"Good luck with that. Thank you, by the way."
"For what?"
"Ever since Vicenza my soul has longed for a chance to even up with you. With the help of the girl, I took my vengeance on your two idiot friends. But you're the real prize."
Pietro thought his teeth might shatter, he was grinding them so hard. "Happy to oblige."
"Yes, Pierazzo, when I kill you, I'll only have one more. I'll make it my life's work to kill the Greyhound of Verona."
Pietro knew he meant Cangrande, but in his mind's eye he saw Carrara's boot on Cesco's little neck. The image made Pietro's hands shake. Carrara saw it and, misunderstanding, laughed. "Oh yes! And his putanna of a sister — the donna di strade you moon after! I'll bet she ruts like an icy cunt. But that's fine — I'll warm her up."
"Shut your filthy mouth."
"Oh ho! So Capuletto's not the only one forced to love from afar. Such romantics!" Carrara's mockery echoed around them.
Reaching a position before the Scaliger's balcony, the combatants brought their horses to a halt. Scanning faces in the dying light Pietro saw Katerina sitting beside Bailardino, Cesco in her arms. Good. Here, under the eyes of the citizenry, he's safe from another kidnapping attempt.
Antonia was slipping in beside Pietro's father. Mariotto and Gianozza gazed at each other, separated by Mari's sister Aurelia. The lovers knew the outcome of the duel would represent God's sanction or condemnation of their union.
Far from Mari and Gianozza, Antony was propped up on pillows close to the edge of the balcony. With him sat his brother and father, who looked to be arguing still.
Leaning over the edge of the balcony in eager anticipation were Cangrande's two nephews, Mastino and Alberto. No need to wonder who little Mastino was rooting for. Guglielmo da Castelbarco and Passerino Bonaccolsi sat behind them. Close by, Nico da Lozzo gave Pietro a high sign of victory, ignoring the angry glare of the Capitano. "Give him what for, Pietro!" Others joined in with Nico, cheering not his cause but Pietro himself.
The Scaliger spoke, but Pietro couldn't hear him, his ears filled with his own hammering heartbeat. Yet he recited the ritual oath and gave the forced handshake, quick and humiliating. Then Ziliberto dell'Angelo gave the signal to begin. For a mad moment Pietro wondered what bizarre pecking order placed the Master of the Hunt in charge of judicial duels. Shaking away the thought, he placed his helmet on his head and rode to the Arena's far end where Jacopo waited with lances and other weapons. "Are you ready for this, big brother?"
"Just stay back where it's safe," instructed Pietro. "Father'll kill me if I let anything happen to you." Even under the circumstances the threat of Dante's wrath seemed both real and terrible.
Poco nodded, swallowing several times. He's more excited than I am, and just as scared. Terrific. All I need is a squirrelly page.
Up on the balcony, Antonia could hardly watch. Her brother looked so small atop that beast, dwarfed by his own armour. Carrara's armour was molded to his shape, creating the appearance of grace and poise where Pietro looked clumsy and brutish.
Yet her brother lifted his lance with ease. As the challenged party, Marsilio had been offered choice of weapons. His squire held up his first tool of destruction and the crowd gasped. He'd chosen a halberd.
Gripping her father's sleeve, Antonia asked, "What does that mean?"
"Carrara's chosen a polearm rather than a lance." That Pietro had stuck to the traditional lance was probably wise, Dante informed her. Her brother hadn't ever fought with a halberd, and it was a tricky weapon to wield, having a spike, an axe, and a hook, all at the end of a long pole. "They'll have an equal reach. But Pietro has a shield, one with a good spike for goring if he gets in close. Carrara's weapon is for killing, Pietro's is for unseating. If he can get Carrara to the ground without losing his own seat he'll have the choice of finishing it there and then. All he has to do is avoid the halberd's head."
Was that all? It sounded like a lot to Antonia. For the first time she understood why young men devoted so much of their time to learning about different types of weapons and combat. But Pietro had spent more time with his head in books than actually on the turf.
On the Arena floor, Pietro was thinking much the same thing. His one lesson in swordplay hadn't covered fighting from horseback, let alone polearms. But he'd seen enough jousts to know the rules, and a little strategy. Don't hit the horse, knock the other fellow out of his seat. Easy. I'll have this wrapped up by supper. He laughed at himself, and it sounded a little hysterical to his ears. Across the Arena floor Carrara looked deadly peaceful. Pietro had the insane urge to make faces inside his helmet. Maybe he should wave. Or give Carrara the fig. But no, that was unchivalrous.
Cangrande gave the nod, Tullio d'Isola dropped the flag, and Pietro spurred at Carrara, who was kicking his own mount into motion. The crowd surged to life as the two combatants raced at each other.
Pietro fought the instinct to lean forward. His armour was heavy enough to unseat him if he got unbalanced, and that would be a stupid way to lose. Instead he held his lance crooked in his arm and tried to breathe as the monster beneath him thundered across the pitch. Everything seemed to be happening too fast. He and Carrara were surely both going to die. That halberd was a wicked-looking thing. It was angled right for Pietro's heart, and only a heartbeat away.
There was the clatter and scrape of metal on metal as Pietro beat away the halberd's spike with his shield and Carrara's horse sidestepped the lance. A thousand voices seemed to sigh.
On the balcony, Antonia was covering her eyes. "What happened?"
Dante was terse. "They missed. They're circling around again."
Antonia peeked. Yes, Pietro was almost directly beneath her, turning his warhorse about for the next charge. His round shield bore a scar just below its center. With a shout she could feel, he urged his mount on to another charge. This time Antonia kept her eyes open almost to the moment of impact, then saw what Carrara was doing and gasped.
Pietro was riding full tilt for Carrara when the other suddenly veered his horse, trying to get the halberd's axehead sweeping around in an arc. Too late to stop, Pietro swerved and brought his shield across. He missed with the shield but, dumb luck, got his lance across the halberd's path. There was an awkward 'clack' as the axehead was deflected.
The line of both their charges broken, the two horses moved away from each other. Desperate to disengage, Pietro was trying to pull his horse back to a safe distance to begin a new charge. In these close quarters his lance was all but useless, while the halberd bore hook, spike, and axehead. Which Carrara now brought into play.
Above, Antonia watched in horror as she saw her brother's horse step the wrong way, opening up his back to a blow from the axehead — a blow that descended, aiming for the center of Pietro's spine. No matter how strong the steel of his back-plate or how much of the impact the gambeson absorbed, he would be stunned, leaving him open for a killing blow. Antonia screamed.
How Pietro got his shield up and over his head he never knew. He felt the halberd's axehead strike, the impact twisting the muscles in his left arm. He turned his head in time to see the silver hook at the halberd's back catch the edge of the shield and rip it downward. Pietro involuntarily released his grip on the shield, but the strap across his upper arm held it in place.
His eyes were on the axehead. Carrara was swinging it around to literally disarm his foe by taking Pietro's arm clean off. The lance in his right hand was useless, so he raised his left arm, shield dangling, hoping to somehow ward off the strike.