He turned to face Mariotto's father. "My lord Montecchio, look past your anger. You of all people know what such a feud can cost!" The Scaliger turned again towards the crowd. "Think well on this — if we allow another feud to stain our city's honour, it will swallow us whole! Count on it! Hate begets hate! One duel will not satisfy honour, especially in matters of the heart. When money is stolen, it can be repaid. When land is lost, it can be recompensed. But once blood is spilled, it can never be recovered! It can only be satisfied by more of its own! Blood will have blood! Think well before you unleash yet another blight on our fair city! I speak now, not as your Prince, but as your fellow citizen! Think of us, think of how you want Verona to be remembered!"
He turned in a slow circle, eyes scanning their faces. They had heard, but were not prepared to listen.
"Very well. I could call out my men-at-arms and force an end to this foolishness. But I will not be that kind of tyrant. Because you insist, I will allow this one night of madness — if you will swear to me that, at sunrise tomorrow, you will all sign into law my decree against dueling. If I do not get that oath from you, elders, I swear by all I hold dear that I will call up my troops this very minute."
The Anziani were magnanimous in victory. Each assured their Capitano that they would sign his decree into law the next day and defend it ever after with their lives.
"I require another oath, this from the fathers. Ludovico, Gargano — you must swear on all that you hold dear, on your fortunes and your very lives, that as long as you both shall live there will be no reprisals. Whatever the outcome, this duel must be the end of the matter."
Gargano said he would gladly swear, since he held no grievance with the noble house of Capulletti. Ludovico grudgingly nodded his head and signaled his consent. Cangrande considered them both briefly, then closed his eyes. "Marsilio — take up his gage."
Carrara pushed past his uncle to take up Pietro's gauntlet. Lifting it above his head, he crushed it in his closed fist. "I accept the challenge!"
"Then let's get this over with. One hour, in the Arena!" With that, Cangrande stalked from the chamber.
The crowd erupted into excited noise. Mercurio left the pack of dogs to pad over to his master, who was breathing hard. The hound licked his hand, and Pietro patted him absentmindedly as he wondered if he'd live through the night. He heard a myriad of voices calling out to him, wishing him luck. Pietro ignored them, eyes fixed on Marsilio da Carrara arguing furiously with his uncle across the hall. In the midst of the old man's speech, young Carrara turned on his heel and stalked away. His path took him away from Pietro, but the bastard remembered to turn before leaving to send a mocking salute Pietro's way.
A heavy hand landed on Pietro's shoulder. "What on earth were you thinking?" demanded Dante, sotto voce.
Beside Pietro's father appeared a bright-eyed Poco and a glowering girl who looked familiar. He blinked, recognizing a disapproval he'd often seen in his mother. "Antonia!"
He made to embrace her, but she brushed his arms aside. "Answer our father! What are you thinking? Are you trying to ruin his relationship with a patron? How dare you oppose the will of our father's host?"
"A valid, if erroneous, assumption, my Beatrice," murmured Dante, patting her gently on the arm. "I was referring to the idiocy of issuing a challenge to one of the best-trained knights in the Feltro while he can barely hold himself upright without the aid of that crutch."
"I'll manage," said Pietro. "I can run a little, I proved that last night."
"If you are bent on self-immolation, I cannot stop you. But why demand to fight Carrara?"
"Mari's being a fool, but Carrara created the situation."
"You can't win, though," opined Jacopo.
Pietro took a deep breath. "I can if I'm right."
"Are you?" asked his father.
"Yes, he is!" Ludovico Capulletto came up to repeatedly shake Pietro's hand. "Thank you, boy, thank you! It's no small thing to have such a noble young man stand up to take your side in a quarrel. No one can sneer at our claim now, much as the Capitano might try."
"I'm not doing this to spite Cangrande," said Pietro carefully. "Antony was wronged. And I believe it was Carrara who wronged him. This is my way to prove it. Where is Antony?"
"Right here." The corpulent Capulletti patriarch stepped aside to let his son hobble past. Antony's voice was surprisingly soft as he clutched Pietro's hand. "Anything you want, Pietro. I'll give you anything I have."
"I don't want anything from you, Antony," said Pietro. "I'm doing what I think is right."
Antony ducked his head. "Hell, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. It's just — " Tears came to his eyes as he lifted one of his crutches. "I can't — and why — why did he — Why?"
This last tortured cry hit the awful truth of it. It wasn't Gianozza's betrayal that wounded him the most. It was Mari's.
Pietro's sister stepped into the awkward moment, suggesting Antony move along to the Arena since it would take him some time to get there. Pietro, she added, had to arm himself. Nodding, Antony let his grumbling father and brother lead him out.
"She's right," said Pietro. "I have to go arm myself."
"You didn't answer my question," said Dante.
"Which is?"
"Are you in the right? Think back to last night. Yesterday, these two families were as thick as thieves. Today, they are at each other's throats. The girl is just an agent of the stars, Pietro. The fault may lie in taking up a name better left dead. The Montecchi and the Capulletti may be destined to war forever."
Pietro shook his head. "I can't fight an eternal war, only this fight, this minute."
"Between you and this Carrara boy," said the poet shrewdly. "Your own private feud. He already took your ability to run. Is he worth dying for?"
"Your son is in the right. He has to know that." Still seated on his bench, Gargano Montecchio looked very tired. "What you point out, Maestro Alaghieri, is not lost on me. Nor did I miss that this ancient feud is being resurrected on the very spot where I laid it to rest — the Arena. It is ironic, is it not, that you are here to once again chronicle the perfidious follies of the Capulletti and Montecchi?" Mariotto's father rose to his feet. "But your son is in the right. I believe you once said the stars influence us, but we do have free will to interpret them. My son has chosen his path. Now he must tread it. I am just sorry-" At a loss for more words, he laid a hand on Pietro's swordarm. "God be with you." With that, Lord Montecchio departed the chamber.
No one knew what to say. A steward entered, bowing to Pietro and saying he'd been sent by the Scaliger to help arm.
Pietro said to his father, "Look after Mercurio for me."
Dante told Jacopo to go help his brother. As the two young men followed the steward, Antonia gripped her father's arm. "What can we do?"
"We can pray, my Beatrice. We can pray, and leave it to God."
They exited, leaving the hall empty save for two men: Ignazzio da Palermo and Theodoro of Cadiz.
"We must make a chart for this remarkable young man whose life is now at risk."
"That will take time. It will be no help to him tonight."
"But you agree?"
"I do. Yet some things are best left to the unfolding of time. All we can do for him tonight is be spectators."
Together the duo made their way to the Arena.
Twenty-Six
A half an hour before sunset, Pietro Alaghieri rode towards his first duel. Possibly his last.