Read Online The Master of Verona by David Blixt - Free Book Online Page B

the lad's belt. "Is it full?" Without being asked the boy unslung it from his belt and handed it to the Capitano. "My thanks," said Cangrande, gripping the skin in one hand while the other made a fist to gently prod the boy's shoulder. "Now go tell Nico what you know. And tell him I've gone already."
    Full of new energy, the boy made to run off when the great man touched his shoulder. "One last question. Is the wife of Bailardino Nogarola well?"
    "She was when I saw her, lord. She was helping Signore Nogarola give the orders."
    "Of course she was. Go now, lad."
    The sound of the boy's footsteps echoed among the empty loggia. For a moment the great man stood alone. He lifted the wineskin to his lips and drank off the contents in a single pull, then tossed the empty bladder aside.
    In a flurry of movement the Scaliger approached one of the perches. His hands moved among several of the birds waiting there. They made noise as he released the tether from one of them. It was the same merlin he had petted earlier. With a light step, the blindfolded bird was on his shoulder.
    To the seemingly empty hall Cangrande said, "If you're coming, try to keep up." Then he disappeared behind the billowing curtains of the nearest arched window.
    Jupiter began to whimper as the three hidden watchers cautiously emerged. Save for the greyhound and the falcons, they were quite alone.
    Glancing around, Antony said, "Where the hell...?"
    "Was he talking to us?" wondered Mariotto.
    "He didn't know we were here," said Antony with certainty.
    Pietro dashed to the arch Cangrande had disappeared behind. The lord of Verona was gone. The only thing here was the greyhound, straining against the railing to the balcony. Looking at the cobbled street one level below, Pietro said, "He jumped."
    "What?" Mariotto and Antonio joined him, arriving just in time to see a golden-headed blur race out from the stables below them, heading east down a private street. Not bothering with stairs, Cangrande had found a horse and started out for Vicenza.
    Pietro shared blank looks with Mariotto and Antony. Then in inspired unison Mariotto and Antony imitated Cangrande, leaping off the balcony to the stables below, Mariotto still bearing the bird on his arm.
    Pietro thought they were both crazy. But already he had swung his own legs over the rail and was dropping down to the cobbled street. In seconds he was joining them in their search for horses.
    Above them the greyhound raced for the door, down the stairs to the stable, determined not to be left behind.

Five

    On a borrowed — stolen! — horse, Pietro tried to keep up with Mariotto and Antony as they tore after Verona's Capitano. Already he was out of sight. Blessedly they'd taken the time to saddle their horses, something Cangrande hadn't bothered with.
    It was not hard to trace the path he had taken. He'd barreled through streets, dodging or jumping all obstructions, shouting out curt warnings. Shaken citizens were just recovering as three more horses dashed past, two of their riders whooping and hollering. All assumed it was another of the Capitano's games — a hunt through the streets, with a live rider as the prey. Stranger things happened every day.
    Reaching the Roman bridge on the bank of the Adige, they were stymied by a caravan of millet-bearing mules. There was no trace of the Scaliger. But before they had passed a dozen words with the onlookers, the dog Jupiter dashed past them, heading north towards a smaller bridge atop the A dige's oxbow embrace of the city.
    Mariotto watched the greyhound go and cried, "He's making for the Ponte di Pietro!" Wheeling their horses around, they followed in the dog's wake.
    The stone and wood bridge was not as sturdy as the Roman one, and thus was less crowded. Passing under the open gate, they left the city, hoping against hope to catch up to the wonderful madman leading them on.
    Pietro could already feel the stiff leather saddle biting into him. The stirrups hurt his