But Antony wasn't looking at the backs of the fleeing Paduans. The Scaliger traced Antony's scowl to a figure in a blue cloak. His armour bore the Montecchio crest, the clasp on the cloak carrying the same device. But he was too short to be Gargano. That left only one answer. "Ser Montecchio, welcome back! I trust you've been home to see your father."
"Oui, mon Capitan," replied Mariotto, much to the Scaliger's amusement.
"You provided me good service. I trust all your affairs are settled?"
Cangrande saw Mari's eyes flicker towards Capulletto. "I expect they soon will be."
A frown formed on Cangrande's brow. "Where's your father?"
"He's on our lands, coordinating the net for fleeing Paduans."
"Go join him." Cangrande raised his voice. "I want all Paduan prisoners back in Verona the day after tomorrow. Every one, even the lowliest, is to be treated royally. The nobles may be ransomed to their families, but this time Padua itself will have to pay to get its soldiers back. I'll ransom them as a group."
Nico da Lozzo studied the sky, all innocence. "I don't suppose it's occurred to you…"
"It has. The answer is no. They live." The Scaliger was about to instruct Capulletto to stay with Uguccione, thus keeping the two idiots away from each other, when something pricked at his ears. Light horses and voices calling.
Turning, he saw his sister — her cross-dressing never fooled him. She was probably angry with him for sneaking into town. She'd always loathed his playacting. "Thank you, my dear, for ringing the bell. I felt certain it was-"
His expression changed as she came close enough to reveal her face. Katerina told her tale in a very few words, concluding, "Ser Alaghieri has already started the hunt."
Cangrande issued crisp orders. "Uguccione, trace Pietro. Morsicato, find the Moor, make sure he's well, then follow. Nico, get your arm looked at then find me, wherever I am. Capulletto, you and your brother take fifty men and throw up a cordon west of here. Once that's done, ride to the old Bonifacio estates and see if there's any activity there. If not, find me for more orders. Mariotto, find your father and use his men to throw up a dragnet. Go with him, Benvenito. Bonaventura, you and your cousin comb your lands. Forget the Paduans. I want people searching every castle, hamlet, farmhouse, outhouse, cave, ravine, and riverbed between Illasi and here. Bailardino, do the same thing to the east. Take as many men as you want. Antonio," he said, addressing the elder Nogarola, "take the north. Everybody, throw the net wide and then draw it tight. Take your time, be thorough. They could be anywhere. Whoever finds Pietro Alaghieri first sends word immediately! He's got nearly thirty minutes on us." Cangrande looked up. The daylight was two hours old but the sky was darkening. Always rain, when it comes to Cesco. "Use what light we have. Move!"
Bail called out loudly. "Remember, this bastard has children! Do what you can to pin him, but don't make him desperate!" Thus reminding every man that one of the children was Bailardino's own.
The grim-faced soldiers all hurried off to gather their men. Bailardino cantered to his wife's side, touched her face. She shook her head. "No. Go. Find them!" Bailardino nodded and rode for his men. He didn't misread her anger, which was reserved for herself.
And for her brother. "You're a clever one, aren't you? He was waiting for you, you know."
"What?"
"Cesco. He disappeared last night, after supper. I almost didn't think about it, he does it so often. But he thought he was going to meet you."
"Me?"
She handed over a wax tablet with numbers on it. "I got this from under Cesco's bed. Pathino must have left it for him. Read it." She watched as his mind worked the code. When he tossed the tablet aside, Katerina saw no change in his expression. "You and your games!"
"You, of course, never indulge in them."
"They used his love of puzzles against us. He slipped away from his nurse, thinking you'd be there, and took Detto with him. I imagine they used the secret passage behind the tapestry on the ground floor."
"So it's my fault, not yours. That must be comforting." A page came running up, and he bent down in the saddle to listen.
Katerina waited for Cangrande's attention to return to her, then said, "I heard your orders. While your men are out looking, what will you be doing?"
"I think I'll go see an old friend."
The blow was swift, cracking across his cheek. "No games! Who is it you mean?"
He didn't rub his crimson cheek. But neither did he smile. "I mean Vinciguerra, Count of San Bonifacio, who, I have just been told, has been found, badly wounded."
"What are you going to do?"
Cangrande met her eyes. "I'm going to beat the life out of him until he tells me where the boys are. Care to watch?"
Stupido, stupido, stupido.
Pietro repeated the imprecation over and over as he rode though Vicenza's western gates. He'd traced the kidnapper this far with relative ease, but now the search grew more difficult.
How could we have been so blind? Even the Scaliger had been fooled. They knew the Count of San Bonifacio was behind it all, and still they hadn't seen that the whole attack this morning was a feint, a costly, bloody feint that disguised the real target.
Still, Pietro couldn't fathom the reason — unless Bonifacio wanted to remove the Scaliger's only heir. But then why not kill him outright? What could the Count gain by taking him?
Of cold consolation was the fact that they now had a name for the kidnapper. Gregorio Pathino, he called himself. Katerina's description had matched the newly restored exile, Nogarola's guest, to Pietro's scarecrow of two years before. No wonder he'd avoided supper last night. Of all people, only Pietro could identify him.
A kidnapper thrice over. Not only had he snatched young Cesco, he'd grabbed up little Bailardetto and Pietro's groom Fazio as well.
Katerina was even more panicked by Bailardetto's disappearance than Cesco's. If he was truly Il Veltro, her foster-son had the protection of destiny. But Detto had no mythic shield. Worse, in her terror, Katerina had revealed a horrifying fact — Tharwat had made a chart for Katerina's real son as well as her adopted one. This chart said Detto was in danger of an early death, well before he reached his prime. Katerina hadn't told anyone, not even her husband, but in her fear she'd blurted the truth to Pietro.
The moment she'd finished, Pietro had ridden back to the palace, exchanging his warhorse for Canis, collecting Mercurio and one of Cesco's shirts, then heading for the northwestern gates out of the city. He'd questioned everyone he saw, a task made more difficult since everyone wanted information from him as badly as he wanted it from them. Quickly he gave up until he reached the gates — the same gates he'd come through three years before, the first time he'd ever laid eyes on Vicenza. Here he asked the guards if they'd seen anyone pass out. They'd said yes, twenty minutes before a tall man had ridden out with two children perched on his saddle, a youth trailing behind. Ignoring their questions about the battle, he'd set off at once.
Pathino. It was good to have a name. Probably not his real name, but useful all the same. Pietro could focus all his loathing on that one name. Pathino. Gregorio Pathino. The man who had murdered Cesco's nurse in Verona, probably murdered the oracle as well. The man who, failing to steal little Cesco, had thrown him to the leopard. Gregorio Pathino. It was a name to hate.
Pietro couldn't help remembering the Moor's words last night. A new influence, a danger to Pietro and the child. Could that new influence be Pathino? Would the kidnapper escape? And then what? Give the child to the Count? Sell him into slavery? The possibilities were terrifyingly endless.