"No. People do what he did. Friends forgive."
"You don't understand."
Gianozza laid a hand on his arm. "I do. I truly do. It's my fault."
His voice choked. "I never felt anything — never felt things so much, so strong, before you. Just that one night, that one happy night — I was the best I could remember being. I was the man I always wanted to be." He turned his head upward, allowing the rain to beat on his face.
"Will you be that man if you kill Mariotto? My husband? Is that the act of a man who wants my happiness?" Antony shrugged, and she took hold of his face. "Ser Capulletto, I didn't reject you for you. I fell in love with your friend."
Antony's voice was bitter. "Of course you love him. He has everything — looks, name, friends, a kind father. He's the oldest, he won't have to scrape a living together of his brother's leavings. So of course you married him! He's got everything. And now he wants to be friends again. Friends! Well, he won't have that! He won't get me, too!"
Gianozza stepped back, only to cry out. "Oh! My ankle!" This utterly unmanned him, and he helped her to sit again on the earth. When he was kneeling beside her she said, "Antony, how much of this is really about me?"
"You don't understand." His breathing came in ragged bursts. Gianozza's own breathing was shallow, compared to the bellows his lungs had become. They were very close now.
When the kiss happened, it was as tender and soft as anything she'd ever experienced. Almost reverential, as if he feared offending her.
"I want you," he whispered in her ear. "I love you, Giulia."
She pulled back from him. "Giulia?" It was a name she had never heard herself called.
"You're my Giulia. The perfect woman." He leaned in to kiss her again. This second kiss was more passionate, and Gianozza felt herself kissing him back. Oh, what bliss! What joy! She was -
Francesca. Francesca and Paolo, the illicit lovers. The damned lovers.
Wrenching herself away she stared at him in horror. "This isn't the — no! No, Antony! Listen to me! We can — we're supposed to be friends now, that's all — "
"How now?" said Antony, frowning sharply. "What is this to you, a game? I'm serious, girl! You are all that I want in this life! You are my everything! You are my Giulia!" She pulled away from him, and for a long moment he stared at her. Then he cried, "Damn it! Does he get everything? Then give him this!" Drawing out a silver knife he gripped it tightly, tears running down his face.
What he was about to do, she never afterward could guess. She was certain he would never have harmed her, or told herself she was certain. Would he have given her the knife? Hurt himself with it?
Whatever Antony intended, she was saved from it by the sound of horses approaching. Antonia had found a group of five men, led by Benvenito. "Gianozza, are you all right?"
Gianozza gazed at Antony, who stood still in the rain looking back at her. Then he turned away. She called out, "I'm fine!"
Antony stayed long enough to ensure she was safe. Then he clambered up into the saddle and rode away. Gianozza watched him go. Just before he passed out of sight she saw his gloved fingers open, releasing the silver dagger. It fell, landing point first in the muddy earth.
Antonia was kneeling beside Gianozza. "What happened?"
"I made it worse! I made it worse! I told him not to — he's supposed to listen, to love me enough to listen-"
Antonia sighed. "What did you think would happen, Gianozza? That if you played the scene right, all would be forgiven? This isn't a play, or a poem."
Gianozza wept. Eventually they persuaded her to mount a horse. All the long ride back towards Castello Montecchio, she repeated one thought over and over. "This isn't how it was supposed to happen."
They did not see the man who'd been watching, who now came forward to take up the silver dagger.
In the cave they heard distant hoofbeats. At first Pathino grinned. "I'm sorry, Ser Alaghieri, but I'm afraid the Count won't let you walk alive from this place. Perhaps if you beg."
The sound multiplied. Four or more horses trampled the earth not far away.
"Was he bringing friends?" asked Pietro.
"He could have brought some Paduans with him," protested Pathino feebly.
"And have them kill him when they learned this whole enterprise was a feint for him to kidnap a Veronese child? I doubt it." Pietro stood up. "It's time."
Immediately Pathino leapt to his feet, dragging the child up with him. "Don't!"
"You know what I think? I think the Count has been captured, and in exchange for his life he's given them you." Pietro reached out an open hand. "Give up now and I won't let them hang you." Subtly he edged his left foot closer to the protruding half-burnt stick. Mercurio's eyes were open now, though his whimpers were too soft for Pathino to hear.
Pathino glanced wildly about, then smiled again as the hoofbeats rode back the way they had come. Pathino's relief brought back his awful version of Cangrande's smile. "You won't let them hang me? How generous. But I think it's time I do something about you, Count or no." He brandished the knife.
Pietro made a show of sagging. His next move would have to be bootless, and he'd pay for it later — if he survived.
Now.
Pietro stepped into the fire. With the flat of his foot he kicked the half-burnt stick through the air towards the spaventapasseri. Pathino's hands flew up to ward off the flaming embers, and Cesco dropped to the ground and rolled away. Cursing, Pathino grabbed, his fingers clutching only air. Dagger in hand he turned on Pietro, still across the fire pit.
Pietro shouted, "Mercurio! Avanti!"
The great greyhound rose from the pool of its own blood and threw itself through the flames. The long mouth clamped down hard on Pathino's left hand in a spray of blood. The bastard Scaliger screamed as the weight of the dog yanked his arm down. The hound pulled, driving his teeth in with a savage growl.
Pathino plunged his long thin dagger into the hound, piercing its eye. Mercurio's jaw went slack and the greyhound fell to the earth without a rattling whisper.
From somewhere in the darkness a young voice screamed, "M'cur-o!"
Pietro had already scooped up his sword and was running around the fire pit. Pathino freed his blade from the dead dog and lashed out at Pietro's face. Taking the slash across the back of his hand, Pietro heard the next cut whistle past his ear. He rolled, putting distance between himself and Pathino. Leaping to his feet, he twisted around to lunge at his enemy.
Only Pathino wasn't there. The bastard was running to his horse, tethered just a few feet away. He slashed the leather ties and clambered into the saddle.
Sword raised, bellowing like the devil himself, Pietro limped towards the horse. But he was too slow. Pathino kicked and the beast jumped. His scalp brushed the ceiling of the cave where it dipped low, pushing through the dangling roots of the giant tree above. Then he was around the fire, angling towards the cave's exit.
Pathino had forgotten the tripwire. The horse's forelegs caught it, sending both Pathino and his mount headlong into the muck. Struggling to free himself of the flailing horse, the firelight exaggerated his scarecrow figure into a grotesque form in the shadows on the cave walls.
Pietro jumped the tripwire and splashed after him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Cesco, free of his bonds, running towards the dead dog.
A flash of reflected firelight brought his attention back to Pathino. He still held the miseracordia and he swung it wildly. Pietro's sword had a better reach, though. He thrust with it and Pathino had to leap backward in the knee-high water, scrabbling to keep his feet.
"Damn you!" cried Pathino, turning and racing for the mouth of the tunnel. Pietro slogged after as best he could, knowing that it was hopeless. He was too slow. Pathino would be free in moments.