Assassin’s Creed®

by Oliver Bowden

  ‘You have my word. And how much do I owe you for – ?’

  ‘A pleasure. Most instructive. There is no –’

  They were interrupted by a hammering at the outer door of the studio. Leonardo hurried through to the front of the building as Agniolo and Innocento looked up fearfully. The person on the other side of the door had started to bellow, ‘Open up, by order of the Florentine Guard!’

  ‘Just a moment!’ Leonardo shouted back, but in a lower voice he said to Ezio, ‘Stay back there.’

  Then he opened the door, and stood in it, blocking the guardsman’s way.

  ‘You Leonardo da Vinci?’ asked the guard in one of those loud, bullying, official voices.

  ‘What can I do for you?’ said Leonardo, moving out into the street, obliging the guard to step back.

  ‘I am empowered to ask you certain questions.’ Leonardo had by now so manoeuvred himself that the guard had his back to the doorway of the studio.

  ‘What seems to be the trouble?’

  ‘We’ve had a report that you were seen just now consorting with a known enemy of the city.’

  ‘What, me? Consorting? Preposterous!’

  ‘When was the last time you either saw or spoke to Ezio Auditore?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t play silly buggers with me. We know you were close to the family. Sold the mother a couple of your daubs. Maybe I need to refresh your memory a bit?’ And the guard hit Leonardo in the stomach with the butt of his halberd. With a sharp cry of pain, Leonardo doubled up and fell to the ground, where the guard kicked him. ‘Ready to chat now, are we? I don’t like artists. Load of poofs.’

  But this had given Ezio enough time to step quietly through the doorway and position himself behind the guard. The street was deserted. The nape of the man’s sweaty neck was exposed. It was as good a time as any to give his new toy a trial run. He raised his hand, triggered the release mechanism, and the silent blade shot out. With a deft movement of his now open right hand, Ezio stabbed once into the side of the guard’s neck. The recently honed edge of the blade was viciously sharp, and eased through the man’s jugular without the slightest resistance. The guard fell, dead before he hit the ground.

  Ezio helped Leonardo up.

  ‘Thank you,’ said the shaken artist.

  ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to kill him – there was no time –’

  ‘Sometimes we don’t have an alternative. But I should be used to this by now.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I was involved in the Saltarelli case.’

  Ezio remembered then. A young artist’s model, Jacopo Saltarelli, had been anonymously denounced a few weeks earlier for practising prostitution, and Leonardo, along with three others, had been accused of patronizing him. The case had fallen apart for lack of evidence, but some of the mud had stuck. ‘But we don’t prosecute homosexual men here,’ he said. ‘Why, I seem to remember that the Germans have a nickname for them – they call them Florenzer.’

  ‘It’s still officially against the law,’ said Leonardo drily. ‘You can still get fined. And with men like Alberti in charge –’

  ‘What about the body?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Leonardo. ‘It’s quite a windfall. Help me drag it inside before anyone sees us. I’ll put it with the others.’

  ‘Windfall? Others?’

  ‘The cellar’s quite cold. They keep for a week. I get one or two cadavers that no one else wants from the hospital now and then. All unofficial, of course. But I cut them open, and dig about a bit – it helps me with my research.’

  Ezio looked at his friend more than curiously. ‘What?’

  ‘I think I told you – I like to find out how things work.’

  They dragged the body out of sight, and Leonardo’s two assistants manhandled it through a door down some stone steps, out of sight.

  ‘But what if they send someone after him – to find out what happened to him?’

  Leonardo shrugged. ‘I’ll deny all knowledge.’ He winked. ‘I’m not without powerful friends here, Ezio.’

  Ezio was nonplussed. He said, ‘Well, you seem confident enough…’

  ‘Just don’t mention this incident to anyone else.’

  ‘I won’t – and thank you, Leonardo, for everything.’

  ‘A pleasure. And don’t forget –’ a hungry look had crept into his eyes, ‘– if you find any more pages from this Codex, bring them to me. Who knows what other new designs they might contain.’

  ‘I promise!’

  Ezio made his way back to Paola’s house in triumphant mood, though he did not forget to lose himself in the anonymity of the crowd as he passed back north through the town.

  Paola greeted him with some relief. ‘You were gone longer than I’d expected.’

  ‘Leonardo likes to talk.’

  ‘But that’s not all he did, I hope?’

  ‘Oh no. Look!’ And he showed her the wrist-dagger, extending it from his sleeve with an extravagant flourish, and a boyish grin.

  ‘Impressive.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ezio looked at it admiringly. ‘I’ll need a bit of practice with it. I want to keep all my own fingers.’

  Paola looked serious. ‘Well, Ezio, it looks as if you’re all set. I’ve given you the skills you need, Leonardo has repaired your weapon.’ She took a breath. ‘All that’s needed now is for you to do the deed.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ezio quietly, his expression darkening again. ‘The question is, how best to gain access to Messer Alberti.’

  Paola looked thoughtful. ‘Duke Lorenzo is back with us. He isn’t happy about the executions Alberti authorized in his absence, but he doesn’t have the power to challenge the Gonfaloniere. Nevertheless, there’s to be a vernissage for Maestro Verrocchio’s latest work at the cloister of Santa Croce tomorrow night. All Florentine society will be there, including Alberti.’ She looked at him. ‘I think you should be, too.’

  Ezio found out that the piece of sculpture to be unveiled was a bronze statue of David, the biblical hero with whom Florence associated itself, poised as the city was between the twin Goliaths of Rome to the south and the land-hungry kings of France to the north. It had been commissioned by the Medici family and was destined to be installed in the Palazzo Vecchio. The Maestro had started work on it three or four years earlier, and a rumour had been going round that the head was modelled on one of Verrocchio’s handsomer young apprentices of the time – a certain Leonardo da Vinci. At any rate, there was great excitement, and people were already dithering about what to wear for the occasion.

  Ezio had other matters to ponder.

  ‘Watch over my mother and sister while I’m gone,’ he asked Paola.

  ‘As if they were my own.’

  ‘And if anything should happen to me –’

  ‘Have faith, and it won’t.’

  Ezio made his way to Santa Croce in good time the following evening. He had spent the previous hours preparing himself, and honing his skills with his new weapon, until he was satisfied that he was fully proficient in its use. His thoughts dwelt on the deaths of his father and brothers, and the cruel tones of Alberti’s voice as he passed sentence rang all too clearly in his mind.

  As he approached, he saw two figures whom he recognized walking ahead of him, slightly apart from a small squad of bodyguards whose uniform displayed a badge of five red balls on a yellow ground. They appeared to be arguing, and he hurried forward to bring himself within earshot of them. They paused in front of the portico of the church, and he hovered nearby, out of sight, to listen. The men addressed each other in tight-lipped tones. One was Uberto Alberti; the other, a slim young man in his mid to late twenties, with a prominent nose and a determined face, was richly dressed in a red cap and cloak, over which he wore a silver-grey tunic. Duke Lorenzo – Il Magnifico, as his subjects called him, to the disgust of the Pazzi and their faction.

  ‘You cannot tax me with this,’ Alberti was saying. ‘I acted on information received and irr
efutable evidence – I acted within the law and within the bounds of my office!’

  ‘No! You overstepped your bounds, Gonfaloniere, and you took advantage of my absence from Florence to do so. I am more than displeased.’

  ‘Who are you to speak of bounds? You have seized power over this city, made yourself duke of it, without the formal consent of the Signoria or anyone else!’

  ‘I have done no such thing!’

  Alberti permitted himself a sardonic laugh. ‘Of course you’d say that! Ever the innocent! How convenient for you. You surround yourself at Careggi with men most of the rest of us consider dangerous free-thinkers – Ficino, Mirandola, and that creep Poliziano! But at least now we have had a chance to see how far your reach really extends – which is to say, nowhere at all, in any practical terms. That has proved a valuable lesson for my allies and me.’

  ‘Yes. Your allies the Pazzi. That’s what this is really all about, isn’t it?’

  Alberti studied his fingernails elaborately before replying. ‘I’d be careful what you say, Duce. You might attract the wrong sort of attention.’ But he didn’t sound completely sure of himself.

  ‘You are the one who should watch his mouth, Gonfaloniere. And I suggest you pass that advice on to your associates – take it as a friendly warning.’ With that, Lorenzo swept away with his bodyguard in the direction of the cloister. After a moment, muttering some oath under his breath, Alberti followed. It almost sounded to Ezio as if the man were cursing himself.

  The cloisters themselves had been draped with cloth-of-gold for the occasion, which dazzlingly reflected the light from hundreds of candles. On a rostrum near the fountain in the centre, a group of musicians played, and on another stood the bronze statue, a half life-size figure of exquisite beauty. As Ezio entered, using columns and shadows to conceal himself, he could see Lorenzo complimenting the artist. Ezio also recognized the mysterious cowled figure who’d been on the execution platform with Alberti.

  Some distance away, Alberti himself stood surrounded by admiring members of the local nobility. From what he could hear, Ezio understood that they were congratulating the Gonfaloniere on ridding the city of the canker of the Auditore family. He had not thought that his father had so many enemies, as well as friends, in the city, but realized that they had only dared move against him when his principal ally, Lorenzo, had been absent. Ezio smiled as one noblewoman told Alberti that she hoped the Duke appreciated his integrity. It was clear that Alberti didn’t like that suggestion one bit. Then he overheard more.

  ‘What of the other son?’ a nobleman was asking. ‘Ezio, wasn’t it? Has he escaped for good?’

  Alberti managed a smile. ‘The boy poses no danger whatsoever. Soft hands and an even softer head. He’ll be caught and executed before the week is out.’

  The company around him laughed.

  ‘So – what’s next for you, Uberto?’ asked another man. ‘The Chair of the Signoria, perhaps?’

  Alberti spread his hands. ‘It is as God wills. My only interest is to continue to serve Florence, faithfully and diligently.’

  ‘Well, whatever you choose, know that you have our support.’

  ‘That is most gratifying. We’ll see what the future brings.’ Alberti beamed, but modestly. ‘And now, my friends, I suggest that we put politics aside and give ourselves over to the enjoyment of this sublime work of art, so generously donated by the noble Medici.’

  Ezio waited until Alberti’s companions wandered away in the direction of the David. For his part, Alberti took a goblet of wine and surveyed the scene, a mixture of satisfaction and wariness in his eyes. Ezio knew that this was his opportunity. All other eyes were on the statue, near which Verrocchio was stumbling through a short speech. Ezio slipped up to Alberti’s side.

  ‘It must have stuck in your craw to pay that last compliment,’ Ezio hissed. ‘But it’s appropriate that you should be insincere to the end.’

  Recognizing him, Alberti’s eyes bulged in terror. ‘You!’

  ‘Yes, Gonfaloniere. It’s Ezio. Here to avenge the murder of my father – your friend – and my innocent brothers.’

  Alberti heard the dull click of a spring, a metallic sound, and saw the blade poised at his throat.

  ‘Goodbye, Gonfaloniere,’ said Ezio, coldly.

  ‘Stop,’ gasped Alberti. ‘In my position, you would have done the same – to protect the ones you loved. Forgive me, Ezio – I had no choice.’

  Ezio leant close, ignoring his plea. He knew the man had had a choice – an honourable one – and had been too supine to make it. ‘Do you not think I am not protecting the ones I love? What mercy would you show my mother or my sister, if you could lay your hands on them? Now: where are the documents I gave you from my father? You must have them somewhere safe.’

  ‘You’ll never get them. I always carry them on my person!’ Alberti tried to push Ezio away, and drew in a breath to call for the guards, but Ezio plunged the dagger into his throat and dragged its blade through the man’s jugular artery. Unable now even to gurgle, Alberti sank to his knees, his hands instinctively clutching at his neck in a vain attempt to staunch the blood that cascaded down on to the grass. As he fell on his side, Ezio stooped swiftly and cut the man’s wallet free of his belt. He glanced inside. Alberti in his final hubris had been telling the truth. The documents were indeed there.

  But now there was silence. Verrocchio’s speech had ground to a halt as the guests began to turn and stare, not yet comprehending what had happened. Ezio stood and faced them.

  ‘Yes! What you see is real! What you see is vengeance! The Auditore family still lives. I am still here! Ezio Auditore!’

  He caught his breath at the same moment as a woman’s voice rang out, ‘Assassino!’

  Now chaos reigned. Lorenzo’s bodyguard quickly formed up round him, swords drawn. The guests ran hither and yon, some trying to escape, the braver ones going through the motions at least of trying to seize Ezio, though none quite dared make a real attempt. Ezio noticed the cowled figure slipping away into the shadows. Verrocchio stood protectively by his statue. Women screamed, men shouted, and city guards streamed into the cloisters, unsure of whom to pursue. Ezio took advantage of this, climbing up to the roof of the cloister colonnade and vaulting over it into a courtyard beyond, whose open gate led into the square in front of the church, where a curious crowd was already gathering, attracted by the sound of the commotion within.

  ‘What’s happening?’ someone asked Ezio.

  ‘Justice has been done,’ Ezio replied, before racing north-west across town to the safety of Paola’s mansion.

  He paused on the way to verify the contents of Alberti’s wallet. At least the man’s last words had been truthful. Everything was there. And there was something else. An undelivered letter in Alberti’s hand. Perhaps fresh knowledge for Ezio, who broke the seal and tore the parchment open.

  But it was a personal note from Alberti to his wife. As he read it, Ezio could at least understand what kind of forces might be brought to bear to break a man’s integrity.

  My love

  I put these thoughts to paper in the hope that I might one day have the courage to share them with you. In time, you’ll no doubt learn that I betrayed Giovanni Auditore, labelled him a traitor and sentenced him to die. History will likely judge this act to have been a matter of politics and greed. But you must understand that it was not fate that forced my hand, but fear.

  When the Medici robbed our family of all we owned, I found myself afraid. For you. For our son. For the future. What hope is there in this world for a man without proper means? As for the others, they offered me money, land and title in exchange for my collaboration.

  And this is how I came to betray my closest friend.

  However unspeakable the act, it seemed necessary at the time.

  And even now, looking back, I can see no other way…

  Ezio folded the letter carefully and replaced it in his wallet. He would reseal it, and see that it was del
ivered. He was determined not to stoop to mean-spiritedness, ever.

  6

  ‘It’s done,’ he told Paola, simply.

  She embraced him briefly, then stood back. ‘I know. I am glad to see you safe.’

  ‘I think it’s time for me to leave Florence.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘My father’s brother Mario has an estate near Monteriggioni. We’ll go there.’

  ‘There’s a huge hunt on for you already, Ezio. They are putting up “wanted” posters everywhere with your picture on them. And the public orators are beginning to speak against you.’ She paused, thoughtfully. ‘I’ll get some of my people to go out and tear down as many posters as they can, and the orators can be bribed to speak of other things.’ Another thought struck her. ‘And I’d better have travel papers drawn up for the three of you.’

  Ezio shook his head, thinking of Alberti. ‘What is this world we live in, where belief can so easily be manipulated?’

  ‘Alberti was placed in what he saw as an impossible position, but he should have held firm against it.’ She sighed. ‘Truth is traded every day. It’s something you’ll have to get used to, Ezio.’

  He took her hands in his. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Florence will be a better place now, especially if Duke Lorenzo can get one of his own men elected Gonfaloniere. But now there is no time to waste. Your mother and sister are here.’ She turned and clapped her hands. ‘Annetta!’

  Annetta emerged from the back of the house, bringing Maria and Claudia with her. It was an emotional reunion. Ezio saw that his mother was not much recovered, and still clasped Petruccio’s little box of feathers in her hand. She returned his embrace, though absently, while Paola looked on with a sad smile.

  Claudia, on the other hand, clung to him. ‘Ezio! Where have you been? Paola and Annetta have been so kind, but they won’t let us go home. And Mother hasn’t spoken a word since –’ She broke off, fighting her own tears. ‘Well,’ she said, recovering, ‘perhaps now Father will be able to sort things out for us. It must all have been a dreadful misunderstanding, no?’