The Master of Verona

' A te convien tenere altro viaggio,'

rispuose, poi che lagrimar mi vide,

'se vuo' campar d'esto loco selvaggio:

che questa bestia, per la qual tu gride,

non lascia altrui passar la sua via,

ma tanto lo 'mpedisce che l'uccide;

e ha natura si malvagia e ria,

che mai non empie la bramosa voglia,

e dopo 'l pasto ha liu fame che pria.

Molti son li animali c cui s'ammoglia,

e piu saranno ancora, infin che 'l veltro

verra, che la fara morir con doglia.'

'It is another path you must follow,'

he answered, when he saw me weeping,

'If you would flee this wild and savage place:

For that beast that moves you to cry out

Lets no man pass her way,

But so besets him that she slays him.

Her nature is so vicious and malign

Her greedy appitite is never sated -

After feeding she is hungrier than ever.

Many are the creatures she mates with,

and there will yet be more, until the Greyhound

shall come who'll make her die in pain.'

Dante L'Inferno Canto I, 91-102

Prologue

Padua

16 September 1314

Ciolo's nerves jangled in time with his spurs. During the whole ride they hadn't seen a soul. Not on the road, not in the fields. No one at all.

"What does it mean?" asked Girolamo.

"I don't know," said Ciolo.

"Is Padua under siege?"

"I don't know. Let's keep going."

"How will we get in?"

"Keep riding."

"But…"

"Think of golden florins."

"I've never been to Florence!"

"Shut up!" hissed Ciolo.

Empty fields gave way to empty suburbs. Some hovels and shacks were burnt out, but more were intact, even new — Ciolo saw fresh-cut timber struts and new bricks. Marks of an old siege, not a new one. If there were a present siege, by now he would have heard the sounds of hundreds of men muttering, cheering, singing, impatient horses stamping, the crack and whine of siege machines, the smell of fire and filth.

But the only smells were common night scents. The only sounds were crickets and the occasional goose or dog. There were no tents or firebrands, no bristling spears. The city wasn't under siege. So where the devil was everyone?

Ciolo's skin went cold with a horrible notion. A pest. A pest had come and even now the Paduans were hiding in their homes scratching at scabs and vomiting blood. He glanced at Girolamo but kept his mouth shut. Thinking of the money, he put his dirty hand over his mouth to keep out the bad air and rode slowly on.

They approached the city's north gate, crossing the Ponte Molino, an old Roman bridge the length of fourteen horses whose triple arches spanned the Bacchiglione River. The center arch was supported by two massive stone columns rising from the rippling water. Nearby mills creaked and groaned. Padua depended on the Bacchiglione for everything.

The bridge ended right at the lip of the fortified gate. Ciolo squinted hard. No bodies piled up outside. A good sign. But still there was no one in sight. Ciolo nudged his horse onto the bridge and began to cross it. Girolamo followed.

Halfway across, Ciolo could make out that the gates into the city were open, but dark.

Girolamo said, "I've got a bad feeling about this job."

Suddenly a flame appeared high on the tower before them. A torch. Two more joined it. At the same moment Ciolo heard a human noise. Thousands of voices, cheering. Men, women, children. Bells pealed and musicians played. All the people were inside the city walls, watching for sunset and the lighting of torches.

Sagging in his saddle, Ciolo mopped his brow. "See, it's nothing. A celebr-"

Then he heard thunder as an army of horses poured out of the gate right in front of them. Plumed helmets and shining breastplates reflected light from the brands held high as countless Paduan knights emerged from the city, riding furiously across the Ponte Molino.

Riding right at Ciolo and Girolamo.

Abandoning his horse, Ciolo threw himself from his saddle and ran, arms pumping, to the edge of the bridge. He didn't hesitate, but threw himself into space. For a moment his arms flapped at the air, then he hit the water feet-first, plunging below the surface.