The Arena was even more packed than for the horse Palio. Somehow in a single hour word had gotten around the whole city. This entertainment had it all — sex, politics, personal and family quarrels. Better, these were the two from the Palio the day before. The Paduan had even been Ser Alaghieri's prisoner after Vicenza.
Pietro emerged through the main gate on the west side, breath smoking in the chill air. He wore the newly made armour presented to him for his knighthood. He'd also taken a page from Carrara's book and dressed lightly under it in anticipation of the heavy work to come. Over all he wore a thick cloak he would doff before the fighting started.
He rode his monstrous new destrier. The Scaliger's groom hadn't known the warhorse's name. At this point it hardly mattered. It would take weeks of training for the beast to respond to a rider. His life was in hazard now.
Leading his nameless horse, as the rules of chivalry dictated, was a woman, whose token he would bear into battle. The young woman was his sister, Antonia, drafted quite against her will.
"This is not the reunion I had in mind," she said tartly.
"I wanted it to be memorable," murmured Pietro in reply.
"If you lose, I won't cry."
"Just promise me you won't poke fun if I make an ass of myself."
"You realize there's a place in Hell for those with excessive pride?"
"You know, I think I read that somewhere."
Antonia couldn't help herself — she chuckled. Removing a scarf from around her neck, she handed it up to him. A knight must always carry a lady's token into battle. Pietro wished instead he could have a glove from a certain married lady in the crowd. Doubtless Carrara had one from Gianozza.
Behind Pietro came Poco atop Canis, preening with excitement. Against his better judgment, he'd let his brother be his squire. Pietro had wanted an experienced page, and Jacopo was still walking gingerly on his cut feet. But when his brother offered to be his second, Pietro found he hadn't the heart to say no.
Seeing Antonia's fur scarf around Pietro's neck, Jacopo protested. "Imperia, I gave you that!"
"Yes you did," replied Antonia tartly, "and it's awful and ugly and I hope it gets covered in Carrara's blood because then I'll never have to wear it again." Poco made a face at her, which she returned. Pietro made a visible appeal to the heavens.
Held high over Poco's head was the banner of the new Capulletti, commissioned this morning by Ludovico's steward. The Alaghieri party was followed by a pair of servants bearing between them Pietro's coffin, as the law dictated. It was perverse that most of the last hour had been spent finding a carpenter to sell him one. More perverse was the fact that he'd had to pay for it out of his own purse — Antony's father hadn't wanted to spring for it.
Don't think about it. Focus on the fight.
The act of arming hadn't stopped him from receiving a series of visitors. Bailardino had come, and Nico da Lozzo. The handsome monk, Brother Lorenzo, had come at the instruction of his Bishop to make certain that Pietro's soul was prepared in case the worst should happen. He taken the opportunity to apologize. "I'm so sorry — I didn't know! It was so romantic, they were obviously in love! What could go wrong? But I shouldn't have married them…"
"It's all right," said Pietro, slipping into the gambeson before letting Poco buckle on the chest plate.
"I saw a duel once, back in… back home. It was terrible. I vowed never to be party to such a thing again. Now I am the cause of one!"
Pietro wondered who was confessing to whom. "You're not the cause."
"But it isn't my fault, not really. My bishop said to be serviceable to the Paduans…"
"I don't have that much time," said Pietro pointedly.
"Then I'll be brief," said Lorenzo. Pietro made confession and the young brother had fretfully told Pietro he'd be praying for him.
The one person Pietro had flatly refused to see was Mariotto. Claiming the impropriety of an interview at this time, he asked the steward to send Mariotto away. The steward had returned while Pietro was strapping on his leg greaves. "Ser Montecchio says he regrets the position he has placed you in, and that he understands why you feel the need to act as you are."
"Big of him." It occurred to him that Mari probably thought Pietro didn't care about the wedding, only the duel with Carrara. What if my petition had been denied and I'd been forced to fight Mariotto? Could I have done it? Probably not, he admitted.
Against his own better judgment, Pietro had allowed Poco to bard him fully — petta, arm and leg greaves, a chainlink skirt. The heavy armour would protect him while on horseback, but if Pietro fell, the weight would drag him to the Arena floor. I'll just have to try not to be unhorsed. It was amusing, though — just yesterday he'd doubted if he'd ever wear the Scaliger's gift. 'Unused, unbloodied, hanging on the wall' — sure, if I'd been lucky!
His destrier was fully barded as well, bearing the whole compliment of armor. Along the head was the metal and leather testiera, which fitted snugly over the horse's face. A large spike for goring made the beast resemble a unicorn, and the horse's eyes were protected by a criss-crossing of metal bands over the eye-holes. Protecting the chest was the pettiera which protruded forward so as not to inhibit the horse's movement. Fore and aft of the leather saddle sat the two arciones, hard wooden constructions that protected the rider's groin, rump, and knees. Behind the saddle hung the many scaled layers of the groppa, from which extended a small ornamental device in the shape of a small lizard from whose mouth hung the horse's braided tail.
Across his horse's groppa hung a linen banner in crimson and silver, the Capulletto colours.
With a great deal of help, Pietro had settled himself on the back of the war-horse. The reins were covered with metal discs to protect them from being cut by an opponent's sword. The reins led to bits, so called because the horse bit it. The bits had long shanks and high ports, providing greater leverage on the curb which exerted pressure on the horse's mouth. Then he rode a mile through Verona streets and entered the Arena.
Carrara was already inside, waiting atop a destrier borrowed from Cangrande's stables, a massive grey beast that looked like a wall in motion. We're both riding unfamiliar animals. No advantage there. To add insult to injury, Carrara wore the red ribbon marking him the victor of the Horse Palio.
Standing beside Marsilio's horse in a fine dress meant for one wedding and worn for another, Gianozza della Bella looked a vision of youthful femininity: ivory breasts hardly swelling below the bodice, her ebony hair had fallen just loose enough to give her a slightly untamed look. Who could honestly blame Montecchio? I can.
Carrara said something flippant to his cousin before cantering forward. Pietro whispered to his sister. "Time to go. Find father. He's in the balcony up there." He gestured with his chin.
Antonia debated for a moment the proper blessing. Finally she settled on, "God give you strength." Then she followed Gianozza up to the balcony where Dante could be seen in the front row. At least I was able to improve his seating arrangement, thought Pietro wryly.
He gave a spur and the destrier picked up the pace, cutting across the Paduan's path. With a deft flick of his reins Carrara pulled his mount alongside. "Touchy. At least you look like a proper knight. Brand new armour, eh? Not a scrape on it. For show, I suppose. You could keep it that way. Are you truly ready to have me hand you your head over a trifle?"
Pietro wasn't even aware of opening his mouth. "I'm ready to drive my sword through your skull."