David Blixt - The Master of Verona

The Count swelled in his triumph. "They are as well hidden as if the earth had swallowed them. You will never see them again."

"What did you say?"

The Count froze mid laugh. Blood loss and spite had made him say too much. Now Cangrande's smile was warmer, friendlier. "What was that you said out on the battlefield, Count? Pathino had 'gone to ground?' And just now — 'as if the earth had swallowed them.' For a man of few words, that is a remarkable metaphor. Come, Kat. Perhaps we'll have that family reunion after all."

Where the devil is Ferdinando? The question nagged at Pietro's brain.

Time was running out. He had to try something. If he didn't move soon, he'd be no use at all. After a morning of battle and riding followed by hours of sitting in this damp cave, Pietro's limbs were stiff. In spite of the fire that blazed before him he was cold.

The real question was, what was there to do? Bare-chested, barefoot, weaponless and tired, he was in no position to do much of anything. Pathino still sat with Cesco in front of him, the long miseracordia held loosely in his right hand. Even if Pietro could move, get a weapon, act somehow — as long as the other man held the child, there was nothing to be done.

Pathino was gnawing on some smoked bacon. He'd removed Cesco's gag so he could feed the boy too. Surprisingly, Cesco found his voice. Across the fire he asked Pietro, "Why d'you like funny hats?"

Pietro blinked. "Sorry?"

"You like funny hats."

Pietro had to grin. "How on earth do you remember that?"

"Shut up," muttered Pathino, tearing into a bite of bacon.

Pietro shivered again. "Mind if I stoke the fire?"

After considering, Pathino lifted the dagger to Cesco's face. "No tricks."

Pietro lifted a half-burnt branch, stirring up the fire and sending sparks up to vanish against the earthen ceiling. As he prodded the flames he watched Cesco. "How are you?"

"Dog tired," said the boy.

Dog tired ? What did that mean? Where had he even learned the phrase? Besides, he didn't look tired. His eyes blazed as bright as the fire. What was he trying to say?

Pathino noticed Pietro's hesitation. The dagger became actively menacing. "Sit down. Now."

Pietro retreated slowly, lowering the piece of wood he'd used as a poker so that it was unthreatening. He left half of it out of the fire, the end protruding towards him. Cesco's gaze, even with a blade against his cheek, held the same scorn as yesterday when Pietro had been unable to solve the puzzle. Slowly the boy's eyes moved down to the body of the dog. Blood was still seeping from its skull…

Pietro saw Mercurio's chest move. Pathino's blow hadn't killed him.

That was it. He looked across at Cesco, who grinned at him.

Now it was just a matter of when.

Gianozza was huddled in a ball, raindrops pounding on her head and back. She was wet despite her hood, and cold. Her ankle kept her from doing anything more than rocking back and forth.

Slowly she realized where she was. It was not far from here to the cave she had shown Antonia, in front of which she and Mariotto had become properly married.

She considered limping to the cave. It would be dry. She might be able to make a fire. But then she recalled the creature that had scared them from the cave. It was probably still there. Besides, if she went now, Antonia would return to find her missing. And there was her ankle.

In an unaccustomed moment of practicality she chose to stay where she was, patting the dog Rolando who burrowed against her for warmth. This was no pleasant summer rain. This was what it must have been like during the Great Flood, when God wiped the face of the earth clean of evil. She closed her eyes. Perhaps the rain will wash away my sins as well .

When she opened her eyes again, she saw a figure across the clearing. A man on horseback. He was massively built, with a large farmer's chest and arms. He was also wearing a farmer's straw hat, wide and drooping under the heavy fall of rain.

Dismounting, the man began walking towards her. Ankle protesting fiercely, Gianozza struggled to her feet, drawing Antonia's knife. "Stay back!" she called, waving the weapon in front of her. "I have a knife!" Beside her the dog growled.

The man said, "Giulia, I could never hurt you."

Gianozza's hand slowly lowered. "Antony?"

"What are you doing out here, in this weather?" Capulletto was indignant on her behalf.

She slipped the knife into its sheath and leaned her back against the tree. "I — Antony, I heard about your challenge to Mariotto." He stiffened. "I rode out to find you, stop you. But my horse tripped. Antonia went to find help."

He removed his cloak and added it to her coverings. "You came looking for me?"

Gianozza could smell him, a raw musk, purely male. She wrinkled her nose, then looked into his eyes. "It must stop, Antony. I'll do anything you ask, but it has to end. He's your friend."

"Friends don't do what he did."

"No. People do what he did. Friends forgive."

"You don't understand."

Gianozza laid a hand on his arm. "I do. I truly do. It's my fault."

His voice choked. "I never felt anything — never felt things so much, so strong, before you. Just that one night, that one happy night — I was the best I could remember being. I was the man I always wanted to be." He turned his head upward, allowing the rain to beat on his face.

"Will you be that man if you kill Mariotto? My husband? Is that the act of a man who wants my happiness?" Antony shrugged, and she took hold of his face. "Ser Capulletto, I didn't reject you for you. I fell in love with your friend."

Antony's voice was bitter. "Of course you love him. He has everything — looks, name, friends, a kind father. He's the oldest, he won't have to scrape a living together of his brother's leavings. So of course you married him! He's got everything. And now he wants to be friends again. Friends! Well, he won't have that! He won't get me, too!"

Gianozza stepped back, only to cry out. "Oh! My ankle!" This utterly unmanned him, and he helped her to sit again on the earth. When he was kneeling beside her she said, "Antony, how much of this is really about me?"

"You don't understand." His breathing came in ragged bursts. Gianozza's own breathing was shallow, compared to the bellows his lungs had become. They were very close now.

When the kiss happened, it was as tender and soft as anything she'd ever experienced. Almost reverential, as if he feared offending her.

"I want you," he whispered in her ear. "I love you, Giulia."

She pulled back from him. "Giulia?" It was a name she had never heard herself called.

"You're my Giulia. The perfect woman." He leaned in to kiss her again. This second kiss was more passionate, and Gianozza felt herself kissing him back. Oh, what bliss! What joy! She was -

Francesca. Francesca and Paolo, the illicit lovers. The damned lovers.

Wrenching herself away she stared at him in horror. "This isn't the — no! No, Antony! Listen to me! We can — we're supposed to be friends now, that's all — "

"How now?" said Antony, frowning sharply. "What is this to you, a game? I'm serious, girl! You are all that I want in this life! You are my everything! You are my Giulia!" She pulled away from him, and for a long moment he stared at her. Then he cried, "Damn it! Does he get everything? Then give him this!" Drawing out a silver knife he gripped it tightly, tears running down his face.

What he was about to do, she never afterward could guess. She was certain he would never have harmed her, or told herself she was certain. Would he have given her the knife? Hurt himself with it?

Whatever Antony intended, she was saved from it by the sound of horses approaching. Antonia had found a group of five men, led by Benvenito. "Gianozza, are you all right?"