Sixteen

 

Milano, Italy

 

Cangrande’s behavior having left a foul taste in Ludwig’s mouth, the Emperor avoided the obvious route to Milano, bypassing the Alps and skirting Verona by some miles in favour of Bergamo.

But such a rift could not be long entertained. Cangrande was the greatest Ghibelline power in the Trevisian Mark, his wealth phenomenal, his mercenary armies legion. Not even the Visconti of Milan could match him. After letting the great man cool his heels in Verona, the Emperor sent none other than the one-eyed Berthold von Neifen as his peacemaker. Their interview was private, but the result was Cangrande’s journey to Milano in time for the coronation.

Arriving, Cangrande presented a subdued version of himself at the imperial court. His clothes were still fine, but muted in colour and pattern. The dark shades of his farsetto were costly but not flashy. Noting this with satisfaction, the Emperor invited Cangrande to dine with him – after the coronation.

The following day Ludwig personally made peace between a reluctant Heinrich of Carinthia and a grudging Cangrande. The pair of them had been vying for control of Padua for nearly seventeen years now, and the war was too profitable for either man to give it up easily. But as allies in the Ghibelline cause, they had no choice but to embrace and share the kiss of peace.

After that, the Scaliger walked a dangerous line. He’d brought over twelve-hundred knights to attend him, almost ten times the number of Ludwig’s men. He held open court every day, something even the Visconti couldn’t do. He spent money as though he could pluck it from the skies. The day after Easter Sunday he attempted to buy up all the game in the area – every hen, hare, deer, boar, and cow he could find. Fortunately for the Emperor even Cangrande lacked the ready cash for that, and the imperial court was able to dine, if meanly.

On a glorious Friday the 29th of May, Emperor Ludwig took to the streets of Milano (or, as he called it, ‘Mailand’) to celebrate the Feast of San Massimo – an irony, to be celebrating the feast day of a sainted bishop of Verona. But it was a chance to parade his imperial majesty two days before he received the first of the crowns that would end all controversy over his claim to the throne. It was also a chance to make both the Visconti family and the thrice-damned Cangrande della Scala ride obediently behind him. That the Greyhound had to follow his own heir in the parade was very pleasing to the Emperor.

Among the multitudes cheering Ludwig’s procession, a cluster of Veronese stood on a prominent step before a minor church. One young fellow was waving a checkered flag that could not help but catch the eye. From horseback the Emperor asked his steward who they were, but it was his page walking along beside the imperial mount who supplied the names. “The one with the forked beard is Ser Dottor Giuseppe Morsicato, knighted by your illustrious predecessor Heinrich. The man beside him is Lord Petruchio da Bonaventura, also a Knight of the Mastiff. And the young man with the flag is Bailardetto da Nogarola, squire to Lord Bonaventura. Also my cousin and close friend.”

Ludwig reared back in mock shock. “I don’t think I’ve heard you name anyone as a friend, boy!”

Cesco bowed his head. “Only your majesty do I hold in greater esteem.”

“I do like courtly lies, Franz, when framed so smoothly. I suppose you wish to be released from your duties this evening so that you may spend time with your only friend in all the world.”

“I had not even considered begging such a boon of your majesty. Though I imagine it would irk the lord of Verona if he were present at your table while I was excused.”

“An excellent reason, then! At the parade’s end, go find your friend. And tomorrow he and his master may attend me in person.”

Grinning, Cesco ran over and passed a few quick words with Detto and Petruchio, relaying the Emperor’s invitation and learning the name of the inn they were at – as Petruchio hadn’t intended to come to Milano for the coronation, he wasn’t part of Cangrande’s official retinue.

Just as Cesco scampered off, Detto spied his father approaching and waved. Bailardino’s face split into a huge grin as he waved back. Petruchio bowed deeply to Cangrande, who waved carelessly. When they were past, Morsicato turned to Petruchio. “The rest of the parade will take an hour. Shall we catch up with your wife and children?”

“Oh hell,” replied Petruchio, looking up at the balcony where his family had an excellent view of the procession. “I suppose I’ll have to bring them to the audience as well. It was Kate’s idea to come.”

This was only true in part. Kate had suggested this trip to her husband. But it was an idea Morsicato had in turn planted in her.

♦ ◊ ♦

 

Days earlier, on his way to Milano, the doctor had stopped at Petruchio’s estates. Lord Bonaventura was out riding with his sons and squire, so Morsicato had sat down with Kate and her two daughters.

“You sons are well?”

“They are. Ferocious squabblers. I have to seat them miles apart at table. I’m occasionally tempted to tie them in a sack and drop it in the river to force them to work together. But I fear they would drown arguing over the order of precedence in leaving the bag. Thank Heaven they go to Vicenza this fall.” Young Petruchio and Hortensio were destined to be squires to Detto’s father, as Detto was to theirs.

After more pleasantries, Morsicato had casually let drop his destination. Katerina Bonaventura had looked intrigued, saying, “I’ve never seen an emperor. Are they very different from other men?”

“Heinrich exuded majesty.”

“Like the Greyhound,” said Kate.

Morsicato always had to remind himself that most of the world believed Cangrande was the Greyhound. “Just like him, only fatter.”

Laughing, Kate turned to her daughters, who had laid their sewing aside to listen. “What do you think, girls? Shall we shame your father into displaying us to the Emperor Ludwig?” Her daughters were ecstatic at the idea. The elder, Vittoria, talked only of what she would wear. She was dark of hair and complexion, like her father, but had a delicate air. The oldest of the Bonaventura children, she would be twelve this fall. The twins had come between the girls, and would be eleven this August.

The youngest child, who next month would be ten, was a red-head like her mother. She’d sniffed scornfully at the doctor. “Why are you going?”

“To see the coronation.”

“You’re not telling me the truth. You want to see Cangrande’s son.”

“Evelina,” her mother had chided, “it’s impolite to call people liars, even if they are. Of course he wants to see the boy he helped raise. It was a foolish question.”

Eyes blazing, the girl had turned mulish. “What’s more important, being polite or being honest?”

Rolling her eyes, Kate had sent both her girls to fetch something from her room. Once they were out of earshot she’d turned to the doctor with a frank smile. “My daughter doesn’t know what questions matter. Now tell me, why do you want Detto to go?”

Laughing, Morsicato had stroked his forked beard, nearly its old self. “I hate being transparent. She’s right, I want to see Cesco. But he might not want to see me.”

“Whereas he can’t say no to Detto. I see. And why do you wish to see him?”

“To make sure he’s well, that’s all. There’s no danger.” In truth, Morsicato was worried about the hashish. Cesco’s diluted supply must have run out long ago. Had he gotten more on his own?

“I am always least assured when being assured. I suppose we’d best start packing. Don’t worry about my husband. I can manage him.”

And so she had, bringing her whole clan – husband, sons, daughters, servants, and squire to Milano just in time for the great parade that opened the coronation festivities.

♦ ◊ ♦

 

Two hours later they were back in their cramped room at the top of an inn. They were fortunate to have even this. Everything had been booked long in advance, but Petruchio had made a wager with the room’s inhabitant, a trial of skill at blowing snot across the yard. Being particularly skilled, Petruchio had won the wager and the room, much to his wife’s disgust.

“You’re only angry I didn’t let you have a try. But I hate being outshone.”

“I’m angry because our sons are going to practice day and night, and likely our daughters too!”

“Not me!” cried Vittoria in utter disgust.

“You’d get a nosebleed anyway,” teased Evelina. “You’re so delicate.”

“Then she’ll like the air here,” said a voice from the door. “Here is where rare birds thrive, for the air is delicate.” Cesco was instantly swept into a choking embrace. “Detto! You’ll miss me when I’m gone!”

Laughing, Detto released his grip. It was too cramped for everyone to rise for a proper welcome. Young Petruchio and Hortensio came forward to thump Cesco on the back. Thirteen next month, he was their elder by nearly two years, yet they were taller than he, which clearly rankled.

Lord Petruchio Bonaventura remained sprawled in a chair by the window. “How’s Susanna, boy?”

Cesco grinned. “She’s a better gamer than any bird in the Emperor’s keep, lord. I give you full credit.”

“Excellent! Cesco, you remember my odious, odiferous groom Grumio.”

“How could I forget? How are you, old man?”

Dozing by the window, the groom cracked an eyelid. “Eh? Sorry, are you speaking to me? I’m too old to hear young voices. Buzz buzz buzz.”

Petruchio kicked the chair Grumio was sleeping in, jolting his servant. “And you remember my ravishing wife, though the Lord alone knows why she married me.”

“I was drunk.” Kate sat with a deck of cards before her. “No, wait – that was you.”

“So it was! And these are my daughters, Vittoria and – Evelina! Pull your dress down and stand up straight! Lord! Kate, do something with that one!”

“What would you suggest? Shall I starve her, or keep her blindfolded in a dark room.”

“You could sew her eyelids shut, like they do for rebellious falcons!” suggested Vittoria nastily.

“Shut your face,” said Evelina with an elbow for her big sister.

The last person in the room had so far refrained from greeting Cesco, so Cesco sought him out instead. “Dottore! Bearded once more! I’m so glad – Susanna needs a new nest.”

“She’s welcome to try.” Embracing the boy, Morsicato looked deeply into his eyes and saw no trace of barbiturate. Thank God, he’s not been indulging. The face itself was in the process of growing – the lips were fuller, the nose larger, and there was the first trace of hair along his chin, though it had been razored. “Your complexion has cleared. You look well rested. And well-fleshed, for you.”

Cesco pulled his face away. “I always feel as if you’re sizing me up for a meal. I take it you’re responsible for this menagerie?”

“Menagerie!” cried Petruchio.

“Fair word, and that’s the truth,” muttered Grumio for all to hear.

“I thought you couldn’t hear young voices,” mused Petruchio.

The groom shrugged. “They so rarely say anything of merit.”

Kate smiled. “I feel the same about men.”

Ignoring the squabbles of this queer family, Morsicato answered Cesco. “I thought you might enjoy the company of boys your own age.”

“Alas, there’s no shortage here. The Emperor’s son Ludwig is never far from his father, and little Stefan tries to keep up. There are a dozen other pages, including several Visconti boys. They’re my bitter rivals – how these family feuds do breed! In our mock-duels they always try to uncinch my saddle girth or butter my boots. Amateurs! I’ve endured infinitely worse tricks before now – as they’ve learned to their sorrow.”

“What’s the Emperor like?” asked Hortensio.

Cesco pulled a thoughtful face, stroking his chin as Dante used to do. “In folly, wise. In difference, attentive. In adversity, successful. In despondency, strong-willed. He is a man of contradictions, but bears them lightly. Money is like water through his fingers. He’s surrounded himself with philosophers, but he’s not one himself. His greatest joy is hearing the hunting horn in the mountains. That and his entertainments.” He grinned. “I had the honour of planning the imperial court’s Easter pageant.”

Petruchio nodded. “We heard about that. A string of pantomimes and a very convincing crucifixion scene, they say.”

“Germans do like their blood. But the whole court wept at the resurrection mime, with the Madonna and Mary Magdalene beating their fake bosoms and tearing their wigs out in joy. Are you laughing, Detto? Here, let me show you how it went!”

There was a great deal of horseplay, with the four boys and little Evelina racing around the cramped room, crashing into walls and shaking clouds of dust from the rafters. Vittoria cringed and scowled at them all. Kate, Morsicato, Petruchio, and Grumio offered choice remarks while protecting the wine decanter.

Evelina especially tried to bait Cesco, much to the amusement of Petruchio. “Remind you of anyone, Kate?” Only eighteen months older, Vittoria was much smoother, and when the wrestling was finished she emerged to stroke Cesco’s hair. He didn’t seem to mind, but Evelina did – she pulled her sister’s hair, prompting Kate to take her outside for a stern chat. Evelina came back holding her swatted bottom and with such an hilariously charming scowl upon her face that everyone had to laugh.

Cesco announced he had to depart. Hortensio groaned, Grumio thanked God, young Petruchio tried to start another wrestling match, but his father intervened. “We all have a big few days ahead of us. Tomorrow we are invited to court. Lad, when is the actual coronation?”

“Sunday, in the morning. Then we retire to the pitch to watch the jousts. The Emperor will face off against a ceremonial army, which will tremble and quake before him. Berthold the Cyclops will challenge all comers and win, until he faces Ludwig and suddenly loses all skill. Then I will paint my face and become the whore of the horse once more. They seem to love acrobatics. Maybe I’ll let the black knight catch me just to put an end to these idiot shows.”

Detto said, “Can I be the black knight?”

“Even if the Emperor said yes, I don’t think Lord Nogarola would approve.”

Morsicato seized on the reference to Detto’s father. “Where are they staying?”

“Since their arrival, Verona’s best and brightest have taken over the Basilica di Sant’Ambrogio, and right now Bailardino is overseeing their getaway route in case the Scaliger’s little conspiracy requires a hasty retreat.” Cesco saw their surprised looks. “Haven’t you heard? Conspiring is all the rage. The Capitano di Verona is said to be filling the Emperor’s depleted coffers in return for the title to one more city.”

“Padua?” asked Morsicato.

“Pisa,” guessed Petruchio.

“Milano,” said Kate.

Cesco tapped a finger to the side of his nose. “The prize to the lady. Yes, rumour is they’re coming to an understanding. The only people who have displeased Ludwig more than the Greyhound are the Visconti.”

“Cangrande owning Milano,” mused Petruchio. “That would be something. But is it true?”

Cesco smiled mischievously. “It’s the rumour.”

“One you’ve had nothing to do with,” said Morsicato with a scowl. “Boredom?”

Cesco clutched his chest. “Dottore, are you accusing me of intrigue? Me? You cut me to the quick!”

“Don’t tempt me. My scalpel is itching.”

Petruchio said, “What’s this about an escape route?”

“Well, because of this ugly and baseless rumour of Veronese ambition, there have been threats against the Scaliger’s life. Nothing open, you understand. Just whispers. But enough to make the lord of Verona desire a link to his forces. Sant’Ambrogio is big, but not big enough to house over a thousand knights and their retinues. Our forces are camped nearby with numbers rivaling the holy host. But they are separated by all of Milano, whose citizens are loyal to the Visconti family. The Emperor has shown his concern for Cangrande’s safety by graciously opening an old postern gate in case the Greyhound needs to flee with his tail between his legs.”

“The point, boy,” said Morsicato shortly. “I swear, you grow more tedious each year.”

“As long as something’s growing. But in brief, Cangrande’s engineers are building a bridge over the city’s moat. It was begun four days ago, so I imagine it’s almost finished.”

“We’re Veronese,” said Vittoria a little vapourishly. “Are we safe staying in the city?”

“Safe as houses. Nothing’s going to happen. Now really, I must go. No doubt this lovely inn has a feast prepared for San Massimo. Lord Bonaventura, could you possibly excuse your squire? I can guide him to his father’s lodgings.”

“By all means.” Petruchio then had to quell his own children, who wanted to go along with Cesco and Detto.

The two lads departed, and as the rest of the menagerie descended for their holy day meal, Kate said, “Your fears were unjustified, doctor. Life with the Emperor hasn’t changed him. He seems very much himself.”

“Yes,” said the doctor distractedly. “Now I’m just concerned what mischief those two will get into tonight.”

Kate laughed. “It was your idea to bring them back together. Now we must endure the consequences.”