Pietro was aware of the honour being done him, the trust reposed in him, and bowed his head to acknowledge it. Though is it for me, or because he's seen my chart? They saluted, and the Moor rode off. Theodoro of Cadiz, the Arüs, Tharwat al-Dhaamin. How could a man live with so many names? But then, reflected Pietro, Cangrande had just as many. Francesco della Scala, the Scaliger, the Capitano.
But not the Greyhound.
That's what this is really about. The Count wants the boy, and his agents have failed. The only way he can think of now is to take the whole city.
But what does he want with Cangrande's heir? What value is he? Ransom? Revenge? What is the goal?
Fazio fell back to ride beside his master. "What was all that? Are we going somewhere? Is there news?"
Pietro continued to ride in silence, thinking. In a couple weeks he'd be back in Verona with his friends and family. And Cangrande would show the world how he valued his errant knight. Ser Pietro Alaghieri, knight of Verona, dispenser of justice. He would then become a lawyer, maybe someday even a judge. And before that, one more battle, one more chance to blacken Carrara's eye. More than that, it was a chance to expose the Count's partner. Capture the Count of San Bonifacio and force him to give up the name of his spy in the Scaliger's court. It was all about to happen.
The waiting was over.
Capulletto Estate
Closer to Verona, on the land southeast of the Lago da Garda, there was a beautifully built mansion some two centuries old, surrounded by the best arable land. This respectably sized estate held no castle, but the mansion was as fine as anything to be found. Until the turn of the century it had been inhabited by that staunchly Guelph family, the Capelletti. After that line had died out, the lands had been under the stewardship of the lords of Verona. Every few years a new tenant would come and lease the lands until he was evicted by a new court favorite. Cangrande and his brothers had been sure not to let any one man grow too attached to the land.
That changed two years ago, when the mansion suddenly became a beehive of activity. A new family was in residence. Or rather, a new old family. The Capulletti.
Now it was a week before the attack on Vicenza, and rumours were flying. None of them mentioned Padua, but all of them revolved around the massing of troops for some new offensive Cangrande was planning. Hearing the rumours, Luigi Capulletto stalked through the halls of his father's mansion in a foul temper. Slamming doors and careless of those in his path, he pushed his way into Ludovico's bedroom, which doubled as an office. Each day found the old man less able to walk on his gouty leg, and the summer heat wasn't helping.
Seeing his heir hurtling towards him, the elder Capulletto grunted. "What are you so hot about?"
With an effort of pure will Luigi stilled himself, though his fingers itched to wrap themselves around the fat man's waddled throat. "Uguccione della Faggiuola is gathering a force of men. Something's happening and you know what, don't you?"
"I may," said the old man.
"And you're sending Antony to go to war with Uguccione!"
"Yes," rumbled Ludovico.
"No!" Luigi slammed his fist against the wall. "No, Father, no! As much as you may want him to be, Antony isn't your heir! I am! Remember me, your wife's first son? Just because Antony makes you laugh doesn't mean he can run your affairs. Hell, you can't run your affairs! Maybe Cangrande would be interested in why we really left Capua. If that story got about, you'd sure feel the pinch, wouldn't you?"
Ludovico had started sputtering long before Luigi reached the peak of his tirade. As the son continued to shout curses and epithets, the old man leapt out of bed and hopped two steps forward on his good foot. Luigi saw the blow coming but for once didn't feel like taking it. He grasped the swinging arm and threw his father backward to land in a heap on the floor. Half disbelieving what he'd done, Luigi stood shaking.
Ludovico lifted himself onto the bed, there being nothing wrong with his arms. "Young fool! You think you'll get my money after that?"
"Hang the money! This isn't about money! Why, Father? Why Antony?"
"He makes me laugh." Old Capulletto coughed up a ball of phlegm that he spit into a canister two feet away. "That's all you give me."
"I gave you a grandson!"
"Yes, I am aware," sneered Capulletto. "He looks like his mother. At least he'll be pretty, he'll make the Guarini girl happy."
"That's all we are to you, isn't it? Cogs in the machine! Me, my son, Antony and that stupid business with the Carrara girl — all of it grist for your mill, fodder for your ambition. Well, you're there, Papa! You've made it! Land, money, respect! Isn't that enough? What comes after?"
Ludo snapped his fingers at Luigi. "That's why Antony. He never has to ask what comes after — he knows! He sees the possibilities, the openings, the way to greater heights. Example: if you'd put your wife forward a little more, you could have had that new water forge the Scaliger's building. But instead Rienzi gets it, all for the price of his wife's virtue. The Great Hound. Heh. That man certainly deserves his name." The old man dissolved into laughter that quickly turned to coughing.
Luigi didn't even wait for the spasm to subside. "You want me to sell my wife to the Scaliger?"
Through watery eyes Ludo sneered at his son. "Small enough sacrifice for such a reward."
Luigi's jaw locked shut. He felt like tearing apart the ancient heap that was his father with his bare hands. Instead he said, "I demand you send me to Uguccione to represent the family."
"You demand, eh? Very well. I shall send you — to serve under your brother. No, don't gainsay me! It's this or you don't go! You shall serve your brother. After all, he's a knight. What are you? A country squire, little more. You'll serve him and like it."
It was insulting, it was humiliating. But Luigi had what he wanted — an opportunity to prove himself. He turned on his heel and walked straight-backed out into the hall.
Antony was leaning against a wood-paneled wall outside. "Jesus, Luigi, I told you-"
"Go to the devil!" Then Luigi remembered his best weapon. "How is young Menelaus lately? Heard from Paris?"
Face ashen, Antony gave his brother the fig and stormed off. Pleased, Luigi went to find his son.
Theobaldo was napping. Letting the anger flow out of him, Luigi stood beside his son's crib and stroked his thin icy hair. His son, wholly his. Two years old, and still Luigi was loath to let even the nurses near the boy. He would have kept his wife away from the child too if he could. The bitch. Another one of his father's great schemes. But at least she had given him his son. Theobaldo. It was a family name — the old family, their true family, before his father had leapt at borrowed nobility. Look how well that turned out, Papa. You bought your way into a feud!
That problem, at least, looked to be dying out. Old Montecchio had been more than gracious to Luigi's father, and the bride-thief was in France for who knew how long. Particularly pleasing, Antony had gotten a well-deserved kick in the pants, and the fat old man had used his son's humiliation for everything he could get. Rights and lands that would pass to Luigi's son someday. They couldn't change that.
The toddler snored lightly. Luigi chuckled, something he only did with his boy. Theobaldo, the name of Luigi's great uncle. An Italian name, though the boy's mother preferred the Dutch version — Thibault. Strange, yet Luigi liked it. Thibault.