"It's clear," said Antony brightly.
"Indeed it is," replied Cangrande.
"Shouldn't we go on, then?" asked the Capuan.
The Scaliger waved a hand at the open field below them. "I was thinking we should have a picnic."
Mariotto snickered and Antony looked put out. Pulling his horse around to face them, Cangrande turned his back on the city he'd ridden all afternoon to rescue. Swinging one leg up, he rested it on the neck of his sweating beast, careful of the spur.
"A picnic?" asked Antony.
"Well, we missed the wedding dinner. Things are always escaping me. I should have brought some wine from Illasi for us to share. Or at least some sausage. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Jupiter? Yes! Sausage!" The hound barked twice in assent.
The trio didn't quite know what to make of the Scaliger's demeanor. Pietro watched the great lord of Verona lift his face to scan the sky. "What are you looking for, lord?"
"Velox."
"Velox?"
"Fortis Velox — the merlin. He's been trailing us, but I don't see him now. At least I have Jupiter. I can use him to instruct Ponzino and Asdente how to hunt foxes."
Pietro couldn't make heads or tails of this conversation. It was Mariotto who knew a cue when he heard one. "Foxes?"
"Yes, foxes. But I thought they already knew." He sighed.
Antony was smiling. "How do you hunt foxes?"
The Capitano took on the air of a patient teacher. "There are two ways. You can beat the bushes and chase it when it emerges. Or you can lay a trap and let it come to you."
Now Pietro was smiling as well. "What kind of trap?"
"Why, a nice plump chicken, of course. With three big feathers." He held three fingers over his head, imitating the three flags hanging limply on the walls of the city behind him. "We are the foxes, my boys. Here is our chicken. And look — the guard dog is away! What could be better?" A finger went up in the air. "But the fox is a clever little devil. He sees no guard dog, no fence, no impediment at all between him and his plump, juicy chicken. What does this make him think?"
"Too good to be true," said Pietro.
"Just so." The Scaliger turned to look over his shoulder at the open slopes between themselves and the city. "A hunter must choose his bait carefully. In this case, our Paduan friends have been a little too cautious. I doubt they honestly expected to see me here today. But they know I'm worried that the population of Vicenza might change sides if faced with a prolonged siege. It's common knowledge that I am not at the height of my popularity inside the city."
"What does that matter?" asked Antony. "You're their Vicar."
"The only authority I have," said Cangrande tranquilly, "was given me by Emperor Heinrich, and what good is the favour of a dead man? So Ponzino de' Ponzoni, from all evidence a decent though uninspired soldier, knows I am worried about the safety of the Vicentine garrison. In the throes of that fear, I might do something foolish, like riding out alone and unarmed to the defense of an invested city."
"My lord," observed Antonio, "that's what you did."
"Ridiculous. I had you three. So I arrive, and what do I see?"
Again Pietro looked towards the city gates. There was a stone bridge, pre-Roman by its decrepit appearance. It crossed a deep dip in the land that had probably once been used as a moat but had since dried up. Around the bridge there was nothing but grassy slopes slowly changing colour as the season dictated. Not even a bird stirred. "Nothing."
"Exactly! Not a thing! An open field for me to ride across and devour the chicken. How wonderful!" Cangrande pulled a comic frown. "Only I am a little disturbed. As a child I was forced to recite my Gallic Wars, my Vegetius, even my Homer. I know the importance of surrounding an invested city. It prevents reinforcements from strengthening the will of those unfortunates besieged. It's the basic principle that Caesar used so brilliantly at Alesia. Now, if I have read these works, I know that my worthy opponent the Podestà of Padua has read them as well. I wonder how he could have forgotten so basic a lesson? But he must have! For I see no troops! The hen house is open and ripe for pillaging." He gestured to the open expanse of land between them and the gates.
Pietro nodded. "Where are they?"
"Under the bridge," answered Cangrande with a bored sigh, "and possibly in the ravine further north. If he had any brains, he'd have put a thin line of men in the open. Then I might have raced for the far gates in the hope of outrunning the guards. At that moment the hidden soldiers could have leapt out and slaughtered me." He sighed in evident disappointment. "Upon reflection, I would wager it was Vanni who set it up. One thing is for certain, though: Bonifacio is not handling the details. That's excellent news. It means they're poorly organized and not making use of the wiser heads among them." He grinned at the trio as they drank in his every word. "Someday I'll meet an equal, and then you'll see some fireworks, boys." Then, mock-mournfully, he added, "But so far, it hasn't happened."
"So what do we do?" asked Antony. "Just sit here?"
"I think we can make it," opined Mariotto. "We know where they are. With luck, we can be past them and to the gates before they ride out from their bridge."
Cangrande shook his head, "Though I always like to have it, I never expect luck to side with me. Too often she's a fickle bitch. And though you're right, we might make it past them, they could still raise an alarum, and I don't want Asdente and the Count to know I'm here. Yet."
Antony practically spat. "So we do nothing?"
"We remind Asdente of a fact he seems to have forgotten."
"And that is?"
The Capitano's blue eyes twinkled. "I am not the fox in this drama. I am the hound."
"The Great Hound," supplied Mariotto.
"The Greyhound," said Pietro.
The Scaliger's blue eyes fixed on Pietro coldly. Flustered, young Alaghieri braced himself for a rebuke. Before it was delivered, however, Cangrande cocked an ear. "How now? What noise is this?" Behind them, the Illasi garrison was arriving. "Not bad time for horses so heavily laden. Now, I'm going to have a word with my commander and then, because you've been so patient, I'll take you with me on a little constitutional."
He cantered away, leaving Pietro wondering what he'd said. For the first time in their brief acquiantance, the Greyhound had seemed genuinely angry. The chill from those blue eyes still clung to Pietro's skin. I called him the Greyhound. But isn't that his title? The beast was on all his banners. Pietro's own father had referred to him as such over and over again. Why, then, had his eyes blazed at the mention of it?
Whatever it was, Mariotto had missed it. "Constitutional?"
Antony rubbed his huge hands together. "I'll say this — he isn't boring!"
Pietro squinted out at where Cangrande had said the enemy would be waiting in ambush. At first he saw only the vague multicoloured shapes that danced inside his eyes. He blinked them away and tried again. For several seconds he saw nothing at all. Then a shadow under the bridge shifted. Pietro didn't think it was a trick of the light. The Capitano had been prescient. There were mounted knights under the bridge, waiting.
So focused on the spot under the bridge, Pietro didn't notice Cangrande's return, and jumped when he heard the Scaliger say, "Shall we take their bait, signores?" Without waiting for a reply the Scaliger spurred ahead out of the treeline and down the hill. Antony and Mariotto followed on either side, and Pietro quickly followed.
"Slow and easy," murmured Cangrande. They obeyed, cantering down the slope four abreast, their horses grateful for the relaxed pace. They rode at an easy gait, Cangrande feigning an interest in their surroundings-the hills above, the fields around. Their leader was a consummate actor, and their meandering progress belied the thudding of the young men's blood.