Lord Montecchio gazed around at the assembled nobles. His eyes stopped on Dante. "You remember."
"I do," said the poet. "It was my first time in the Arena."
Pietro suddenly recalled a remark his father had made months before about "…that unfortunate business with the Capelletti and Montecchi."
Bailardino was saying, "I remember hearing about it in Vicenza. It should have been a song. Why was that ballad never written?"
"I didn't hire the minstrels," said Montecchio grimly. "I didn't want it written. There are more important things in this world than fame."
"Indeed," came a rumbling voice. "Honour is one."
Ludovico Capecelatro stood. Gargano Montecchio looked at the father of his son's friend. "Yes. Honour. I upheld my honour, and the honour of my family. I would do it again in a moment. I have no regrets for my actions. That is not the source of my shame. Do you understand that?"
"I think I do," said Capecelatro. "My family had a similar feud with the Arcole family in Capua. It died out on its own, over time. But I do understand. Hate's a poor reason for men to lose their lives." It was strange to hear the large man in the sumptuous furs speak with such gentleness.
Montecchio walked to stand close the newest Veronese nobleman and addressed the assembly. "I know that Maestro Alaghieri meant his comment as a joke. But it started me to thinking. I want you, all of you, to remember the nobility in the name Capelletti. Theirs was a proud line. Their deeds were no better or worse than mine. If I had died, my son would have carried on my family name. The Capelletti had no sons, no heirs. They are lost to history — unless we can resurrect them."
He looked first at the Capitano, then at Ludovico Capecelatro, who seemed to understand. He stood and gripped Gargano Montecchio by the arm. "I have brothers in Capua and cousins in Rome. My family name is in no risk of being lost to history. If the Capitano is willing, and if it would please you, I would gladly take up the old name of an old Veronese family that is in disuse."
"It would please me greatly."
Cangrande rose. "A noble Veronese family has been resurrected! Let it be known from this holy festival day onward that the noble family of Capecelatro has taken up the fallen mantle of the Capelletti! Raise your cups and drink to Ludovico, Luigi, and our own Antony! Long live the Capulletti!"
There was a roar of approval, redoubled when Gargano Montecchio fell on the neck of the newly dubbed Capulletto. They embraced and kissed as friends. The only one who looked aghast was Antony's brother Luigi. Antony himself brimmed over with delight. He fairly leapt over the table to take Mariotto in his arms, lifting him up and dancing him around in a bear hug.
"At least we can be sure there will never be a feud between our sons," said the new Capulletto.
Montecchio eyed his son with pride. "I expect not. Ludovico, I appreciate what you have done. It has removed a blight from my honour."
"I'd heard of the sad business once or twice before." Ludovico's chins unfolded as his head bobbed up and down. "Besides, it all works out rather well. The house I have in town is in the Via Capello! Now it's named for me!"
Listening close by, Pietro Alaghieri had an unworthy thought. There's the real cause of his ready acceptance of the new name. By becoming a Capulletti, Ludovico Capecelatro has ennobled himself and his heirs. He'll let his distant relatives cling to the Capecelatro name. Suddenly he can cloak himself with the rights and power of an ancient family. He's got the money. Now he has the name.
But there had been a slight difference in the pronunciation between Capelletti and Capulletti. The Greyhound was clever to make such a distinction, one Ludovico had probably missed. This new line of the ancient clan would always be marked as tenants, not owners, of the title, their name always denoting their point of origin.
Mari was rubbing his ribs where the rechristened Antony Capulletto had hugged him. "Perhaps with a new name your marriage contract is void!"
"Aw, did you have to go and spoil it?" groused Antony, his face transforming in an instant. "I'd forgotten about the stupid woman."
"That's right!" said Giacomo da Carrara, not taking any offense. "We have a betrothal to affirm." He turned to Ludovico. "This act of honour makes me doubly glad to send my niece's daughter to join your family. She's here, dining with the women. My lord, may I send for her?"
Cangrande waved his hand in assent. "Of course! What better moment than this? Marsilio, here, taste this wine."
Il Grande sent a page scuttling off through the huge double doors. Antony plopped down beside Mariotto with a deep sigh to let all and sundry know of his exasperation. "I bet she's cross-eyed."
"Maybe a harelip?" speculated Mari, amused eyes twinkling.
"Who knows? She can't be much. Her uncle's pretty eager to rid himself of her. Dear God, what could be worse? Married at eighteen!"
His dismay was understandable. Though eighteen was an acceptable age for marriage, it was customary to let young men grow into their twenties and even their thirties before burdening them with a wife. For women it was quite different. The trend was moving towards earlier and earlier wedding beds for girls, to the point of betrothing daughters at ten and marrying them off at fourteen or fifteen. It was fashionable among older men to marry young girls, barely initiated in the women's mysteries. Pietro knew it was a fad his father deplored. It was why Pietro's sister was still unwed — too many new mothers died in childbed because they were brought to bear too young. But marrying young assured virginity, that prized possession.
As he contemplated his doom Antony eyed his friend. "You will be my best man?"
"Your second, you mean? Of course I will. If only to make sure you go through with it. Otherwise I might have to rid the world of another Capulletto."
Antony's frown became more intense. "Does it bother you? Me having the name of the family that murdered your mother?"
Mariotto took in a sharp breath. He wasn't quite ready for Antony's insightful bluntness. "Whatever you call yourself, you're my friend. The Capelletti were dishonoured by their actions. You will restore the title to a place of honour."
"With you beside me." They drank to their friendship.
Pietro leaned close to his father as he scruffed Mercurio's ear. "What do you think of all this, Pater?"
The heavy beard turned, the eyes above it blinking. "I'm not sure. It is a wonderful gesture. But it was God's will that the Capelletti be destroyed. Is it His will that they be reborn? I can't help thinking of Eteocles and Polynices."
"Who?"
Dante frowned, severe disappointment etched into his long face. "The children of Oedipus and Jocasta. I swear, how can you appreciate poetry if you have no sense of the players?"