"Never mind," said Katerina hungrily. "What would it mean?"
Ignazzio leaned forward, pressing his hands together. His smooth demeanor had vanished. He seemed more like a student puzzling through an unexpected test. "We have no way of knowing."
The Moor turned. "My master means it would depend on which star was closer, and which further away. The angles of descent, while relatively unimportant singly, would be vastly important if two were involved."
Katerina arched an eyebrow. "I want that chart made."
"Charts. Two at least. More, with variations." It was the Moor, playing the role of haggler for his master.
"I don't care how long it takes or the cost, get it done."
"As you wish." Ignazzio stood and bowed to Pietro, his façade back in place. "You have my respect, ser."
"I — it wasn't…" Flustered, Pietro didn't believe he'd done anything wonderful.
Thankfully a noise rose outside, some commotion in the street. He looked away from the astrologer, listening to the shouts that came burbling up from beyond the shutters.
"What the devil…?" Katerina walked to the balcony, Ignazzio and Pietro trailing her.
In the street below people were huddling in clumps, whispering, some scuttling back and forth between the islands of men. Some looked shocked, others tittered with glee. The overwhelming majority seemed to be amused, if rather darkly. For perhaps a hundred fifty men and a fair number of women something was deliciously exciting.
The doors to the suite opened and Bailardino came striding in, looking no worse for his long night drinking. "Well here's a coil! It'll cause some joy in Padua, I guarantee it!"
"What's happened?" asked his wife.
"You haven't heard? It's all the rage. Young Montecchio has eloped!"
"What? With whom?" asked Katerina.
Pietro leaned heavily against the wall. He didn't have to ask. Mari, what have you done?
Bailardino was mirthful. "With Capecelatro's little bride — the little Carrara girl! She scampered away this morning with her cousin to meet Montecchio and a priest!"
That opened up Pietro's eyes in a hurry. "Marsilio was there?"
"Acted as witness! So the rumours say, anyway."
"Where did this story originate?" Katerina obviously doubted its authenticity. Pietro didn't, but he was interested in the answer.
"The Carrara boy sent a note to his uncle immediately following the wedding and ordered his page to read it out in front of Cangrande and the court!" Bail chuckled. "He's got balls, does that Paduan. His uncle was furious! Giacomo can't rebuke him too strongly in public, though I imagine there will be hoarse voices in their suite tonight."
Pietro voiced the only question that really mattered. "Does Antony know?"
"How can he not? The whole city is buzzing with it. Old man Capecelatro must be pulling out his hair. He was telling me last night how delighted he was with the match, that he wanted to bring Padua and Verona closer together though this alliance."
"Well, this will do that as well," said Katerina evenly. "There are few families more at the heart of Veronese politics than the Montecchi."
"Capecelatro won't take this sitting down, you can bet on it," Bailardino said with a grin.
"Not Capecelatro," said Pietro, shaking his head. "Not anymore."
Bailardino snapped his fingers. "You're right! Now that's irony for you." Frowning, Bailardino noticed the astrologer for the first time. "Oh, you're here, are you? You probably think it was inevitable? Your precious planets spin at the right moment and Montecchio gets an itch in his pants?"
"I'm not sure it had anything to do with the stars," said Ignazzio.
"Oh, you're not?" Bailardino's dislike was palpable.
"More likely it was numerology. Names have power. When a man takes upon himself a new name, he changes. So too does his fate."
"Horseshit," growled Bailardino.
"This is an old argument," soothed Katerina. "It does nothing about the problem at hand. What has my brother done to quell this potential disaster?"
Bail turned his back on the astrologer. "He sent a messenger to Montecchio's castle with a summons for Mariotto to appear at the court. Until then, there's nothing he can do. It's up to the Capulletti now. How they respond will determine everything."
While the older occupants of the room stood discussing events, Pietro returned to his seat. A foul lump was growing in his belly. I saw it coming and I did nothing. How can I face Antony?
Something lapped Pietro's hand. Mercurio was pressing his muzzle into Pietro's palm. The hound had finally left little Cesco. Pietro's eyes flickered left to the crib and he blinked.
The crib was empty.
Oh God! Cesco's gone again!
Before he could even voice an alarum something tugged at his sleeve. Pietro saw Cesco looking up at him. Little Cesco, aged less than one, standing upright without aid. In his hand he held one of the puppets he had been playing with.
Pietro's eyes returned to the crib. All the bars were in place. How did he get out?
The wooden puppet head banged against Pietro's shoulder. The boy's face brightened as Pietro took it from him. Task done, Cesco turned and walked to the balcony. He didn't toddle. He didn't wobble. He walked. It was an easy movement, well-practiced. As if -
As if he's been doing it for weeks.
Pietro ran his fingers over the puppet in his hand. The tiger puppet. Near enough to a leopard. How astute was this child? How had he gotten out of the crib? And how long had he been hiding the fact that he could walk? For he had been hiding it, Pietro was certain.
The conversation stopped as the other adults noticed the little boy walking over to the balcony rail. Bailardino shouted, "The little imp! Kat! You never told me he could walk!"
Katerina stared at her foster son. "I didn't know."
At the balcony Cesco turned and grinned. Ignoring the three men, he looked only at Katerina. The lady met his eyes, then she deliberately sat down and lifted her loom to continue weaving.
The child's face fell. Turning again, Cesco's small hands gripped the carved stone railing of the balcony. The slats between the rungs were just wide enough for his body to pass though…
Mercurio barked sharply. Pietro saw the child's intent and leapt forward, but stumbled on his bad leg. The Moor was faster, catching a handful of the child's shirt between the fingers of his right hand. Pietro was there moments later, reaching around and over the railing to grasp Cesco, twisting in the Moor's grip.
Angry, intent on being free, the child kicked and hit. To the mingled relief and disappointment of the crowd below they brought the child over the railing and back into the room.
Holding Cesco hard against himself, Pietro turned to Katerina, who said, "Thank you. Obviously we should keep rooms on the ground floor from now on. And I'll ask the carpenters to construct a new crib."
Thwarted, Cesco began to wail. He shook his tiny fists and wriggled violently. As the lady lifted him out of Pietro's arms his fighting became more frantic. Katerina ignored him. "Pietro, would you be kind enough to carry a message to my brother? Tell him, please, to reconsider calling Ser Montecchio to court just yet. Though I agree the young man must account for his actions, I believe that doing so now would only add fuel to the flames."
Pietro bowed formally, eyes not on the lady but on the furious child who beat at her breast and chin as best he could, a tempest in her arms. Yet he never kicked her pregnant belly. Bailardino made to take the child up, but the lady shook her head. "No, Bail. He is my cross to bear."
The Moor scooped up the scrolls. "With your permission, Donna, I shall remove these and have them resealed."