"He would lose the war with Cremona!" protested the spokesman. "We are not worth such vengeance!"
"His honour is! If you refuse his generosity, it will soil that perfect honour! His honour could not bear to let you defy him. He would not eat, not sleep, until that stain was removed! Citizens of Calvatone, why risk the wrath of the Greyhound of Verona? Why try his patience, when he wants nothing more than to garrison your city for as long as it takes him to smash Cremona? What do you owe the Cremonese? Is Cavalcabo a close ally, or a tyrant who taxes you and leaves you defenseless before his foes? Use your sense! Hate the Greyhound if you must, but do not stir him to anger! For I assure you, this hound has the both the teeth and the will to bite!"
As the spokesman withdrew, Nico turned to the page behind him and grinned. "How did that sound? Too strident? Did I give myself away? If they say no, he'll probably leave. He's never been one for slaughtering innocents, bless his soft little heart. Here, pass me that wine."
Jacopo Alaghieri shifted the flag of truce to one hand and passed his commander the wineskin. Dante had begged Cangrande to take his younger son on this campaign. "Make a man of him the way you did with Pietro."
"Pietro was already his own man," was Cangrande's reply. "But as you will."
Assigned Nico's service, Poco knew his commander wasn't well pleased with his performance so far. It was just that Poco couldn't see the sense in polishing something that was going to tarnish again within an hour, or in oiling the joints of some armour that wasn't even going to be worn today. His brother hadn't had to play the page. No, one madcap ride and Pietro was a knight. Poco longed for that kind of action, the moment when he could prove his mettle. Today might be the day. Consequently, seated atop a horse, riding with his master to an enemy gate, he behaved perfectly.
Now he pointed over Nico's shoulder. "My lord, look! They're opening the gates!"
"Of course they are. They're not fools." Nico passed the wineskin back to his page, who was so eager-eyed Nico couldn't help laughing. "Yes, yes, you did well! If by this afternoon my horse is properly rubbed down and my helmet so shiny I can see my reflection, you may join me in the command tent for the inevitable celebratory dinner. Now come on. And remember to look grave and respectful. These poor bastards may have done the wise thing, but it's hard for some men not to feel like a coward." Nico chuckled. "Not clever fellows like myself, you understand. I mean men with less imagination."
Poco went along to present the Calvatonesi leaders to Cangrande, then rode in the perfunctory tour of the town that was more about showing the Scaliger off to the people than to look over the battlements. An hour later they were all back in camp, with only some of Cangrande's German mercenaries garrisoning the town.
In Nico's tent, Poco rubbed, scrubbed, polished, and shined everything he could see. He accidentally ruined a finely engraved leg-greave by scrubbing with the wrong wire bristles, but he hid that at the bottom of a trunk. When Nico came to dress for dinner he was suitably impressed. "This is more like it. Go on, wash yourself up and change your shirt."
Soon he was standing behind Nico's place at the table in the command tent, watching as Cangrande and his four generals took their seats. Castelbarco sat across from Nico, and Bailardino Nogarola beside him. Cangrande took the head of the table, and Passerino Bonaccolsi the foot.
Cangrande lifted his goblet. "To the wise Calvatonesi. I am so very pleased I was not forced to emulate Otho. Passerino, if I killed myself in despair, would you do as his captains did and throw yourself on my funeral pyre?"
"I would throw Nico on it," said Passerino.
Cangrande nodded. "That will do."
Nico sneered. "Oh oh! Nice talk, considering it was my silver tongue that opened Calvatone like a woman's flower."
"If Calvatone is a woman, she's a cheap whore to open up to your tongue," said Bailardino.
"An ugly cheap whore," opined Passerino. "Did you see the state of their town hall?"
"Poverty is not a sin," said Castelbarco.
"Lack of civic pride is."
"I blame Cavalcabo," said Cangrande. "A skinflint and zealot. And his heir apparent, Correggio, is ten times worse. Say what you will about the other Guelphs, they aren't stingy. You'd never see Florence's smaller cities in such a state."
"Oh, Correggio's not a bad fellow," protested Bailardino. "His niece is going to marry my brother."
"Well, that makes him the salt of the earth," scoffed Nico.
"Speaking of Florence," interjected Castelbarco before Bailardino could rise to Nico's bait, "Jacopo, what's this I hear about a pardon for your father?"
Cangrande started laughing. "Yes yes! Tell them!"
Grinning, Poco took a step forward. "My father got a letter in July-"
"Addressed to 'Durante Alighieri, of the Guild of Apothecaries,'" interjected Cangrande. "No mention of poetry. Sorry, Jacopo. Go on."
"Well, the letter offered amnesty. Father is free to return to Florence whenever he likes."
"Big of them," said Passerino.
"No, no, wait! It gets better," said Cangrande. "There are conditions."
"Conditions?"
Poco rolled his eyes. "The conditions are, one, he pay a huge fine and, two, he submit himself to an oblation."
"What kind of oblation?" asked Passerino.
Before Poco could answer, Cangrande burst in. "He has to enter a city jail on his knees and from there walk clothed in sackcloth and a fool's cap with a candle in his hand through the city streets to the baptistery of San Giovanni — the saint that shares a name with Dante's dead eldest son, whose burial the city fathers refused, by the way. At the baptistery he has to declare his guilt and his repentance and beg the city fathers for forgiveness."
"I take it he refused."
"Astonishingly, yes." Everyone grinned. Annoyed that the Scaliger had taken away the best part of the story, Poco was about to step back to his place behind Nico when Bailardino asked, "What about your brother? How is he doing?"
"Is that you asking," said Cangrande, "or my sister?"
"I do have the occasional independent thought," said Bail. "Jacopo, how is Pietro doing?"
"He's settled into the University at Bologna," said Poco. "From what I hear he's doing well."
"I've just arranged an income for him, not far away from his studies," added Cangrande placidly. "A little benefice in Ravenna."
"You know, you could just recall him," said Castelbarco.
"Or I could banish you. That would end the conversation even more easily."
An awkward silence ensued. Finally Nico broke it. "I'm glad we're moving on. If we take Cremona, it will eclipse all the talk about Montecatini."
"Be fair, Nico," said Passerino. "Uguccione della Faggiuola is a friend and an ally. We can't begrudge him his victories. Besides, he needed one much more than we do."
Bailardino whistled. "Ten thousand dead and seven thousand prisoners. Not too shabby."
"He couldn't have done it without Castricani's men," said Castelbarco. "Does it ever occur to you, my lord Scaliger, that these floating condottieri may lead to trouble? Each season they are free to hire on to whatever war suits their fancy. Some are making a habit of fighting for one side this year, and the opposing side the next, thus keeping the war from ending. We're spending vast sums on these hired swords, but gold does not purchase loyalty."
"True," said Cangrande. "Nico, what does buy loyalty?"
"Land," replied Nico at once. "Land, land, and land. Some men will fight a battle or even a war for a prince or for God. But if you want a man to fight for you the rest of his life, you have to give him land. Look at Capulletto. You could have filled his purse to overflowing, heaped him with titles, but nothing could have bound him to you more than the land you gave him near Bardolino. He's now bound to you more than if you were his father."