The moment the prayer ceased to echo around the Arena, Cangrande rose to his full height and threw a balled fist into the air. "Let the festivities commence!" The crowd went wild and Cangrande withdrew, making way for the actors.
At the center of the Arena floor, a stage was marked out, and the rising sun coincided neatly with the start of the first entertainment. Far from the usual miracle or mystery plays, what erupted onstage was a bawdy romp by Aristophanes in which the women of Athens stormed the Acropolis, demanding that the men of Greece stop warring or else live lives of involuntary chastity.
"Hardly appropriate to Lent," observed Dante.
"Unless one viewed the denial of sex as a religious concession," said Pietro. That drew a laugh from Poco. "I hear Cangrande asked for something light and silly."
Dante sniffed. "This qualifies. Tcha! They're ruining the text."
On the stage were about twenty men, most dressed as women (acting was a degenerate profession, and in those parts of the world where women were allowed onstage, the word 'actress' was synonymous with 'whore'). Some of these girls sported long beards, much to the elaborate dismay of the over-phallicized men on the makeshift stage. They spoke loudly, but the crowd paid little attention to the dialogue as they pointed at the actors' enormous false bosoms and prodding genitals.
There was a bustle of activity on the balcony as Cangrande arrived and took his place at the center beside his wife. He'd shed his parade armour for the fine clothing Pietro had seen that morning. At once the performers started to play up to the Scaliger, blowing him kisses and offering protestations of their affection. The master of Verona readily returned the proffered love, and the crowd whooped with glee — everyone knew how much Cangrande loved actors.
One member of the company ran forward, a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand, and began to climb the balcony with cries of love. The Capitano made a big show of coyly refusing, but swayed in tune with the love song of the afflicted actor. Finally he took the flowers from his would-be paramour.
"Give us a kiss, lovey?" asked the 'girl'.
Lifting a flagon from beneath his seat, the Capitano poured the contents over 'her' head. The actor sputtered, smacked his lips, and cried, "A good year!" The crowd cheered. Cangrande tossed the fellow a coin and demurely handed the flowers to his wife. The show went on.
Poco glanced sidelong at his father. "Fun stuff!"
Dante shook his head. "Poor Aristophanes. If anyone should take such liberties with my work, I should rise from the dead and castrate them."
"That's real contrapasso," murmured Pietro. His father chuckled.
Only the Capitano's wife appeared unappreciative of his antics. Or perhaps it was her neighbours that bothered her. To Giovanna's right was Cangrande's sister Katerina, with only Bailardino separating them. Gay and lively, thoroughly enjoying the antics of the jugglers, Katerina behaved as if there were nothing the matter whatsoever.
At least there was no sign of the boy. Already the people had glommed onto this child as Cangrande's successor. If the Scaliger had no legitimate son, this child, they said, would be the natural heir. The term natural was thought to be a nice double entendre.
Pietro watched as Giovanna carefully avoided Katerina's eyes while their husbands chatted across them. Instead the first lady of Verona conversed with the Bonaccolsi family — Passerino, his brother Guido, and Guido's wife Costanza della Scala, the forgotten older sister to Cangrande and Katerina.
The rest of the Capitano's family was in evidence. In the front row just past Donna Katerina sat Cecchino, the groom of Pietro's first day in Verona. He held his wife's hand and smiled blissfully. Rumour said she was already with child.
Past them sat the two little nephews of the Scaliger, Alberto and Mastino. Alberto was watching the goings on in the pit with avid interest. Mastino, on the other hand, listened intently to the adult conversations around him.
A fortnight in the Scaligeri household had not increased Pietro's liking for the child. His first impression had been correct. Mastino ran about causing all sorts of trouble, leaving the blame to rest squarely on the shoulders of his older brother, the kind and oblivious Alberto. No matter how often Alberto was chastised for his brother's deeds, he came lumbering back to fall into the trap anew. In amused sympathy, the servants had taken to calling the older boy Alblivious.
Pietro scanned the rest of the faces around him. By now he knew the Scaliger's intimates well enough. Directly in front of Pietro sat Nico da Lozzo and Guglielmo da Castelbarco, both of whom wore their wartime gorgets to the festivities, following the latest of French style. As Pietro returned their nods, his father coughed and muttered, "Dandies."
On the other side of the balcony, far from Pietro, Marsilio and Giacomo da Carrara sat in the front row. No doubt it was an invitation of politics, but the uncle appeared to be enjoying himself. Marsilio looked as handsome and mean-spirited as ever. Pietro recalled his lost ransom with a little bitterness.
Turning in his seat, Pietro finally spied Mariotto. The Montecchi clan were seated a row behind the Paduans, a position Mari must have hated. Pietro's friend was wearing the purple and silver, though the feather in his hat was from a swan, pure white. While Pietro knew he cut a fine figure in his new clothes, withered leg and all, he couldn't hold a candle to Mariotto. The fellow couldn't be unhandsome if he tried.
Sitting to Mari's left was his sister Aurelia. Both obviously came from the same stock — dark hair, long face, big expressive eyes. But Aurelia was sadly lacking the overt beauty owned by her brother. She sat upright, looking down on the Arena floor with a smile on her open face.
On Mariotto's other side sat the Montecchi patriarch. Mariotto's father was chatting with a large, ruddy-faced man with thick broken veins across his face. Unlike Lord Montecchio, who was dressed in sumptuous but understated clothes, this man wore a wild compilation of layers, brocade, lace, and fur all fighting for dominance. The cacophony of colours and textures fought to swallow the man, but to his credit they failed. He was impressive both for his girth and for the gleam of intensity in his eyes — eyes that looked strangely familiar. The man threw back his head in a loud laugh, and Pietro suddenly realized, It's Antony, twenty or thirty years down the road.
This observation was borne out when a sandy-blonde head capped with purple leaned into view to converse excitedly with Mariotto. Noticing Pietro looking at them, Antony waved and said something to Mari, who turned and winked. Pietro waved in return, pointing to his cap. Mariotto pointed to his own and grinned.
When Antony leaned back, Pietro caught a glimpse of another Capecelatro. This tight-lipped figure had to be Antony's older brother. He did not wear the purple, and Pietro wondered how jealous he must be to be forced to watch as his little brother was knighted by the lord of their new home.
Next to the Capecelatro heir sat a veiled woman who was at least eight months pregnant. Pietro assumed this to be Antonio's sister-in-law. So the Capecelatro family was about to produce another generation. The woman pulled back her veils for a breath of unfiltered air, and Pietro was shocked at how fair she was. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. She seemed not to have eyebrows at all, her hair was so light. She was everything a classical beauty should be, yet her face was pinched and uncomfortable.
The balcony contained other faces: the unwelcome Abbot of San Zeno, along with the Scaliger's personal priest and the new Franciscan bishop, appropriately called Francis. Seated between the abbot and the bishop was a Dominican abbot, who tried to bridge the gap between the two men.
Behind them was a young fellow in a Franciscan cowl doing service to his master as a page would to a knight. The young monk was in the spring of his orders, his tonsure new and carefully tended. His eyes were light grey, the colour of a cloudy sky, his hair a raw black. He had a long, solid chin and was quite comely. Pietro wondered why such a handsome man would take the cloth so young in life — though clerical celibacy was the base of a hundred jokes. There was a priest who lived with six girls…