If I die today, thought Pietro, will my father write the tale? Will he make us brave or foolish? He tried to put words together as his father would, but the only words that came to him were from L'Inferno. He found himself speaking them aloud:
Just so do I recall the troops
afraid to leave Caprona with safe-conduct,
Finding themselves among so many enemies.
Twisting in the saddle to face him, Cangrande spoke Virgil's lines from another canto:
And he, as one who understood:
'Here you must banish all distrust,
here all cowardice must be slain.
We have come to where I said
You would see the miserable sinners
Who have lost the good of the intellect.'
Pietro flushed. He hadn't thought he'd spoken loud enough to be heard. "I think my father meant to scorn those who forgo intellect, not praise them."
Cangrande shrugged. "This afternoon he insisted that everything is open to interpretation. Sometimes intellect must succumb to valour."
"I doubt he'd agree."
"He's a poet. He's forgotten what it feels like to live through deeds!"
Antony snorted. "Poets!"
"Give them their due," said Cangrande. "Without them no one would know of brave deeds. And why else do we fight and die but to live on in eternal fame?"
"What else is there to do?" asked Mariotto. "Farm? Raise sheep?"
"Well, there's always women," laughed Cangrande.
"Forgive me, lord," said Mariotto, "but no one was ever famous for loving. At least, no one I'd want to be."
"Hear hear," said Antony.
"Ah, but the best wars are always over a woman!" said Cangrande fondly. "Think of Troy! Helen, she must have been a prize worth winning!"
Antony said, "Think of Abelard! For his love he lost his balls!"
The ensuing laughter carried them down the crest. The enemy had been waiting all day in hope of this moment. The Scaliger, anticipating their impatience, was rewarded. When the four riders were only halfway across the open field, the Paduans crashed from their hiding places under the bridge, emitting shouts of victory.
Expecting some wonderful counter-attack from the Scaliger, the trio of youths were shocked when Cangrande wheeled his horse about and gave it his spurs. "Run!"
For a moment Pietro sat stunned in his saddle. Run? But with Paduan knights bearing down on him, fear crept into his throat and turned his bowels to liquid. He yanked the reins in his left hand and kicked. For one terrifying moment it balked, shaking the muscles on its neck with anger. Spurless, Pietro kicked his heels and yanked at the reins again, hard. Finally the horse obeyed, turning to run after the Scaliger, now a good twenty yards away.
It was an uphill race they couldn't win. The slope was rocky, and Pietro's tired horse was having trouble keeping its legs. The horses in pursuit were fresh, the men driving them eager.
The Scaliger turned in his saddle, looking back at the Paduan soldiers. Pietro saw a hungry smile inside the open cheek pieces of Cangrande's helmet, and understanding struck him.
Atop the hill, the Illasi garrison stepped out of the treeline to face an entirely unprepared enemy. Fully armed and armoured, Cangrande's men swung their shields into place and raised their weapons. Some had axes, maces, morning stars, or spears. Most had long swords.
The Paduans saw the garrison and checked. They had numbers, but terrain and the element of surprise were all with the Veronese. They pulled at their reins, turned their horses' heads. But they knew, they had to know, they were trapped.
Still riding uphill, Pietro was passed by the score of Cangrande's men angling full-tilt down into the ambushers, themselves ambushed in return. Some Paduans fought, some tried to flee. It made no difference in the end.
Pietro watched as the Capitano's men ruthlessly chased each of the Paduans down and killed them. It was the first time Pietro had seen so much death and he made sure he did not turn away. Eerily, Cangrande's men made no noise. The Paduans screamed and shouted, but the Veronese soldiers did their best to do their work in silence. Only the scrape of metal and the thump of hooves marked their passing.
Then the silence was complete. No Paduan had been spared. That's odd, thought Pietro with a shiver. The Scaliger is famous for his clemency.
Reining in beside the Capitano, he asked about this. Cangrande shrugged. "I couldn't let them live." Pietro thought he heard a touch of regret. "If I had, they would have warned Asdente and the Count. I'm in no position to take prisoners, and without an army at my back I need all the advantage surprise can give me." Cangrande swung his horse back towards the invested city. "Now let's walk these tired horses where they can rest. We have work to do."
At an easy trot Cangrande and his three companions rode up to the gate of Vicenza.
Within minutes Cangrande was standing on the steps to the main palace in conference with Antonio Nogarola, a gruff man of medium height and rotten teeth. They were related by marriage and tragedy, these two families, the Nogarolese having tacked themselves firmly to the tail of the ascendant Scalageri star. Quickly Nogarola apprised the Scaliger of recent events. Eavesdropping shamelessly, Pietro thought he heard a reference to a cat and a mention of fishing rods. Then clearly he heard Cangrande ask, "Is she safe?"
In response Nogarola pointed to the windows of the palace above them. "Within, giving orders to the servants. It was her idea to fire the houses in San Pietro."
"Of course it was." Cangrande's voice was bemused. Pietro lost the next words as they turned to look up into the palace. Whatever Nogarola said, Cangrande merely shook his head in reply. "I brought about thirty men."
"I've got about fifty who have horses and can ride them…"
Apropos of nothing, Pietro realized where else he had heard the name Vicenza before. Back in school in Florence, he'd been examined beside the son of a rich Pisan called Vincentio. Probably meant he hailed from Vicenza originally.
Pietro's ears pricked up as Cangrande and Nogarola turned back towards him.
"…knows I'm here she'll do something foolish."
"Such as?" inquired Nogarola.
"Such as putting on breeches and a helmet and hiding among the knights. No, let her remain ignorant of my presence until after the battle. Is there any sign of our friendly saint?"
"The Count?" Nogarola spat at the ground. "He's out there. Waved his flag and San Pietro fell over itself welcoming him. You'd think the San Bonifacio clan would be tired of opposing you. They keep losing."
Cangrande shrugged. "It's in his blood."
Nogarola's eyes scanned Cangrande's unlikely companions. He knew Mariotto, of course. Cangrande introduced Antony then pointed to Pietro. "Lord Nogarola, Pietro Alaghieri."
"Alighieri — any relation to the poet?"
Before Pietro could reply, Cangrande said, "Pietro appears to be his own man." A fresh set of horses arrived girded for war. "Come. Time to live forever in glory."
Nogarola unclasped the scarlet general's cape from his shoulders and handed it to Cangrande. Just as he fixed it in place, an old woman emerged from a nearby doorway. She was visibly drunk, stumbling into the street. Cangrande scooped her into his arms and plucked the wineskin from her fingers. "Mother, con permisso." He quaffed it in one pull and with a twinkling eye handed it back, thanking her.
The next moment he was kneeling. Those who saw the gesture likewise knelt to pray, the height of the crowd cut in half as man after man dropped to his knees.