The Master of Verona (47 page)

"Make sure Mari's there, too. I want them to be friends!"

"I will," said Pietro. "I promise."

Outside the palace, a group of inebriates leaned against a frescoed section of wall. Suddenly one jerked himself upright. "Jesus!"

"What's the matter with you?"

"I swear to God, the wall moved!"

"He's drunk!"

"So? It doesn't make me a liar!"

"Oh! Look at this one, who can move the walls of the palace!"

"No, really it gave a little…"

"He's fat enough to make it fall over!"

"Who said that!? Which of you drunks said it?"

"We may be drunk, doesn't make us liars!"

"Damn your hides! I'm the very image of fitness! Watch this!" He was cheered on as he performed a disastrous handstand.

"Go to it, Hercules!" Roaring and egging him on, no one gave the moving wall another thought.

It took half an hour for Mari to return to the loggia, resplendent in fresh clothes. Pietro was waiting by the door when he arrived. "How do I look?"

Gone was the new knight's garb, replaced by his own colours of blue and white, a touch of pink in the lining, the green ribbon across his shoulder marking him as the night's victor. Mariotto smelled of orange peel and mint, his dark hair was groomed, and his face was freshly shaven. Pietro, having neither bathed nor changed, felt shabby in comparison.

"You look better than Antony. He's—"

"Thanks!" Mariotto breezed past him into the crowd of guests. Pietro followed, looking around. Dante had retired, but Jacopo hobbled over to Pietro, walking on the outsides of feet that were clearly split and bleeding into their bandages. "Did you see me? Did you see me climb over the rail? I made it! And I was right there in the middle of the pack, not last like you!"

"O, thank you very much!" Pietro's determination to stay with Mariotto overpowered the impulse to throttle his brother.

The young Montecchio's eyes sparkled as he seized hand after congratulatory hand. He refused several offers of malmsey and cheese pressed on him by admirers, moving quickly through the throng, looking for someone.

When he found her, he bowed deeply, kissing her hand. "Signorina, we've not been properly introduced. I am Mariotto Montecchio, eldest son of—"

Gianozza cut across him with a laugh. "I know who you are, Ser Montecchio. Congratulations on your victory. O, Ser Alaghieri! Hello!" She gestured to another pretty girl beside her. "This is Consolata."

"Charmed." Pietro bowed as much as crowd and crutch allowed. Consolata hid her face and tittered. Uneasy, Pietro said to Gianozza, "Lady, your betrothed is well. His leg is broken, but apart from that he's fine. He asked Mariotto and me to entertain you in his stead."

Mariotto made a little flourish with his hat. "May we join you?"

Gianozza patted the cushion of the box bench upon which she sat. "Of course. I'm honoured to be in the presence of the winner of the Palio. Please, tell us all about it." The other girls were looking at Mariotto coyly. Consolata forgot Pietro entirely. He didn't know to if he was relieved or insulted.

But Mari couldn't be bothered with any of them as he told Gianozza about the race, turn by turn, each slip momentous. Nowhere in the narrative did he mention Antony. When he finished, Gianozza clapped her hands. "How exciting! But Ser Montecchio, I heard something this evening… but perhaps you won't wish to speak of it."

"No," said Mari eagerly. "Please, tell me."

"Ser Alaghieri said that there was talk this evening, something to do with your family…"

"Of course. The feud." In a hushed tone he spoke of his mother's death and the ancient feud with the Capelletti. Gianozza listened, eyes wide, head canted sympathetically to one side.

Does she give that look to everyone?
wondered Pietro.
No wonder Antony fell under her spell so fast
. Watching now, it seemed she was working hard to weave that same spell over Mariotto.
Almost as hard as he's trying to fall under it.

Pietro was wondering how to politely drag Mari away when he suddenly spied the same Moor from outside, passing across his line of sight, in a great hurry. Watching the man move through the crowd, he was startled by a voice in his ear. "For shame, Pietro. Forsaking me for younger girls."

He rose at once. "Donna Katerina."

Katerina received Mari's bow and curtsies from the young ladies. "No please, don't rise. You wouldn't mind if I stole Ser Alaghieri away for a few moments, do you?" She took Pietro by the arm, and the moment they moved away the girls burst into close whispers.

Katerina glanced back at Mariotto. "All hail the conquering hero."

"Yes, he's the man of the hour."

"So I see. Quite the Lancelot, isn't he?"

This rang a warning bell in Pietro's memory. "I suppose so."

"I didn't want to interrupt, just say goodnight. And return these." She extended his knife and his hat to him.

Pietro blushed as he tucked the blade into its sheath. "I'm sorry, lady. I was going to find you. I just—"

She laughed. "I am not pining, Ser Alaghieri. Today is a great day for you, I should not be monopolizing your time. I'm grateful for the attentions you've shown me. But it's time to put Cesco to bed."

"Is he tired out?"

"No, I am. He has the energy of the men in my family, he rarely sleeps." She stopped, her mouth twisting wryly. "If your father were here, he would tout that gaffe to the skies."

"It's not much of a secret," confided Pietro. "Is he with his father?"

"No, little Cesco is with the nurse." She gestured to the corner she had occupied. Sure enough, there was the nurse, back turned to them.

There was a great deal of noise on the balcony, including several animals. But Pietro swore he heard Mercurio's growl from the nurse's side. Squinting, Pietro thought that there was something wrong with the way the nurse was sitting. She was slouched forward, one arm hanging loose. "Donna," he said with an edge of urgency.

Turning, Katerina immediately spied what disturbed him. With Pietro in her wake she walked back to the nearly deserted corner of the loggia. "Nina?" Each step was quicker than the last. "Nina? Cesco?"

Reaching the nurse's side, Pietro laid his hand on her shoulder. Instantly the body fell from the stool to lay awkwardly limp on the marble floor. Kneeling, he turned her face to the light. Her skin was white, her body limp and lifeless, a crimson stain spreading outward from a knife in her chest.

Breathless, Pietro confirmed his worst fear. The nurse's arms were empty.

"Francesco!"

Across the loggia the laughing Capitano turned and saw the expression on his sister's face. At once he barreled across the crowded hall. Reaching Pietro's side, he took in the scene at a glance. "Where is he?"

"Gone. I stepped away for a moment." Though she was shaking, Katerina's voice was firm.

Cangrande snapped his fingers and men appeared — Passerino Bonaccolsi, Nico da Lozzo, Bailardino, Tullio, and Ziliberto dell'Angelo, his master of the hunt. "The girl's been murdered and little Cesco has disappeared. Tullio, find Villafranca, tell him to seal the bridges. Nico and Passo, get your men and make a house-to-house search, starting with the nearest. Nico, go north, Passo, south. Bailardino, go dunk your head, get sober, then take my men west. Ziliberto, get across the San Pietro bridge. It's closest. All of you,
go
."

As they dispersed Katerina laid a hand on Cangrande's sleeve. "He can't have got far. This just happened."

Pietro opened the shutters beside them, looking down on the huge crowd milling about in the alley below — an alley that led in one direction to the stables and in the other towards the Piazza della Signoria. His eyes searched all the faces desperately. "I saw a Moor."

"I know about the Moor," said Cangrande.

"I think it was him," insisted Pietro.

Katerina said, "He might have his reasons."

Cangrande frowned uncertainly. "True. I'll search the palace. You'll organize things here."

"Let Tullio," said Katerina. "I'm coming."

"Pietro, I'm taking your dog." Slipping his hand into Mercurio's leash, Cangrande made for the exit, only to find his path blocked by his wife.

"Husband?" asked Giovanna da Svevia, her face concerned. "What is happening?"

Cangrande pushed past her without a glance. "No time."

Katerina followed her brother. By now gawkers were pressing in, fascinated by the dagger protruding from the nurse's breast. Half the men on the balcony had military backgrounds. One by one they offered their services to Cangrande, who was struggling towards the far door.

Pietro remained behind, feeling utterly helpless.

When the panel swung open to disgorge a man with a bundle, the drunks gave an ironic cheer. Nursing a broken head, one exclaimed, "I told you! The wall moves!"

"Let me pass." The man had been delayed by the darkness of the stairwell and the wriggling of the bundle's contents.

"What's that door?" asked one of the sots, looking inside.

The man with the burden said, "They're giving away free drinks up there. But it's a secret."

Already men were staggering for the sliding panel. The man tried to push past them, and as he fought, a blond head emerged from the blanket in his arms.

"Cute kid," said one drunk as he passed.

Pietro stared down upon the milling crowd in the Piazza della Signoria, looking for one face, a single face in the throng. An elderly voice at his elbow snapped, "What's happening?" Pietro saw Constable Villafranca examining the body.

"Cesco's been kidnapped."

The Constable visibly started. "When?"

"Just now, dammit!" Turning back to the window, Pietro peered through the falling snow at the crowd below. To one side a noteworthy figure emerged from the palace doors, struggling through the sea of staggering drunkards. It was the man Pietro had been looking for. The Moor.

Something wasn't right. In spite of the bulky cloak, Pietro could tell the Moor's arms were empty. But he was certainly moving fast. In fact, he seemed focused on another figure ahead of him, a figure making better progress through the throng. The Moor was trying to intercept him. The man in the lead was passing almost directly beneath Pietro's balcony, which meant he couldn't have come through the main doors. A tall man in a knee-length tunic and a long trailing hood, with awkwardly distended limbs, he looked like a
spaventapasseri,
the creatures farmers created to scare off scavenger birds.