David Blixt - The Master of Verona

"Yes?"

There could be no harm in saying it. "I saw him give up victory over Padua to take in that boy there. That's how much his family matters to him."

Pathino remained silent. The dancing light played over a face that might have just as well been made of marble. Finally he spoke. "So, to claim his bastard he gave up a great victory. A noble deed, almost atoning for the sin of siring the bastard in the first place. Yet it kept him from greatness. It proves that he cannot be the Greyhound."

Pietro blinked, leaning forward. "The — what do you mean?"

"You know the prophecy? Good, that's good. God has ordained that the Greyhound will bring about another age of man. Everyone believes that your precious Cangrande is that man. But there is a hint in the name itself. Veltro . Greyhound. The bastard. Think about it. It has to be a bastard. Only a bastard, born in sin, can transcend that sin and win Christ's approval to help bring mankind to its senses, recreate the church in his image, and do away with the heathens once and for all. A world ruled for God by God's faithful. That is the new age of man, Ser Alaghieri. That is the secret behind the prophecy."

"So you kidnapped the boy to help make the prophecy come true, turn the Greyhound into the man you want him to be?"

"What? No. No! I kidnapped the boy to give him to the Count, or sell him into slavery, or anything." Pathino began to swell, to tower. In that moment he truly looked like Cangrande's kindred, but mottled, as if reflected in dark water. "When the Count told me that Cangrande had adopted his own bastard I knew it was a sign from God. The prophecy was threatened. Divine influence was split between the two candidates for His plan."

"Two?"

Pathino shook Cesco slightly. "Him, and me. I will be Il Veltro . I am the Greyhound."

When Antonia's message arrived at the Scaliger Palace in Verona, the lovely Giovanna da Svevia was being entertained in her husband's parlor by the poet Dante. Feeling sour, he was reading aloud to the female members of Cangrande's court. Not that most of them listened, which was only to be expected. Bubbleheaded ninnies, wives of minor nobles. Only Giovanna, great-granddaughter of the Emperor Frederick II, paid him any heed. Related by blood or by marriage to half the rulers of Italy, Germany, and Sicily, she had a fine respect for the written word.

Jacopo, present as a courtesy to his father, was presently making moon-eyes at one of Giovanna's attendants. The ones he'd already bedded and discarded were full of barely concealed malice. Dante was ashamed and slightly awed by his younger son's prowess with the ladies.

Their hostess was lively, cheerful and active for such a gloomy day. Dante himself was weary of court and looking for an excuse to escape. So the messenger bearing a note for Maestro Dante was a welcome interruption.

Seeing his daughter's hand, Dante imagined this had something to do with copyists' fees or foreign translations. And she was supposed to be on holiday. The girl was as hard a worker as her father. Pity her brother Jacopo was such a -

Reading the first paragraph Dante gasped. Jacopo saw the blood drain from his father's face. Forgetting the girl, he darted forward. "What? What's the matter?"

"Wait." Scanning the brief single sheet again, Dante spoke to his hostess. "My son is in Vicenza."

"Your other son? The noble Ser Alaghieri? How wonderful!"

"Yes. But it seems he's joined my Lord della Scala, your husband, on another of his idiotic — I mean, wild flights of martial endeavor."

"May I?" Giovanna took the paper and read over the few well-shaped lines. "So, that's where my husband is. He forgets to tell me these things."

"But surely, lady," said Dante, "this is good news."

"Indeed." Aware of the anxious looks from the women around her, she said, "The Paduans have broken the treaty. They have tried to take Vicenza. If we are to understand our esteemed poet's daughter, the attack has been beaten back and Verona is victorious."

The women clapped their hands in relief. A couple of them wept. Alone among them Dante knew the second part of the message and was pondering what, if anything, there was to be done about it. "A great happiness, lady."

"Yes," said Giovanna. "Francesco does love his surprises. But what a joy that your son has returned to Verona! He seems determined to regain his lost glory. He's out searching for a missing child as we speak."

Dante blinked. He hardly thought that the lady would make that part of the message public. It was followed by the inevitable voices, all asking the same question. "What child?"

"It hardly matters," said Dante told them. But Giovanna surprised him when she said, "In the confusion of battle, Donna Katerina's son has been kidnapped. Bailardetto. And her foster son as well. I believe his name is Francesco."

There were many knowing looks mingled with the utterances of surprise and horror. Jacopo leapt to his feet. "Cesco! And Pietro is looking for him? Father, we have to go help!"

Dante knew full well the social perils of leaving this lady to join in the search for her husband's bastard son. But again the lady herself solved his dilemma. "We will all go. Send for my grooms, have them arrange a carriage and gather an escort. We ride to Vicenza. Immediately."

"This was a terrible idea."

Antonia's horse trotted beside Gianozza's, the rain falling steadily over them both. Their whole beings were focused on not falling from the sidesaddles. In the dark afternoon Gianozza's horse did not see the rabbit hole in its path. Gianozza shrieked as the horse stumbled and she fell skidding across the ground.

Antonia slid out of her wet saddle and landed running on the sodden earth. "Gianozza!" She reached her companion's side. "What's the matter?"

"My leg! My leg is broken!" cried Gianozza. Rolando whined in empathy.

It didn't look broken to Antonia, who was admittedly no great judge. She looked up to see Gianozza's horse limp away, whinnying pitifully. "I guess you're both lame." It was perfect. Trust the girl to end up a crippled and helpless heroine. "Can you ride on the back of mine?"

"No, no. It hurts!"

"I could walk," offered Antonia. Again Gianozza shook her head. "Do you want me to get help?" The girl nodded. Antonia took the knife from off her belt and placed it in Gianozza's lap. "Just in case you need it. And keep Rolando close!" She started towards her horse. "I'll find someone!" Climbing back into the saddle, Antonia spurred off in the direction she'd come.

Pietro silently digested Pathino's claim, wondering if it could be true. "If you're related, prove it."

Pathino reached into his shirt and withdrew the medallion. "This was a gift from a great Scottish warlord to my father. He passed it on to me. If I ever needed to prove whose son I was, this would do it."

"So that's why you had to have it back. But why didn't you ever..?"

Pathino was amused. "Why would I throw myself into a nest of vipers? No, it was far better to bide my time and let my siblings die off, one after another. Bartolomeo and Alboino are dead. Cangrande cannot last much longer, he has too many enemies. Then I would have stepped forward to claim my father's legacy to make up for his sinful ways."

Pietro tried a new tack. "You hate your father for being sinful. But what about you? You've committed murder. Not on the battlefield. You murdered the nurse in Verona — the one you stabbed in the chest."

"A tragedy. I prayed for her."

"Decent of you. What about Fazio? Have you already prayed for him?"

Pathino shook his head in honest sadness. "Poor fool. He made a scene by begging. He didn't understand why he had to die."

Pietro trembled again, but not with cold. "What a fine figure you'll cut before God, the slayer of women and boys. Did you kill the oracle, as well?"