Twenty-Seven

 

Heaving his six-foot frame over the lip of the roof, Cangrande studied his surroundings. His weight was far more than a child’s. Yet the incline of the clay tiles wasn’t impossible, especially if taken quickly. He pushed off and dashed to the peak of the roof where he halted, looking about.

The boy was perched on a stone gargoyle the next roof over, his masque’s three faces all mocking.

“You’d be wiser to run,” said Cangrande.

“Oh? Is that how we justify cowardice? As wisdom?”

Cangrande took a step but the large curved tiles slipped underfoot, cascading down to shatter on the street below. He sprang back and Cesco laughed. “I must have taken out a few too many on my leap. Sorry.”

Cangrande examined the boy through narrowed eyes. “I’d have thought you’d be taller.”

“I hope I manage more surprises than that.”

“So far, just a poor copy. The masque – it’s been done.”

“An homage, my lord. Flattery. Are you susceptible?”

“As much as any man. But perhaps less, by you.”

Cesco cocked his head theatrically. “However shall I gain your admiration?”

“You’ve begun with theft, assault, and insult,” said the Scaliger.

“Don’t forget arson. And there’s a minor sacrilege you don’t yet know about.”

“When you arrive at murder, you will garner my full attention.”

Cesco clicked his tongue. “I don’t have it yet? I suppose this rooftop is a favoured locale.”

“I came to see if you were at all interesting. So far you may colour me unimpressed.”

Cesco switched to Arabic. “God shall not charge any soul save to its ability.”

Cangrande answered in kind. “No soul shall be wronged at all, nor shall ye be rewarded for aught but that which ye have done. Thou dost disappoint. Before he was thy tutor, the noble bridegroom was mine.”

“I can tell by the accent.” Cesco’s voice was lazy but his eyes were bright within the central, screaming face. “Well, if words will not suffice, shall we dance?”

“Let’s.” Cangrande lunged. Tiles fell away under his feet, but he was already airborne, spanning the gap to the next building.

Cesco rolled backwards off the gargoyle, falling out of view. By the time the Scaliger had his feet under him, Cesco was already leaping to another roof. Shouldering through a balcony door, the boy vanished inside. There was a moment of surprised silence, then a woman’s screams.

Cangrande reached the balcony scant seconds later to find pandemonium within. In the dim light two naked figures could be seen. The woman was trying to cover herself while her lover grasped a chamber pot to strike at this second intruder.

“Coitus interruptus,” said a voice in Cangrande’s ear. “Apologize for me.”

Shoved forward into the room, Cangrande was forced to duck the pot, smelling its contents as they sprayed the wall to his right. He lashed out with his fist, knocking the naked man to the floor. “Dreadfully sorry. The culprit will have a lesson in manners, you have my word.” Giving the woman an appreciative glance, the Scaliger bowed and exited the way he’d come.

Outside, Cesco was nowhere in sight. Smiling to himself, Cangrande began to climb.

 

♦           ◊           ♦

 

Below, Morsicato rode beside Pietro, having mounted Cangrande’s horse. “Well, he threw the plan out the window. Unless this something else you decided not to tell me?”

“This was his alone.” The plan had been for Cesco to arrive at Capulletto’s house and start singing, showing his talent for invention. He would then lead his Capulletto host to Montecchio’s house, hoping to effect some sort of public reconciliation. “I should have known. He was far too obliging.”

“In his defense, he did go to Montecchio’s house,” noted Tharwat from Pietro’s other side.

“Was he supposed to?” demanded Capulletto. “Why?”

“Maybe he was hoping for a meal that wouldn’t turn his stomach,” said Mari.

“I have the best cooks in the Feltro!”

“I know. You hired them away from me!”

Pietro sighed. It had been Cesco’s idea to bring Mari and Antony together, make them put aside old wounds. But already they were sniping. Pietro told Mari to go with the Moor and the doctor to the north side of the building. “Antony and I will circle around to the south.”

“Yes, do go on,” said Antony in a scathing tone. “Pietro and I have more important—”

“Antony!” Pietro cut across him in exasperation. “Stuff it, or I’ll go with Mari instead.”

There were nasty stares between the rivals as they separated. Pietro and Antony turned the corner in time to witness a cursing man wrapped in a blanket, standing on a balcony and shaking a fist at the rooftop. “Which way did they go?”

“To the Devil for all I care!” shouted the naked fellow as he slammed the broken balcony door shut.

Antony chortled. “So much for the boy getting hurt! He’s remarkable.”

“Yes, he is.” Pietro was torn between laughter and tears. Where Cesco was concerned, it was a familiar sensation. “The problem is, he knows it.”

“Just like his father. Where did he learn to ride like that?”

Pietro shook his head. “I have no idea. From Tharwat, maybe?”

“Who?” Antony had never known Tharwat’s true name.

“Theodoro. The Moor.” So many secrets.

“Remarkable,” repeated Antony.

Pietro’s eyes were trained upwards. A moving shape overhead caught his eye as it soared over the narrow street and onto the building opposite. Cupping his hands to his mouth, Pietro shouted, “Cesco!” But the boy was already flying across the next roof. “Dammit!”

“He’ll be fine,” consoled Antony. “He moves like a cat.”

“Don’t tell him that.”

A second figure hurtled overhead. “Look out below!” cried Cangrande as he dislodged a row of tiles. Pietro and Antony shielded themselves from the shattering clay. They calmed their horses, dusted themselves off, and were about to follow when they heard a patter of footfalls behind them. “Ser Capulletto! Ser Capulletto!”

“Andriolo, what’s the matter?”

Capulletto’s groom was a hulking fellow with a bright genial face. He wore an unaccustomed look of worry as he breathlessly related his news. Turning his horse about, Antony raced back to his home, leaving Pietro alone.

 

♦           ◊           ♦

 

Three roofs away, Cesco hid in the shadow of an overhang, the drying mud making him nigh invisible. His sat, eyes closed, posture erect, the perfect mirror of Tharwat’s posture ten days earlier.

A single footstep. Cesco could almost feel the nearness of the hunter. “Atropos, is that you?”

“With my shears.” Cangrande leapt off the overhang. Cesco twisted away, but his ankle was caught. He kicked uselessly as Cangrande lifted him bodily, dangling him inverted in the air.

“A quick lesson in keeping a civil tongue.” With his free hand, the Scaliger struck five times across the masque. “One for each accusation of cowardice.”

Cesco curled, hands deflecting the worst of the open-handed blows. When they were done he went slack, unfurling upside-down. His lip was split, and he hawked bloody bile to the tiles. “I’m sorry...”

“That’s a start.”

“…sorry you ever learned to count. My, you’re big.”

Cangrande shook the boy. “And you’re lighter than you should be. Have you lost weight?”

“I’ve been starving myself out of fear. I didn’t want to vomit on sight of you.”

“Am I so hideous? You’re the one under the masque.”

“For fear of every soul in the city falling to my charms. I’m such a beautiful boy, you see. It’s why your soldiers like me.”

“Hah! Competition I don’t need. Perhaps I should throw you back, little fish.”

Cangrande drew his outstretched arm a trifle closer to shake the dangling boy again. Serpent-quick, Cesco’s hand shot out and twisted the nipple under the Scaliger’s loose shirt, hard.

Surprise caused Cangrande to drop him. Cesco landed on his shoulder, rolled over backward, and stood with his back to the wall of the next building over. “Why, Atty, you’ve lost your bubbies!”

Rubbing at his sore chest, Cangrande’s smile was thin. “I feel no need to suckle you at my teat.” A swipe, a duck, a roll.

“Is this the milk of your kindness?” asked Cesco, on all fours. “I’ll take wine.”

“All you do is whine,” said Cangrande, advancing.

Cesco winced. “He who puns would purloin a purse. Grandfather would be appalled.”

“You never met your grandfather.” Cangrande dove forward, hands outstretched.

Cesco darted right, kicking off a carved saint for redirection. Using Cangrande’s shoulder as a step, he hopped neatly onto the lowest edge of a roof. “Join me, dear lout! Qui m’aime me suive.”

With that Cesco turned and ran, Cangrande hot on his heels.

 

♦           ◊           ♦

 

“He’s going to kill himself,” moaned Morsicato, riding along with Montecchio and the Moor. “He wants to die, that has to be it. He’s got a death-wish.”

“He’ll be fine,” said Mariotto. “I’m sure the Capitano will look after him.”

“Hmm. Well, if he doesn’t die himself, he’ll be the death of me.”

“He is a wild one,” laughed Mariotto.

“And reckless! Only a dozen days after—” The doctor found his horse bumped by al-Dhaamin’s. “—ah, after coming to the city, and he’s running around the rooftops, scaring the citizens?”

“Worse, he frightened my son,” said Mariotto. “I can’t say he doesn’t deserve a fright himself.”

The Moor grunted. “He’ll get one.”

 

♦           ◊           ♦

 

Slipping through a window, Cesco dropped into a storehouse. He landed on pipes of tallow, then a crate, finally coming to rest atop a barrel. He laughed softly. He would give his hunter another ten minutes of fruitless searching, then sneak back to the party and wait. In the meantime, he opened a pouch and removed a small metal tin with blueberries inside.

“Hungry?”

Cesco whirled about to face the figure on the far side of the room. The voice alone told him who it was. “I’m impressed. Not even the Arûs could have slipped in that quietly.”

“I have a secret to tell.” Striking a taper, the Scaliger lit a candle. It cast a dim flickering light over stacks of goods. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Much as he tried, Cesco couldn’t hide his surprise. “You knew I’d come?”

Cangrande made a shrugging motion. “I don’t often sleep, you see. I find myself awake in the small hours with nothing to do but deflower virgins.”

Cesco sighed. “Or trail young hounds.”

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your nocturnal wanderings this last week.”

“I came here thrice. That’s how you knew.”

“You wanted to be sure you could find it, even turned around. Perfectly sensible.”

“Perfectly asinine.” Scowling, Cesco slapped each of the masque’s varnished foreheads for effect. “Detto’s the one with the perfect sense of direction, you see.”

“I thought you’d spotted me two nights ago.”

“I took you for the Moor,” explained Cesco. “I’ve given up losing him for any length of time.”

“I made certain the Moor was detained.” Sitting atop a wooden box with chalk scrawlings across it, Cangrande made no move to approach. “He used to dog me the same way.”

Cesco held out his clasped hands. “I beg, no more puns.”

“Unintentional,” waved Cangrande.

“You couldn’t be unintentional if you tried.”

“Interesting. Only an hour of acquaintance and already I’m a liar and coward.”

“While I’m a tiny upstart thief of no family.”

“We have yet to determine your parentage.”

“Ap neb, as the barbarians say. A mere mule. The wrong side of the sheets. Il veltro.”

Cangrande was silent.

“I notice you haven’t tried to corral me,” said Cesco. “I could dance up these crates and out the way I came before you reached me.”

“I thought we might pass a few words before you traipsed off into the aether.”

Cesco squatted on the barrel, tucking his knees under him. “So?”

“So.” Cangrande leaned back in his improvised seat. “Do you wish to shoulder the burden of being my heir?”

“Post equitum sedet atra cura!” Cesco’s words dripped with feigned surprise. “You mean there’s a choice?”

“There is,” replied the Scaliger levelly. “You can’t return to Ravenna, but I have friends in many places. My enemies would never smoke you out. If you wish, you may lead a fruitful, uneventful life.”

“You have enemies? I find that hard to believe. Such a very gracious host.”

Seated, Cangrande made a quarter bow. “I live to serve. Yet, alas, there are some who do not appreciate my need to serve them. Hence, enemies.”

“They’ll learn the errors of their ways, I’m sure.”

Cangrande’s smile was grim. “Yes, they will. But that’s not to say there won’t be more in their wake. You should be aware that if you take up the name of Escalus, you will never be rid of it. Already you are tainted. We are not a wholesome bunch. I believe God likes to test us to keep our mettle pure.”

“God as blacksmith, always forging ahead.” As Cangrande winced, the boy opened his palms in apology. “You set the tone. However it pains me, I must prove my mettle equal to yours.”

“Life as a Scaligeri would not be life as an Alaghieri.”

“Confidentially, if you asked Ser Pietro, he might say my deeds stretched what it was to be an Alaghieri.”

Cangrande stood. “You are determined, then, to take up the title?”

“I am, lord, if you wish to bestow it upon me.”

“And if I don’t wish to?”

“I cannot dream of a time when you could be compelled to do something you didn’t wish to do.”

“Expand your dreams, then. It happens all too frequently. Take tonight. I had planned on a lovely meal and a few words, then seduce a few maids before stumbling off to my bed. I haven’t been getting much sleep of late.”

“That’s the second time you’ve alluded to lovemaking,” said Cesco. “Are you flirting with me?”

Cangrande allowed himself a laugh. “Perhaps I am! But not in the way you mean. You’re baptized for me, you know.”

“I rather thought so. You won’t mind if I don’t take your cognomen.”

“Don’t like dogs?”

Cesco’s fingers brushed the coin hanging at his throat. “Adore them. But I wish to be my own man.”

“I hear the ring of Ser Alaghieri’s voice in that sentiment. I said something quite like that to him once. And yet, Omne quod est, aut habet esse a se, aut ab alio.”

“I see,” said Cesco. “I am the latter to your former, then? I think I am resentful.” Popping another blueberry into his mouth, he chewed while tapping his fingers absently on the tin lid.

Cangrande said, “Aren’t you ever still?”

Cesco shook his head. “Enough time to be still when I’m dead.”

“When you evanesce, you mean.”

“Evanesce?” asked Cesco, puzzled. “Am I made of vapor, that I’ll evaporate with the morning dew?”

“No,” said the Scaliger, approaching. “Light as you are, I believe you’re made of more solid stuff.”

Cesco didn’t flee. “Almost a compliment. What do I need solidity for?”

“For what comes next. Creative you may be, but you will have responsibilities beyond your imagination. There are twin offices, military on the one hand, judicial and financial on the other. You have to be prepared to overrule men four times your age. Not just Castelbarco, Bonaventura, and the rest, but wizened fools who resent any form of change or innovation. To them the old ways are always the best, no matter how ineffectual they may be. You must be willing to judge your friends, even sacrifice them for the sake of the city. All concerns are second to the welfare of Verona.”

“This offer grows more seductive every moment. I’m awed you haven’t slit your wrists by now.”

“Expect no help from anyone, even your friends. Especially your friends. Everyone wants something. It’s what you’re willing to sacrifice that matters, and as Capitano you have to be willing to sacrifice anything and anyone.”

“Even your heir?”

“Especially your heir.”

“Poor me. Though from what I hear, there are more where I came from. Are the nobility at all useful, or are they the children you paint them?”

“Not all are bad. Castelbarco is capable, if unimaginative. His son looks to be cut of the same cloth. Nogarola is steadfast and a true leader of men, but not much as a general. Lozzo is genial, but under his cheerful façade he’s ruled by self-interest alone. Bonaventura is somewhere between those last two, but has a fascinating wife to guide him.”

“You left out Montecchio and Capulletto.”

“Ah, our own Eteocles and Polynices,” said Cangrande. He raised a probing eyebrow.

Cesco groaned sourly. “I was raised in Dante’s house, you know. Examinations were the alpha and omega of my existence.” He uncurved his spine to sit upright and recite. “Sons to Oedipus and Jocasta. Forced their father to abdicate, and thus were cursed to be enemies forever. I made some small attempt tonight to bring them together.”

“By provoking them both into chasing you? An interesting tactic, if futile. I’ve tried everything. I think Montecchio might be willing – he’s long gotten past the belief that Capulletto murdered his father. But our Antony is still stung by the thought of his lost love. Myself, I cannot understand it. The girl is pretty enough, but insipid to the point of absurdity.”

“Those do seem to be the women who cause the most trouble.”

Cangrande barked out a single laugh. “Too true! What about you? I had my first real woman when I was your age. Have your balls dropped yet? Have you been bedded?”

Cesco shook his head. “I am sadly ignorant of the skills, if not the act. Though I was recently witness to the most fascinating wooing scene…”

“You must tell me all about it, tomorrow. Tonight, we must find you a willing girl. There’s one back at the palace —”

“O please, no,” said Cesco. “Not one of your courtesans. I’m going to be doing enough treading in your footsteps. To complete your list, what about my erstwhile rivals, Mastino and Alberto?”

Cangrande now stood before Cesco. “What, am I supposed to give away everything at once? Probe their stuffing yourself.”

Cesco rose to his feet, looking up. “As you wish, pater mi, oh great Greyhound!”

Cangrande slapped Cesco across the face so hard it cracked the masque. Broken, the three varnished faces slipped to the floor, Comedy to one side, Madness and Tragedy to the other. “Never call me that.”

Cangrande watched Cesco’s head come slowly up, furious tears in the boy’s eyes – tears of outrage, shame, and surprise. They fell freely, carving their passage down his flushed cheeks. For the first time in his life the Scaliger saw a naked rage that dwarfed his own temper. He readied himself for the blow that had to be coming. He wondered if it would be to maim, or to kill.

But Cesco simply turned his face, offering up his other cheek. “Please. I value balance in all things.”

Cangrande felt an unwelcome shiver run through him. “Christ-like. But heed my words. In public, in private, in my company or out of it – never call me that.”

“Which? Greyhound? Or father?”

“Either.”

Cesco’s tongue worked at the blood filling his mouth. “I suppose I should have accepted the whore.”

“I suppose so.” Cangrande stooped and took up the broken halves of the masque. “A visor, for a visor?”

“We all wear masques, my lord. Some are just more grotesque than others.”

With galling defensiveness, Cangrande offered a kind of apology. “Only blood of my blood could fray my temper so much. Yes – you are a true della Scala.”

Cesco managed a bloody smile. “Was there doubt?”

Cangrande stared down into that face a long time before answering. “Once, perhaps. But now? No. No doubt at all.”

 

♦           ◊           ♦

 

Pietro was among two dozen horsemen gathered in torchlight just outside Cangrande’s palace in the Piazza dei Signori. With the aid of many other hunters, Bailardino had managed to trap his sons, letting Montecchio repossess his stolen horse. Of Mastino and Fuchs there was no sign. No one expected them to show their muddy faces for days.

By now they had given up all hope of tracing Cangrande and Cesco from the ground. Instead they laid odds on how long it would take for the Scaliger to return with his wayward heir in tow. Some of the younger lords stared at the Moor, sitting calmly atop his horse, having never known him in their time at court.

“Ho! Look out below there!”

Faces turned up to behold two descending figures. Pietro released a long breath, and Petruchio cheered. “See, see! They’re back together, and before midnight. That means I won!”

“Only if the race is over,” said Nico da Lozzo. “My lord, have you driven the prey to us? Should we bring him down for you?”

“Lay a finger on him and you’ll regret it,” replied Cangrande loudly, hanging from a grating on a palace window. “Oh, I won’t stop you, but your nipples may be sore on the morrow.” He rubbed his own for emphasis.

Every man laughed while openly studying the pair, so unlike in size, yet so very similar in gait and bearing. As the Scaliger and his heir dropped to the earth, the assembly felt the weight of the moment. As one they dismounted and wordlessly knelt.

“My friends,” said Cangrande in his expansive public voice. “It is my duty to present to you Francesco della Scala. My heir.”

“Sca-la!” In seconds the cry was taken up by the assembly. They rose, pumping fists into the air. “Sca-la! Sca-la!”

As Cangrande smiled and waved, his heir stood looking from face to face, his expression sardonic. Then the crowd surged forward to lift Cesco up onto their shoulders, bearing him back towards the Piazza delle Erbe.

Watching the boy go, Pietro felt a rock lodge between his ribs to stop his breath. He will never be free now. They will both strive for mastery. Who can say which will win? Prophecy says only so much.

Mounting his white horse, Cangrande grinned at Pietro. “See? Entirely unharmed.”

Pietro was too heartsick and weary to spar. “It doesn’t matter. He’s yours now.”

“I suspect he will never be entirely mine. For that, I congratulate you.” The Scaliger clicked his tongue, urging his horse to follow the impromptu parade.

Pietro, Tharwat, and Morsicato followed. “At least he’s alive,” said the doctor.

“He will need us more than ever now,” said the Moor.

And I won’t be here. Cangrande’s already made that clear. Pietro suddenly noticed that the revelers were returning to the Capulletti house. “Oh, no.” Kicking his mount, he called out Cangrande. “We shouldn’t return to the feast.”

“Whyever not, Ser Alaghieri, Knight of the Mastiff? Did my hounds get into the pudding?”

“Word came while we were chasing about. His wife is giving birth.”

“Excellent!” said Cangrande, unperturbed. “Another reason to celebrate. And if it is indeed a girl, perhaps we can delight him with an alliance, my heir with his. What do you think?”

“I think now is not the time to disturb their household.”

“Nonsense! He’ll welcome the distraction. No, Montecchio, don’t slink off! Young Cesco made an effort to draw you out tonight. I won’t let his first act of diplomacy go to waste. Truly, you’re coming, I insist! Won’t that be a surprise for our host!”

But Antony was not the only man surprised. When the group dismounted at the tunnel to the Capulletti household, there was an odd tension in the air. Antony rushed forward to intercept them. Unbelievably, he didn’t even bat an eye at Montecchio’s presence. “My lord —”

Cangrande took Antony in his arms and kissed his cheeks. “I understand you are about to be a father! A night for heirs!”

“Yes, lord, but —” Antony paused, trying to frame his words. “Another guest has, I mean, she’s here, she —”

“What is it, man? Did one of my mistresses show up?”

“Given their number,” said a cool voice from the door of Antony’s house, “that would be far less surprising.”

Audible gasps. For several seconds Pietro couldn’t believe his eyes. Even Cangrande seemed taken aback. Only Cesco was unmoved, looking curiously at the newcomer.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” said Katerina della Scala, striding gracefully forward. “I seemed to have missed some excitement. Won’t you tell me all about it?”

Not a word was slurred.