She'd hoped this rant would make Gianozza think twice. Instead the foolish creature rushed forward and embraced Antonia fervently. "Thank you, thank you! You're such a friend! Whatever would I do without you?"
Predictable. I can't make her see reason, and so I become a part of her Romance.
They took the dog Rolando with them, but no men-at-arms. There were none to be had. Antonia brought a kitchen knife for comfort, certain that if they met with any danger it would do her no good.
Back at the tree that had sheltered the wounded Count, Katerina gazed her brother, seated high in his saddle. "That was quite a beating."
Cangrande shrugged. "He's a soldier. You saw how your threats gave him strength. I was hoping he was weak enough that the ploy would work. It didn't. After that, I hoped he might try to twist the knife, and in so doing give us something to go on. Again, nothing. Try again in a bit, by all means — you are, after all, the expert in killing with small cuts. News of Alaghieri?" This was asked of a messenger, running towards them. The boy said no, but that the doctor sent word that the Moorish astrologer would live. Cangrande grunted, then turned back to his sister, who said, "What about your plea for his soul? That was real."
"It was. Coming or staying?"
"I will be of little use in the hunt. I will return to our friend Bonifacio and we will talk more freely. Perhaps I can employ tactics other than threats."
"Offer him sweetmeats," said Cangrande, kicking his heels. "It always worked on me."
Watching him ride off, she murmured, "Nothing worked on you."
Her own horse was close by. Mounting, she returned to a city still reeling from the battle. As she felt the first pindrops of water, she cursed. The rain would aid in the extinguishing of the fire, but it would make the hunt for the children all the more difficult.
Katerina was not alone in cursing the cloudburst. Pietro had followed Mercurio back and forth across the river three times now. Pathino had evidently doubled back on his trail in an effort to throw off pursuers. Now they had left the river only to be drenched by rain.
The hound pressed on, nose low to the ground, oblivious to the pelting drops. But the rain bothered little Detto, making him huddle against Pietro's chest. Letting the boy burrow beneath his cape, Pietro covered him as best he could. Detto just shivered and whimpered, too tired to cry anymore.
By now Pietro had lost all sense of direction, though he thought the west bank of the river was behind them. If that was true, they were headed back towards Castello Montecchio. Perhaps they would come across some of Montecchio's men and enlist them in the chase.
Mercurio slowed to a prowl. Pietro knew the sign. The dog's quarry was just ahead of him. That meant Cesco was nearby.
Sliding from the saddle, Pietro led the horse into a tight group of trees, hiding it from view. Tying Canis' reins to a branch, he lifted Detto silently down. Putting the child under the horse, he unfolded a blanket from his saddle and covered Detto with it. Wet and cold, the child whimpered some more. Pietro whispered, "Wait here," and hoped the boy understood. He wished he could order the dog to stay with the toddler, but Mercurio was a hunting dog, not a guard dog.
Besides, Pietro needed him. They had to flush out the game.
His leg was agony, so against his will he lifted his cane from the saddle. It was made of mahogany, pitted and scarred where he'd fended off some cutthroats in Venice two years before. Using it was better than slipping and being unable to stand again. The noise of the rain would cover the occasional breaking of twigs.
Sword drawn, he crept forward.
Antony and Luigi Capulletto reached the Castello San Bonifacio to find it still manned by the Scaliger's loyal troops. These soldiers had seen neither hide nor hair of any Paduan and knew nothing of the attack on Vicenza. Learning of the Capitano's kidnapped son, the captain of the guard formed a search party to cover the ground east of the castle.
Mission accomplished, the brothers left their men to spread out while they turned back towards Vicenza. Stopping at an inn along the way, Antony exchanged his helmet for a wide-brimmed hat, the better to keep the rain off his face. Buying three skins full of wine, they continued on.
The brothers encountered a small patrol of men belonging to old Montecchio. It was led by Benvenito, the fellow engaged to Mari's sister. Luigi wanted to join up with them, but Antony said no. So they simply exchanged news and went their separate ways.
"Why the hell not join up with them?" demanded Luigi.
"Because we're going to be the ones to find the boy," said Antony. "And we're not sharing the glory with anyone."
"You mean we're not sharing it with Montecchio."
"With anyone," said Antony. "Look, if you want to go off on your own, do it. It'll make us both happier. I grant you leave."
Luigi bristled at the implication that his brother was his master. "Fine!" He spurred his horse hard up the dirt road, leaving Antony behind.
Antony was glad to be rid of Luigi — always watching, always ready to leap in with a jibe or cutting remark. It was partly Luigi's presence that had made Antony issue that idiot challenge to Mariotto, a move he was already regretting. It was true that a large part of him wanted Mari dead as a salve for his pride. But that wouldn't win Giulia's heart back. Giulia, his perfect woman.
Yet if he'd been able to be honest with himself, it was less about the girl than Mari. His best friend. Among all the drinking companions, panderers, and revelers he'd associated with for the past two years, nowhere had Antony found a friend to equal the one he'd lost in Mari. That betrayal had cut deep. He'd thought their friendship, forged in a day, would last forever. It hadn't. If there was a reason to kill, that was it.
This morning in the close fighting he'd twice been at risk, and the sword that saved him both times had been Mari's. Antony had repaid him in kind, protecting Mari's flank as he battled away at some Paduan spearmen. For a heartbeat the enmity fell away and things were as they had been.
But the challenge had been issued. He couldn't retrieve it, not without shaming himself in front of his friends and father. And that bastard Luigi. Giving his mount a vicious rake with his spurs, Antony pressed on.
Gargano Montecchio led a band of soldiers through the woods. They came across another party of his men, led by Benvenito.
"We saw the Capulletto brothers, they said that the road between here and San Bonifacio is now being watched."
Lord Montecchio nodded. "Then take four men and scour the other side of that hill. Look for Mariotto's party. He knows these parts. There are lots of places a fugitive can go to ground." His daughter's fiancée turned to go, but Gargano laid a hand on his arm. "Son? Watch your back. Having successfully negotiated the battle, it would be a tragedy to lose you before we welcome you to the family."
Benvenito saluted his prospective father-in-law, then called a few men to follow him. The men looked to their lord, who nodded. Reassured of the safety of his own family, Gargano Montecchio returned to searching for the heirs of Cangrande and Bailardino.
It was a nerve-racking quarter hour as Pietro followed Mercurio through the heavy brush. Each moment he expected the muted twang and thunk of a bolt being fired and sliding home between his ribs. Soaked to the skin, Pietro wanted to lie down and sleep for a year. His gauntlets were stiff around his sword and cane. His right leg had hardened into a rigid, brittle limb that hampered each step.