in 1302, when Gargano Montecchio and his uncles slaughtered the last of the Capelletti in the Arena in Verona. But it flared up again in 1315, and did not die for another twenty-five years, when Verona lost everything it held dear. The tragedy of Shakespeare's play is not just the demise of the young lovers, but the death of every young knight in the city. The flower of Verona's youth is blighted in a single week. For Mari and Antony, it is indeed a plague on both their houses, but the scourge takes other lives as well. From the height that Cangrande lifts it to, Verona falls, never to rise again.

There's an old saying that a book is never finished, only published. This is certainly true for me. I was told in 2007 not to revisit the novel for at least two years. I went longer, only ever opening it to look for a particular reference or for public readings. Which means when it came time to release it again, I was coming to it almost fresh.

I discovered some wonderful and disturbing things:

1) I like the story.

2) I am a much better writer now than I was ten or even five years ago.

3) The St. Martin's typesetters were not particularly diligent.

4) There were things missing that I would have sworn I'd left in, that I had no recollection of cutting. Things I missed. Oh, very small moments — Manuel's poem before his song, talk about a horse's armor, the scene with Antonia and the scribes. Nothing that alters the plot, but it's those details that make historical fiction worth reading.

So I've embraced this miraculous opportunity to take another whack at the piñata. There are no significant changes whatsoever. But I hope those who read the older version are enjoying this new one even more. It is, in my opinion, simply a better read.

The best question to ask an author is, "Who do you read?" Lately I'm reading less and less fiction, but the current writers I always follow are MJ Rose, CW Gortner, Michelle Moran, as well as Neil Gaiman and Jonathan Carroll. My inspirations are Dorothy Dunnett, Bernard Cornwell, Colleen McCullough, and Raphael Sabatini. Have at!

To my editor, Michael Denneny, I owe more than I can say. His initial words had a profound impact on me, the kind of thing that you carry with you the rest of your career. He told me that I had confused 'what a writer needs to know to write the book with what a reader needs to know to read the book — which is much less.' Setting aside his professional skills, his enthusiasm for the story spurred me just when I had stalled. Thanks, Michael. Also thanks to Keith Kahla at St. Martin's Press for having me reimagine the opening chapter.

Early readers were vital. The gifted playwright and heart breaking actress Kristine Thatcher was the second to read the book, and her excitement carried me through the end of the first year. That year I had the joy of sharing a stage with Mike Nussbaum, popcorn fiend and actor
par excellence
. He kept pestering me backstage to finish the second draft, and thank God he did. Also big thanks to Jeremy Anderson, actor and writer, who trod the boards in the production of R&J where all this was dreamed up. He swore he 'couldn't put the damn thing down.'

For their support, I have so many friends to thank. The Michigan contingent, where all this started, includes Jeff, Nona, Jason, Dennis, Gabe, Pat, and Paulie. In Chicago, where the bulk of the writing and all the waiting was done, I found Tara, Gwen, Ben, Breon, and Page, among others. Then there's my friend, Broadway superstar Rick Sordelet. Rarely have I been so blessed.

I must express gratitude to every cast of R&J I've ever worked with — among them, Greenhills High School, the Shadow Theatre Company, the Ann Arbor Civic Theatre, the Michigan Shakespeare Festival, Arts Lane, the First Folio Shakespeare Festival, Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, and A Crew of Patches.

Big thanks to Dave 'Pops' Doersch for introducing me to the wild world of stage combat, not to mention the production of R&J he directed. For him, of course, this book was 'so simple a monkey could do it.'

My parents, Al and Jill, are inspiring role models as well as tireless supporters of the arts. They gave me a unique gift in raising me as they did, and I am ever grateful. My brother Andrew has taught me how to be open to the whole world. And the new maps for the series were done by my mother. Thanks, Mom!

My son Dashiell came onto the scene in April 2006, as the edits for this book were under way. In fact, we had just found out about him when the novel sold. As Mike Nussbaum says, babies bring good things. Thanks, Dash.

Our daughter Evie was born eleven months after the first edition of this book, just as the paperback was coming out. Again, babies bring good things.

Saving the finest for last, we arrive at my best friend: my love, my wife, Janice. The unofficial coauthor of this book, she set aside her own work to listen to me read whole chapters at a time. I don't know how many times she's read it — more than I have, I'll bet. Armed with red, green, and black pens, she settled in and, like a surgeon with a scalpel, excised sections I was too lily-livered to cut myself, and she kept me from doing dumb things like starting at the ending just because I was bored.

Jan,
cara mia
, you are my friend, partner, fellow conspirator, and love. I breathe you.

The next book is entitled VOICE OF THE FALCONER.