Antonia started giggling and quickly stopped, embarrassed. It wasn't a grown-up sound, and she had to be an adult. Especially now. "I don't suppose you'll take Jacopo with you?"
"God above! I already have one lame appendage to drag along. Don't wish another on me."
Antonia looked down at his right leg. "Does it hurt?"
Pietro shifted so that the limb stretched out full length in front of him. "Like the devil himself was sticking it with hot needles. But I have to tell you, if this is the price I pay for the life I have now, I wouldn't have it any other way."
"You were able to run tonight."
"Amazing what fear can motivate," he laughed.
She studied him. "You really are very brave. No offense, but I wouldn't have thought it."
He grinned at her. "Me either. Things just — happen. No one wants to look less than what we want to be. I think there's a real truth there. Bravery is not wanting other people to think you're a coward. I know I push myself to do lots of things that I'd never do in my right mind if people weren't watching."
"Father says you have a strong sense of justice."
"Father talks too much," declared Pietro, but very softly. "What about you? How was the trip? And how is everyone back home?"
Antonia told the tale of her journey, then went on to relate all the Florentine news she could remember. Most of her time was spent describing the wrangling over the new Duomo. Twenty years of work, and it was still hardly more than a frame. There was talk of having Giotto do some painting for it, but the joke was that he'd have to draw his grandchildren a sketch to work from, it was taking so long.
She spoke of old friends of his. Several of them were getting married, or already had. "Do you ever think of getting married?"
Pietro shook his head. "Not in the foreseeable future."
"Tell me. This desire to go — does it have to do with your friends?"
Pietro sighed. "Yes and no. I'm really angry at Mari, but…"
"But?"
"But it's easier to talk to him than to Antony. I mean, when we're all together, it just feels right. The Triumvirs. If I'm mad at Mari for anything, it's for breaking that up."
"Poor Ser Capulletto. I met him this morning. He showed me around."
"Well, if it makes things any better, word is he's leaving tomorrow to visit his uncle, who's in Padua conducting some business. In fact, he was invited to a wedding there. But I doubt he'll go. We'd talked of crashing the wedding in masques, and that won't be happening. Besides, he can't be too keen on marriage at the moment."
"Maybe he'll find another girl."
"The way he acts, his Giulia was the only girl for him."
"I thought her name was Gianozza."
"Not to him. She'll always be Giulia, the perfect woman. Though how she could be perfect and break his heart I'll never understand."
"You don't believe in true love?"
Pietro studied her. "Do you?"
"I think father's right…"
"Shocking!"
"…love has to lead to something greater than earthly passion."
There was a knock at the door. The steward answered it and admitted a tiny man with unmistakably Semitic features. "Manuel," said Pietro, standing to embrace the visitor like an old friend. "May I introduce my sister, Antonia. Antonia, this is Emanuele di Salamone dei Sifoni, Cangrande's Master of Revels."
Antonia took the hand with little grace. She was a good church girl and believed much of what was said about Christ's killers. The stories of baby-eating were probably exaggerated, and she'd never seen one with actual horns on his head. But the rest made her want to count the fingers on her hand as she quickly withdrew it.
Her hesitant reaction made the man chuckle. All the more sinister, she thought. But then he turned to Pietro, saying, "Cangrande has asked me to pass on the name of my cousin who lives in Venice — he'll be able to help you with whatever you need. Just tell him you're coming from me. No, I mean it. Use my name. He likes to play games with new people, and he has a real chip on his shoulder. An ass, but a man of his word."
"I'll be careful," her brother assured the Jew. "What's his name?"
"Shalakh."
Pietro tried to work his tongue around the strange sound. "Shy..?"
Manuel threw up his hands. "Gentiles! Here, I've written it down, along with the street he lives on. He should be in a good mood. His daughter just turned four last week. Give them all my best will you?"
"I will," said Pietro, taking the little slip of paper and tucking it away in his shirt.
The jester's eyes were full of mirth. "Do you remember the song? I've composed some new verses." To Antonia's amazement, he began to sing a cappella:
Here you have feasts
With many blond heads
Here you have tempests
Of love and to love.
They find maids
Always fresh
To prepare trysts
To amble and go about,
One says 'So',
And the other 'Also So',
And the other 'Stay Here'
That soon I'll be back.
"Very funny," said Pietro dryly.
There was a crash as something was thrown against the inner door. Manuel said, "Oh, is the old man scribbling again?"
That was it. Antonia said, "I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave."
The little man grinned. "God forbid I should disturb his devoted muse. Pietro, take care of yourself. Like the song said, you'll be back, I have no doubt." Manuel turned to Antonia and bowed, twirling his hat at the end of his fingertips. "Enchante, mademoiselle. I'm sure I'll see you soon. Your father and I often like to play a game of chess in the evenings. Feel free to join us." With another farewell to Pietro, he departed.
Seeing the face Antonia was making, Pietro laughed. "He's fine! A good man. And, yes, he's one of father's closest friends here. So it's no harm for you to like him."
Antonia coloured. To divert the conversation, she seized upon something she had heard. "Venice?"
Pietro shrugged. "To start. Then I'm off to the University of Bologna, I think."
A brief jealousy flared in her. "To study what?"
"I'm not sure. Medicine, perhaps. Or else law."
"When are you leaving?"
"Not for a couple of days," he told her. "I have to hire a groom to come with me and look after my horses, and maybe a page. I don't know. Wednesday, maybe. Thursday at the latest." Despite her every effort to keep them in check, he must have seen the tears welling in her eyes. "There's still time. Now, sit down. I have to tell you all about father's routine."
Pietro did not in fact depart Verona until sunup on Friday, the preparations having taken much more time than he'd imagined. On a kind recommendation of Cangrande's wife — who seemed to take pity on him — he'd hired a twelve-year-old boy named Fazio, the child of one of her servants, to act as combination groom and page.
Of course the rumours flew. Pietro had been in residence in Verona less than a month and already it was bruited about that he was being exiled, that Cangrande had thrown a tantrum after the duel and sent the boy packing. It damaged the Scaliger's reputation and only made Pietro appear more the tragic hero. Though it was also noted that Pietro spent a good deal of time during that week closeted with the astrologer and the Moor. Cangrande was said to be as displeased with them as with Pietro. The cause for this was unknown, though many heard about the murder of the oracle and wondered.
Dante was more prolific that week than he had been in months. Three whole canti were completed, including both the angry invective against Italy and a telling section in the Valley of the Princes having to do with father-and-son duos, good and bad.