The Master of Verona

Thirty

Castello Montecchio

18 May 1317

Under the early summer sun, Antonia Alaghieri let her bare feet brush the dewy grass. Moisture crept up between her toes. The log she sat on was slightly damp, but through her many layers of clothing she couldn't feel it. Only her bare hands and feet could sense the dawn condensation.

A rustling in the bushes off to the right startled her, but it was only a hare. "Look," she whispered, pointing.

Gianozza della Bella (in Montecchio) had lifted her skirts higher, showing a fine thin calf to the morning sun. Looking at the hare she said, "Better run, little one! Or else Rolando will catch you up!"

Rolando was an old stiff-legged mastiff held on a tight leash. Frustrated, he barked at the hare and it scampered away into the brush. Satisfied, the dog settled onto his haunches and allowed himself to be congratulated by the two young women.

As Antonia stroked the dog's muzzle she said, "So, precisely where is Aurelia today?"

"Being fitted for her wedding dress. Her seamstress is a phenomenon. Maybe when your time comes…"

"A shame your sister-in-law couldn't be here," said Antonia tartly. "It's a lovely day. And what pretty landscape."

"Oh, mainly they use this as grazing land. No, the real pretty land is over that way. It belongs to Ser Bonaventura, though his cousin-"

"Gianozza! Enough."

Gianozza threw her head back and laughed, a sound not unlike water trickling between tiny stones. Antonia imagined Gianozza staying up each night after her prayers and practicing it.

As she finished her laugh, Gianozza said, "I'm so glad you finally came."

"I'm not." But it was a lie. Antonia had resisted coming not because she didn't want to, but because she felt it her duty to stay with her father until his latest work was ready for publication.

Two years had established Antonia's dominion over all things to do with her famous father. When the poet was writing, she became an immutable force to any who desired to steal his time. After twice being firmly refused an audience, even the Scaliger had to respect the iron in the sixteen-year-old girl. No one was allowed to interfere with Dante's Muse.

In the field of publishing she was no less firm. She'd recreated in Verona the copying houses of Florence. When the great poet was satisfied with a canto, Antonia would take the complete work and disperse it among the scribes. No house had consecutive pages, so there was no fear of it leaking early, yet the moment Purgatorio was finished it would be available to the public. Demand was enormous. L'Inferno was already more popular than the legends of Arthur, better known than the Song of Roland. Dante was being compared to Homer and Ovid. Princes, blacksmiths, bishops, and tailors were reciting his verses. At the University of Paris, a new Chair had been added to lecture on the meaning of the great epic Commedia.

But Antonia was secretly frightened. Her father wasn't looking well. In her two years with him the poet had visibly withered. Doctors were useless. It had been Pietro who had diagnosed the true cause. In one of his letters he had observed it was not age or illness, but the act of creation itself. Their father was pouring his life force into the pages he produced. Dante's work was his life. It was a race to see which ended first, the poet or the poem.

Which made it worse when her father ordered her to take a holiday. "My dear Beatrice, you've been flogging yourself for weeks. Purgatorio is almost done, there is nothing more you can do to ease the publishing. Go visit friends, or even your mother. Take some time for yourself. I insist!"

Reluctantly, she had agreed. A twenty-mile journey outside Verona brought her to Castello Montecchio and her only female friend, Gianozza.

Those that knew them thought their friendship odd. Gianozza was seen as a tiny gadfly who would, given time, cause her husband as much misery as she had her betrothed. Antonia, on the other hand, was believed to be made of granite. The merchants hated the girl in plain clothes with the basilisk stare. How these two young women had become intimates baffled the court.

To know the answer, one had to hear them talk. They brought out qualities in each other otherwise hidden. Beneath their public façades were two girls who were fiercely independent, but in different ways, and who enjoyed poetry, but in different ways.

Of course, staying at Castello Montecchio meant being caught up in the midst of the wedding preparations. Mariotto's sister, Aurelia, was marrying a local knight called Benvenito Lenoti, famous for jousting. So the castle was a mixture of anxiousness and excitement. Aurelia sometimes came running into a room breathless with fear, and it was up to Gianozza to console her. With Antonia's arrival, there were now two girls for the bride to turn to.

To aid in distracting her, the two recited poetry. Most of the preceding week had been spent reading aloud and debating meaning. This morning, for a change, they were undertaking a hike. For protection they'd brought Rolando, a massive hound who had grown up in these hills. Gianozza had also brought a small satchel whose contents were secret. All she would say is, "I have a surprise."

Antonia was in no hurry. Here in this dell the rest of the world seemed quite distant. She was reminded of stories of Eden, or Avalon. Looking at the sun filtering through the canopy of leaves she said, "When you agreed to marry Mariotto did you know that you would be getting this wonderful home in the bargain?"

"No," sighed Gianozza happily. "He told me, of course. But I thought he was exaggerating. Everyone loves their home. It took me weeks after I arrived here to even leave the castle. I so wanted to please Monsignor Montecchio. For Mariotto's sake."

Antonia indicated the keys that hung at Gianozza's belt. "Clearly you've made an impression."

She'd done that and more, succeeding in winning over Mariotto's father in spite of himself. Aurelia, too, after a standoffish start, had come to like her sister-in-law, though more like a puppy than a person. Still, it went a long way towards Mariotto's redemption.

"Yes, now that Aurelia is leaving, father Gargano has made me lady of the house." Gianozza stood, brushing flower petals from her dress. "Come with me. There's something we need to see." She tugged Rolando's leash and started off.

They walked for a ways, until Rolando stopped. Gianozza tried to tug him along, but he refused to budge. He was happy to walk to the side, but not forward. Antonia tried to pass him and he barked at her.

"What's bothering him?" asked Gianozza.

Antonia had an idea. Taking an old stick from the ground, she prodded at the grassy earth in front of them. Solid at the first poke and the second, then suddenly the stick sank into the ground as far as she could push it. "It's a trap for game. Or something like it."

Gianozza bent down and rubbed Rolando's ears with both hands. "That's a good puppy!" She stood and allowed Rolando to guide them around the hole with the ingenious turf covering.

At last they reached an old oak, huge and gnarled. There was a rude kind of symbol cut into it. Antonia recognized a crude version of the horsehead Montecchio crest. It seemed that this was what Gianozza had been looking for, because from here she started counting off paces — a hundred steps north, then twenty west.

Following, Antonia said, "Where are we going?"

"Shhh," replied Gianozza. "I have to count, or we'll miss it. Twenty-three… twenty-four…"

They walked another ninety paces before turning north again. The terrain changed from grassy to rocky as they climbed up a rise. In the dirt Antonia could make out wolf tracks. Rolando sniffed at them but didn't seem concerned.

They approached a sizeable boulder, flat on one side. It was pitted all over with little shelves upon which green patches grew. "Here," said Gianozza with satisfaction.

Antonia looked around but saw nothing of interest. "Where?"

"This is a secret of the Montecchi family," whispered Gianozza. "Go around the boulder."

With a scornful look Antonia said, "If something jumps out at me, I'll kill you." Clambering awkwardly over some fallen stones, Antonia came to a turn in the path. She wiped a faint dappling of sweat from her forehead, hoping that when she got around the big stone she could rest in the shade of the hill behind it.

But there was no other side to the stone. Instead, it split in two. The gap was hidden from any angle but this and was wide enough for two men to pass through, shoulder-to-shoulder. But what puzzled her was the darkness on the other side of the gap. The ground sloped down to a pitch-black infinity.

A cave! A cave, hidden in the hillside.

Hearing Gianozza's footfall behind her, Antonia asked, "What is this place?"

Gianozza's excitement was luminous. "Mariotto wrote out the directions for me in his last letter. This is the cave where the ancient Montecchi hid the horses when bandits came looking for them."

What she means, thought Antonia with amusement, is that this is where the ancient Montecchi hid the horses they stole when they were bandits. That was also probably their trap back there. Dante's daughter was far too well-bred to say so aloud. Instead, she peered into the dark. "Have you gone in? How far does it go?"

"I only went in a few paces. I didn't have a light with me then." Opening the satchel she'd brought, Gianozza produced a candle and flint. "This time I thought ahead."

"Does Lord Montecchi know you've been here?"

"No, Mari asked me not to tell anyone. But I didn't want to go in alone."

Antonia rubbed her hands briskly. "Well then, get that candle lit!"

In the still air between the split rock halves, lighting the candle wasn't difficult. Getting Rolando to enter the cave was harder. Antonia bore the light while Gianozza half-dragged the reluctant mastiff into the damp, dark cave under the hill.

"Do you think there are more traps?" asked Antonia.

"Mari said all the old traps had been taken down. I don't think my husband would have sent me here if there was any danger."

The passage was not too tall, barely high enough to accommodate riderless mounts. But it was wide enough, after the opening, to take three horses abreast. The path turned and a few paces in daylight disappeared.

Rolando was unhappy but stayed silent, sniffing at shadows. Slowly the ground leveled off. The earthen roof rose, then suddenly vanished high above. Gianozza let out a gasp. The cavern was enormous, large as a castle courtyard. There were fire pits, and along the earthen walls there were bunk beds, hitching posts for horses, and two long water troughs. Above, roots of trees and plants hung down. Yet the ceiling was so high that had the girls jumped they would have been unable to reach those dangling roots.

"Why did your husband tell you about this place?" Antonia wondered why she was whispering. But Gianozza answered in the same hushed tones.

"He said this was to be our secret place, and that if he knew I was here he could always find me in his dreams."

Porcheria, thought Antonia tartly. Romantic, yes, and sweet. But also crafty. If Mariotto was at all concerned about his bride having eyes for other men — one man in particular — he'd created a ritual that would put him in her mind for a good hour or two every day. Antonia thought with satisfaction that Ferdinando would never be so manipulative or foolish. She suddenly reddened, as she did whenever she thought pleasing things about Ferdinando. She turned her head, wishing the candle would go out to hide her embarrassment.

Her wish came true. A surprising movement of air extinguished the flame. At the same moment Rolando began to growl, and Antonia thought she heard something moving in the cave. "An animal."

"Or a demon," said Gianozza.

Antonia dragged her friend back towards the tunnel. "An animal, like a rabbit or a squirrel." From Rolando's continued growl she wondered if it might not be a bear. This was a fine home for a bear. Or a wolf. "It's probably more scared of us."

Climbing out without light was a disaster. They fell several times, making far too much noise. But by the time they had reached the sunlight their fears were subsiding.

Antonia was the first to start laughing. "You ought to see yourself!"

Gianozza brushed at the front of her skirts. "You don't look any better!"

The danger of the cave now passed, Rolando was bored by the girls. He yawned and licked his chops. Suddenly his ears pricked up. Seconds later he was barking wildly. Tearing the leash from Gianozza's grip, he leapt forward and dashed around the path out of sight. "Rolando! Rolando!"

Chasing after him, they were stopped by a voice. Someone was talking to the hound. Who? How many? In an instant a much more real fear replaced the nameless one of the cave.

"Back up!" hissed Antonia, pulling Gianozza towards the cave's mouth. Why had the dog stopped barking?

A cracking twig. Someone was coming closer. Antonia stooped, feeling around her feet. There was dirt, but no fist-size rocks. With nothing else, she took a handful of soil and hoped she could hit the intruder in the eyes. Gianozza did the same.

A figure emerged around the bend. They let their missiles fly. "Hey!" cried the young man, throwing up his hands to cover his face. The dog was leaning against his leg, tail wagging furiously.

For a moment Gianozza stared. Then she ran to him, calling out, "Paolo! Paolo!"

Antonia had to look again. The man's name wasn't Paolo. She'd only seen him once before, but she could never forget his handsome features. It was Mariotto Montecchio, finally returned. Paolo must have been some kind of pet name.

"Oh, my love!" Husband met wife, his arms encircling her and lifting her off her feet. Their mouths met in near desperation.

Antonia looked away, but continued to study Montecchio out of the corner of her eye. He was even more handsome now that age had taken away some of his prettiness. But what clothes! He was dressed almost entirely in the latest French fashion. Leather doublet cut short, the better to show off the line of his upper thigh. Sleeves slashed to show off the fancy scalloped sleeves with bright rainbow-coloured lining. His hat was a curled liripipe. His practical riding boots, the only Italian feature to his attire, were sorely out of place.

Mariotto breathed in the scent of his wife's hair. "O Francesca, I've missed you!"

Paolo? Francesca? Realization struck Antonia. Francesca da Rimini and her lover? That's the basis for their great romance? The idiots! The fools! They didn't understand L'Inferno at all!

Gianozza pulled back from his embrace. "You beast! You knew you were coming home!"

Mariotto ducked his head sheepishly. "The Capitano released me three weeks ago. I wanted to surprise you." He frowned. "Who's with you?"

"Oh, this is Antonia Alaghieri."

"Pietro's sister?"

"Yes. I didn't want to come in here alone."

One arm still around Gianozza's waist, Mariotto crossed to Antonia and held out his hand. Hers was filthy, she realized. Yet he still bent low over it as he bowed in greeting. "Mademoiselle. C'est une plaisure, vraiment."

"Signore," she replied in Italian as she curtsied. Now that he was closer she saw the design on the tunic under the doublet. There was a finely embroidered rendering of the Montecchi family crest. Just beneath that, directly over his liver, were three initials — G.d.B. That, at least, was sweet.

They exchanged a few perfunctory pleasantries, Antonia feeling awkward as could be. The fact that the marriage had never been consummated was written in flaming words above their heads. Mariotto intended an assignation with his wife. Their first.

Mariotto smiled at Antonia. She returned the smile weakly. Gianozza was gazing at Antonia too, surely thinking of nothing but how to get rid of her.

Glancing down at her clothes, Antonia made a choking sound in her throat. "Oh! I must look frightful! Is there a stream or something nearby where I can clean up before I return to the castle?"

"Just head back the way we came," said Gianozza quickly, "and off to the south about a half a mile is a stream." Mariotto beamed, but Gianozza frowned in genuine concern. "Are you sure you can find your way back?"

"I'll take Rolando with me," Antonia said, reaching down for the dog's leash. "He can guide me."

"Of course he can!" cried Mariotto cheerfully. "This old mutt knows these lands better than I do!"

"Well, goodbye, then!" Antonia tugged on the leash, hard. Her cheeks burned. As she turned down the path she wondered, Would it be too indecorous to run? There was a cooing sigh from behind her. Oh, wait until I'm out of earshot please!

The dog resisted, straining back towards his master. "Come on, Rolando," whispered Antonia. "They don't want you there either."

Pietro rode north with Fazio and a band of thirty men. They were passing Ferrara when he was hailed by a large man ridiculously perched on the back of a mule.

"Hola!" Waving, the man almost fell off his mule. "Señores! Por favor — I need, ah, I need some aiudo." A wide floppy hat shadowed his dark skin, black hair, and beard. There were crimson stains on his shirt, but not blood. Wine. "I am riding to Treviso, and — well, I am, how you say, lost. May I ride with you?"

Pietro said, "We're not going that far."

"As far as you do go, then." His accent was definitely Spanish, but his Italian wasn't half bad. It was the drink that was giving him trouble.

"We're in a bit of a hurry…"

"So am I! It will work out so well, for me to come with you!"

It was common practice for a band of soldiers to take charge of any lone travelers. There were already three women and their grooms in Pietro's party, so he couldn't very well say they weren't taking on extra people. Still, this Spaniard could be a thief. "What do you do for a living?"

"I am a world-class notary, señor! Perhaps you could use a notary on your travels?"

"No, thanks. What's your name?"

"Oh, I am a lout! My name is Persiguieron La Mordedura. But if you allow me passage, you may call me whatever name you wish! Just do not call me early!" He laughed hard at his own joke.

Pietro sighed. "Very well. Ride up front, where I can keep an eye on you. And don't bother the ladies."

"Señor! What do you take me for? A cad?" He raised his hands in mortification and fell out of his saddle entirely. While he righted himself Pietro signaled Fazio to start the small band moving again.

Antonia took her time at the river. When she looked respectable again, she woke Rolando from his nap and set off in a roundabout path for the castle. She was in no hurry to get there. Arriving alone would cause a stir, and Gargano shouldn't learn of his son's return from a slip of a girl he barely knew. That was up to Mariotto and Gianozza.

Paolo and Francesca, she thought with wry disgust. She'd laughed at the Paris-Helen-Menelaus triad her father had coined just after Gianozza's marriage. After that there had been Arthur, Guenivere, and Lancelot jokes. But Paolo and Francesca? Well, Gianozza had always said it was Dante's poetry that brought Mariotto to her. People just don't understand that story.

Antonia and Rolando strolled along the stream, looking at the green mosses and listening to the birds. When the mastiff sniffed some prey out, Antonia released him, then settled herself on a rock beneath a shady tree to wait. They were near Ser Bonaventura's land, Gianozza had said. Maybe she should go see Ferdinando. She had thought up some particularly demeaning taunts since their last encounter.

It bothered her that her feelings were so obvious that Gianozza could tease her about them. She hadn't really admitted to herself that she had grown to rather like Petruchio's awkward cousin. That they were consistently mean to each other was their defense, the unspoken agreement between them, each keeping the other at bay.

She forced herself to think of her father's work, determined not to think about that person. It was growing late when she finally angled back towards the castle. In another hour the sky would begin to redden. If they aren't done by now… Antonia primly refused to finish the thought.

Castello Montecchio stood at a hilltop some five miles southwest of Vicenza. Built on the ruins of a similar fortress constructed some centuries before, the new castle was well fortified. The horse stables for which the Montecchi were famous weren't within the castle, but had a separate walled compound to the north.

As Antonia drew close to the castle, she began to wonder. There seemed to be more men-at-arms on the ramparts of the castle walls than when she'd set out this morning. It was a little unnerving, seeing the lines of spears and helmets. Squinting up, she saw that all the soldiers were turned inward, looking down from the high walls into the main yard.

She managed to keep the mastiff restrained as she walked through the main gate. A hundred mounted men-at-arms occupied the yard in front of her with their squires, pages, and extra mounts. Among them their pages dashed, unstrapping a buckle here, replacing a thrown shoe there. The soldiers sat on their horse's backs, waiting for orders. Several had dismounted and now strolled through the compound to stretch their legs.

Antonia saw a face she knew, though not a face she was looking for. God, what is he doing here, today of all days? Approaching him she said, "Ser Capulletto?"

Antony turned at once, hoping she was someone else. Seeing who it was, he still smiled and greeted her. She asked what brought him here. "We've just been told that Padua's breaking its treaty," he told her. "My guess is that we've come to ram it down their throats. Uguccione is leading us, and he says we're to wait in these parts until we're needed." He glanced down at her. "You look like you've been rolling in the mud."

"Gianozza and I were out for a walk…"

"Yes, Gianozza. Where is she?" He tried to make it sound casual.

Antonia hedged. "I came back without her."

"You mean she's in the forest alone? Antonia, there're Paduans about! Spies and mercenaries, not to mention wild animals!"

"She's not alone," said Antonia quickly. "She — ran into an acquaintance and they fell to — talking."

"I'm going out there." Antony turned to his groom. "Andriolo, my horse!"

O God, isn't this a disaster in the making? She opened her mouth to say something, anything. But a louder voice called, "Capulletto! I need you!"

It was on the tip of Capulletto's to snarl that he was busy, but he caught himself and walked to where Uguccione della Faggiuola waited in the company of Lord Montecchio and several other leading Veronese. Antonia followed, jostling though the crowd of soldiers and servants. Here were the familiar faces of Nico da Lozzo and Ser Petruchio Bonaventura, whose grin shone from under his beard. "Got my orders," he rumbled delightedly. "A leader of men at last. Won't that amuse my Kate."

"Take her mind off that bun in her oven," remarked Nico.

"The way she gets around while preggers, I doubt she's noticed it yet."

"How long have you been married, now?" asked Nico da Lozzo.

"Two and a half years," the proud husband declared.

"Two years, and four children," said Nico, clucking his tongue derisively. "Blessed with fertility! A girl, then twin boys."

"This next child will be another girl if the wisdom of nurses means anything."

"That might be a record. Unless you had a head start?"

Petruchio roared with laughter. "A late one! Ask cousin Ferdinando, or any of my servants. My wife took some particular wooing before she yielded to my charms."

At the sound of his name, Petruchio's cousin turned. His eyes fixed at once upon Antonia. She stared defiantly back, daring him to mention the state of her clothes. But instead he answered his cousin. "They fought like cats in a sack. Maybe passionate love requires a little bite back."

Some men traced his gaze to Antonia and chuckled. Antonia drew herself up and said, "I always suspected you were a backbiter, signore."

Ferdinando opened his mouth, stopped, then bowed. "I cannot spare the time to spar with you, lady. There'll be nothing left for the Paduans." He was booed.

"But you're a Paduan sympathizer, I thought."

"Still with that?" Ferdinando cocked his head. "I think every man here would cheer Padua on against Florence or Venice. A shame for you, but you can't help where you're born."

"Any more than you can help being a — " But Petruchio cut her off with a tut-tut. She curtsied to him, made a face to Ferdinando, then turned back to Capulletto, who was receiving orders from the general.

"…with the drought, there's not enough food here. I want you and Bonaventura to take some of the men and hole up at Illasi tomorrow. Nico will do the same, heading for Badia."

Capulletto was anxious to begin his hunt for Gianozza. "Is that all?"

Uguccione frowned. "Shame no one taught you manners, whelp. No, that isn't all. Take some hounds and some squires with you. Make it seem innocuous, like you're a hunting party."

"A very well-armed hunting party," quipped Nico da Lozzo.

"One hell of a doe," grinned Bonaventura.

Ferdinando was trying to catch Antonia's eye — he must have come up with a new retort. Normally she would have liked nothing better than to make mincemeat of him. But Capulletto was preparing to ride out. She hurried to Lord Montecchio side and tugged at his sleeve. The Lord of Montecchio looked down at her. "Antonia, my dear? What is it?"

It took remarkably few words to convey the problem. The lord of the castle's eyes opened in comprehension just as Capulletto said, "I'd be delighted to lead a troop. Now, if you'll pardon me, I've got an urgent errand." He yanked on his reins and mounted.

"Just a moment!" cried Lord Montecchio. Too late. Capulletto was touching his spurs to the horse's flanks. He shouted, "Clear a path!"

Antonia waved her hands. "Wait! Antony, wait!"

Capulletto suddenly checked. For a moment Antonia thought he'd heard her. But his eyes were fixed on the main gateway. Emerging from its shadow were Gianozza and Mariotto. Both on one horse, she was seated across his lap as they trotted forward into the courtyard. His doublet was unlaced, and her head was uncovered, hair was loose about her shoulders. She clung to him like a nymph to the prow of a ship.

Then the lovers saw him. Montecchio's horse came to a halt as its rider gazed at his former best friend. "Antony."

Capulletto was entirely still. "Mari."

Come on, Antonia's mind cried out. Put it behind you. Mari, say something, make it easier on him!

"Mari!" cried Aurelia from a window. "Mariotto, is that you? You look like a Frenchman!" She bolted from the window and came tearing out, the rest of the household following. Amid the greetings Mariotto allowed his gaze to drop to where his father stood, waiting. Ignoring Antony, Mari set his wife gently on the ground, dismounted, and pushed past the servants to kneel at his father's feet.

Gargano Montecchio spoke stiffly. "The Scaliger has spoken highly of your service abroad."

"I regret that I was unable to do more," was Mari's neutral reply.

A moment passed, then Gargano reached out a hand. "Welcome home. We have all missed you." After their embrace, Gargano took his son by the shoulders and turned him to face Capulletto. "Now, greet your friend."

Capulletto had not dismounted, so Mariotto walked to stand next to his horse. "Antony. It's good to see you."

Through a rigid jaw Antony said, "Montecchio."

Mariotto's back stiffened, but he pressed on. "Please accept the welcome of this house, old friend." He reached up a hand. Antony looked at it then deliberately dismounted without the offered aid. They shook hands stiffly, then Antony stepped back, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Antonia heard a snort from nearby. Looking over her shoulder she saw Antony's brother Luigi, a wide grin plastered across his face. He was enjoying his little brother's misery.

In the center of the crowd Mariotto masked his disappointment by saying brightly, "So, what brings you all here?"

"A little vacation, a little war!" Uguccione della Faggiuola thumped him on the back. "Well, you're more solid than I remember. And your timing is perfect. We need strong men for the coming action!"

"Action?" Mari's eyes gleamed with excitement. "After two years surrounded by conniving priests and backstabbing courtiers, I could use a good fight."

"Come inside," said the general, "and I'll tell you all about it! Perhaps your father can spare a few men for you to lead."

"Of course," said Lord Montecchio. "Come inside, everyone! My servants have malmsey prepared."

Mariotto slipped his hand into Gianozza's as the crowd of knights and soldiers streamed into the hall.

Quite forgotten in the dispersing throng, Antonia walked across the courtyard towards the guesthouse. She would change into fresh garments before returning to the hall.

At the steps to the guesthouse she turned. Capulletto remained alone in the mouth of the castle gate. Reaching for his horse's saddle, he removed a long silver dagger. He studied it for a long time before slipping it into his belt. With a deep breath to steel himself, he strode into the hall after his lost love and the man that had once been his friend. It brought tears to her eyes.

"Well, that was awkward," said Ferdinando, appearing suddenly. He'd obviously returned to find her.

She turned away, wiping a tear brusquely away. "I'll be in soon. You can taunt me then."

Antonia was surprised to find a gentle hand on her arm. "Lady, you don't think much of me, I know. But I would be the lowest man to taunt a friend in distress."

She turned to look up at him, wiping her eye. "By what right do you call yourself my friend?"

He shrugged. "I make no claim. Not to sound dramatic, but in a few days I'm riding into a fight. I just wanted things to be, ah, clear. Right. Between us." Uneasily, he took her hand. "I would like to be your friend, Antonia Alaghieri."

He was an awkward-looking fellow, short with a long neck and sloping shoulders. But handsome wasn't the world. Let Gianozza have her Mari. There were better things. Like a mind. Like a friend.

"You are my friend, Signore Backbiter."

He laughed and sighed at once, his smile mirroring her own.