The Master of Verona (42 page)

"It would please me greatly."

Cangrande rose. "A noble Veronese family has been resurrected! Let it be known from this holy festival day onward that the noble family of Capecelatro has taken up the fallen mantle of the Capelletti! Raise your cups and drink to Ludovico, Luigi, and our own Antony! Long live the Capulletti!"

There was a roar of approval, redoubled when Gargano Montecchio fell on the neck of the newly dubbed Capulletto. They embraced and kissed as friends. The only one who looked aghast was Antony's brother Luigi. Antony himself brimmed over with delight. He fairly leapt over the table to take Mariotto in his arms, lifting him up and dancing him around in a bear hug.

"At least we can be sure there will never be a feud between our sons," said the new Capulletto.

Montecchio eyed his son with pride. "I expect not. Ludovico, I appreciate what you have done. It has removed a blight from my honour."

"I'd heard of the sad business once or twice before." Ludovico's chins unfolded as his head bobbed up and down. "Besides, it all works out rather well. The house I have in town is in the Via Capello! Now it's named for me!"

Listening close by, Pietro Alaghieri had an unworthy thought.
There's the real cause of his ready acceptance of the new name
.
By becoming a Capulletti, Ludovico Capecelatro has ennobled himself and his heirs. He'll let his distant relatives cling to the Capecelatro name. Suddenly he can cloak himself with the rights and power of an ancient family. He's got the money. Now he has the name
.

But there had been a slight difference in the pronunciation between Capelletti and Capulletti. The Greyhound was clever to make such a distinction, one Ludovico had probably missed. This new line of the ancient clan would always be marked as tenants, not owners, of the title, their name always denoting their point of origin.

Mari was rubbing his ribs where the rechristened Antony Capulletto had hugged him. "Perhaps with a new name your marriage contract is void!"

"Aw, did you have to go and spoil it?" groused Antony, his face transforming in an instant. "I'd forgotten about the stupid woman."

"That's right!" said Giacomo da Carrara, not taking any offense. "We have a betrothal to affirm." He turned to Ludovico. "This act of honour makes me doubly glad to send my niece's daughter to join your family. She's here, dining with the women. My lord, may I send for her?"

Cangrande waved his hand in assent. "Of course! What better moment than this? Marsilio, here, taste this wine."

Il Grande sent a page scuttling off through the huge double doors. Antony plopped down beside Mariotto with a deep sigh to let all and sundry know of his exasperation. "I bet she's cross-eyed."

"Maybe a harelip?" speculated Mari, amused eyes twinkling.

"Who knows? She can't be much. Her uncle's pretty eager to rid himself of her. Dear God, what could be worse? Married at eighteen!"

His dismay was understandable. Though eighteen was an acceptable age for marriage, it was customary to let young men grow into their twenties and even their thirties before burdening them with a wife. For women it was quite different. The trend was moving towards earlier and earlier wedding beds for girls, to the point of betrothing daughters at ten and marrying them off at fourteen or fifteen. It was fashionable among older men to marry young girls, barely initiated in the women's mysteries. Pietro knew it was a fad his father deplored. It was why Pietro's sister was still unwed — too many new mothers died in childbed because they were brought to bear too young. But marrying young assured virginity, that prized possession.

As he contemplated his doom Antony eyed his friend. "You will be my best man?"

"Your second, you mean? Of course I will. If only to make sure you go through with it. Otherwise I might have to rid the world of another Capulletto."

Antony's frown became more intense. "Does it bother you? Me having the name of the family that murdered your mother?"

Mariotto took in a sharp breath. He wasn't quite ready for Antony's insightful bluntness. "Whatever you call yourself, you're my friend. The Capelletti were dishonoured by their actions. You will restore the title to a place of honour."

"With you beside me." They drank to their friendship.

Pietro leaned close to his father as he scruffed Mercurio's ear. "What do you think of all this,
Pater
?"

The heavy beard turned, the eyes above it blinking. "I'm not sure. It is a wonderful gesture. But it was God's will that the Capelletti be destroyed. Is it His will that they be reborn? I can't help thinking of Eteocles and Polynices."

"Who?"

Dante frowned, severe disappointment etched into his long face. "The children of Oedipus and Jocasta. I swear, how can you appreciate poetry if you have no sense of the players?"

"Sorry. What about them?"

Dante huffed a moment longer, then continued with his point. "After they learned the truth about their father's incest, the two brothers forced him to abdicate. In return, Oedipus cursed them to be enemies forever. Such curses have strength. They alter the course of nature, they challenge God, who is alone in meting out justice." The poet glanced over at Pietro's two friends. "I think they should consult a good astrologer before embarking on such a venture. Or better still, a good numerologist. For Lord Montecchio is quite correct. Names have power. And through their history the names Capelletto and Montecchio have made themselves synonymous with
enemy
."

Pietro pulled a face as he swallowed a scoff. Mari and Antony were the best of friends, closer than brothers. Nothing could change that.

He was about to say as much when he felt a gust of chill air against his neck. Until now the doors to the great hall had been closed due to the weather. Now they opened to admit a delicate figure swathed from neck to toe in fur.

Heads turned. The doors were closed behind her as a servant approached her and removed her robe. The removal of the fur revealed a brocaded gown of deep blue. Her head was covered behind the hairline, allowing a just a glimpse of dark hair before it was swallowed in a gauzy haze. The pins holding the veil in place were in the shape of rosebuds, simple and finely wrought.

Conversation ceased throughout the firelit hall. Men sat as if turned to stone just for gazing at her. But she was certainly no gorgon. Her hair was raven-black and long, if the length of the mantle was anything to guess by. Her skin was fair. Her nose was thin and delicate. Under the full lips her teeth were straight and white. Yet in spite of her smile there was something sorrowful in her expression. She had a fragile elegance, as if she might shatter with a breath. A man could hardly help wishing to be the one who rescued her from that state, protect her from the cruel world outside. She was a damsel in distress, Guenivere waiting for her Lancelot.

Above her high cheekbones the eyes were luminous. They were eyes to sink into, die for, kill for.

This was Gianozza, great-niece of Il Grande, cousin to Marsilio, and more lovely than Helen on the night Ilium burned.

III

"Ah, Gianozza," said Giacomo da Carrara, breaking the room's sudden silence. "Barely do we decide to call you, and you are here. Were you listening outside the door?"

For a moment everyone hoped she wouldn't speak and spoil the illusion. And when she answered, her mouth barely moved. "No, uncle. Should I have been?" Her voice was demure, not at all foolish.

Il Grande studied his niece. "Perhaps you should have eavesdropped, since the details of your engagement have changed."

She didn't frown. Her lip didn't curl. She merely smiled like an obedient child. "Oh?"

"You were to marry the second son of Ludovico Capecelatro. That young man no longer exists."

The dark eyes went wide. Her hands, until now folded enticingly just under the curve of her breasts, rose to her face. "No. Was he injured during the race or one of the games?"

Glancing at Antony, the Paduan lord noted the lad's awestruck look with a smile. Women were so useful in the world of politics. Carrara would gain a strong alliance with a family worth cultivating. New to the area, with loads of money — exactly how much no one seemed to know, but it was estimated that the fat Capuan could buy and sell half the men in the room. He might even give the Scaliger a run for his wealth.

The first son was a sour dud, and Giacomo was glad he was already married, though the pregnancy of his wife was not pleasing. It was this magnificent second son who would make something of himself. He'd already caught the Scaliger's attention. In Gianozza and Antony's children, Paduan and Veronese blood would mix, giving the Carrarese a solid foothold in this city.

Tonight's name change reaffirmed Giacomo's desire to see the marriage consummated. He decided to push forward the date of the wedding, perhaps to Easter. That wasn't indecent haste.

The girl stood still, awaiting her uncle's next words. As she should. The flower of Paduan womanhood, just fifteen years old at Christmas, it was her duty to marry where he directed. She had worried him the whole trip to Verona. The girl certainly was a beauty, but she was also educated, which led to a disappointing independence. Worse, she was a romantic. She actually believed this nonsense of courtly love! Carrara had little use for the fad himself. It ran counter to the idea of chivalry, the way a knight should behave. But in recent years the two had become intertwined.

He'd made it clear to her that the fortunes of her family, his poorer cousins, depended entirely on how she played her role. Now to put the girl to the test. Giacomo waved a hand towards where the prospective bridegroom sat.

Because he was staring at the girl, Antony missed his cue. Mari saw it, though. Instead of prompting his friend, Mariotto Montecchio rose deliberately from the bench.

Until now, Gianozza's smile had been fixed, polite but wary. Now it softened as they gazed at each other.

"No no." Il Grande pointed to Antony. "Gianozza, this is the young man who, until this night, bore the name of your betrothed. Tonight his father has taken up an ancient name until now sadly lost. You are now engaged to marry Antonio Capulletto of Verona."

Antony stood up and bowed awkwardly as he was introduced. The girl took a moment more to gaze at Mariotto, then turned her eyes to her betrothed. She didn't understand the significance of the name change, but she was quick enough to note that it was something to be celebrated. She walked over to Antony and curtsied, holding out a hand to the young man who loomed over her. Taking hold of her fingers as if they might break, his lips didn't quite touch the skin, as the custom was, but he held them longer than decency dictated.

If she minded, she didn't show it. Antony released her fingers and straightened. "Lady, I — hope to make you happy. It is my only wish."

She smiled. It would have taken an effort on the part of anyone in the hall to see the slight hesitation in that smile. Three men did notice it. The first narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to commit the indiscretion he feared. The other, standing beside her, wondered if he'd only seen what he wanted to see. The third was Pietro, who felt a growing sense of unease.

There was applause from the envious knights and nobles, and the hall filled with amused chatter. Antony tripped as he tried to make space for her on the bench, and Mari graciously stepped aside. She slipped into the space he made, Antony beside her. "Would you like some malmsey?"

"Yes, I would," said the girl simply. Antony managed to pour her a heavily watered cup without spilling any on the table.

Watching, Il Grande was relieved. She seemed to have reconciled herself to the man. He was nice enough, and Il Grande had no doubt that she would rule him easily. Even though he was assured of her hand, Capulletto was attempting to win her heart.

The meal ended, and men were standing in small clumps telling ribald stories or kneeling to play a surreptitious game of dice. Pietro heard whispers nearby him. "Who's that lucky bastard that bagged that game?"

"Clear out your ears, fool! Young Capecelatro — Capulletto, I mean."

"Oh yes. He looks smitten. I'll wager he hadn't met her yet."

"Are you sure she's his? Young Montecchio looks like a hound with scent on the wind."

"Well, they share everything else…" The guffaws rippled around the hall as the same conversation was had among all the tables.

Mari stood forgotten as Antony marshaled all his imagination to win another smile from Gianozza. Their friend was quoting half-remembered poetry and talking at length of his home. Entirely excluded from the conversation, Mari crossed to the bench where Pietro sat with his father and Poco. Excusing himself, Pietro lifted his crutch and stood to join his friend. "What do you think of her?"

Mari was staring at the back of her head. "She's a Julia."

Pietro glanced over at the girl again. "You mean a Helen, don't you? Julia was definitely a blonde."

"No, a Julia. Look at her. She has the power to make men happy." He pulled a face. "Antony's certainly changed his tune about marriage, hasn't he?"