The Master of Verona

"Demons is right," said Pietro coldly. "No one would believe me if I told them what lies under the della Scala skin. No. I won't be a part of your games anymore. You tried to — you would have killed my father? Morsicato, Tharwat? Cesco? You can't pass a child off to me and declare a victory. No. I refuse." Without another word, he turned and limped to the stairs. In moments he was gone.

Brother and sister watched him go. The Scaliger let out a long sigh. "It worked."

Katerina's eyes opened a fraction. "You knew he was there?"

"Yes."

"You also knew I'd come after you, so you staged the scene?"

"Alterius non sit, qui suus esse potest. He's quite correct. We're monsters, you and I."

"We are what the stars make us."

"We are what we will be."

"He'll hate you, you know."

Cangrande shrugged. "Any birth takes pain."

Katerina strode to her brother. Her left hand in bandages, she couldn't embrace him. Instead, she kissed his cheek. "Does this end our war?"

Cangrande put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you dead? Am I?"

Stepping back, Katerina nodded her understanding. "You know, you still surprise me from time to time. With all your calculating and your infinite rage, I often forget your nobility."

"Darling, let's not get carried away. Do you think he'll accept?"

"I don't see what choice you've left him. I wonder if he sees that."

"Pietro's eyes are open now. To many things."

"If I may ask — when did you choose him?"

Cangrande blinked. "That first day, here in the palace. Before you came in he was talking in his sleep. Something in his dreams, I think. It wasn't very clear. But when you told me the boy had been born, I knew he would need a champion."

Katerina cocked her head to the side. "He spoke in his dreams? Has he inherited his father's magic?"

The Capitano opened his hands in a helpless gesture. "I don't know about magic powers, but I've seen Dante when he writes — he's in another world. And there is more to his writing than the choice of words. I think God brings about certain times in history, certain energies that merge in men — I don't know. Pietro has dreams. That is something he and Cesco share."

"And you."

"And you." The Scaliger started for the stairs. "Come. We both need rest."

"I'll sit up here for a bit. The sky is so lovely tonight."

Cangrande glanced upward. "Really? I find it oppressive. But as you will."

Katerina remained on the roof for some time, unable to move. The conflict had been far more draining than she'd ever imagined. Her heart was broken, but she was proud. Her brother was learning. Someday he might actually become a great man.

But not Il Veltro. That destiny belonged to another.

Epilogue

Turning a corner, Pietro was addressed by a rasping voice. "So. Now you know."

It was a long time before he answered. "Now I know."

Al-Dhaamin's head was thickly bandaged. "I owe you my life."

Pietro remembered the curved sword protecting his head and shoulders as he had ridden to rescue Cangrande. "Consider all debts paid."

"I am only sorry I could not be there when you truly needed."

"Oh? When was that? The cave? The coach? Or just now? For I'll tell you, nothing today compares with what I just heard. Oh, but I'm forgetting — you know everything already." Pietro laughed sourly. "They want me to take Cesco to Ravenna. But if Cesco is the Greyhound, nothing I do matters. If I don't take him, it'll all turn out the same. Right?"

"You know that is not so. Your faith denies predestination. I am inclined to agree. There is much talk of the stars' influence on men. No one ever speaks of man's influence on the stars. There is no relationship in the Almighty's creation that does not extend both ways. The boy may or may not be the Greyhound — that we cannot control. But what kind of man the Greyhound will be, that is open to our influence."

They stood gazing at each other. At last Pietro said, "You're a part of this, too. You let them play their little games, you encourage them. You play them off each other. What is it you want out of all this, Tharwat al-Dhaamin? What are you after?"

The tall, scarred man gazed down at Pietro. "I fear that by watching the battle between brother and sister, you have lost sight of the war. The struggle between siblings, the feud with Padua, the designs of Venice, the rancors of Florence, the hopes of the pope, the dreams of those who would be emperor — all those are as nothing to the fate of this boy. If he is the Greyhound, he can reshape the world as we know it. Who would not wish to be a part of such an epic design? It is a slim hope, I know, the promise of a promise. But who would hesitate to give up his life to bring such a new age to pass?"

"That's not an answer. What is it you want?"

Al-Dhaamin lips pressed together. "Ask yourself this — if I have made charts for the child, and for Katerina and Cangrande, is it not possible that someone once made a chart of my own poor life? That I, too, find a destiny that revolves around this child? That I have even found the end of my life intersecting at a place along his chart."

"You've seen your own death?"

"Possibly, yes. You played a part in that discovery. Had you not suggested that there were twin stars, I could not have made the chart that showed the intersection of my death and his life."

That was a chilling thought. But Pietro was sick to death of prophecies and star charts. "Do you think you can postpone your death?"

The Moor's chuckle was an eerie rumble. "Nothing can do that, my young friend. We die whenever the stars will it. It is futile to strive against them. The stars are powerful enemies." Pietro was quiet. "The Scaliger has no plans now to control the child's life. He's taken his revenge on his sister and placed the child where he is most likely to thrive while not growing to be a threat to himself. It is a remarkable act of self-abnegation, not to be confused with altruism. He has, for a brief moment, transcended himself. At the same time, he has bestowed his greatest gift upon you."

"Gift? What gift?"

The astrologer laid a hand on Pietro's trembling shoulder. "He has shown himself to be something less than what you imagine him to be. He has revealed a darker side, peeled back the layers of his persona to show you the person underneath. He has freed you from the thrall of worship."

Pietro glared at the Moor. "If that's true, why don't I feel grateful? And how do you know all this? Did you divine it?"

"Sometimes a well-tuned ear is far superior to the pendulum. Pietro Alaghieri, the master of Verona has given you a choice. Will you step up to the task the stars have lain at your feet and grasp your destiny, as I have mine? Or will you deny the child his brightest future out of your own need for independence?"

"Tharwat, I'm a puppet noticing his strings for the first time. Perhaps that's a gift, but how much happier was the puppet when he was unaware of the tugging?"

"Pietro, you are old enough to discard the notion that life is about happiness. This is your destiny. It is a worthy one. I am only helping you to embrace it." The Moor bowed his head and laid his hand on his heart. "I will go with you, if you like."

Pietro blinked. "You would?"

"I have nothing more to bind me to here. My place is with the boy. If you will have me."

Lifting his cane, Pietro started to walk away. "I'll think about it."

The astrologer watched him go. Then he went to pack his few belongings. The stars had already given him Pietro's answer.

Dante lay in bed, trying to breathe easy after his adventures. He was not the young man who had fought at the Battle of Campaldino. His wars were now waged with words, not swords. The sudden excitement had tired him to the point of turning his lips blue. Morsicato had ordered a draught to help him sleep, but Dante hadn't felt like taking it. He didn't want to be insensible just yet. There were things going on around him. He wished to be aware of the outcome.