"Never underestimate the power of luck," said Il Grande.
Cangrande smiled at the young Carrara. "Of course, when you know the extent of my trickery, you will be furious."
"What's that?" But he was already talking to the Capitano's back. Someone had run up to Cangrande carrying a large breastplate decorated with azure. Etched in acid were two stars in opposition, one high and left, one low and right. He whispered softly in the Capitano's ear. Cangrande examined the armour, chuckled once, then looked at Il Grande. "You know to whom this belongs."
"I do."
"A shame he's fled my hospitality."
"His loss, I'm sure."
"You're too kind." Cangrande handed the armour back to the soldier and issued instructions. "Take three men and return to where you found this, then trace the most direct path to Padua from there. If you haven't found him in an hour, turn back. Don't go past Camisano. Go." The man bowed and went, leaving Cangrande wearing an expression of delight on his lips. The Count of San Bonifacio's life was going to be more difficult for his flight, not less.
Leaving the Carrarese in the hands of some knights with explicit instructions to take them into the city and see to their comfort, the Scaliger made his way to where Antonio Nogarola had fallen. Nogarola was awake, screaming bloody murder at the men who insisted he return to the city.
"I'm fine, damn you!" he cried, staunching the flow of blood from his shoulder with a dead man's tabard. He kicked at one of his servants who had come to the battlefield to tend the wounded. "Go help someone else, I don't need you! I'll be in when I'm good and ready!"
"You always were a baby when you were sick." Cangrande stooped over Nogarola's shoulder and lifted the bloody cloth away from the wound. "It's not good. Can you move the arm?"
Nogarola grunted. "Some."
Cangrande replaced the cloth around the crossbow bolt. "I'll handle the mopping up. You go back and have that looked at." After a friendly pat on the older man's good arm, he was off.
With anyone else, Nogarola would have protested vehemently. Instead he meekly stood upright and followed his servants into the city.
Not far off Pietro discovered his friends. Antony was sitting upright with his head in his hands, while Mariotto was semiprone on his back, using his elbows to prop himself up.
"Christ," cried Mariotto when he saw Pietro's leg.
"It's not so bad," said Pietro.
"He wins," said Antony with an envious look.
Pietro's leg collapsed beneath him when he dismounted, but he managed not to cry out. He knelt awkwardly beside Antony and Mariotto. He held up the helmet with the crossbow bolt sticking out both ends. "Look at this!"
Antony had to laugh. "What are you, a target?"
They let him tell his story. He tried not to embellish it, but still they found it hard to believe he'd lived through the charge. When he was done they related their own adventures, each interupting the other frequently.
"So the same one who took a shot at your head let one fly at Mari here — "
"There was no crossbow aimed at me," interrupted Mariotto. "You're just a clumsy oaf in the saddle and can't own up to it!"
"Oh, there was a crossbow, all right!" shot back Antony. "What there wasn't was some mysterious spear-wielding horseman!"
"How did I get this?" asked Mariotto, sitting up and pointing to his wound. He winced at once and settled back on his elbows.
"How should I know? Maybe you got caught on a thistle, oh delicate flower!" They made rude gestures at each other, then Antony continued. "You're right about one thing, though. I fell. I didn't leap to save you. If I'd had my way, that bolt would have split your head like a melon!" He raised his voice on the last word, then rolled his eyes backward and groaned, head ringing. Pietro and Mariotto were overcome by a fit of giggling. Antony shot them a sour look that made them laugh all the harder.
The pain across his chest stifling his breath, Mariotto looked down. "Do you think I'll have a scar?"
"Probably," observed Pietro.
"Good," said Mariotto happily.
The Scaliger approached the trio with Jupiter. Beneath the bloodied muzzle, the hound still panted from the long day's chase. Seeing wounds that were not particularly grave, the Capitano smiled. "And what happened here?"
Antonio looked up, the corners of his mouth twisting, and Mariotto tried to sit up. Both spoke at the same time.
"I saved his life-"
"— and now he's-"
"— the ingrate, he says-"
"— there was this crossbow-"
"— a spearman-"
Cangrande spoke gravely. "I'm sure I'll hear all about it. Will you live?" Both nodded. "Good. Now you can start thinking of something to say to your fathers. Unless you had their permission to join my army?"
Antony stared at him wide-eyed. Mariotto looked as if he had swallowed a toad. Pietro felt a roiling weight in his stomach. The Capitano looked at them all, then gestured to Pietro. "Are you going back to the city to have your leg looked at?"
Pietro hadn't thought about it, but decided it was a good idea. "Yes, lord."
The Scaliger looked slightly discomfited. "I need someone to deliver a message for me, and I need to know it will be done both expeditiously and with a modicum of tact. Are you up for it?" Pietro started to reply, but the Scaliger held up a hand. "Don't be hasty. This errand will be more dangerous than anything you have tried today." Cangrande took a deep breath. "I need you to find Donna Katerina Nogarola and tell her I will see her shortly. Until then, if she pleases, she will see to the wounded."
It sounded simple enough. Yet Pietro noticed Mariotto's surprised look.
Cangrande continued. "She was last seen in the palazzo where we armed, but by now she might be along the walls of San Pietro, or even here in the field. If she's here, no doubt she'll find me herself," he finished in almost a mutter.
Using his good leg, Pietro clambered awkwardly into the saddle of his fourth borrowed horse. "I'll do it, lord." Who is this woman, that she makes Cangrande so uncomfortable?
Cangrande bobbed his head in thanks and moved off, the matter immediately forgotten as he focused the next task in the battle's aftermath.
Pietro faced Mariotto. "Who is she?" Antony drew close to hear.
Still lying prone on the earth, Mariotto looked up with an idiot grin. "Bailardino's wife, Donna Katerina. If you wait a moment, we'll go with you. You might want some strong friends at your back. She can be — outspoken."
"Outspoken? How?"
Mariotto struggled to his feet. "She's notorious for arguing with the Capitano in public, and winning more often than not. That's why he doesn't want to face her — she's going to flog him sideways for not talking to her before the battle."
Pietro recalled the snippets of conversation he'd overheard on the steps of the palazzo — something about a woman donning men's attire. Antonio was incredulous. "She argues with him? In public? Who is she?"
Mariotto's light blue eyes twinkled as he settled into a saddle. "His sister."
The first stars were appearing in the sky as the proudly wounded trio reentered the city of Vicenza amid thunderous cheering. Hundreds of citizens swarmed around them like wasps, then buzzed past them out through the gates. Gazing at them, Pietro was astonished. He turned to Antony, who was looking on in slack-jawed amazement.
"So that's how he did it," muttered Mariotto in awe.
The citizens streaming past him bore improvised helms and arms, some looking quite ridiculous with old pots and pans on their noggins and fishing rods or long walking sticks strung with catgut in their hands. The women, children, and elderly of the proud city of Vicenza, the 'archers', were thrilled with their role in the battle. They had routed the Paduan invaders and could tell this story for generations to come. Now they ran out to assist in rounding up the prisoners, dragging hounds to aid in chasing down the fugitives. Hungry for revenge, the citizens hooted and hollered along with their animals, promising to show far less respect to the captured soldiers than Cangrande had.