David Blixt - The Master of Verona

"One does one's best with the tools at hand," replied the Count, his mind racing. Clearly they hadn't discovered who Pathino really was…

"True enough," said Cangrande brightly. "I am fortunate, then, in my tools. Pietro apprehended Pathino as he tried to abscond with my sister's charge."

"So you don't claim him as yours?"

Cangrande let ring a full-throated, roaring laugh. "You know, Count, you're the only one to ask! The only one! No one else has dared. Perhaps I'll even tell you, someday. Then again, a man who entrusts such as task to someone like Pathino cannot be worth confiding in. Really, Count — Pathino? What a pathetic plan it must have been. Where on earth was he going to go?"

Vinciguerra actually opened his mouth to reply before catching himself. "You don't have him, do you?" He saw Katerina stiffen and knew he was right. "O very good! Very nicely done! I almost told all. My lord Scaliger, I take my hat off to you!" Vinciguerra gave a mock salute.

An instant later his dry chuckling turned to a scream of agony as the lady ground her heel into his wounded leg, not so numb after all. "Your tool took not only your prize, but also my only son. I want them back, Count, and I warn you, there is nothing I will not dare to regain them." Her voice was everything her brother's hadn't been, yet beneath it all was that same eerie calm. The lady did not make idle threats.

The foot lifted, the weight disappeared, and the Count gasped for breath. "Dear madam, your threats are of little value. My life's blood is slipping with each breath I take. It will take a day, perhaps more, but soon I will be finished. It is only a matter now of how I expire. What do I care if I die in a comfortable palace or in your dungeon, with thumbscrews loosing more of that same blood?" He transferred his eyes to his nemesis. "Your heir is gone forever, my lord Scaliger."

"Even if that is so, it does you no good, in your present state." Cangrande's words were not a threat, merely a statement of fact.

"For myself, that is true," agreed Bonifacio. "Soon the eternal night shall pass over me and I will have no cares. But I hear you believe in prophecies. Then listen to this one — your line shall never be free of my hate."

Cangrande knelt down. "Vinciguerra, friend, loyal son of Verona, do you want to appear before God with this sin on your hands? The death of this child alone is enough to blacken your soul before the Almighty."

The Count shrugged. "My sins be on my head and there an end. Come what may, I am reconciled. Perhaps I will end up among the eternally violent. You may join me there."

Cangrande rested on his haunches for several moments more, then lifted his head to the darkening sky. The clouds had not yet entirely obscured the sun, but soon they would make an artificial night. "If the boy dies, Count, your soul will twist in the land of the treacherous. The pit of Antenora, where those souls who have betrayed their country and their cause lie frozen forever." He gestured for the guards who bore a litter between them.

Feeling faint, the Count was determined to have the last word. "My cause has never wavered, my little lord of the ladder. I have longed only for a Verona free of you and your ilk. You'll ruin the homeland of my fathers. Better the city should fall altogether."

The guards transferred Vinciguerra's bulk from the ground to the litter. Before they carried him into the city, Katerina leaned over to speak in the Count's ear. "Tell me where they are, or I shall make certain you live to enjoy all the pain your wound can give."

"You are welcome to take what vengeance you can, dear lady, I've already had mine. Pathino has gone to ground where you cannot find him, and your son with him. Your son too, my lord!"

Cangrande was in the process of mounting a fresh horse. He looked to the guards. "See he's well treated, and given something to make him sleep. He needs rest."

As he was carried off, the Count tried to look over his shoulder, but dizziness made the corners of his vision turn black. Lying back on the stretcher, he could see only the darkening sky above him. Then suddenly he passed under a huge stone lintel. He was entering Vicenza for the last time. Smoke drifted past his face and he closed his eyes, trying to remember every word of the exchange. It was all the victory likely to be given him.

At that moment Antonia was pleading with Gianozza, begging her to see reason. A broken army on the loose, no men left in the castle to escort her — this was no time to go riding through the woods. "Mariotto and Antony are surrounded by soldiers and have many more important concerns than some foolish duel. If you were to venture out, you'd probably wander all night without finding either one! And what could you do if you did? You might make matters worse. Come, write a letter to Antony if you must. But stay here!"

Gianozza was busy ordering her horse saddled. Seeing her companion was implacable, Antonia threw her hands in the air. "Fine. Fine! If you must go, I'll go with you, even if it means risking my life in the most ridiculous cause I've ever heard of. But if I die, it will be entirely your fault!"

She'd hoped this rant would make Gianozza think twice. Instead the foolish creature rushed forward and embraced Antonia fervently. "Thank you, thank you! You're such a friend! Whatever would I do without you?"

Predictable. I can't make her see reason, and so I become a part of her Romance .

They took the dog Rolando with them, but no men-at-arms. There were none to be had. Antonia brought a kitchen knife for comfort, certain that if they met with any danger it would do her no good.

Back at the tree that had sheltered the wounded Count, Katerina gazed her brother, seated high in his saddle. "That was quite a beating."

Cangrande shrugged. "He's a soldier. You saw how your threats gave him strength. I was hoping he was weak enough that the ploy would work. It didn't. After that, I hoped he might try to twist the knife, and in so doing give us something to go on. Again, nothing. Try again in a bit, by all means — you are, after all, the expert in killing with small cuts. News of Alaghieri?" This was asked of a messenger, running towards them. The boy said no, but that the doctor sent word that the Moorish astrologer would live. Cangrande grunted, then turned back to his sister, who said, "What about your plea for his soul? That was real."

"It was. Coming or staying?"

"I will be of little use in the hunt. I will return to our friend Bonifacio and we will talk more freely. Perhaps I can employ tactics other than threats."

"Offer him sweetmeats," said Cangrande, kicking his heels. "It always worked on me."

Watching him ride off, she murmured, "Nothing worked on you."

Her own horse was close by. Mounting, she returned to a city still reeling from the battle. As she felt the first pindrops of water, she cursed. The rain would aid in the extinguishing of the fire, but it would make the hunt for the children all the more difficult.

Katerina was not alone in cursing the cloudburst. Pietro had followed Mercurio back and forth across the river three times now. Pathino had evidently doubled back on his trail in an effort to throw off pursuers. Now they had left the river only to be drenched by rain.

The hound pressed on, nose low to the ground, oblivious to the pelting drops. But the rain bothered little Detto, making him huddle against Pietro's chest. Letting the boy burrow beneath his cape, Pietro covered him as best he could. Detto just shivered and whimpered, too tired to cry anymore.

By now Pietro had lost all sense of direction, though he thought the west bank of the river was behind them. If that was true, they were headed back towards Castello Montecchio. Perhaps they would come across some of Montecchio's men and enlist them in the chase.