Antonia was studying the cityscape when a young couple riding in the other direction drew her attention. The girl was about Antonia's age, but beautiful. Raven hair and pale skin, full lips set in a bewitching smile. The boy beside the girl was handsome, too. Just a touch older, it made them look perfect for each other — girls always looked more mature than boys their age. His dark hair was longish, but overall he was well-groomed. His clothes under the riding cloak were quite fine.
Following them were two more young men. Something in the line of the chin of one proclaimed a relation to the girl — distant, but evident. The other wore the grey robes of a Franciscan.
The small party seemed in a hurry, with both the lay men looking around furtively. The girl was trying to hide inside her hood. Noticing Antonia staring, she pulled the hood tighter about her face. In moments they had crossed over the bridge and out of sight. Antonia mentally shrugged and went back to looking at her father's new home.
It was an hour before noon when the carriage pulled up to the stables of the Scaliger's palace. A groom ran to fetch a steward. In moments, servants arrived to remove her three small boxes of luggage while Antonia paid the driver herself. He looked curiously angry when he realized she had been carrying the money with her all along, thus confirming her suspicions that, had he known, he would have robbed and murdered her. With that idea fixed firmly in her head, she in turn confirmed his suspicions about the tip. Grumbling, he remounted his gig and cantered off.
The palace servants led her and her followers across a beautiful square and into a grand building — not the main palace, she was informed, but the original Scaliger domicile, the Domus Bladorum. As they entered her father's rooms, she was nearly frantic at the prospect of meeting her father for the first time. All through the journey, excitement had fought fear within her. She recognized that her coming here would forever alter her relationship with her father. Until now she was the beloved confidante, far away, faceless — safe. At a distance he could impose on her features the visage of his lost love. Meeting might destroy his illusion, ruin the bond she'd struggled to form from the time she was seven.
Nevertheless, disappointment set in when she discovered the rooms empty. Dante's steward said, "Your father has gone to view the Basilica of San Zeno. Ser Alaghieri-"
"Who?"
"Your brother Pietro, miss," said the steward. "You won't have heard, but he was knighted yesterday. Your brother accompanied my master, but said he would be calling on Lord Nogarola this afternoon. Young master Jacopo did not return last night." Years of reading between the lines allowed Antonia to guess what the steward was implying but neither commented on it. "I shall settle your possessions in the chamber we've set aside and instruct your servants to their new duties here while they inform me of your requirements. Would you like a refreshment?"
She did not, preferring to find her father at once. The steward offered to guide her but she declined that offer as well. Setting off back the way she had come, she promptly got lost. Turning one corner then another, trying to retrace her steps in the unfamiliar city, she finally admitted she had no idea where she was.
Turning about, she collided with a man on crutches who was coming the other way. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" She reached out to steady him. Despite the wooden splints encasing one of his legs, he was a full two heads taller than Antonia. "Please forgive me. I was careless."
"Don't worry about it," he said easily. "I'm still getting used to these things."
There was an awkward pause as his eyes narrowed and he examining her closely. "Beatrice, right?"
She took in a little breath. "I am the daughter of Dante Alaghieri." For the past week she'd practiced using the other pronunciation without receiving a smack on the back of the head.
The man nodded. "You look a little like him." At that moment the sandy-haired brute became her favorite person in the world. Other than her father, of course. "I'm a friend of Pietro's. My name is Antony, Antony Capulletto."
Her brow furrowed. "I've heard of Pietro's friend Antony. But I thought that the surname was different."
"Until yesterday, it was! We took it up last night. It's an old name, but all the Capelletti died out years ago. I'm still getting used to it."
"Oh." He had a bald way of talking that was difficult to deal with. "Do you know where my father is, or where my brothers are?"
Her heart sank when he shook his head. "I'm surprised Pietro's out, what with his wounds and all."
"I thought his leg had healed."
"Oh, his leg's fine. I mean the cuts he got from the leopard." Antonia looked at him in shock. "Oh! You don't know! Shit — I mean… oh hell! Look — it's like this…" He quickly outlined the previous night's adventures, concluding, "He was fine when he went up to bed. He probably just wanted to get out. Hey, I'm looking for someone, too. We can search the palace together — if you don't mind walking about with a cripple."
Antonia fell into step beside him, grateful to have a guide. Socially, Capulletto was not particularly graceful, but he was charming in a rough way. She could understand why her brother liked him.
Something was slung in a small case over his back. In shape it looked like a book. "What have you there?"
"Oh, yes! If we find your father, he can sign it for me. It's a copy of his book. I bought it this morning for Gianozza."
Capulletto instantly went up in Antonia's estimation. He was clearly smitten with this girl Gianozza — her name peppered their conversation. She learned that Antony's leg had been broken the night before, in a footrace that his friend Mariotto had won. "Though if I hadn't hit my shin on something, I would have won easily. Bad luck." He obviously bore Mariotto no grudge for winning. But the same couldn't be said of the winner of the horse race — Antony couldn't disguise his dislike for the Paduan named Carrara.
Gianozza, Mariotto, Marsilio — those three names were the cornerstones in young Capulletto's conversation as they strolled. Antonia made no connection with the three fine riders on the Roman bridge.
Eventually they came across a man Antony knew and the Capuan arranged for her to be taken to San Zeno's. To her father.
Being a sensible fellow, Pietro had intended to spend the better part of the morning in bed. But Dante had been up early with the discovery that his younger son hadn't been home all night. "Out whoring," said the poet grimly. Pietro suggested that they ride out and look at San Zeno, the church he'd passed during the horserace. Intended as a distraction, Dante father accepted it as such. Tullio d'Isola arranged for a guide, and they set off.
"I hear you're a hero again," said Dante as they rode.
"With the scars to prove it," said Pietro.
"Serves you right. Besides, nothing should come easy." He paused. "Still, I'm glad you saved the boy."
"Me too." Pietro suddenly recalled his appointment with Donna Katerina and informed his father that he had to leave their jaunt a little early.
Dante was sanguine. "San Zeno sits next to the river. I can watch the water and write." He patted the satchel at his hip. "I came prepared, you see. In case the hero was needed to slay another giant."
Not knowing how to reply, Pietro walked on, Mercurio pulling hard on his leash. Pietro wore a heavy cloak to disguise him, but the crutch and the dog gave him away, and people waved or cheered him as he passed. Dante made several noises of impatience, but was smiling nonetheless.
Their guide pointed out a synagogue, and they paused several minutes to examine it. Verona owned a large Jewish population but, with the exception of Manuel, Pietro had rarely seen any outside the marketplace. In other cities, of course, Jews were easily recognized by the yellow stars they were forced by law to wear. Here there were no such signs, just the odd caps they wore of their own volition. With so many other types of men in much more outlandish dress, Verona's Jews did not stand out.