The Master of Verona

Twenty-Five

Antonia was so swept up just being in her father's presence that she hardly noticed the return to the Domus Bladorum, the removal of capes and scarves, or the many people moving about. Running up with some confused news about Pietro's friends, Poco spied his sister. "Imperia!" he cried with such obvious joy Dante couldn't help smiling.

After the greetings, Poco returned to his news. "We're summoned! Well, you are, Father. To the court! Montecchio has gone and married Capulletto's Paduan bride! It could mean the truce is off and we're at war again! Isn't that fantastic?"

Together they made their way next door to the great Scaliger court in the Domus Nuova. The chamber was replete with rich tapestries and ornaments. Though her father always praised Cangrande's disdain of open displays of wealth, here the wealth and prosperity of Verona was ostentatiously visible. If Cangrande had been king, this would have been his throne room.

She was still looking adoringly at Dante when he pointed. "That, my dear, is the Scaliger."

Tearing her eyes away from her father, Antonia had to stifle a gasp when she saw her father's patron. Ballads and poems were one thing, beholding the living man was quite another. He was a tower of might and self-assurance. His crop of chestnut hair was longer than she'd expected, making him look young. The fact that he was young didn't register in her mind. He was powerful — everything else flowed from that.

From the Capitano, Antonia's eyes moved on to Antony Capulletto. The nice fellow who'd shown her around the palace was now a pitiable sight. He looked wounded. Defeated. Shattered.

Antonia couldn't help thinking, What a drama! Things like this never happen in Florence! Not being in love with love as many girls her age were, she nevertheless understood the concept. After years of her mother's rule, she also grasped the desire for freedom, the impulse to disobedience. This girl, Gianozza, had taken hold of her own fate, however stupidly. Antonia tried not to admire the courage that must have taken.

A wide man with sandy hair, not particularly tall, stood shaking his fists at the center of the hall. Unlike Antonia's distinguished father, his ornate clothes were at war with the opulence of the hall. He was shouting, but he'd been shouting since the Alaghieri clan had arrived.

"— an outrage that the girl's own cousin was a party to this! It was an arranged match! A match that, as you all remember, bore my lord's seal of approval, and that of our esteemed visitor from Padua! What right did her cousin Marsilio have to grant the girl's hand in marriage when his uncle, the lord of his family, had already granted that right to my son?!"

Antonia tried to listen as Capulletto railed on, but her eyes kept returning to her father — entirely still, placidly watching events unfold. He glanced over and winked at her. Embarrassed, she shifted her gaze to the tapestry at their backs. It bore an amusing image of rabbits doing battle with mounted knights. Antonia giggled, a sound she quickly stifled for fear of disgracing herself before her father.

But Dante was bored with the Little Capuan's oration, into a fourth repetition. Hearing his daughter's smothered laugh, he glanced at the tapestry. "Absurd, isn't it? Look closer at the vines in the back," he added, nodding at the background, thick with the green of a forest. There were tiny demons there, causing the rabbits to behave as they were. "As you know, my Beatrice, even the most innocent things can be the tools of the underworld."

Antonia then listened as he explained the politics of the moment to her in whispers. "The girl who has eloped is Paduan, the niece of Giacomo da Carrara. Though our host is on friendly terms with Carrara, it is generally acknowledged that the struggle between them is only beginning. At the moment, Verona is at peace with Padua. Cangrande wants to keep it that way for a while longer."

"So," murmured Antonia, "whatever way Padua blows, that will direct the Scaliger's sails?"

"Just so."

Touching the hem of Dante's sleeve, Jacopo nodded across the hall. "Pietro's here."

Antonia looked up. A knight was entering the hall, accompanied by a little man and an enormous Moor with scars on his face and neck. The knight was clothed in a long doublet and breeches that, contrary to fashion, hid his thighs. The crutch he used did not bow his shoulders at all, just canted his body slightly right. At his heels padded a lean young greyhound. For a moment Antonia fancied they should have been the subject of the tapestry, not the demon bunnies. She tried to see around them to view her brother.

Then she remembered. Pietro had been injured in his leg. Glancing again, she now recognized the colour of the hair almost hidden by a hat and a bandage. She saw the familiar cant of the head. She saw her father's lean face, her mother's colouring. Somewhere in that well-shaped youth was the boy who'd pulled her hair when she'd been small.

Poco started to wave but Dante caught him by the wrist. This was not the time to draw attention. Antonia watched as Pietro edged through the crowd, eyes fixed on young Capulletto, face full of empathy for his friend.

She stole another glance at Dante, and couldn't help giving his arm a little squeeze. He patted her hand as they listened to Capulletto rant. Antonia knew dire events were transpiring in front of her, but she couldn't help smiling as she watched.

Across the room, Pietro didn't feel at all like smiling. His thoughts would have shocked his sister. Damn Mari, damn him straight to Hell! Come on, Antony! Stand up, roar! That's the only way to get past this. Get angry, then get on with your life!

But Antony sat entirely still, his head down. Pietro was sure he wasn't hearing a word his father said. Old Ludovico didn't falter, his voice filling the hall as he cried, "And as for the cupidity of the Montecchi clan, we see now how old money can buy its way into any privilege. No doubt there was heavy bribery of young Carrara to give the girl away to the puffed-up stripling-"

Pietro halted close to the Capitano's dais, the crowd moving aside for the combined presence of a war hero, an astrologer, and his demon-like servant. Mercurio ranged near the other hounds, including his father, Jupiter. They sniffed then ignored each other.

Pietro had been in the Domus Nuova only twice before. It was rare that Cangrande used this chamber for anything but business of state. For internal communal affairs he favored his loggia or the offices he kept in the Giurisconsulti. But today Cangrande had to deal out justice, and be seen to do so.

"What of our rights?" Capulletto was shouting. "Are we not as worthy of the protection of the law as the lowest citizen of this nation? Does an ancient line have more rights than one new to the state? Have we not proved our worth here? If there is any who deserves favor in the eyes of Verona's fathers, it is my son. Antony rode to Verona's defense before he was even a citizen. He earned his citizenship with his blood — blood spilled beneath the walls of Vicenza!" He was speaking well — he'd obviously spent time in the courts. As advocate or client? Pietro wondered.

As the 'Little Capuan' (Apt, Father!) railed on, Pietro turned his gaze to Cangrande. If the Capitano was angry, he didn't show it. Every few moments he would lean right to discuss something with Passerino Bonaccolsi, and once he conversed with Il Grande, seated on the Scaliger's left.

One august personage Cangrande did not consult was Gargano Montecchio. The father of the "bride-thief" sat rigidly on a bench with the other nobles of the city. No one spoke to him, nor would they until the Capitano made his ruling on the affair. Last night he was full of joy, thought Pietro sadly. Now he's aged a thousand years. Damn it, Mari!

Among the cluster of Capulletti, Ludovico was spitting mad. Standing behind him, Antony's brother looked unperturbed, perhaps even a little smug. As for Antony himself, his face was blank, eyes glazed, a slight crease across his forehead as if he couldn't get his mind around it. Until he did, there was no room for anger. Just shock and confusion.

Ludovico had enough outrage for them both. "Was not my son knighted by the Scaliger's own hand just yesterday? Did he not race valiantly in the horse Palio? And was he not inches away from winning the foot Palio when the bride-thief got in his way? Did not the Scaliger himself confer upon our family the right to an ancient and respected title? Is this the show of favoritism Verona grants its citizens? To have wives and daughters stolen away, married off to foppish youths who bathe in perfume?!" He was no longer speaking to the Scaliger. He was playing to the crowd, trying to swing public opinion his family's way.

It did not appear that Capulletto would run himself out any time soon, so when he stopped to hack his phlegm into a napkin the Scaliger spoke. "We are, as you have pointed out, aware of all this, Monsignor Capulletto. I assure you, I am not staying my hand in this matter. I only wait for the parties involved to arrive. In the meantime," he said, raising his eyes to the crowd, "I have a decree. As in the days when my honoured father served this state as Capitano del Populo and Podestà of the Merchants, from this time forward private dueling is forbidden." There was an unhappy murmur in the crowd. "The settling of quarrels may not be determined by the sword, but must be litigated through the courts! This is not just true within the city walls, but in all the lands under Veronese stewardship!"

Pietro saw the purpose at once. Cangrande wanted no fresh outbreaks of feuding between families in his territories. The law his brother Bartolomeo had repealed a dozen years before to allow the final duel in the Capelletti-Montecchi feud was once more enacted. Those sharing family names could not exact revenge for wrongs to their kin. This struck Pietro as a cruel twist of fate. Father was right. Ignazzio said it too. Even Mari's father. Names have power.

But Cangrande's new law went further, entirely ruling out trial by combat as a legal remedy. Several lawyers piped up to ask questions. Not that they were angry. Quite the contrary, it was a boon for their practices. If trial by combat was illegal, citizens would have no recourse but to hire lawyers to settle their differences.

Shouting down the lawyers, Ludovico raised an objection. "You're doing this to stop my son from regaining his honour!"

Cangrande shook his head. "No, I am making sure of the safety of my citizens. I am also protecting the honour of your son, and your family. You were not here, Monsignor Capulletto, when there was a feud inside Verona's walls. The participants put the public good aside in order to redeem what they mistakenly believed to be their honour. But their honour suffered far greater stains from the public hazards they caused than any slights, real or otherwise, from another family. This law will protect all our citizens, in a number of ways."

Ludovico wasn't done objecting, but a clamour outside forestalled him. All eyes came up as six Veronese soldiers entered clad in their best armour. Between them strode Marsilio da Carrara. Chin high, he ignored the collected Veronese nobles to lock eyes with the Scaliger. Though his face was composed, there was a hint of a smirk playing across his face.

Before addressing Marsilio, Cangrande turned to Il Grande. "Giacomo da Carrara. This young man is your nephew, and not a citizen of Verona. Do you consent to his being questioned in this matter here and now, or would you rather he be questioned in a Paduan court?"

Giacomo leaned forward. "As his actions have implications for the honour of my family, he must be questioned as soon as possible. I trust both in your wisdom, lord Capitano, and in that of your noble Veronese councilors. Let him be questioned in Verona!" As the crowd's murmur of approval died away, he added, "I might put a question or two to him myself."

"As you wish." Cangrande turned the full weight of his gaze on Marsilio. "Ser Carrara, there is a story circulating that you witnessed a marriage this morning between your cousin, the lady Gianozza della Bella, and Ser Mariotto Montecchio."

"I did more than witness it," said Marsilio. "I gave the bride away."

The Capitano ignored the hushed mutterings of the crowd and the not-so-hushed voice of Ludovico Capulletto. "I see. You did this knowing that both your uncle and the girl's father had arranged another match for her?"

"I did."

"Where did this marriage take place?"

"At the private chapel of the Montecchi, in their grand estates east of Illasi."

"Who officiated?"

"Some Franciscan monk. I heard Montecchio call him Brother Lorenzo."

Pietro recalled the good-looking young friar he'd met yesterday, the one who was embarrassed about being French. Cangrande glanced at the Franciscan bishop, who looked grave. "To clarify, Ser Carrara — when you say Montecchio, you mean Cavaliere, not Monsignore."

"Correct. I don't think Lord Montecchio knew anything about it," said Marsilio, smiling at the ashen-faced figure of Mariotto's father.

Damned gracious of him, thought Pietro bitterly, admitting what's clear to anyone with eyes!

Cangrande continued. "What do you know about this couple?"

"I know that before last night neither of them had laid eyes on one another."

"Do you know what happened last night?"

"She told me they — talked." Carrara's tone implied more than his words.

The mob shifted. Pietro wondered why the Scaliger didn't dismiss them. He could get to the bottom of this much more quickly without their interruptions. Then Pietro realized that if this were to be defused, it would have to be in public. Rumours had to be put to rest.

"We have no use for innuendo, Ser Carrara. Define your terms, please."

"Forgive me. Ser Montecchio read to the girl, from the latest work of your resident poet, Maestro Dante Alaghieri."

Oh Christ. Without thinking Pietro joined the crowd in looking towards his father, who was standing between Poco and a short, stern-looking girl. Dante had the good sense not to react in any way. Pietro couldn't help thinking, Well, it will probably help sales.

Cangrande brought the crowd's attention back by asking, "Then what happened?"

"They fell in love," said Marsilio simply.

"And how did you become a party to their affections?"

"She told me early this morning."

"What did you say in response?"

The crowd pressed forward to listen to Carrara's answer. "I said that if she truly loved this young man, she should marry him."

Ludovico made some burbling sounds of indignation. The Scaliger paused for a long moment. "So marriage between them was your idea."

"Love is a rare commodity these days. It should not go unnourished."

"You felt it was your responsibility to nourish this couple's affection."

"Exactly. I felt it my knightly duty."

"I may be a little rusty," said Cangrande without a trace of humour, "but I do not recall fostering love as one of a cavaliere's duties."

"Does the great Capitano wish me to refresh his memory?"

"I pray you, do."

Marsilio's back was spear-straight. "The rules of courtly love are explicit. 'No one should be deprived of love without the very best of reasons.' Rule Eight."

"And a contract of marriage between your family and the noble Capulletti household is not reason enough?"

"No formal betrothal ever took place. I felt — and still feel — that a love as rare and pure as that between my cousin and Ser Montecchio is worth a dozen such alliances."

As Ludovico snarled, Cangrande said, "You spoke with the young man, assured yourself of his honest intentions?"

"I visited him early this morning. I found him to be of good character. Rule Eighteen. 'Good character alone — "

"— makes any man worthy of love,'" Cangrande finished for him. His eyes were narrowed.

"I also found him to be jealous of her betrothal. He had not eaten since laying eyes on her, nor had he slept."

"I trust he was not vexed by too much passion," said Cangrande with heavy irony.

"No, my lord."

"Did you consult the girl's betrothed? Perhaps the same could have been said of him."

"He was not the object of the girl's affection, my lord Capitano," said Marsilio, bowing his head in mock obeisance.

Pietro saw Antony sag slightly. So he is listening. Too bad.

"Ser Capulletto's feelings on the matter did not weigh in your mind?"

Marsilio shook his head. "They did, my noble lord. But then I recalled the last rule of Courtly Love — 'Nothing forbids one woman from being loved by two men.'"

Cangrande pursed his lips. "I suppose the real question, Marsilio da Carrara, is why did you not consult your uncle? He is the paterfamilias, the head of your line. He had made the arrangements for the girl's wedding. Should he not have been consulted?"

"He was closeted with your lordship this morning, discussing matters of state," said Marsilio. "I did not feel it appropriate to disturb you both for a private family matter. As for needing my uncle's approbation, my uncle has repeatedly told me that I should be more interested in family affairs. I was trying to solve this problem in a way that would best honour my ancestors."

"I see. And why such haste?"

"The girl was going to be betrothed at supper this evening. I wanted to resolve this unfortunate conflict before it went any further. Once the formal betrothal had taken place, it would have been more difficult for the girl to extricate herself from an unwanted arrangement."

Antony flinched again. Cangrande said, "So you moved to forestall that event by marrying her off."

"To the man she loves," confirmed Marsilio. "Amor ordinem nescit."

Giacomo da Carrara said, "My lord, may I?" Cangrande nodded, and Il Grande turned to his nephew. "What makes you believe this young man was worthy?"

Marsilio blinked. "I thought that would be obvious, uncle. He is from an ancient house, full of honour. His ancestors have been consuls and podestàs, a few of them even emissaries and citizens of Padua. His family estates are almost at the border between Padua and Verona, just south of Vicenza. I thought it a good symbol for our two cities to be united through such an alliance. As for the man himself, I have seen him on the field of war. He is brave and noble. During the race yesterday he was every ounce what a knight should be."

Pietro was unable to contain himself any longer. "You tried to kill him!" The ugly smirk Marsilio turned on him goaded Pietro on. "Both at Vicenza and during the Palio!"

Marsilio's answer was humble. "At Vicenza we were at war. I assume he would have killed me had the chance arisen. As for yesterday, we rode as we should have — in competition. Many knights lost their lives. It is his credit that he didn't."

"They lost their lives thanks to you!" cried Pietro.

Carrara shook his head sadly and looked at Cangrande. "I don't know what he's talking about."

Pietro was about to shout again but Cangrande interrupted. "Ser Alaghieri, you are not on the city council. Your rights as a knight allow you to proclaim a formal hearing, if you so choose."

Marsilio spoke before Pietro could reply. "My lord, young Alaghieri is obviously unwell, to make such accusations. The collision that caused so many noble Veronese to lose their lives was an accident. You said so yourself."

"Are you calling me a liar?" asked Pietro hotly.

Marsilio gazed at him pityingly. "I say you are mistaken. You've taken one too many knocks to the head. No doubt your leg keeps you from ducking in time."

Pietro twisted, facing the Scaliger. "To prove the truth of my words, I challenge him to-"

"No!" Cangrande fixed Pietro with a hard look. "Perhaps you didn't hear my earlier dictate, Cavaliere. There is no more recourse to the Court of Swords." His eyes swept the whole crowd. "Let me make this clear. Dueling is illegal. Anyone caught dueling will be exiled from Verona's walls, denied food and fire in all of my lands. That is one choice. I also reserve the right to declare summary execution for the offense of dueling. In this warlike time, I will not see the future nobles of my lands cut down in the haste of youth!"

His eyes scanned for any possible dissent. Seeing none, Cangrande returned to the Paduan. "Marsilio da Carrara, both times you saw young Montecchio in action he was in the company of this young man," he indicated Antony. "Is he not as qualified as his friend?"

"Ser Capulletto is brave, no doubt, my lord," said Marsilio. "But I felt he lacked a certain — well, a certain quality that only the nobility can recognize. He lacks the true spirit of chivalry. That is only my opinion, of course."

Pietro groaned inwardly. Here in this chamber the assemblage was made up of men of noble descent. Exclusivity was their passion. Newly made nobles like the Capulletti were necessary evils at best. There was no argument Carrara could have used that would score him more points. He was winning the crowd by preying on their prejudices.

Clearly thinking along the same lines as Pietro, Cangrande dismissed Marsilio to one side, effectively silencing the Paduan. The Scaliger called forward the Franciscan bishop and asked after the credentials of this Friar Lorenzo.

"The fault is mine, lord Capitano," confessed Bishop Francis. "This young Paduan knight called upon our order this morning, and I told Lorenzo to provide any service Ser Carrara might require. He was only following my instructions." Francis looked stern. "It goes without saying, I knew nothing of any marriage. But if anyone is to be punished for the Church's role in this, let it be me."

"That won't be necessary," said Cangrande. "Still, we must speak to this Lorenzo and discover if there were any irregularities in the — "

He was interrupted by a flurry of movement at the back of the crowd. Whispers became muffled exclamations of "They're here!" and "Look at her!" The rows of nobles parted to make way for Mariotto Montecchio and his bride, Gianozza.

They were a stunning couple. Though they must have known they were walking into a lion's den, nothing could penetrate the armour of their delight. The girl positively glowed. Walking to her right, Mariotto was dignified, straight and sure of his step. What Marsilio's exclusivity argument had begun, their appearance clinched. No one in that crowd could deny that, as a couple, they were perfection.

Marsilio da Carrara was grinning broadly. Nothing would have given Pietro greater pleasure than making the Paduan eat that smirk. Pietro knew Mari's mettle. Mari would never have gone so far as running off with the girl without the active connivance of Carrara. Mari was a lovesick fool. The real villain of the piece was Carrara, trying to sow discord among the Scaliger's knights.

But had he succeeded? What would Antony do now that the couple was here, right in front of him? Holding his breath with the rest of the crowd, Pietro watched as Mariotto knelt before the Scaliger, careful to keep his hand in his beloved's, curtsying beside him. To Mariotto's right sat the friend he had wronged so severely. To the left, the father whose honour he had soiled. He didn't look at them, keeping his gaze on the impassive face of the Scaliger.

The invitation to speak wasn't long in coming. "Ser Montecchio, Verona thanks you for your swift response to our summons. I imagine you know why we sent for you."

"I do, my lord," said Mariotto. "I have married this young woman against the will of her family and without the knowledge of my own. I will never be made to regret this decision. But I do understand that I have caused injury to many people, most notably my best friend in the world. I — " He faltered, unable to look at Antony. "I will make whatever reparations I can to the Capulletti family, and bend under the weight of whatever punishment you decree. Even death."

Pietro imagined he saw the Capitano sigh. "I don't think you will be called upon to die for your love." He then explained for the third time his decree regarding dueling. Antony sat hangdog as ever, broken leg sticking out in front him. His eyes had come up briefly as the couple passed, then returned to gazing blankly at the floor.

"I do not know if punishment is within my purview," concluded the Capitano. "You have not committed a crime against the state. You have transgressed against two families."

"Three," Mariotto corrected. "I have broken faith with my father. I am certain that, had I spoken to him, Lord Montecchio would have been adamantly against this union. Which is why I did not consult him."

The crowd stirred again, and to Pietro's ears these murmurs were approving. Mariotto was not shirking his responsibility. He was the perfect model of a chivalrous young knight in love.

"Three families, then," said Cangrande. "Your punishment lies with those families, as does your forgiveness. First, we must ask the girl's guardian if he wishes to press charges." He turned. "Lord Carrara?"

Il Grande was stroking his trim beard. Technically the girl was his property, and he could try the boy for theft if he wished. Though Marsilio's connivance made that matter less clear. "I am of two minds in this affair. My quandary lies not in the behavior of this young Veronese, but that of my nephew. He overstepped his authority in the family, usurping my right to choose the girl's husband. However, it is possible that he was correct. The amity between this young couple is clear. It is possible, then, that she might not have been right for the match with Capulletto. If that is true, then my nephew acted correctly." Lord Carrara took a deep breath. "Whichever is true, this young man is cleared from blame as far as the Carrarese are concerned. He acted with the implied consent of the girl's family. Knowing his father and hearing the lad himself speak, I am satisfied that he is a worthy youth. The Carrara family accepts the match."

The assemblage let out something akin to a collective sigh.

Ludovico Capulletto leapt back up to his feet. "The Capulletti do not! Do you hear me? We do not! The Capulletti — a name we only undertook to oblige the father of this bride-thief — does not accept this match! We demand justice!"

"I understand what you demand, Ludovico," said Cangrande with hard patience. "But I have not yet heard from the member of your family most wounded in this affair." His voice became gentle. "Antony. What do you have to say?"

The moment dragged out. Pietro could plainly see Antony didn't want to speak at all. He looked at Gianozza, then at Mariotto. His head shook slightly, his lips parted, but no words came out.

Mariotto released his bride's hand and crossed to his friend. Ludovico moved to intercept him, but a sharp look from Cangrande froze the aggrieved father in his tracks.

Reaching the place where Antony sat, broken leg extended, Mariotto halted. Bowing his head, he knelt before his best friend.

Antony's head raised slightly, and it seemed for a moment he might actually speak. But his head sagged again, eyes falling away from Mariotto.

This was too much for Ludovico Capulletto. Grasping one of his son's crutches, Ludovico swung it at Mariotto's head, catching Mari across the temple.

The crack split the silence in the hall. Mariotto hit the floor, poleaxed. Gianozza cried out and ran to kneel by Mariotto. Gargano Montecchio stirred, then kept resolutely to his seat.

The Scaliger leapt to the elder Capulletto's side, gripping the brandished crutch with white knuckles. "Ludovico! Stand down! Stand down, or I'll have you arrested!"

Purple-faced, sweat streaming, Antony's father released his grip on the crutch and stepped back from the Capitano. "See what this has done to my son! He is unable even to speak! I demand justice! It is unfair to deny us recourse to the Court of Swords. If the law was fit enough to mete out justice yesterday, let it be today. Enforce your new rules tomorrow, Capitano, but for this one day allow us to avenge our honour in the best way we know how!"

Ludovico's voice was joined by a score of the gathered nobles as he clamored for a duel. The nobility wanted this duel carried out, even if Cangrande did not. Searching for an objection, the Capitano observed, "Antony is not well enough to stand, let alone fight a duel. And I will not permit you, Ludovico, to face a man a third your age in this ridiculous matter."

There came a choked sound from Antony. The Scaliger held up a hand for silence. "What was that, Ser Capulletto?"

With great deliberation, Antony rose from his seat. Blinking back tears, he spoke. "I am fit."

Ludovico crowed his delight. Cangrande shook his head. "I won't allow it."

"My lord — " Ludovico began.

Again the Scaliger cut him off. "No!"

"My lord," said a voice from the bench of the Anziani, "may I speak?"

Cangrande sighed in relief. Ascending the dais, he resumed his seat. "Lord Montecchio, please. The floor is yours."

Dark robes swirling about him, the patriarch of the Montecchi clan rose and strode into the center of the room. Ludovico glowered. Cangrande sat in patient attendance. Pietro thought that here, at least, was a staunch ally for Cangrande's ban on dueling. If there was one man who could attest to the terrible damage it could effect, it was Gargano Montecchio, who had lost father, brothers, uncles, and wife to the terrible strife of a feud.

In a strained version of his usual measured tones, Montecchio began. "Dueling is a practice traced back to Biblical times. Cain and Abel, unable to settle their claim in any other way, agreed to stand the test of a duel. The ancient pagans settled matters in much the same way. The Umbrians of old held that trial by combat was just as fair as trial by jury. Homer tells of the duel between Paris and Menelaus to prove who held the right to Helen.

"All these could be the acts of barbarians, using their physical might to overpower the law. Through the tale of David and Goliath, though, we see clearly how divine will leads to a just conclusion in a legally constituted duel. Charlemagne urged trial by combat for his men, saying it was preferable to the shameless oaths his knights gave with such ease. What is war, if not dueling writ large? In battle, God chooses the side of right and lends His strength to the sword of justice. So it is in a duel. Not in a brawl or ambush, but a legal duel, with rules and witnesses."

Cangrande was frowning as Montecchio turned to face the injured Mariotto. "I had planned, after today's events, to disown my son. His actions have betrayed every trust placed in him. The trust of his lord, his friends, his father. I have no other son, but I have a daughter whose loyalty and fidelity lie in quantities unknown by her brother." Lord Montecchio's head swept the crowd. "But I have changed my mind. The honourable Lord Capulletto demands a duel. It is my opinion that his demands must be honoured. Better this duel takes place now, with due weight of law behind it, than on some future day in a back alley or tavern. Let justice be done! Instead of spouting meaningless oaths and apologies, let my son defend with his body the deed that has set him apart from us. He claims that his cause is love, the noblest banner to raise. Let him prove it. If he dares to face this challenge, he may still bear the name he has shamed this day."

Cangrande looked understandably grim. The walls were closing in upon him. "And if Antony cannot fight for himself, who will represent the Capulletti in this matter?"

"Let him choose a champion," replied Montecchio. "Perhaps his brother-"

"I'll be that champion!"

Heads turned as Pietro pushed past the crowd to stand in the open. Looking up, Antony gave Pietro the barest nod. Whereas Mari, still unable to stand unaided, stared at Pietro in open disbelief.

Among the visibly startled was Cangrande. "Pietro — Ser Alaghieri. You would fight in Antony's place?"

"I would, and I will," said Pietro.

"Why?"

"Because, my lord, I knew something of the attraction between these two last night and I did nothing to stop it."

"Pietro, it's not your-" began Mari, only to have his father cut sharply across him. "Mariotto! Be silent, you cur!"

The Scaliger continued. "As I recall, Ser Alaghieri, you had other things on your mind last night."

"It is no excuse, my lord. You knighted me yesterday." Closing his eyes, Pietro quoted: "To become a knight is to take upon you the responsibility of being God's sword of Justice here on earth. A knight rights wrongs. A knight protects the innocent. A knight listens to the words of the Lord." He opened his eyes again to gaze at Cangrande. "I let this happen, my lord. It is a stain on my honour."

Quoting the Capitano's own words was almost unfair. Still Cangrande tried. "Isn't Mariotto your friend?"

Pietro looked at the pained, bewildered expression on Mari's face. "He is, my lord."

"Yet you're willing to fight him?"

Pietro made certain he was looking directly forward. "He just took a powerful blow, my lord. I do not think he is fit to duel at this time. I would suggest another champion take his place."

Now the look Cangrande gave Pietro was disgusted. He'd caught on. "You have someone in mind? The accused's aged father, perhaps?"

"No, my lord, though I am sure Lord Montecchio is as able as ever he was." The blood pumping through him was making him rush his speech. He had to force himself to make each word clear. "In all this, no one has mentioned the role of the lady. She, too, had a choice in this affair."

"You wish to fight the bride?" Cangrande's amusement stopped just shy of his eyes. He was attempting to shame Pietro, belittle him into retracting his challenge.

In response, Pietro removed a glove and clutched it tightly in his bare hand. "No, my lord. I propose the person who tied these two together. Ser Carrara is intimately tied to this union. Related to one, he chose the other. If he believes in this marriage, let him defend it with his life!" That said, Pietro hurled down his gage.

Over the shocked gasps of the crowd Marsilio tried to push his way over to take up the gauntlet, shouting, "I accept! I accept!"

"You do not!" cried Il Grande, leaping forward to slap his nephew across the face.

"The Capulletti do not-!"

"The Montecchi will not allow another to wear our sins!"

"Quiet! Quiet! Be still!" The Scaliger shouted them all into silence. "Ser Alaghieri. My gratitude to you runs deep. But I cannot allow this to proceed. My decree on this matter is law."

"Actually, lord, that isn't true." Guglielmo del Castelbarco rose from his prominent place on the front bench. A senior member of the Anziani, he carried with him the weight of both money and valour. "You have followed the tradition started by your noble uncle, the great Mastiff, in that only when your decrees are written and properly noted do they become law."

"Then write it down," snapped Cangrande. "I will not have my city endure the strife of a feud!"

Studying the ceiling, Passerino Bonaccolsi remarked, "I don't know how it is in Verona, but in Mantua all such decrees have to be witnessed by the Anziani, in a duly commissioned session."

Growing testy, Cangrande glanced about at the assembled nobility. "I declare the Council of City Elders is in emergency session. I call for a voice count of those present to form a quorum." He began calling off names, the first being Guglielmo del Castelbarco. Castelbarco remained silent. By the time Cangrande had gone through the entire list of the nobles present, not one had raised his voice.

"I see," said the Scaliger in a dangerous tone. "Lacking a quorum, we cannot proceed." He strode down off the dais, past Pietro, to stand in the center of the hall. In freezing tones he addressed the city elders. "You want this duel to take place. Do you realize what a duel means? I will leave aside the fact that one of those challenged is from a neighbouring commune, with whom we are newly at peace. Instead I say, think back! Remember the days when the feud between these clans rampaged through our streets! Remember the innocents caught in its midst! Recall the dead and dying in the back alleys — for it was outlawed then! It was illegal because it was immoral! That dueling is still permitted is an oversight on the part of my brother Bartolomeo. Do you remember why he reinstated dueling? To finish what had started in blood with the only thing that could end it — blood! The last blood of the Capelletti! Until yesterday we had none to bear the name, for they were all dead! Buried! Lost, not to lawful wars or foreign devils, but to our own idiocy!"

He turned to face Mariotto's father. "My lord Montecchio, look past your anger. You of all people know what such a feud can cost!" The Scaliger turned again towards the crowd. "Think well on this — if we allow another feud to stain our city's honour, it will swallow us whole! Count on it! Hate begets hate! One duel will not satisfy honour, especially in matters of the heart. When money is stolen, it can be repaid. When land is lost, it can be recompensed. But once blood is spilled, it can never be recovered! It can only be satisfied by more of its own! Blood will have blood! Think well before you unleash yet another blight on our fair city! I speak now, not as your Prince, but as your fellow citizen! Think of us, think of how you want Verona to be remembered!"

He turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning their faces. They had heard, but were not prepared to listen.

"Very well. I could call out my men-at-arms and force an end to this foolishness. But I will not be that kind of tyrant. Because you insist, I will allow this one night of madness — if you will swear to me that, at sunrise tomorrow, you will all sign into law my decree against dueling. If I do not get that oath from you, elders, I swear by all I hold dear that I will call up my troops this very minute."

The Anziani were magnanimous in victory. Each assured their Capitano that they would sign his decree into law the next day and defend it ever after with their lives.

"I require another oath, this from the fathers. Ludovico, Gargano — you must swear on all that you hold dear, on your fortunes and your very lives, that as long as you both shall live there will be no reprisals. Whatever the outcome, this duel must be the end of the matter."

Gargano said he would gladly swear, since he held no grievance with the noble house of Capulletti. Ludovico grudgingly nodded his head and signaled his consent. Cangrande considered them both briefly, then closed his eyes. "Marsilio — take up his gage."

Carrara pushed past his uncle to take up Pietro's gauntlet. Lifting it above his head, he crushed it in his closed fist. "I accept the challenge!"

"Then let's get this over with. One hour, in the Arena!" With that, Cangrande stalked from the chamber.

The crowd erupted into excited noise. Mercurio left the pack of dogs to pad over to his master, who was breathing hard. The hound licked his hand, and Pietro patted him absentmindedly as he wondered if he'd live through the night. He heard a myriad of voices calling out to him, wishing him luck. Pietro ignored them, eyes fixed on Marsilio da Carrara arguing furiously with his uncle across the hall. In the midst of the old man's speech, young Carrara turned on his heel and stalked away. His path took him away from Pietro, but the bastard remembered to turn before leaving to send a mocking salute Pietro's way.

A heavy hand landed on Pietro's shoulder. "What on earth were you thinking?" demanded Dante, sotto voce.

Beside Pietro's father appeared a bright-eyed Poco and a glowering girl who looked familiar. He blinked, recognizing a disapproval he'd often seen in his mother. "Antonia!"

He made to embrace her, but she brushed his arms aside. "Answer our father! What are you thinking? Are you trying to ruin his relationship with a patron? How dare you oppose the will of our father's host?"

"A valid, if erroneous, assumption, my Beatrice," murmured Dante, patting her gently on the arm. "I was referring to the idiocy of issuing a challenge to one of the best-trained knights in the Feltro while he can barely hold himself upright without the aid of that crutch."

"I'll manage," said Pietro. "I can run a little, I proved that last night."

"If you are bent on self-immolation, I cannot stop you. But why demand to fight Carrara?"

"Mari's being a fool, but Carrara created the situation."

"You can't win, though," opined Jacopo.

Pietro took a deep breath. "I can if I'm right."

"Are you?" asked his father.

"Yes, he is!" Ludovico Capulletto came up to repeatedly shake Pietro's hand. "Thank you, boy, thank you! It's no small thing to have such a noble young man stand up to take your side in a quarrel. No one can sneer at our claim now, much as the Capitano might try."

"I'm not doing this to spite Cangrande," said Pietro carefully. "Antony was wronged. And I believe it was Carrara who wronged him. This is my way to prove it. Where is Antony?"

"Right here." The corpulent Capulletti patriarch stepped aside to let his son hobble past. Antony's voice was surprisingly soft as he clutched Pietro's hand. "Anything you want, Pietro. I'll give you anything I have."

"I don't want anything from you, Antony," said Pietro. "I'm doing what I think is right."

Antony ducked his head. "Hell, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. It's just — " Tears came to his eyes as he lifted one of his crutches. "I can't — and why — why did he — Why?"

This last tortured cry hit the awful truth of it. It wasn't Gianozza's betrayal that wounded him the most. It was Mari's.

Pietro's sister stepped into the awkward moment, suggesting Antony move along to the Arena since it would take him some time to get there. Pietro, she added, had to arm himself. Nodding, Antony let his grumbling father and brother lead him out.

"She's right," said Pietro. "I have to go arm myself."

"You didn't answer my question," said Dante.

"Which is?"

"Are you in the right? Think back to last night. Yesterday, these two families were as thick as thieves. Today, they are at each other's throats. The girl is just an agent of the stars, Pietro. The fault may lie in taking up a name better left dead. The Montecchi and the Capulletti may be destined to war forever."

Pietro shook his head. "I can't fight an eternal war, only this fight, this minute."

"Between you and this Carrara boy," said the poet shrewdly. "Your own private feud. He already took your ability to run. Is he worth dying for?"

"Your son is in the right. He has to know that." Still seated on his bench, Gargano Montecchio looked very tired. "What you point out, Maestro Alaghieri, is not lost on me. Nor did I miss that this ancient feud is being resurrected on the very spot where I laid it to rest — the Arena. It is ironic, is it not, that you are here to once again chronicle the perfidious follies of the Capulletti and Montecchi?" Mariotto's father rose to his feet. "But your son is in the right. I believe you once said the stars influence us, but we do have free will to interpret them. My son has chosen his path. Now he must tread it. I am just sorry-" At a loss for more words, he laid a hand on Pietro's swordarm. "God be with you." With that, Lord Montecchio departed the chamber.

No one knew what to say. A steward entered, bowing to Pietro and saying he'd been sent by the Scaliger to help arm.

Pietro said to his father, "Look after Mercurio for me."

Dante told Jacopo to go help his brother. As the two young men followed the steward, Antonia gripped her father's arm. "What can we do?"

"We can pray, my Beatrice. We can pray, and leave it to God."

They exited, leaving the hall empty save for two men: Ignazzio da Palermo and Theodoro of Cadiz.

"We must make a chart for this remarkable young man whose life is now at risk."

"That will take time. It will be no help to him tonight."

"But you agree?"

"I do. Yet some things are best left to the unfolding of time. All we can do for him tonight is be spectators."

Together the duo made their way to the Arena.