"Then your minions were confused — they hacked his bed to pieces."
"When was this?" demanded Vinciguerra.
"August of last year. Tell me that, at least, was a mistake."
An odd expression spread over the old man's face. "I sent no one in August — or July or September, for that matter."
Katerina believed him. That meant there was someone else's hand at work — someone subtle enough to hide his intent to kill the boy under the guise of yet another kidnapping attempt.
From the Count's expression, he'd reached the same conclusion. "You know who it is," observed Katerina.
"I might," confirmed Vinciguerra. "But believe me, lady, I wanted no harm to befall that boy. In fact, I swore an oath to Pathino that he would not be hurt."
"Why? What is he to Pathino?"
The Count grinned. "Can't you tell? Didn't you see it when you met the man? I mean, he's thin and has lived a hard life. He's quite a devoted man of faith, wears a hair shirt. All that adds years to a man's face. But still…"
"What are you talking about?"
"You asked what Pathino was to the boy. I'll do one better. I'll tell you what he is to all you Scaligeri." The Count paused, savouring this.
"He's kin."
"I never knew my father well, but my mother took great pride in him. The great Lord of Verona. Just like your beloved Cangrande, my father ran about the Feltro sowing his filthy seed in every wench that caught his eye. My mother was a local girl destined for a good marriage before he took her and used her for his lust. Then he tossed her aside for another whore, leaving her pregnant and alone. Oh, there was gold, of course. Devil's payment, the Devil's due for the Devil's deed. But did he ever confess it as a sin? The pious man, so pious that he burned the Paterene heretics in Verona's Arena — the same place you fought that ridiculous duel — did that pious man of faith ever confess the act that brought nameless me into the world, a shame to my mother?"
Pietro was trying to piece this story together. "You're talking about Cangrande's father."
Pathino gave him a tainted smile. "Alberto della Scala, yes. Five children in wedlock, dozens out. I have prayed all my life for God to forgive the stain of my blood, the soil of my progenitor, of a man who appointed one of his own bastards to the holy office of abbot. That he is remembered for his piety is an abomination against the Lord."
Pietro was still grappling with the concept. But looking at Pathino now in the flickering flames, there were signs. The cheeks, the chin. The eyes. "Cangrande is-"
"My brother, yes. Or rather, my half-brother. We had different mothers, thanks be to God."
"But… if he's your brother, tell him so and he'll see to you."
"I'm sure."
"No, I mean he'll welcome you. Nothing is as important to him as family. I've seen…" Pietro stopped speaking.
"Yes?"
There could be no harm in saying it. "I saw him give up victory over Padua to take in that boy there. That's how much his family matters to him."
Pathino remained silent. The dancing light played over a face that might have just as well been made of marble. Finally he spoke. "So, to claim his bastard he gave up a great victory. A noble deed, almost atoning for the sin of siring the bastard in the first place. Yet it kept him from greatness. It proves that he cannot be the Greyhound."
Pietro blinked, leaning forward. "The — what do you mean?"
"You know the prophecy? Good, that's good. God has ordained that the Greyhound will bring about another age of man. Everyone believes that your precious Cangrande is that man. But there is a hint in the name itself. Veltro. Greyhound. The bastard. Think about it. It has to be a bastard. Only a bastard, born in sin, can transcend that sin and win Christ's approval to help bring mankind to its senses, recreate the church in his image, and do away with the heathens once and for all. A world ruled for God by God's faithful. That is the new age of man, Ser Alaghieri. That is the secret behind the prophecy."
"So you kidnapped the boy to help make the prophecy come true, turn the Greyhound into the man you want him to be?"
"What? No. No! I kidnapped the boy to give him to the Count, or sell him into slavery, or anything." Pathino began to swell, to tower. In that moment he truly looked like Cangrande's kindred, but mottled, as if reflected in dark water. "When the Count told me that Cangrande had adopted his own bastard I knew it was a sign from God. The prophecy was threatened. Divine influence was split between the two candidates for His plan."
"Two?"
Pathino shook Cesco slightly. "Him, and me. I will be Il Veltro. I am the Greyhound."
When Antonia's message arrived at the Scaliger Palace in Verona, the lovely Giovanna da Svevia was being entertained in her husband's parlor by the poet Dante. Feeling sour, he was reading aloud to the female members of Cangrande's court. Not that most of them listened, which was only to be expected. Bubbleheaded ninnies, wives of minor nobles. Only Giovanna, great-granddaughter of the Emperor Frederick II, paid him any heed. Related by blood or by marriage to half the rulers of Italy, Germany, and Sicily, she had a fine respect for the written word.
Jacopo, present as a courtesy to his father, was presently making moon-eyes at one of Giovanna's attendants. The ones he'd already bedded and discarded were full of barely concealed malice. Dante was ashamed and slightly awed by his younger son's prowess with the ladies.
Their hostess was lively, cheerful and active for such a gloomy day. Dante himself was weary of court and looking for an excuse to escape. So the messenger bearing a note for Maestro Dante was a welcome interruption.
Seeing his daughter's hand, Dante imagined this had something to do with copyists' fees or foreign translations. And she was supposed to be on holiday. The girl was as hard a worker as her father. Pity her brother Jacopo was such a -
Reading the first paragraph Dante gasped. Jacopo saw the blood drain from his father's face. Forgetting the girl, he darted forward. "What? What's the matter?"
"Wait." Scanning the brief single sheet again, Dante spoke to his hostess. "My son is in Vicenza."
"Your other son? The noble Ser Alaghieri? How wonderful!"
"Yes. But it seems he's joined my Lord della Scala, your husband, on another of his idiotic — I mean, wild flights of martial endeavor."
"May I?" Giovanna took the paper and read over the few well-shaped lines. "So, that's where my husband is. He forgets to tell me these things."
"But surely, lady," said Dante, "this is good news."
"Indeed." Aware of the anxious looks from the women around her, she said, "The Paduans have broken the treaty. They have tried to take Vicenza. If we are to understand our esteemed poet's daughter, the attack has been beaten back and Verona is victorious."
The women clapped their hands in relief. A couple of them wept. Alone among them Dante knew the second part of the message and was pondering what, if anything, there was to be done about it. "A great happiness, lady."
"Yes," said Giovanna. "Francesco does love his surprises. But what a joy that your son has returned to Verona! He seems determined to regain his lost glory. He's out searching for a missing child as we speak."
Dante blinked. He hardly thought that the lady would make that part of the message public. It was followed by the inevitable voices, all asking the same question. "What child?"
"It hardly matters," said Dante told them. But Giovanna surprised him when she said, "In the confusion of battle, Donna Katerina's son has been kidnapped. Bailardetto. And her foster son as well. I believe his name is Francesco."
There were many knowing looks mingled with the utterances of surprise and horror. Jacopo leapt to his feet. "Cesco! And Pietro is looking for him? Father, we have to go help!"