Ravenna had agreed with Pietro, too. A fine coastal town close to both Polenta and Bologna, too near to Venice to be a great sea power, it was a quiet city. Sleepy. Pietro liked it. And he'd become a welcome member of the community. His duties didn't demand much time, consisting mostly of riding from farm to farm, knocking on doors, sharing a glass of wine, and taking the tribute due the Church. He'd been given command of twenty men in case of local strife or trouble collecting dues, but so far he'd never needed to call them up. But, based on Cangrande's hint, he'd kept them training even when he was away. As a result they were in better fighting shape than he was.
His readiness for battle was always near the forefront of his thoughts. He thought that Cangrande might call him up for the war in Cremona. The Scaliger and Passerino Bonaccolsi were currently besieging Brescia on the far side of the Lago di Garda. Verona itself was being guarded by Dante's former patron, Uguccione della Faggiuola. The Pisan lord, now exiled, was one of Pietro's many correspondents.
As was Donna Katerina. She kept Pietro informed on a variety of subjects, but her main topic was the boy. Just past his third birthday now, his volatile nature was keeping the entire palace staff on their toes. Each day she could see the wheels of his mind turning on some new project or plot or quest. Brilliant but dangerous was the general consensus. Katerina's pride shone in every inked word.
Smiling up into the warming sun, Pietro whistled Mercurio back. Remounting, he tapped Canis with a booted toe. It was a lovely day, and Pietro was in no hurry. In three or four hours he would arrive at his house on the outskirts of the city. He could spend the afternoon in the shade of his loggia reading scraps of parchment, looking down on his neighbour's vineyard. The local wine wasn't bad. Pietro could open a bottle when he got home, perhaps even read the new pages his father had sent him. Purgatorio was reaching a conclusion.
Yes, he knew he could do these things, but that he probably wouldn't. Instead he would heft his sword and spend the latter part of the day imitating a real soldier, working the muscles of his shoulders, arms, and hips. Fazio would happily partner him and waste no time in showing how fast he could move.
Pietro's eyes had taken in the mounted figure in the road before his mind had registered it. It took Fazio's saying, "There's someone in the road," to make Pietro straighten in his saddle.
"Stay close, and keep an eye behind us. But don't be obvious about it." Pietro's fear wasn't so much the man in the road as the possibility of a dozen men behind them. A man who took in taxes for the church was a ripe plum for highwaymen, and there were a lot of unemployed soldiers in the world who had to make a living somehow.
The figure was remarkably still, and remarkably odd. Tall, he was dressed in loose robes, and had what looked like a cloth helmet on his head. Then Pietro took in the man's skin colour and the shape of the sword at his side and kicked his horse into a faster trot. "Where the devil have you been!?" he demanded, a grin stretching his face.
"In hiding," said the Moor baldly. "You got my warning?"
"I did," said Pietro, sobering at once. "Ignazzio's dead?"
"He is." The Moor turned his horse around to the direction Pietro had been traveling. "I have news, and orders. Come, we can talk as we ride."
"You'll come home with me," said Pietro, half question, half offer.
"No," rasped the Moor. "Best if we are not seen together." He looked at the page and saluted. "Hello, young master Fazio. You have grown." Fazio didn't know how to respond, so he gave a hesitant half-bow. "Your master and I must speak in private. Will you ride ahead and keep watch?"
Fazio looked to Pietro, who nodded. Resentfully Fazio trotted ahead trying to remain within earshot.
Pietro pulled his horse level with Theodoro's. "You said orders."
"Yes. I have spent the last several months in Padua."
"Isn't that dangerous? You're fairly memorable."
"As long as you play into men's expectations, you can become invisible. I was in the guise of a lion tamer's assistant." Pietro couldn't keep a laugh from escaping, and the Moor flashed him a brief smile. "Yes. There is an Egyptian who owed me a kindness. He is a rather famous animal-master. At my urging he brought his menagerie to Padua. I went with him, wearing a covering on my face and throat. The story was that I had been careless one night and gotten mauled by the lion."
Pietro's smile took on an admiring quality. "So everyone pitied you, and thought you were a fool."
"Yes. I often sat in the street, drinking to soothe the pain of my injuries. As it happened, the house I lounged in front of belonged to the Count of San Bonifacio."
Pietro's smile vanished. "He's the one who paid the scarecrow." That piece of news had come with the news of Ignazzio's death. The two seals on the scarecrow's payment had belonged to the Scaliger, and the Count of San Bonifacio.
"Yes. And he's working with whomever is plotting against the Capitano. I watched his house for weeks, noting everyone who entered. Last month he received a visit from an acquaintance of yours — Marsilio da Carrara."
Pietro's eyes narrowed. "That can't be good. Do you have any idea..?"
"I had already determined the best way to break into the Count's lodging, and I thought that this meeting was the moment for it. I listened to them from the covert of the Count's loggia. The Count proposed a plan to your friend, and the other man accepted. Warily, I might add. Carrara doesn't trust the Count."
Pietro huffed. "Makes me like the Count a little more. What's the plan?"
"They mean to take Vicenza."
"Oh-ho."
"Yes. The Count has the support of maybe fifty dissatisfied Vicentine citizens, and all the exiles. He's convinced the Paduans that they can't lose. Vinciguerra's plan was to bribe one of the city garrison to admit his men and the Paduan army. They'll storm the gates and have the city within an hour."
"You told Cangrande, of course."
"Yes. Under the pretence of being sent to buy a unicorn, I met the Scaliger and informed him of their plans."
"So he's going to bolster the guards in Vicenza, make sure no one can be bribed?"
"He could do that," replied the Moor, "but he'd rather let the attack go ahead."
Pietro recalled a conversation years ago in a lonely church. "Because they'll be breaking the truce."
"Yes. If he waits seven days, he'll have a just war to fight."
Pietro wasn't sure if it was truly a just war if you chose not to avoid it. "Seven days?"
"Cangrande has arranged for a young Vicentine guard to accept a generous amount of gold from the Count."
"Who?"
"A squire named Muzio. The young man seems to think our mutual master walks on water."
"What's Carrara's part of the plot?"
"Once Bonifacio has got the gates open with a smaller force, Carrara will lead the full Paduan force in and sack the city."
Pietro protested. "But his uncle — "
"His uncle will have nothing to do with it. He is to be kept entirely ignorant until the venture is complete."
Pietro thought about that for a moment, then posed the real question. "And what does the master of Verona want me to do?"
The Moor lowered his voice, forcing Pietro to slow his mount and lean closer. "On the day of the attack Uguccione della Faggiuola will hide a small armed force outside Vicenza. He'll be outnumbered, but that's the only way to keep the secret. Cangrande's troops have two years of constant warfare under their belts while the Paduans have been sitting on their laurels. But Verona's side needs an edge. You are to enter Vicenza a day or two before with a hand-picked group of soldiers. Those men can't know what is happening, and the group must raise no suspicion."