The Master of Verona

Forty

Vicenza

22 May 1317

Perched atop the roof of the Nogarola palace, his back to a turret, Pietro stared down at the sleeping city. The wet rooftops of Vicenza glistened under the light of the moon and the stars.

He heard bells. Barely midnight. So much had happened since the dawn. He'd lived a whole life in the span of the rising and falling of one sun. Yet while his inner eye ran over all the events, in his ears he heard only a child's voice singing through tears of fright.

They'd been dropped into complete oblivion, he and Cesco. Without each other, neither would have survived. Never out of reach, always conversing or singing, they had kept away the korai, the gods the Greeks believed called men to madness. It had seemed eternal, though he now knew it was less than an hour. He also knew how close they'd come to running out of air altogether. He wondered if he'd ever be comfortable in enclosed spaces again. Hence the rooftop.

Cangrande had insisted they creep into town unseen. Until it was clear that there were no more threats to them, the Scaliger deemed it best to keep their arrival a complete secret. Once Morsicato, singed scalp bandaged, had seen to Katerina's arm, he'd sewn up Pietro as well. The doctor hadn't bled him, deciding Pietro had already bled enough to release any foul elements in his system. Pietro had refused to add any contents to the doctor's jordan, rightly saying he was too parched to produce a drop. But Morsicato had insisted on bringing forth the maggots once more, this time wrapping them into the gash across Pietro's left hand. Recalling how close that cut had come to his face, he tried not to imagine the maggots embedded in his cheek.

Dante had been granted a set of rooms, and Morsicato had given the poet a sleeping draught. Jacopo was still at the revels by the hillside. Antonia was off with Gianozza somewhere. Bailardino, one of the few who knew of their return to the city, had stopped by briefly to pay his respects, but spent the rest of the time divided between his frightened son and his pregnant, injured wife. Left alone, Pietro had wandered up here, leaning heavily on his bloodied cane.

He'd heard the news of Lord Montecchio's death with real anguish. By now it was also common knowledge that the girl had been out during the day, and had spoken to Antony. She said she had seen him drop the silver dagger before leaving her. Pietro's sister had confirmed this. So the damning piece of evidence against Antony was now gone. There would be no trial, no execution. Everyone now believed that Pathino had found the knife and used it to steal lord Montecchio's horse.

Everyone except Mari, of course.

Bailardino had brought that news back with him. He also brought word that they had found Ferdinando's body. Bonaventura's cousin had never reached Detto's hiding place, but had fallen into the covered pit, the same trap that Mercurio had saved Pietro from entering just minutes earlier. It seemed Ferdinando had survived the fall only to be kicked to death by his thrashing horse. A horrible death.

It's my fault. Why didn't I warn him about it? I saw it and didn't even think to warn him. My fault…

Behind him a trapdoor opened and someone climbed the stairs to the roof. Listening to the fall of footsteps he knew precisely who it was. In the shadow of the turret Pietro was invisible, and he decided to stay that way.

"A lovely night," remarked Cangrande. "How are you feeling?"

At first Pietro thought the Scaliger was addressing him. Then he heard Katerina's voice. "Tired. My hand will look somewhat like al-Dhaamin's neck."

Shifting in his shadow, Pietro saw both brother and sister. Even after such a terrible day, even with her hand wrapped in salve and bandages, the lady was as perfect as the very first time Pietro had seen her. She had resumed her usual attire, her gown's hem barely brushing the rooftop. Cangrande too was immaculate in fresh clothes, though his skin was still unnaturally dark.

"And Bailardino's next son?"

"The baby should be fine."

"Regardless, you should be in bed."

"Morsicato has prescribed complete rest, but that is difficult to achieve with the Count raving like a lunatic in my own chambers."

"So you came hunting for me."

"Tharwat kindly offered to sit with the Count and transcribe all his visions, in case there are some portents in the man's dying imagination. Is there any news of Pathino?"

"Yes, in fact. We traced him to Schio, where he traded Montecchio's horse for another. Another vindication for Capulletto. Pathino seems to be headed for Venice. From there he can take ship to anywhere in the world. We'll try to head him off."

Pietro wondered if he was going to be sent to hunt Pathino again. It would be easier this time, knowing the man's name. In fact, it could be a good excuse to escape the quarrel between his two friends. That, and the other thing preying on his mind.

Because he was thinking it, he was startled to hear Cangrande say, "There's something troubling Pietro."

"I expect he wants to know the same thing I do. Though I doubt he has realized all your perfidies. Shall we begin?"

Cangrande drew his sword, the sword of his father, and began stroking the edge with a small honing stone. "It isn't fair. You're wounded."

"My soul, however, has never been more at ease."

"And if mine is not, that sets us on equal footing?"

"Your wounds don't show, is all. The time has come for us to have it out."

Cangrande threw back his head. "A duel! Excellent. As the challenged party, I have the honour of choosing the weapons. I choose Truth."

"Really? Perhaps I should go fetch Pietro. No doubt he would love to hear something so rare from you."

"Ah, we might as well begin there. What do you know of spies and what not?"

The lady's eyebrows arched. "I know you employ informants. These past few months, you are better informed than you used to be."

Cangrande raised a finger, wagging it in the air. "Ah, but did you ever wonder how I was receiving the information? Through whom?"

Light dawned. "Pietro." Her voice was grave, and in his shadowy perch Pietro felt a flush of guilt.

"Pietro," confirmed Cangrande. "You thought we were estranged, and you thought you knew why. But really I'd given him a task, a quest. With Tharwat acting as his eyes, Pietro was to track down the kidnapper."

"I see. A shame he didn't have all the necessary information. But today you were seen fighting side by side. How will that affect your fictional feud?"

"We'll say he and I fought together grudgingly, for the sake of your child. It is no secret how fond he is of you. Rather like a puppy." Hearing this, Pietro reddened. "I will rebuke him publicly, and he will return to Ravenna, smarting."

Pietro sat up straight. He'd thought that, after today, he'd be returning to Verona with all honour restored!

Katerina said, "I see I shall have to divorce him from you. I had no idea he was so much your creature."

"As much yours as mine, but that's not to the point. How do you intend the divorce?"

"What were your orders at Calvatone?"

Cangrande scowled slightly, laying his sword against the parapet. The lady pointed out, "You made the rules. You chose the weapons. You cannot complain of them now."

"True, true." Cangrande looked up at the night sky and sighed. "I ordered the town sacked. I ordered every woman and child raped, the men tortured, then all put to the sword. Havoc. That really was my seal."

"Why?" asked Katerina, echoing Pietro's horrified thought.

"Oh, it's obvious enough. A reputation for savagery is almost as useful as one of clemency. Ask Caesar. Or better, Sulla."

"And yet you had your German commanders executed for disobeying you."

"Yes, well, I couldn't have that sort of thing stain my honour. It's a pity, they were loyal men. Is that all you have, my dear? Perhaps you do require bed rest."

"Oh, surely you recognize an opening gambit."

"Testing my walls, looking for a breach? Then you'll set your siege weapons to work?"

"If necessary. I rather think I'll be able to find a tunnel through. Let's move on to the Moor. You recall that, directly after Cesco came into my care, I summoned al-Dhaamin to produce one of his miraculous charts for us. Upon arriving in Venice, he and Ignazzio were assaulted. Was the Count was responsible for that?"

"Of course not. Until today the good Bonifacio had no notion of your passion for astrology."

"Then whom do you suppose set the murderers at the heels of the astrologers?"

Cangrande shrugged. "There are really only two choices."

"I doubt your wife knew enough about al-Dhaamin at the time to guess at his coming."

Cangrande clapped his hands. "Very good! Oh, Kat, I didn't know you had it in you. I will confess. I tried to have them killed."

Katerina clucked her tongue. "And after Tharwat was so good as to reveal your star chart to you when you came of age."

"A true ingrate I am."

"Yet he continues to live. No doubt you've had plenty of opportunities since then."

"Yes, but once he completed the boy's chart, he could do no more damage. In fact, he's proved useful at times."

"I'm sure. I move on now to a matter more pressing."

"Giovanna?"

"No, not yet. I want to ask about Morsicato. I want to know what really happened on the road between the cave and our carriage."

Releasing a dark chuckle, for the first time Cangrande seemed unwilling to speak. "You have talent." He took a breath. "I distracted him, then struck him. He thinks I was saving his life."

"So there were no rogue Paduans?"

"Don't be absurd. I had to protect Giovanna. At that time I thought he was the only one who knew her trespasses."

Pietro felt a shiver pass over him. He tried to kill both Tharwat and Morsicato? I don't believe it!

"And when you discovered that the rest of us suspected her as well, you decided to spare him. I suppose there was little point in his death if we all knew. Though I'm surprised you left him alive in the first place."

A shrug. "It pays to look ahead."

"True, foresight has reward. Like tucking loyal young Pietro in Ravenna and keeping him for when you needed him. I wonder how many other little surprises you have in store."

The Scaliger's eyes were bright, almost glowing. "She is my wife."

"And I am your sister," said Katerina. "Which is why the doctor lives. You cannot allow Giovanna to be maligned, but neither may you remove me. There was no point in killing Morsicato when all of us knew. But tell me — would you have killed Pietro, if he had been the one to discover it?"

Pietro leaned forward, exhaustion banished. Cangrande shook his head as if dismissing a fly. But he did not answer.

"Come, brother! Cane Grande, O Great Hound," mocked Katerina. "It is time to reveal yourself. You play regret and humanity well, but on this night of truth please admit you have neither."

Cangrande turned away, shoulders hunched. Pietro heard a voice quite unlike the Scaliger's usual measured tones. "Have I none? I suppose you should know. Yes, let the demons out. It is close enough to midsummer." He stared over the rooftops, head cocked to one side. "Of course I would have killed him. His father, too, even if it meant his great epic was never completed. She is my wife. I would kill a hundred of my dearest friends to protect her reputation."

"Her reputation?" asked Katerina. "Not for love."

"Caesar's wife must be above suspicion."

"But you suspected her."

Cangrande laughed. "More than suspected, I knew! I've known for two long years. It was clear that someone had opened doors of my loggia to allow Pathino to escape. Pietro wondered at the time how Pathino got into the square so quickly."

He knew even then? He made me think it was the Grand Butler, the man with the keys and access to Cangrande's seal. There was also a woman from whose belt dangled all the keys of the household. Cangrande's wife.

Katerina gazed at her brother. "And you say that you sent Pietro away to hunt down the kidnapper."

"Yes."

"There wasn't another reason?"

Cangrande's smile grew. "We really must play more often. This is more fun than I could have dreamed."

"Answer the question."

"It's true. He posed the one question I could not have asked. Having a decent grasp of the obvious, he would have eventually reached the inevitable conclusion. To throw Giovanna off, I laid the blame on the butler." Cangrande clucked his tongue. "Poor Tullio may never forgive me for his ongoing exile. But I have suffered for my folly. One can never truly replace a really competent steward. At least I salted him away where I can recall him, instead of having him killed — which was my original intention."

Pietro was shaking. Dear God, what is he saying?

"Frederick's descendant is well matched in you," agreed Katerina. "So, some time before the Palio, your wife and the Count reached an understanding. But she had to let you know who it was you were really playing against. Is that why she suborned the oracle?"

"I imagine so. Those were certainly my wife's words the weird woman uttered — or some of them. I remember Giovanna's face during the oration. She seemed genuinely surprised by a few statements. Perhaps the old girl was really divining." Cangrande shrugged as if it was of little consequence to him. "We'll never know. Giovanna's grooms — the same two grooms, by the way, who were so inconsiderate as to die tonight — they took care of her."

"Turning her head back to front, the price she paid for divining. Poetic irony."

"Dante would say contrapasso. I recall he'd read that part to the court just the day before."

"As you said, it's a shame the grooms are no longer with us. But then, Caesar's wife…"

"Exactly. No witnesses — another good motto. I was slightly worried the one might wake up before the fire killed him. You see, I didn't realize our war was reaching its zenith tonight."

"And where is your charming wife now? Can Cesco sleep soundly in Detto's room, or will he receive a dagger in the night?"

"At my request she's at Castello Montecchio, counseling the aggrieved Gianozza. She has no idea we suspect anything. No doubt there is a banker's draft somewhere for her grooms, signed by the Count. She is very thorough, and must have covered herself in case of exposure."

"She can't be let live. Not after tonight."

"She is family."

"But not blood."

"Perhaps not. Whatever I decide, it will take some time to arrange." Katerina made a very slight curtsy and Cangrande said, "In the spirit of full disclosure, there is something else you should know. There was a reason Pietro never found out too much about Pathino. There was a spy in Pietro's camp."

Pietro had a terrible sickness in the pit of his stomach. No, not -

Katerina said, "His groom?"

"None other. The late Fazio. Recommended by my charming, considerate wife. Alaghieri really can be a fool. But then, that's why I like him. He's so trusting."

"So Pathino killed him to-"

"To protect my wife, yes. It was certainly on Bonifacio's orders. Pathino didn't know who the Count's partner was, but the groom did, so he had to go. Then, if Pathino killed the boy and was caught, only the Count would be implicated. If Pathino got away, the child would be gone with him. Either way, Giovanna wins."

"Her motive, of course, was to clear the path for any heir she might have with you. It is a foolish hope. She's too old."

"How old are you, dear?"

Katerina gestured with her good hand at her pregnant belly. "Did I expect this? Or Detto? No. I am blessed by God, but I had given up hope."

"They say some women grow fertile in the presence of children. Perhaps…"

"Don't even say it when you know you don't mean it. Cesco wouldn't survive a week."

"Well, one of them wouldn't. But you're quite right, my wife is too old. At least I am no longer half her age, but a mere score younger, give or take. I was so young when we married, but I think she was lying about her age even then. Still, it is as you say. My aged wife still holds out hope for an heir."

Katerina took in a satisfied breath. "Well, with that out of the way, we may move on. I notice that so far you have refrained from taking the initiative."

"I await my moment to break out of my citadel and drive you back."

"I just didn't want you to think it had gone unremarked." Katerina walked to one side, putting the moon over her shoulder. Thus she could see his face. "We come now to the centerpiece of your board, dear brother. Cesco."

"Ah, Il Veltro. The star-crossed child. Again Pietro is able to see the painfully obvious. Two fallen stars, not one. So many possibilities. Is he the Greyhound, is he not? Cesco's future is written, but in a language no one knows. Are we clever enough to read it?"

"Why even try, when you want him dead?"

"I would never raise a hand to hurt him."

"No, of course not," mocked Katerina. "Your family is your weakness. You said it yourself. Our father's so-called curse."

Cangrande took in a short breath. "Sanguis meus."

"Precisely. He is blood of your blood. So you play the coward and let others spill it for you. The Count, your wife. As long as the blood is not on your hands."

Cangrande shook his head doggedly. "It isn't that simple, as you're well aware."

"You knew of the threat. You did nothing."

"Untrue. I left him with you."

"Effectively washing your hands."

"Effectively giving him even odds. But that's what I've never understood about you, Kat. If you believe the prophecy, why be concerned? The true Greyhound will survive, regardless of his situation."

"You still doubt that he is who he is?"

"I doubt everything I hear. It's a failing of mine. As for the boy, only time will tell."

"Yet you allowed the attacks to continue."

"Yes. Thanks to Pietro and Tharwat, we learned that it was Vinciguerra's purse behind the plot. Pathino was the missing piece. I didn't want to move until I knew who he was. Little did I realize we would discover a long-lost brother."

"So you let him into my house."

"No," said Cangrande pointedly, "you let him into your house. It was your duty to protect the child. You failed. It took Pietro to rescue him."

"I wonder, are you pleased because I failed, or are you enraged because Pietro succeeded?"

The Capitano returned to where his sword lay. Retrieving the honing stone, he leaned against a turret as he again began working the blade's edge. "Neither. Both. Why would the boy's death please me?"

Katerina's lips were tight. "You cannot spill blood of your blood, but you can hardly stand to see him, however well you hide it."

"Any poor skill I have at dissembling I owe to you. But you obviously own the key to my soul, so tell me — why do I detest the child so?"

"Because you are like Pathino. Because you've always hoped, secretly, in your heart of hearts, that the Moor lied. Until Cesco was born, you could cling to the hope that you were the Greyhound."

Cangrande shook his head. "True or false, it means nothing. I do not want him dead."

"I saw your face, lord." Pietro's voice sounded oddly hollow. Legs shaking, he stood and moved out of the shadows. "When you thought he was dead. I saw your face, my lord."

Katerina started. "Pietro? How long-?"

But Cangrande was thoroughly unruffled. "Ah, our judge has arrived. Just in time. My sister brings up an interesting point. She says that, due to jealousy, I hate the boy, loathe the ground under which he burrows, want him as dead as yesterday's fish. But I cannot do the deed myself, or even order it. By her estimation, I wear both green and yellow in equal measure. Fine. I will confess. I confess that, in my weaker moments, I wish to be what I once thought I was. Of course I want to be Il Veltro — I was brought up to walk in his shadow! How much do I hate the boy for being what I should have been? There is no measure in human invention — if he truly is the Greyhound. On the other hand, he may be another me, and then my compassion is limitless. But Pietro, either way, I do not want him dead. I said this is a night for truth, so I tell you that is the one part of my sister's theory I will utterly refute. Let me say it again. I do not want Cesco dead."

"I saw your face," repeated Pietro.

Cangrande's head bent, he examined the edge of his father's sword. "I see I have much to explain. But first, let us examine Katerina's own feelings for Cesco, and by extension, for me. How much does it rankle her, I wonder, to be told that her only part in the raising of this legendary figure will be as mother?" The Scaliger paused, the moon's light on his face. "Mother. The giver of life. That was her role. Not the birth mother, but the true mother. Was that good enough? Not for Katerina." The scorn crept through his voice into the air. "She's a woman. The stars she so reveres gave her that form. You know better than most, Pietro, what it is to be held back due to a physical liability. But your leg is not nearly as damning as her gender. Imagine her frustration! Just as my stars withheld true greatness from me, they denied it to her at birth!"

Katerina said, "All that is irrelevant."

Her brother smiled mirthlessly. "Then pray tell us what is relevant."

"Cesco's future. Even if we are to believe that you don't want him dead, your wife does. Pathino, too — or at least removed from the field of play. He'll probably sell him into slavery or the like. Until they are dealt with, they are each a threat."

"True," agreed the Scaliger.

"Then Cesco cannot stay here."

"I concur."

Katerina showed genuine surprise. "You'd let him go? You'd let me take him off, someplace you cannot reach?"

"Ah-ah! Not so fast, my dear. One part of al-Dhaamin's prophecy will come true. Little Cesco will be passed into new hands to thrive. I'll make certain he's well taken care of. But you, my sweet — you will have no part of it."

Katerina's chin rose defiantly. "You cannot do that."

"Oh yes I can. And here's why — Pietro, did you ever wonder why Cesco's mother gave him up?"

Pietro recalled a conversation over his sickbed. "Someone was trying to kill him."

"Quite right. But my wife did not then know of his existence, nor did the Count. Nor did I. In fact, there was only one person other than Cesco's mother who knew he'd even been born."

Disbelief raced across Pietro's face. Cangrande winked at him. It had to be a lie. But no, there was no other explanation. A horrible emptiness opening within him, Pietro turned to Katerina, who held his eyes with a steady gaze.

Cangrande laughed. "Yes. To fulfill her part of the prophecy, she wanted — needed — Cesco's mother to give him up. Katerina hired the killer to force the lady's hand, and mine. The threat of her child's death sent the poor woman running into Katerina's arms, seeking protection for her son."

Katerina said, "He was in no danger. I knew the prophecy would protect him."

"If he was truly the Greyhound. If not, what better way to find out, eh? One less mouth to feed. Though it was a dangerous game. If he'd died, Katerina would have incurred the wrath of our father's curse. Blood of our blood extends to her. But it did work, and she got to raise the boy. Her dream has come true. Such a shame it has to end."

Ignoring Pietro's horrified stare, Katerina said, "You can't take him in yourself, Francesco. He will only become more of a target."

Cangrande nodded. "Which is why he's going to Ravenna. With Pietro."

That rocked her back on her heels. "To Ravenna? With Pietro?"

"Is there an echo? Yes, my sweet parrot, Ravenna is the answer to all our troubles. An idyllic place, close to the water, and never any trouble. I will sign a document certifying him as my heir if I have no legitimate issue. But hereabouts we will say he died from shock. There was plenty to shock him today, so it will be believed. So tragic. We will bury an empty coffin here — perhaps build a church in his memory. In the meantime, as Ser Alaghieri has proven himself capable of meeting any challenge, and possessed of a rudimentary grasp of subterfuge, he will raise the boy as his own kin. Cesco will live safe in Ravenna surrounded by great minds and decent people. There he'll be safe from everyone — including us."

"Us? Oh!" The lady opened her arms in appeal to the clear skies above. "O, are we to do this once more? I wish you would give me one of your birds, that I could teach it to recite my part. I wounded you, I withheld your destiny, I ruined your life. Do I have it properly memorized?"

"Something like that. The boy must go."

"To protect him from me? From my evil designs? I didn't realize we were in the theatre! From what are you protecting him?"

Cangrande didn't look up from his sword's edge. "From the weight of your expectations."

"Stop posturing!" Katerina's unbandaged hand shot out to encompass his wrist, stopping the stone's repetitive motion. "Put away your props, Francesco. The best actors don't need a crutch."

Obediently, Cangrande slid his father's sword into its scabbard. Touching the hilt with two fingers, he said, "I wonder, how much does it gall you that you will never wield this?"

Katerina hand fell to her side. "Do you hate me so much?"

"To this day you remain the single most important person in my life. I am what I am because of you." All unexpected, tears came to the lady's eyes and Cangrande's voice became relentlessly harsh. "Unfair, Donna Katerina. Tears are unbecoming."

"They are a woman's weapon," she said, trying to quell them. "And as you pointed out, I am a woman. I use what I have. Francesco, everything I did was for you."

The Scaliger coughed, or sputtered, or cried. He bent over, clutching his stomach as if struck. Then he flung his head back and stumbled to a turret for support. Only when the light of the moon reflected on his perfect teeth was his expression recognizable as a smile. "Kat, you're priceless! If you'd take the job, I'd fire Manuel in a heartbeat. All for me? For yourself!"

"You admitted you want to be the Greyhound."

A stabbing finger. "Not half as much as you wanted me to be."

"I wanted the best for you," protested Katerina.

The Scaliger slowly slid down the stone wall, ending flat on the rooftop with his legs splayed out before him. "The best would have been to let me grow unmolested! If love was too much to ask, then at least indifference!" Calming himself, Cangrande returned his voice to one that would not distress the guards far below. "There is a tale, Pietro, of a thane of Scotland — Donwald, a loyal servant to the true king. He was told by some mystic hags that he would someday be king himself. That very night he and his wife murdered honest King Duff while he slept. Here's my question — would he have done it had he not heard the prophecy? Would it not have happened in any case? Why not sit back and allow Fate to run its course?" Cangrande winked at Pietro with dark humour. "A man may control his actions, but not his stars. It has become my motto, I will blazon it through the sky." His gaze shifted to study Katerina coldly. "You would slay the king in his bed to bring the future to you. I would serve the king as best I could, and wait to see Fate unfold itself."

"More fool you, then."

Cangrande extended an accusing finger. "That! It is that which ultimately convinces me that, in your heart of hearts, you don't believe in the prophecy. You work too hard to make it come true."

"If I believe too little, then you believe too much."

"Perhaps." The Scaliger stood and began pacing the length of the roof. "Pietro, you wondered at my expression tonight? You thought I was overjoyed to see Cesco dead. It wasn't that at all. It was because Fate had failed. Destiny was wrong. Cesco was not the Greyhound. The stars were fallible. Everything that Katerina pins her hopes on was less than dust in the wind. That's what you saw: for a single moment, I felt free — free to finally step up and claim the destiny I've wanted, tasted, since I could think or hear or walk." He stretched his arms towards the sky. Pietro looked at the power in those limbs as they quested to pluck at the stars themselves. "I was told it was mine. From the time I was born until I became a man, I was told I was destined to be something great. I wasn't rejoicing in the death of the boy — I was seeing my future open up again."

"But he's still alive," said Pietro harshly.

The arms fell. "And so the walls reappear to hem me in once more. Cabined. Cribbed. Confined. I am not the Greyhound. I never will be. But I want it, Pietro, I can taste it. That's what she did. My loving sister was so utterly afraid of not fulfilling her destiny, her part in a myth, she tried to make me into something I'm not. She let me live a lie to soothe her own need for power."

Tears were streaking down her face, but there was no hitch in the lady's breath. "It was not I who took the dream from you."

"True. But I blame you for giving it to me in the first place."

"I had no choice! It was my destiny! My fate is to raise Il Veltro! I am supposed to be the-"

Cangrande's voice filled with contempt. "You are! You have what you wanted! If Cesco is the Greyhound, you've shaped him, his mind, his thinking! He'll bear your brand forever! Do you think he will ever forget you? Do you think he could? Or is it recognition you crave, when he is grown and a figure of international fame? Is that the part you see yourself in? Caesar's mother? Christ's? Well, Madonna Aurelia Maria, you've done your part. Now it is time for Cesco to go to people who will love him."

Katerina gasped. "I love him!"

"Yes, you do." Cangrande touched the hilt as his hip. "As I love my sword. It is a tool. But unlike you, without it I am my own person. I do not define myself by my sword alone. You love all your tools, Katerina, but only as much as they are of use to you. No tool can transform you into that which you are not. Believe me, if you discovered this minute that Cesco was not the mythic savior, you would forget him as easily as you forgot me."

Katerina's voice was small. "I never forgot you."

"Well, you can now. From this time on, I want nothing more to do with you."

He had delivered the killing stroke. Yet in doing it he'd exposed the chink in his own armour. Katerina was too tired, too spent by the fortunes of the day and the violence of Cangrande's feelings, to notice. She did not recognize as Pietro did that Cangrande was inviting her to protest, to plead, to beg, to yell, to clamour to be a part of his life still. It was her opportunity to refute everything he'd said.

Instead she said, "May I visit him? May I have that, at least?"

In that moment, she lost. Pietro watched the closing of a door that would never again be opened. The Scaliger was victorious once more. Yet how bitter, to win by losing all.

"Yes. You may cling to your precious destiny. But never in the open, and never for long. We cannot let you be traced there. No one can know where he has gone. We must rumour it that he is dead, or driven mad, or spirited away by demons. Or all three."

The lady had regained some of her composure. "I understand."

"Don't fret, dear sweet sister. It is not too late to be a mother yet. There are your own children, who will not trouble you, for they are merely mortal. As are we all. You can instill in them a deep and abiding belief in the Church, or the stars, or the pagan gods, if you like. And if you're worried that little Cesco will take after me, you can be sure that with Pietro, the Greyhound shall grow to be all you wish him to be, without either of us ruining him."

"No."

Brother and sister turned to face Pietro, who had retreated to the roof's edge. Face half in shadow and half in light, he stared at these two people he had respected, loved, for so long. "No."

Cangrande bowed his head. "Ah, Pietro. You're quite right. We've forgotten our judge. We submit to your wisdom. Who is the victor? Who is at fault? What should be done with the boy? It is for you to say."

One after another, Pietro's illusions were falling away. He stood here more naked and alone than he had been in the cave. "Listen to you — both of you! This can't be about your personal war, or your place in history! Neither of you is interested in the boy!"

Katerina stepped nearer. "Pietro, think about what you've heard tonight. If you refuse, Francesco will only find someone else, someone nowhere near as brave and honest as you."

Pietro kept shaking his head. "No."

Cangrande picked up where his sister left off. "You're correct. Our feelings about the boy are coloured by our own demons. You're the selfless one. You've risked your life to save him how many times? With never a thought to yourself. He must go with you."

"Demons is right," said Pietro coldly. "No one would believe me if I told them what lies under the della Scala skin. No. I won't be a part of your games anymore. You tried to — you would have killed my father? Morsicato, Tharwat? Cesco? You can't pass a child off to me and declare a victory. No. I refuse." Without another word, he turned and limped to the stairs. In moments he was gone.

Brother and sister watched him go. The Scaliger let out a long sigh. "It worked."

Katerina's eyes opened a fraction. "You knew he was there?"

"Yes."

"You also knew I'd come after you, so you staged the scene?"

"Alterius non sit, qui suus esse potest. He's quite correct. We're monsters, you and I."

"We are what the stars make us."

"We are what we will be."

"He'll hate you, you know."

Cangrande shrugged. "Any birth takes pain."

Katerina strode to her brother. Her left hand in bandages, she couldn't embrace him. Instead, she kissed his cheek. "Does this end our war?"

Cangrande put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you dead? Am I?"

Stepping back, Katerina nodded her understanding. "You know, you still surprise me from time to time. With all your calculating and your infinite rage, I often forget your nobility."

"Darling, let's not get carried away. Do you think he'll accept?"

"I don't see what choice you've left him. I wonder if he sees that."

"Pietro's eyes are open now. To many things."

"If I may ask — when did you choose him?"

Cangrande blinked. "That first day, here in the palace. Before you came in he was talking in his sleep. Something in his dreams, I think. It wasn't very clear. But when you told me the boy had been born, I knew he would need a champion."

Katerina cocked her head to the side. "He spoke in his dreams? Has he inherited his father's magic?"

The Capitano opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know about magic powers, but I've seen Dante when he writes — he's in another world. And there is more to his writing than the choice of words. I think God brings about certain times in history, certain energies that merge in men — I don't know. Pietro has dreams. That is something he and Cesco share."

"And you."

"And you." The Scaliger started for the stairs. "Come. We both need rest."

"I'll sit up here for a bit. The sky is so lovely tonight."

Cangrande glanced upward. "Really? I find it oppressive. But as you will."

Katerina remained on the roof for some time, unable to move. The conflict had been far more draining than she'd ever imagined. Her heart was broken, but she was proud. Her brother was learning. Someday he might actually become a great man.

But not Il Veltro. That destiny belonged to another.