Dante knew full well the social perils of leaving this lady to join in the search for her husband's bastard son. But again the lady herself solved his dilemma. "We will all go. Send for my grooms, have them arrange a carriage and gather an escort. We ride to Vicenza. Immediately."
"This was a terrible idea."
Antonia's horse trotted beside Gianozza's, the rain falling steadily over them both. Their whole beings were focused on not falling from the sidesaddles. In the dark afternoon Gianozza's horse did not see the rabbit hole in its path. Gianozza shrieked as the horse stumbled and she fell skidding across the ground.
Antonia slid out of her wet saddle and landed running on the sodden earth. "Gianozza!" She reached her companion's side. "What's the matter?"
"My leg! My leg is broken!" cried Gianozza. Rolando whined in empathy.
It didn't look broken to Antonia, who was admittedly no great judge. She looked up to see Gianozza's horse limp away, whinnying pitifully. "I guess you're both lame." It was perfect. Trust the girl to end up a crippled and helpless heroine. "Can you ride on the back of mine?"
"No, no. It hurts!"
"I could walk," offered Antonia. Again Gianozza shook her head. "Do you want me to get help?" The girl nodded. Antonia took the knife from off her belt and placed it in Gianozza's lap. "Just in case you need it. And keep Rolando close!" She started towards her horse. "I'll find someone!" Climbing back into the saddle, Antonia spurred off in the direction she'd come.
Pietro silently digested Pathino's claim, wondering if it could be true. "If you're related, prove it."
Pathino reached into his shirt and withdrew the medallion. "This was a gift from a great Scottish warlord to my father. He passed it on to me. If I ever needed to prove whose son I was, this would do it."
"So that's why you had to have it back. But why didn't you ever..?"
Pathino was amused. "Why would I throw myself into a nest of vipers? No, it was far better to bide my time and let my siblings die off, one after another. Bartolomeo and Alboino are dead. Cangrande cannot last much longer, he has too many enemies. Then I would have stepped forward to claim my father's legacy to make up for his sinful ways."
Pietro tried a new tack. "You hate your father for being sinful. But what about you? You've committed murder. Not on the battlefield. You murdered the nurse in Verona — the one you stabbed in the chest."
"A tragedy. I prayed for her."
"Decent of you. What about Fazio? Have you already prayed for him?"
Pathino shook his head in honest sadness. "Poor fool. He made a scene by begging. He didn't understand why he had to die."
Pietro trembled again, but not with cold. "What a fine figure you'll cut before God, the slayer of women and boys. Did you kill the oracle, as well?"
"No, I had nothing to do with that. I wish I had, the heathen bitch. The nurse, yes, I confessed to that sin and was forgiven. But the whoring soothsayer was killed by the Count's partner."
Pietro squinted at him across the flames. "Partner?"
A laugh. "You know so little. Yes, the Count's partner had the oracle killed. The message sent, the messenger had to die. Otherwise she might reveal the partner's name."
This partner is the one who has access to Cangrande's seal. "I'm going to die anyway, so tell me — who's this partner?"
Pathino smiled, a horrid version of Cangrande's famous grin. "That would be telling."
But another odd suspicion was forming in Pietro's mind. "You're willing to kill women and children. So why didn't you murder Detto? Why haven't you killed him yet?" He pointed to Cesco, on his knees under Pathino's blade.
Pathino was silent for a very long time. Suddenly he spat into the fire. "My father was a clever man. He told all his whores of a curse on his bloodline. I don't know who began the curse, or how. Perhaps it was Alberto himself. It may be he feared one of his sons doing him ill. Perhaps it was a guilty conscience, or simple foresight. But whatever the curse's origin, we are not allowed to take the life of anyone who shares our blood. Sanguis meus, the old bastard said. Blood of my blood. Anyone who does will suffer death untimely, and eternal damnation." Pathino shivered. "I will not be damned to fulfill my destiny. God would not ask it of me. That is why I did not kill Nogarola's boy — he is my nephew, through Cangrande's bitch of a sister. And that is why I will not kill this one."
"But you will be damned, Gregorio. Is that even your real name? You've committed murder today, and you will not have a chance to confess or even pray before Cangrande comes here to kill you." Pathino just laughed, and Pietro pushed more. "Think on this. One hour. That's the head start you had. Four hours. That's how long it took me to catch up to you, even though I had to trace you back and forth across the river. One minute. That's how long it will take for Cangrande and his merry men to notice the signs I left for them — a broken twig, a sword slash in the base of a tree. I figure it'll take them about three hours to trace us here. How long have we been sitting here? Any minute you'll hear the hoofbeats of a thousand knights — and I mean real soldiers, not cowardly backstabbing, woman-murdering scum like you." There was consideration on Pathino's face. Perhaps even concern.
Pietro pressed his advantage home. "I'll make a deal with you. Give up now, and I'll let you pray before they hang you. You can ask forgiveness. That way you won't be damned. Your soul will fly to Heaven. Now, give me the boy."
It almost worked. But Pietro made to stand too soon. Pathino's dagger pressed against Cesco's face just below the eye. "Don't you move! I may not be able to kill him, but I'll take out his eyes. I mean it."
Cesco was still, not even blinking. He made sounds that the gag muffled, but his eyes were on the blade that threatened his skin. Pathino shook him. "How would you like that, nephew? I hope you're not afraid of the dark, because you'll live in blackness forever. How does that sound?" Pathino's head snapped up again to snarl at Pietro. "The Count wants him alive? Fine. But he'll be blind. Is that what you want? Is it?"
"No." Almost a whisper.
"Then sit down. Sit!"
"Listen-"
"No! No more talking. We'll sit and wait for the Count to get here. And you better hope that your master missed the trail you left. If not, my beloved brother will get his son back, mutilated and scarred. Even dear sister Katerina won't be able to look at him without vomiting."
Pietro opened his mouth to let an insult fly, but Pathino drew the knife lightly over Cesco's skin, making a small cut just under the eyebrow, off to the side. Blood trickled down the small face.
Cesco didn't move, but made a sound almost like a growl. Pietro saw the child staring past Pietro at the ground nearby. Again the boy growled. Pathino shook him once, with real violence. "You shut up, too."
Cesco looked straight at Pietro, green eyes direct and imploring.
What's he trying to tell me?
Thirty-Seven
Surrounded by an armed escort of twenty men, the coach from Verona moved swiftly. At Soave they encountered Vicentines guarding the road. Giovanna and Dante were informed that the battle was indeed won, but there was no word yet of the missing children. Jacopo, all excitement, asked to borrow a horse and ride at the front of the small party. This was arranged and, thanking the Vicentines for their news, the lady ordered her men to press on without delay.
Dante was now alone with Cangrande's wife in the carriage. The downpour beating down on the roof effectively drowned out polite conversation. When the lady said something Dante was forced to ask her to repeat it.
"I said, do you find that great men are incapable of fidelity?"