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Chapter Eight Let us now take a great leap back in time. We are in Verona. The year is 1238. More precisely, we are in Castrom Novum, a village but a few miles from the city. There is a man, a warlord, advancing at a walking pace. He is escorted by his servants. The horses' hooves strike the frozen ground with a sharp, heavy thud. The man is of short stature. A dark-haired runt. He is white as milk and as ugly as an ape. All know who he is: Ezzelino the Third of Romano, called “The Terrible.” A true scoundrel. A wretched piece of filth… Inside the blacksmith’s forge, amidst smoke and sparks, a girl covered in freckles is intent on shoeing a hoof. Her name is Antonina, but all call her “Nina.” Ezzelino the Third raises his right arm. He commands the halt. The servants pull the reins. The horses stop obediently. White steam rises from their flared nostrils. Nina appears at the threshold of the shop; she rubs her hands to warm them and blows into her palms. It is deathly cold outside. “Summon the blacksmith at once!” Ezzelino the Third commands. “The Lord of the Trevisan March standeth here present!” “By what cause?” Nina asks. “Two days past,” Ezzelino the Third replies, “that rogue didst barter me, for good coin, this wretched nag! Fairly was I cheated! Never hath a man of my station mounted such a sorry beast! Never!” “I am grieved,” says Nina, “but my father is not present... He is abroad to sell horses and buy horses.” “Son of a whore!...” snarls Ezzelino the Third. “Cunning knave! 'Twas thy dear father who peddled me this foul beast! And now, I shall demand grand reparation!” Nina barely spreads her hands, a gesture to show she knows not what to do. “My good lord… At the hour of vespers he shall return. Have patience until his coming, and this mishap shall be cleared…” “Devils of hell!” explodes Ezzelino the Third. “How darest thou ask such a thing?! Insolent wench! The Lord of the Trevisan March waiteth for no man!” “I crave thy pardon, most illustrious one…” says Nina. “But I find myself all alone… There is none here at present… I possess no power to act…” “None, eh?!” demands Ezzelino the Third. “Not even the shop boy?!” “Not even him…” Nina replies. “Then thou thyself shalt render unto me what is owed!” Ezzelino the Third decrees. “I myself, lord?!” asks Nina. “And how might I do so? I hold no coin, thou knowest. 'Tis my father who governeth our affairs… none other…” “Not with coin shalt thou compensate me…” says Ezzelino the Third. “With thy blood, rather!” “Oh, Blessed Mother!” Nina exclaims. “Surely thou wouldst not do me harm?!” Ezzelino the Third advances toward her. Nina retreats. He advances further, she retreats again, but he moves swifter. Suddenly, he clamps his hand around her neck. Nina tries to break free, but Ezzelino the Third presses so hard with his fingers that he chokes the breath from her. Nina turns purple; she seems on the verge of losing consciousness. Ezzelino the Third loosens his grip. Nina falls to her knees, remaining hunched forward for a few moments, then, somehow, she rises unsteadily upon her legs. Ezzelino the Third sinks his teeth into her neck. Nina wishes to scream, but she can only open her mouth without making a sound. Several moments of pure terror follow. Nina feels the teeth withdraw from her neck. The two punctures feel like enormous wounds carved by pain. Ezzelino the Third bites his own wrist. “Open thy mouth, thou peasant girl!” Nina obeys without resistance. Ezzelino the Third presses his bleeding wrist against her lips. “Now drink, be brave!” Nina drinks, sucking the blood from the wounds.