“But weboth have to get away from here!”
“I’ll follow. But for now I must stay and take care of the remaining guards, create a diversion, a delay, something.”
Caterina pulled the reins of her horse in, so that it reared. “Get back in one piece,” she said. “Or I will never forgive you!”
Ezio hoped she meant it, as he watched her kick the horse into a gallop. She charged past the guards at the main gate, scattering them. As soon as he saw that she was clear, he rode his own horse back through the stables to the grain and powder store, seizing a torch from its sconce as he passed. This he threw into the hole, and then he wheeled around and galloped back the way he had come, drawing his sword.
The guards had formed a cordon and were waiting for him, halberds raised. Ezio didn’t know the horse but he knew what he had to do; he rode straight at the line of guards and at the last minute pulled hard on the reins and, leaning forward in the saddle, dug his heels in. At the same time as the horse charged forward, there was an almighty explosion from near the stables. He was right! It had been gunpowder! The ground shook with the explosion—and the guards instinctively ducked down. The horse, also shocked with the noise of the bang, was more determined to make good her flight. She flew into the air, clearing the line of guards as easily as she might have cleared a fence.
Leaving panic and confusion in his wake, he rode in the direction of the rising sun. His heart swelled within him. He had saved Caterina!
TWENTY-SIX
Once he was sure he had shaken off any possible pursuers, Ezio turned his horse. He was loath to lose such a good animal, but he took it to the stables where he and Machiavelli had hired horses what seemed like a lifetime ago and turned it over to the chief ostler there. The stables were neat and clean and clearly doing a thriving business, in a district that seemed to have shaken off Borgia control and, for the moment at least, maintained its independence. Then he made his way back toward Tiber Island on foot. The Assassins’ secret ferry was waiting at the bank and, once on the island itself, he hastened toward the hideout.
Inside, he found that Caterina had arrived safely. She was lying on a makeshift bed near the door, being tended by a doctor. She smiled when she saw him, and tried to sit up, but the doctor gently restrained her.
“Ezio! I am relieved to see you safe.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “Where is Machiavelli?” There was no return of his pressure, but perhaps she was still too weak.
“I don’t know.”
La Volpe emerged from the shadows at the end of the room. “Ezio! Good to see you again!” He embraced the younger man. “I brought yourcontessa here. As for Machiavelli…”
But just then the main door swung open and Machiavelli himself came in. He looked drawn.
“Where have you been?” asked La Volpe.
“Looking for Ezio—not that I am accountable to you,” said Machiavelli, and Ezio was saddened to note the tension that still existed between his two friends. Machiavelli turned to Ezio and, without ceremony, asked: “What of Cesare and Rodrigo?”
“Cesare left almost immediately for Urbino. As for Rodrigo, he was at the Vatican.”
“That is odd,” said Machiavelli. “Rodrigo should have been in the Castel.”
“Very odd indeed,” La Volpe put in evenly.
If he’d noticed the dig, Machiavelli ignored it. “What a wasted opportunity,” he mused. Then, recollecting himself, he said to Caterina, “Oh, no offense,Contessa. We are glad to see you safe.”
“I take none,” she said.
“Now that Cesare has gone to Urbino, we must concentrate on building our forces here.”
Machiavelli raised his eyebrows. “But I thought we intended to strike now! We should go after him and cut him down where he stands.”
“That would be impossible,” Caterina said. “I have seen his army. It is massive. You would never reach him.”
Ezio said, “I say we work here. In Rome. Here, we have already made a good start. We should continue to erode the Borgia’s influence, while restoring our own. And, in fact, I want to begin immediately.”
“You speak as if you were already our leader,” said Machiavelli. “But the post has not been discussed, let alone ratified, by our council.”
“And I say we need a leader, and we need one right away,” countered La Volpe. “We have no time for councils and ratifications. We need to consolidate the Brotherhood once again, and, for my money, Ezio is the right man for the job. Machiavelli, I appeal to you—you and I are two of the most senior Assassins left. Bartolomeo is bound to agree. Let us make this decision now—keep it secret if you like—and later, we can put it to a formal vote.”
Machiavelli seemed to be on the point of speech, but then let it go and simply shrugged.
“I will not fail you,” Ezio said. “Gilberto, I’d like you to bring Bartolomeo and my sister, Claudia, here. There are matters to discuss. Niccolò, please come with me.”
On his way out, Ezio paused by Caterina’s bed. “Take care of her,” he said to the doctor.
“Where are we going?” Machiavelli said, once they were back in the city center.
“There’s something I want to show you.”
He led the way to the nearest market square. Half of it was open for business: there was a baker; a butcher was swatting flies away from his wares; and a greengrocer had a selection of rather tired-looking produce on sale. Early as it was, it was the wine shops that were doing the best business. And, as Ezio expected, a small knot of Borgia guards were duffing up the hapless owner of a leather goods stall.
“Look,” said Ezio, as they blended in with the small crowd of shoppers.
“I know what is going on,” said Machiavelli.
“I know you do, Niccolò,” said Ezio. “Forgive me, but you see the big picture. You understand what is to be done politically to break the Borgia, and I for one do not doubt your sincerity in this.” He paused. “But we must start at a more fundamental level. The Borgia take what they want from the people with complete impunity, to maintain their power.”
They watched the guards push the man to the ground, then, laughing, help themselves to what they fancied from his stall and move on. The man picked himself up, watched them go in impotent rage, and then, close to tears, began to rearrange his goods. A woman came up to comfort him, but he shook her off. Nevertheless she stayed, hovering near him, care and concern in her eyes.
“Why did you not help him?” asked Machiavelli. “Send them packing?”
“Look,” said Ezio, “helping one man is good, but it will not solve the problem. They will come again, when we are not here, and they will do the same again. Look at the quality of the stuff on offer here. The vegetables are old, the meat is flyblown, and the bread, no doubt, is hard. The best goes to the Borgia. And why do you think so many people are drinking?”
Machiavelli said, “I do not know.”
“Because they are in pain,” Ezio replied. “They are without hope and they are oppressed. They want to blot it all out. But we canchange that.”
“How?”
“By recruiting them to our cause.” He spread his arms. “These people—these are the ones who will form the backbone of our resistance to the Borgia.”
“We’ve talked of this before,” said Machiavelli sharply. “You cannot be serious.”
“I’m going to start with that stallholder. To win this war, Niccolò, we need loyal soldiers—however they fight for us. We must sow the seeds of rebellion in their minds.” He paused, then continued earnestly, “By recruiting those whom the bullying State has made its enemies, we arm the people who have been disarmed by the Borgia.”
Machiavelli looked at his friend long and hard. “Go, then,” he said. “Go, and recruit our first novices.”
“Oh, I intend to,” said Ezio. “And you will see that from the group of determined men and women I gather around us, I will forge a sword capable of cutting the limbs and head from the trun
k of the Borgia—and of the Templars themselves.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ezio returned to the Assassins’ center of operations on Tiber Island having done a good morning’s work, discreetly converting a number of disaffected citizens to his cause.
Apart from the loyal attendants who staffed and guarded the place, it was deserted, and Ezio looked forward to a little quiet time, to think and plan; but as he approached, he found that, after all, he had a visitor. One who wanted to be quite sure that his presence would not be noted, and one who, therefore, waited until the general staff had gone about their business elsewhere in the building before he made himself known.
“Psst! Ezio! Over here!”
“Who’s there?” Ezio was instantly alert, though already he thought he knew the voice. Tall bushes grew on either side of the lane that led to the hideout, and the place was known to no one outside the organization. If by any chance the secret had been penetrated…
“Come here!”
“Who is it?”
“It’s me!”
And Leonardo da Vinci, dandified and distracted as ever, stepped out of his hiding place into the lane.
“Leo! My God!”
But then Ezio, remembering who Leonardo’s new master was, checked his initial impulse, which had been to run and embrace his old friend.
His reaction registered with Leonardo, who looked a little older, to be sure, but who had lost none of his élan, or his vigorous enthusiasm. He took a step forward, but kept his head lowered. “I’m not surprised you don’t show that much enthusiasm at seeing me again.”
“Well, Leo, I must admit, you have disappointed me.”
Leonardo spread his hands. “I knew you were behind the break-in at the Castel. It could only have been you. So—I knew you were still alive!”
“Surely your new masters would have told you that.”
“They tell me nothing! I am no more than a slave to them.” There was a smallest twinkle in Leonardo’s eye. “But they have to trust me.”
“As long as you deliver.”
“I think I’m just about bright enough to stay one step ahead of them.” Leonardo took another step toward Ezio, arms half held out. “It is good to see you again, my friend.”
“You have designed weapons for them—new guns we will find difficult to match.”
“I know. But if you will let me explain…”
“And how did you find this place?”
“I can explain…”
Leonardo looked so contrite, and so unhappy, and he seemed so sincere, that Ezio’s heart warmed, despite himself, toward his old friend. He also reflected that, after all, Leonardo had come to see him, no doubt at great personal risk; and that if he sought a rapprochement, it would be a foolish leader indeed who would turn down the friendship and the partnership of such a man.
“Come here!” cried Ezio, spreading his arms wide.
“Oh, Ezio!” Leonardo hurried forward and the two men embraced warmly.
Ezio led his friend inside and they sat down together. Ezio knew that Caterina had been moved to an inner room, where she could complete her recovery in peace and quiet, and the doctor had given orders that she was not to be disturbed. He was tempted to disobey, but there would be time enough for talk with her later. Besides, Leonardo’s appearance dictated a change of priorities.
Ezio had wine and cakes brought for them.
“Tell me everything,” said Ezio.
“I will explain. First of all, you must forgive me. The Borgia commandeered my services—but under duress. If I’d refused to serve them, they would have subjected me to a long and painful death. They described what they would do to me if I refused to help them. Even now I cannot think of it without trembling.”
“You are perfectly safe now.”
Leonardo shook his head. “No! I must go back to them. I am of far more use to you if they think I am still working for them. As it is, I have done my utmost to create the minimum possible number of new inventions to satisfy them.” Ezio was about to interrupt but Leonardo held up a nervous hand. “Please—this is a kind of confession, and I’d like to complete it. Then you may judge me as you think fit.”
“No one is judging you, Leonardo.”
Leonardo’s manner became more intense. Ignoring the refreshments, he leaned forward. “I say I work for them under duress,” he went on, “but it is more than that. You know I keep out of politics. I like to keep my nose clean. But men who seek power seek me out because they know what I can do for them.”
“This I do know.”
“But I play along, too. I play along to stay alive. And why do I wish to stay alive? Because I have so much todo!” He took a breath. “I cannot tell you, Ezio, how my poor brain teems!” He made a gesture that seemed partly all-embracing and partly despairing. “There is so much to discover!”
Ezio was silent. This he also knew.
“So,” Leonardo concluded. “Now you know.”
“Why have you come here?”
“To make amends. I had to assure you that my heart is not with them.”
“And what do they want of you?”
“Whatever they can get! War machines are the main thing. They know what I am capable of.”
Leonardo produced a packet of papers, which he handed over. “Here are some of the designs I’ve done for them. Look! Here is an armored vehicle capable, if correctly constructed, of moving across all terrains—and the men concealed within it can fire guns—big guns—while remaining fully protected from all assaults. I call it a tank.”
Ezio blanched as his eye scanned the drawings. “And is it…under construction?”
Leonardo looked artful. “I said ‘if correctly constructed.’ Unfortunately, as the design stands, the thing is only able to swivel on its own axis!”
“I see.” Ezio smiled.
“And look at this.”
Ezio perused a drawing of a horseman managing two horses, harnessed side by side. To their traces were attached, by long horizontal poles, in front and at the rear—where there were also wheels—rotating scythelike devices, to cut down any enemy at which the horseman rode. “A fiendish device,” he said.
“Yes! But unfortunately the horseman himself is…fully exposed.” Leonardo’s eyes twinkled some more.
Ezio’s smile broadened, but then faded again. “But what of the guns you have given them?”
Leonardo shrugged. “One has to throw a sop to Cerberus,” he said. “I have to give them something of actual use or they will grow suspicious.”
“But they are very efficient guns.”
“Indeed they are—but they are not half as efficient as that little pistol I made for you once, years ago, based on the design from the Codex page. A pity, really—I had trouble reining myself in on that one!”
Ezio thought sadly of his lost Codex weapons. But he would come back to them.
“What else is in this packet of papers?”
Although they were alone, Leonardo lowered his voice. “I have copied the plans not only for the largest of the machines, but also of where they are to be used in battle.” He spread his hands ironically. “Alas, that they should not be more efficient!”
Ezio looked at his old friend admiringly. This was the man who had designed a submarine for the Venetians to use against the Turkish galleys! If he had chosen not to build in defects to these designs, there would be no hope at all against the Borgia. How glad he was to have welcomed Leonardo as he had. This man was worth more than two armies.
“For God’s sake, Leo, have a glass of wine at least. I know I can never reward you enough for all this.”
But Leonardo waved the proffered beaker away. “There is far graver news. You know they have the Apple?”
“Of course.”
“They have given it to me to study. You and I already know something of the extent of its powers. Rodrigo knows a little less, but he has more intellect than Cesare, though Cesare is the one to watch.”
“How much information on the Apple have you given them?”
“As little as possible, but I have to give them something. Fortunately, Cesare seems satisfied—so far—with the limited applications I have vouchsafed him. But Rodrigo knows there is more and grows impatient.” He paused. “I have considered ways of stealing it, but it is kept under close guard, and I am only allowed access to it under the strictest supervision. But I was able to use its powers to locate you. It has that facility, you know. Quite fascinating.”
“And you taught them that trick?”
“Of course not! All I want is to return it to its rightful owner.”
“Fear not, Leo. We will recover it. In the meantime, stall them as far as you can, and if you can, keep me posted on how much you have let them know.”
“I will.”
Ezio paused. “There is something else.”
“Tell me.”
“I have lost all the Codex weapons you once fashioned for me.”
“I see.”
“Except for the original hidden-blade. But the pistol, the poison-blade, the double-blade, the miraculous bracer—all these are gone.”
“Hmm,” said Leonardo. Then he smiled. “Well, recreating them for you may not be a problem.”
“Really?” Ezio could scarcely believe it.
“The designs you let me have are still in Florence, well hidden with my old assistants Agniolo and Innocento. The Borgia will never have them. If they ever—heaven forfend!—took Florence, or even if the French did, Agniolo has strict orders to destroy them, and even he and Innocento—not that I do not trust them absolutely—would never be able to re-create them independently of me. But I—I never forget a design. However—”
He hesitated, almost embarrassed. “You must pay me for the raw materials I will need. In advance.”
Ezio was astonished. “Really? They are not paying you at il Vaticano?”
Leonardo coughed. “Very…very little. I suppose they think that keeping me alive is payment enough. And I am not such a fool as to think that the minute my services become…superfluous to requirements, they will not kill me with as little reflection as they might kill a dog.”
Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood Page 16