"We'll show them all, won't we, Thibault, my son?"
Thirty
Castello Montecchio
18 May 1317
Under the early summer sun, Antonia Alaghieri let her bare feet brush the dewy grass. Moisture crept up between her toes. The log she sat on was slightly damp, but through her many layers of clothing she couldn't feel it. Only her bare hands and feet could sense the dawn condensation.
A rustling in the bushes off to the right startled her, but it was only a hare. "Look," she whispered, pointing.
Gianozza della Bella (in Montecchio) had lifted her skirts higher, showing a fine thin calf to the morning sun. Looking at the hare she said, "Better run, little one! Or else Rolando will catch you up!"
Rolando was an old stiff-legged mastiff held on a tight leash. Frustrated, he barked at the hare and it scampered away into the brush. Satisfied, the dog settled onto his haunches and allowed himself to be congratulated by the two young women.
As Antonia stroked the dog's muzzle she said, "So, precisely where is Aurelia today?"
"Being fitted for her wedding dress. Her seamstress is a phenomenon. Maybe when your time comes…"
"A shame your sister-in-law couldn't be here," said Antonia tartly. "It's a lovely day. And what pretty landscape."
"Oh, mainly they use this as grazing land. No, the real pretty land is over that way. It belongs to Ser Bonaventura, though his cousin-"
"Gianozza! Enough."
Gianozza threw her head back and laughed, a sound not unlike water trickling between tiny stones. Antonia imagined Gianozza staying up each night after her prayers and practicing it.
As she finished her laugh, Gianozza said, "I'm so glad you finally came."
"I'm not." But it was a lie. Antonia had resisted coming not because she didn't want to, but because she felt it her duty to stay with her father until his latest work was ready for publication.
Two years had established Antonia's dominion over all things to do with her famous father. When the poet was writing, she became an immutable force to any who desired to steal his time. After twice being firmly refused an audience, even the Scaliger had to respect the iron in the sixteen-year-old girl. No one was allowed to interfere with Dante's Muse.
In the field of publishing she was no less firm. She'd recreated in Verona the copying houses of Florence. When the great poet was satisfied with a canto, Antonia would take the complete work and disperse it among the scribes. No house had consecutive pages, so there was no fear of it leaking early, yet the moment Purgatorio was finished it would be available to the public. Demand was enormous. L'Inferno was already more popular than the legends of Arthur, better known than the Song of Roland. Dante was being compared to Homer and Ovid. Princes, blacksmiths, bishops, and tailors were reciting his verses. At the University of Paris, a new Chair had been added to lecture on the meaning of the great epic Commedia.
But Antonia was secretly frightened. Her father wasn't looking well. In her two years with him the poet had visibly withered. Doctors were useless. It had been Pietro who had diagnosed the true cause. In one of his letters he had observed it was not age or illness, but the act of creation itself. Their father was pouring his life force into the pages he produced. Dante's work was his life. It was a race to see which ended first, the poet or the poem.
Which made it worse when her father ordered her to take a holiday. "My dear Beatrice, you've been flogging yourself for weeks. Purgatorio is almost done, there is nothing more you can do to ease the publishing. Go visit friends, or even your mother. Take some time for yourself. I insist!"
Reluctantly, she had agreed. A twenty-mile journey outside Verona brought her to Castello Montecchio and her only female friend, Gianozza.
Those that knew them thought their friendship odd. Gianozza was seen as a tiny gadfly who would, given time, cause her husband as much misery as she had her betrothed. Antonia, on the other hand, was believed to be made of granite. The merchants hated the girl in plain clothes with the basilisk stare. How these two young women had become intimates baffled the court.
To know the answer, one had to hear them talk. They brought out qualities in each other otherwise hidden. Beneath their public façades were two girls who were fiercely independent, but in different ways, and who enjoyed poetry, but in different ways.
Of course, staying at Castello Montecchio meant being caught up in the midst of the wedding preparations. Mariotto's sister, Aurelia, was marrying a local knight called Benvenito Lenoti, famous for jousting. So the castle was a mixture of anxiousness and excitement. Aurelia sometimes came running into a room breathless with fear, and it was up to Gianozza to console her. With Antonia's arrival, there were now two girls for the bride to turn to.
To aid in distracting her, the two recited poetry. Most of the preceding week had been spent reading aloud and debating meaning. This morning, for a change, they were undertaking a hike. For protection they'd brought Rolando, a massive hound who had grown up in these hills. Gianozza had also brought a small satchel whose contents were secret. All she would say is, "I have a surprise."
Antonia was in no hurry. Here in this dell the rest of the world seemed quite distant. She was reminded of stories of Eden, or Avalon. Looking at the sun filtering through the canopy of leaves she said, "When you agreed to marry Mariotto did you know that you would be getting this wonderful home in the bargain?"
"No," sighed Gianozza happily. "He told me, of course. But I thought he was exaggerating. Everyone loves their home. It took me weeks after I arrived here to even leave the castle. I so wanted to please Monsignor Montecchio. For Mariotto's sake."
Antonia indicated the keys that hung at Gianozza's belt. "Clearly you've made an impression."
She'd done that and more, succeeding in winning over Mariotto's father in spite of himself. Aurelia, too, after a standoffish start, had come to like her sister-in-law, though more like a puppy than a person. Still, it went a long way towards Mariotto's redemption.
"Yes, now that Aurelia is leaving, father Gargano has made me lady of the house." Gianozza stood, brushing flower petals from her dress. "Come with me. There's something we need to see." She tugged Rolando's leash and started off.
They walked for a ways, until Rolando stopped. Gianozza tried to tug him along, but he refused to budge. He was happy to walk to the side, but not forward. Antonia tried to pass him and he barked at her.
"What's bothering him?" asked Gianozza.
Antonia had an idea. Taking an old stick from the ground, she prodded at the grassy earth in front of them. Solid at the first poke and the second, then suddenly the stick sank into the ground as far as she could push it. "It's a trap for game. Or something like it."
Gianozza bent down and rubbed Rolando's ears with both hands. "That's a good puppy!" She stood and allowed Rolando to guide them around the hole with the ingenious turf covering.
At last they reached an old oak, huge and gnarled. There was a rude kind of symbol cut into it. Antonia recognized a crude version of the horsehead Montecchio crest. It seemed that this was what Gianozza had been looking for, because from here she started counting off paces — a hundred steps north, then twenty west.
Following, Antonia said, "Where are we going?"
"Shhh," replied Gianozza. "I have to count, or we'll miss it. Twenty-three… twenty-four…"
They walked another ninety paces before turning north again. The terrain changed from grassy to rocky as they climbed up a rise. In the dirt Antonia could make out wolf tracks. Rolando sniffed at them but didn't seem concerned.