Waving Friar Lorenzo and Giannozza’s men along, he crept down the corridor in silent pursuit of the malefactor, stopping only when the other paused to address two guards flanking a closed door.
“You may leave now,” Nino told them, “and rest until tomorrow. I will personally ensure that Monna Giulietta is safe. In fact”-he turned to address all the guards at once-“everyone may leave! And tell the kitchen that, tonight, there is no limit to the wine.”
Only when the guards had disappeared down the corridor-already grinning at the prospect of a carousal-did Nino take a deep breath and reach for the door handle. But as he did so, a noise right behind him made him start. It was the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from a sheath.
Nino turned around slowly to face his assailant with incredulity. When he recognized the person who had come this far to challenge him, his eyes all but sprang from their sockets. “Impossible! You are dead!”
Romeo stepped into the torchlight with a baleful smile. “If I were dead, I would be a ghost, and you would not need to fear my blade.”
Nino gazed at his rival in silent wonder. Here was a man he had never expected to see again; a man who had defied the grave to save the woman he loved. It was possible that-for the first time in his life-it now occurred to Salimbeni’s son that here was a true hero, and that he, Nino, was the villain. “I believe you,” he said, calmly, and placed the torch in a cresset on the wall, “and I respect your blade, but I do not fear it.”
“That,” observed Romeo, waiting for the other to prepare himself, “is a big mistake.”
Just around the corner, Friar Lorenzo listened to the exchange with futile agitation. It was beyond his comprehension that Nino did not call back the guards in order to overpower Romeo without a fight. This was an ignominious break-in, not a public spectacle; Nino did not have to risk this duel. Nor, however, did Romeo.
Right beside him, crouched in the darkness, Friar Lorenzo could see Monna Giannozza’s men exchanging glances, asking themselves why Romeo did not call them out to cut Nino’s throat before the cocky offender could even cry for help. After all, this was no tournament to win a lady’s heart; this was a case of downright theft. Romeo, surely, did not owe an honorable joust to the man who had stolen his wife.
But the two rivals thought otherwise.
“The mistake is yours,” countered Nino, unsheathing his sword with gleeful anticipation. “Now I shall have to say you were cut down by a Salimbeni twice. People will think you grew to like the feeling of our iron.”
Romeo threw his opponent a derisive smile. “Might I remind you,” he said, positioning himself for combat, “that your family is short on iron these days. Indeed, I believe people are too busy talking about your father’s… empty crucible to care about much else.”
The insolent remark would have made a less experienced fighter lunge at the speaker in fury, forgetting that anger destroys your focus and makes you an easy victim, but Nino was not so easily fooled. He restrained himself and merely touched the tip of his blade to Romeo’s in acknowledgment of the point. “True,” he said, moving in a circle around his opponent, searching for an opening, “my father is wise enough to know his limitations. That is why he sent me to deal with the girl. How very rude of you to delay her pleasure like this. She is behind that very door, waiting for me with moist lips and rosy cheeks.”
This time it was Romeo who had to restrain himself, testing Nino’s blade with but the slightest touch and absorbing the vibration in his hand. “The lady of whom you speak,” he pointed out, “is my wife. And she will cheer me on with cries of pleasure as I chop you into pieces.”
“Will she now?” Nino lunged forward, hoping to surprise, but missed. “As far as I know, she is no more your wife than she is my father’s. And soon”-he grinned-“she will be no one’s wife, but my little whore, pining all day for me to come and entertain her at night-”
Romeo lunged at Nino, and missed the other only by a hair as Nino had the presence of mind to parry and deflect the blade. It was enough, however, to put a halt to their conversation, and for a while there was no sound other than that of their blades crossing with hateful clangs as they entered into a circular dance of death.
While Romeo was no longer the nimble-footed fighter he had been before his injury, his tribulations had taught him resilience, and, most important, they had filled him with a white-hot hatred that-if properly mastered-might trump any fighting skill. And so, even as Nino danced around him in a taunting manner, Romeo did not take the bait, but waited patiently for his moment of revenge… a moment he was confident the Virgin Mary would grant him.
“How very fortunate I am!” exclaimed Nino, taking Romeo’s inaction for a sign of fatigue. “I get to indulge in my two favorite sports on the same evening. Tell me, how does it feel-”
Romeo needed no more than a brief, careless imbalance in Nino’s stance to spring forward with impossible speed and drive his sword in between the other’s ribs, to penetrate his heart and pin him, briefly, to the wall.
“How it feels?” he sneered, right into Nino’s astounded face. “Did you really want to know?”
With that, he withdrew his blade in disgust and watched the lifeless body slide to the ground, leaving a trail of crimson on the wall.
From around the corner, Friar Lorenzo was shocked to witness the conclusion of the brief duel. Death had come so abruptly to Nino that the young man’s face showed nothing but surprise; the monk would have liked for Nino to realize his own defeat-even if it was only within the blink of an eye-before expiring. But Heaven had shown itself more merciful than he, and had ended the scoundrel’s sufferings before they had even begun.
Not pausing to wipe down his sword, Romeo stepped right over the dead body to turn the door handle that Nino had guarded with his life. Seeing his friend disappearing through the fateful door, Friar Lorenzo at last got up from his hiding place and hastened across the hallway-Giannozza’s men in tow-to follow Romeo into the unknown.
Stepping through the door, Friar Lorenzo paused to let his eyes adjust. There were no lights in the room save the glow from a few embers in the fireplace and the faint shine of the stars through an open window; even so, Romeo had walked straight over to the bed to wake its sleeping tenant.
“Giulietta, my love,” he urged, embracing her and showering her pale face with kisses, “wake up! We are here to save you!”
When the girl finally stirred, Friar Lorenzo saw right away that something was wrong. He knew Giulietta well enough to grasp that she was beyond herself, and that some power stronger than Romeo was working at her to put her back to sleep.
“Romeo…” she murmured, struggling to smile and touch his face, “you found me!”
“Come,” Romeo encouraged her, trying to make her sit up, “we must go before the guards come back!”
“Romeo…” Giulietta’s eyes were closing again, her head drooping limply like the bud of a flower felled by a scythe. “I wanted to-” She would have said more, but her tongue failed her, and Romeo looked at Friar Lorenzo in desperation.
“Come and help me!” he urged his friend, “she is ill. We’ll have to carry her.” When he saw the other hesitating, Romeo followed the monk’s eyes and saw the vial and cork on the bedstand. “What is that?” he demanded, his voice hoarse with fear. “A poison?”
Friar Lorenzo leapt across the floor to inspect the vial. “It was rosewater,” he said, smelling the empty vessel, “but also something else-”