David Blixt - The Master of Verona

Mariotto arrived with fresh horses. Pietro eyed his, a fine dusty gelding.

"These are beautiful horses," observed Antony as he mounted.

"They should be," preened Mariotto. "They come from my family stables. Half of the Capitano's horses come from Montecchi stock."

"I'll have to come have a look," said Antony. "See what the hell you feed these monsters."

Pietro looked at the armour on their horses. "You both realize our horses are much better prepared for whatever's coming than we are."

Mariotto shrugged. "Horses are more valuable."

Cangrande emerged from a stone archway hopping on one foot, pulling on a spurred boot. What an excellent idea . But Pietro had no idea where in the castle to lay hands on some decent footwear, or whom to ask. And it seemed too late now as the Scaliger took a helmet from a page and fitted it into place. It was old-fashioned in design, a silver-plated dome with closing cheek pieces pocked by fifty holes for breathing, the holes too small for any weapon to catch.

Armourless but for the helm, Cangrande leapt into the stirrups of a fine stallion and waved to his band of men. Leaving the doors to the helmet open, he flashed a fine set of teeth at the three young men. "Keep up!" With characteristic abandon, the Scaliger spurred out through the gate. Jupiter jumped up from where he'd been resting and dashed off after his master. The boys followed, joining the rush of soldiers out the gates after the Greyhound.

The Greyhound . The title was certainly apt. How could anyone see the man and not believe he was the prophesized savior of Italy? Pietro's father, at least, had no doubt. And there shall come in Italy Il Veltro… Dante had taken the ancient prophecy and given it form in the very first canto of his Commedia . Having known him less than a day, Pietro would already follow Cangrande della Scala into the Pit of Cocytus.

The thirty riders found a steady rhythm across the hilly land at the foot of the Alps. There were cherry trees on this side of the Illasi River too. A wrong twist of the reins and both rider and horse would come to an ignominious end. The leading horses brought cherries crashing down from the branches, pelting the riders at the back of the formation.

The ride overland was slowed twice by muddy streams. Cangrande's horse didn't slacken pace until actually in the water. The garrison knights were not as confident. They slowed at each sign of water and walked their heavily armoured mounts across. Cangrande didn't wait for them. Once out of the water, he and Jupiter tore off again at a breakneck pace, followed directly by the trio of youths. Soon the garrison was just a distant rumble behind them.

Cresting a low ridge after the second water crossing, Pietro pulled closer to Cangrande's horse and heard something startling — the Scaliger was singing! He was repeating that morning's tune, matching the rhythm to the stride of his horse:

Here lions are,

Here leopards fare,

And great rams,

I saw, butt one and all!

And for a laugh,

That echoes far,

Ha ha ha ha!

Until you want to die!

Noticing Pietro's incredulous stare, Cangrande laughed. "Come on, you must know it by now!" He began again in his deep baritone, and Pietro picked it up the second time through:

Sentirai poi li giach

Che fan guei padach -

Giach, giach, giach, gaich, gaich -

Quando gli odo andare!

This wasn't war they were riding to. It was a joust, a lark, a joyful day of sport. Mari sang out loud and long in his best church voice. Antony joined in, and when they ran out of lyrics they created new ones.

During a lull in singing they passed a vineyard. Mariotto shouted, "It's close to here!"

"Vicenza?" asked Pietro hopefully.

"My family's castle! Montecchio! It's off that way! Through the haunted wood!" He gestured to a thick forest off to the right.

"Haunted?"

Montecchio put his finger to his nose with a knowing look. Pietro laughed warily. "If we live, you'll have to show it me!"

"If? I'll have you by for supper tonight after we whip their hides raw! Then we can face the ghosts!"

"That's the spirit!" cheered Antony, and Mari groaned.

Smiling, Pietro turned back in time to duck a low-hanging branch. "Can't see a damned thing," he muttered, his voice reverberating around his helmet like a lone psalm in a church.

Not long after that, Cangrande slowed, his horse tramping along a line of juniper bushes. Mari said they were still a good four miles from the city proper, but now smoke was visible. Pietro glanced back — the knights of the Illasi garrison were nowhere in sight, probably two miles back. Ahead were the closed northern gates, far from the invested suburb of San Pietro.

A handful of men stood atop the outer ring of walls. Pietro remembered thinking just this morning that the Roman walls of Verona were obsolete, but if an army penetrated a city's outer walls, it would be just those walls that the citizens would rally behind. Walls were fortification against beasts and lunatics as well as armies and weather. But now Vicenza's walls held out friend and foe alike.

The trio pulled up when Cangrande did. Jupiter stopped too, panting. The Capitano removed his silver helm to better view the scene. "How now? How now? What have we here?"

Pietro squinted, looking for whatever it was that the Capitano thought he saw.

"It's clear," said Antony brightly.

"Indeed it is," replied Cangrande.

"Shouldn't we go on, then?" asked the Capuan.

The Scaliger waved a hand at the open field below them. "I was thinking we should have a picnic."

Mariotto snickered and Antony looked put out. Pulling his horse around to face them, Cangrande turned his back on the city he'd ridden all afternoon to rescue. Swinging one leg up, he rested it on the neck of his sweating beast, careful of the spur.

"A picnic?" asked Antony.

"Well, we missed the wedding dinner. Things are always escaping me. I should have brought some wine from Illasi for us to share. Or at least some sausage. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Jupiter? Yes! Sausage!" The hound barked twice in assent.

The trio didn't quite know what to make of the Scaliger's demeanor. Pietro watched the great lord of Verona lift his face to scan the sky. "What are you looking for, lord?"

"Velox."

"Velox?"

"Fortis Velox — the merlin. He's been trailing us, but I don't see him now. At least I have Jupiter. I can use him to instruct Ponzino and Asdente how to hunt foxes."

Pietro couldn't make heads or tails of this conversation. It was Mariotto who knew a cue when he heard one. "Foxes?"

"Yes, foxes. But I thought they already knew." He sighed.

Antony was smiling. "How do you hunt foxes?"

The Capitano took on the air of a patient teacher. "There are two ways. You can beat the bushes and chase it when it emerges. Or you can lay a trap and let it come to you."

Now Pietro was smiling as well. "What kind of trap?"

"Why, a nice plump chicken, of course. With three big feathers." He held three fingers over his head, imitating the three flags hanging limply on the walls of the city behind him. "We are the foxes, my boys. Here is our chicken. And look — the guard dog is away! What could be better?" A finger went up in the air. "But the fox is a clever little devil. He sees no guard dog, no fence, no impediment at all between him and his plump, juicy chicken. What does this make him think?"

"Too good to be true," said Pietro.

"Just so." The Scaliger turned to look over his shoulder at the open slopes between themselves and the city. "A hunter must choose his bait carefully. In this case, our Paduan friends have been a little too cautious. I doubt they honestly expected to see me here today. But they know I'm worried that the population of Vicenza might change sides if faced with a prolonged siege. It's common knowledge that I am not at the height of my popularity inside the city."