Morsicato is a character of my own invention. With the Moor he plays a larger role than I had originally intended – he’s part of a regular cast of characters that will continue through the series.
On page 400 we gain a little backstory to the doctor. Originally there was a bit more. I share it now in its unadulterated form, as a glimpse further back into the good doctor’s past. (NB – I reserve the right to totally contradict this as the series continues).
Morsicato frowned. He should have been at war now. Cangrande was in the field somewhere. The doctor tore into a piece of bread and ruminated as he chewed, masticating slowly. If not for Fracastoro, Morsicato could have the post as chief doctor to the Scaliger. It was a lifelong dream, bring the head physician to the Capitano da Verona. In his late thirties, he had little hope. Aventino Fracastoro was only forty-eight and looked to thrive until he was a hundred.
Not that Morsicato resented or disliked working for Bailardino and his wife. The Nogarolese were good folk, even if Katerina was a touch too clever. Lucky him, he hadn’t had to be a part of the delivery of her first child last year. That was an ordeal he wanted no part of. Let women’s mysteries stay mysteries.
He chided himself for his longing for war, remembering that his first knighthood had nothing at all to do with battle. When he’d been doctoring on loan to the now-dead emperor, he’d managed to save the adopted son of one of Heinrich’s men. Of course, as everyone knew, it had been Heinrich’s own bastard son that Morsicato had saved. The Emperor had been so grateful that he had created Guiseppe Morsicato a knight of the Order of the Knights of Santa Katerinaat Mount Sinai. It was an entirely honorary Order, with no obligations binding the recipient to the giver, but it was the best the Emperor could do politically. Morsicato had felt, then, the stirring urge to go to make the pilgrimage to Sinai and worship at the reliquary of the sainted woman. It was only fair, if he wore her badge.
Morsicato’s twin knighthoods by Cangrande and the Anziani of Vicenza had followed shortly thereafter, given out of a kind of piqued pride, so now Morsicato carried three Orders of Knighthood on his shoulders. All for saving a bastard son of a bastard ruler.
Thinking of that set of circumstances, his mind came inexorably around to the present one. It always came back to the children. Progeny. Heirs. Cangrande’s bastard was being raised under this very roof. The boy was a demon, but so damn delightful! Rumor said that there had been two more attempts to kidnap the child since that horrible night with the leopard, neither successful.
