David Blixt - The Master of Verona

Bail called out loudly. "Remember, this bastard has children! Do what you can to pin him, but don't make him desperate!" Thus reminding every man that one of the children was Bailardino's own.

The grim-faced soldiers all hurried off to gather their men. Bailardino cantered to his wife's side, touched her face. She shook her head. "No. Go. Find them!" Bailardino nodded and rode for his men. He didn't misread her anger, which was reserved for herself.

And for her brother. "You're a clever one, aren't you? He was waiting for you, you know."

"What?"

"Cesco. He disappeared last night, after supper. I almost didn't think about it, he does it so often. But he thought he was going to meet you."

"Me?"

She handed over a wax tablet with numbers on it. "I got this from under Cesco's bed. Pathino must have left it for him. Read it." She watched as his mind worked the code. When he tossed the tablet aside, Katerina saw no change in his expression. "You and your games!"

"You, of course, never indulge in them."

"They used his love of puzzles against us. He slipped away from his nurse, thinking you'd be there, and took Detto with him. I imagine they used the secret passage behind the tapestry on the ground floor."

"So it's my fault, not yours. That must be comforting." A page came running up, and he bent down in the saddle to listen.

Katerina waited for Cangrande's attention to return to her, then said, "I heard your orders. While your men are out looking, what will you be doing?"

"I think I'll go see an old friend."

The blow was swift, cracking across his cheek. "No games! Who is it you mean?"

He didn't rub his crimson cheek. But neither did he smile. "I mean Vinciguerra, Count of San Bonifacio, who, I have just been told, has been found, badly wounded."

"What are you going to do?"

Cangrande met her eyes. "I'm going to beat the life out of him until he tells me where the boys are. Care to watch?"

Stupido, stupido, stupido .

Pietro repeated the imprecation over and over as he rode though Vicenza's western gates. He'd traced the kidnapper this far with relative ease, but now the search grew more difficult.

How could we have been so blind? Even the Scaliger had been fooled. They knew the Count of San Bonifacio was behind it all, and still they hadn't seen that the whole attack this morning was a feint, a costly, bloody feint that disguised the real target.

Still, Pietro couldn't fathom the reason — unless Bonifacio wanted to remove the Scaliger's only heir. But then why not kill him outright? What could the Count gain by taking him?

Of cold consolation was the fact that they now had a name for the kidnapper. Gregorio Pathino, he called himself. Katerina's description had matched the newly restored exile, Nogarola's guest, to Pietro's scarecrow of two years before. No wonder he'd avoided supper last night. Of all people, only Pietro could identify him.

A kidnapper thrice over. Not only had he snatched young Cesco, he'd grabbed up little Bailardetto and Pietro's groom Fazio as well.

Katerina was even more panicked by Bailardetto's disappearance than Cesco's. If he was truly Il Veltro, her foster-son had the protection of destiny. But Detto had no mythic shield. Worse, in her terror, Katerina had revealed a horrifying fact — Tharwat had made a chart for Katerina's real son as well as her adopted one. This chart said Detto was in danger of an early death, well before he reached his prime. Katerina hadn't told anyone, not even her husband, but in her fear she'd blurted the truth to Pietro.

The moment she'd finished, Pietro had ridden back to the palace, exchanging his warhorse for Canis, collecting Mercurio and one of Cesco's shirts, then heading for the northwestern gates out of the city. He'd questioned everyone he saw, a task made more difficult since everyone wanted information from him as badly as he wanted it from them. Quickly he gave up until he reached the gates — the same gates he'd come through three years before, the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Vicenza. Here he asked the guards if they'd seen anyone pass out. They'd said yes, twenty minutes before a tall man had ridden out with two children perched on his saddle, a youth trailing behind. Ignoring their questions about the battle, he'd set off at once.

Pathino . It was good to have a name. Probably not his real name, but useful all the same. Pietro could focus all his loathing on that one name. Pathino. Gregorio Pathino. The man who had murdered Cesco's nurse in Verona, probably murdered the oracle as well. The man who, failing to steal little Cesco, had thrown him to the leopard. Gregorio Pathino. It was a name to hate.

Pietro couldn't help remembering the Moor's words last night. A new influence, a danger to Pietro and the child. Could that new influence be Pathino? Would the kidnapper escape? And then what? Give the child to the Count? Sell him into slavery? The possibilities were terrifyingly endless.

Once he reached an open space, Pietro dismounted and knelt next to Mercurio, holding the scrap of Cesco's clothing up to the greyhound's nose. Within seconds the greyhound lifted his snout to the air, then dropped it to the ground. Remounting, Pietro followed the dog south. South and west. The direction surprised Pietro, who had expected to be led towards Padua. If they headed far enough in this direction they would reach Verona in a few hours. Could that be? Was Pathino taking the boys to Verona? Or was he just making a wide loop to avoid the two armies? That made more sense. So where was he going?

Pietro hoped he was traveling more swiftly than the ex-banker, encumbered as he was with the children and Fazio. But what if Pathino decided he needed to move faster?

"Come on, Mercurio! Fly! Let's see those winged feet!"

The sounds of battle are unmistakable, even from far off. Eight miles to the southwest of Vicenza, at the Montecchio estate, the distant clashing was clearly audible in the still summer air. Forewarned, the residents of the castle were forearmed, but that didn't stop them from worrying. Lord Montecchio, dressed in full armour, fretted over his son, while his daughter kept plaiting and unplaiting her sister-in-law's hair as they waited for news.

Antonia Alaghieri hadn't intended to stay on at Castello Montecchio once the young master had returned. She believed her presence would be awkward as the two lovers settled down to a true married life. But a few kind words from Gargano and Aurelia as well as the pleas from Gianozza convinced her to stay. If Mariotto was heading directly out to war, the girls needed a friend to help ease the waiting. So Antonia found herself in the tallest furnished tower of the castle watching the three Montecchi fret over the outcome of the ambush just a few miles away. She was fretting too, concerned for Ferdinando, her — friend.

Distraction was the key. The girls had already admired all the fine clothes and gifts Mariotto had brought back from France, unpacked from the baggage that had arrived this morning. They'd pored through the illustrated pages of the many books he'd purchased at the papal court. They had discussed the furniture and the wine and all the little trinkets. Now they were experimenting with braiding pearls and jeweled combs into Gianozza's hair as a template for Aurelia's wedding day.

"I smell smoke," said Gargano. The girls, whose sense of smell was better, had detected the acrid scent long before. "There," he added, pointing, "there's a haze on the horizon."

"I'm sure they're in no danger," said Antonia reassuringly. "The Paduans will break and run, and they'll all be fine."

Lord Montecchio shook his head. "I should have gone with them."

"Lord Faggiuola wanted you here," she reminded him. Gargano's responsibility was to lead the hunt for Paduan fugitives once the battle was finished. Yet he was impatient. Barely forty in years, he was as fit as any man his age, a tried warrior anxious to take up a sword in the Scaliger's defense.