Mario had spent the time ensuring that San Gimignano, now under the sober and reformed control of his old comrade, Roberto, and its territory, no longer posed a threat, and that the last pockets of Pazzi resistance had been weeded out. Monteriggioni was safe, and after the victory celebrations had been concluded, Mario’s condottieri were allowed a well-earned furlough, using it according to their tastes by spending time with their families, or drinking, or whoring, but never neglecting their training; and their squires kept their weapons sharp and their armour free from rust, as the masons and carpenters ensured that the fortifications of both town and castle were well maintained. To the north, the external threat that might have been posed by France was in abeyance, since King Louis was busy getting rid of the last of the English invaders, and facing up to the problems the Duke of Burgundy was causing him; while to the south, Pope Sixtus IV, a potential ally of the Pazzi, was too busy promoting his relatives and supervising the construction of a magnificent new chapel in the Vatican to give much thought to interference in Tuscany.
Mario and Ezio had had many and long conversations, however, regarding the threat that they knew had not disappeared.
‘I must tell you more of Rodrigo Borgia,’ Mario told his nephew. ‘He was born in Valencia, but studied law in Bologna and has never returned to Spain, since he is better placed to pursue his ambitions here. At the moment, he is a prominent member of the Curia in Rome, but his sights are always set higher. He is one of the most powerful men in all Europe, but he is more than a cunning politician within the Church.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Rodrigo is the leader of the Order of the Templars.’
Ezio felt his heart turn over in his body. ‘That explains his presence at the murder of my poor father and my brothers. He was behind it.’
‘Yes, and he won’t have forgotten you, especially as it was largely thanks to you that he lost his power-base in Tuscany. And he knows the stock you come from, and the danger you continue to pose him. Be fully aware, Ezio, that he will have you killed as soon as he gets the chance.’
‘Then I must stand against him if I wish ever to be free.’
‘He must remain in our sights, but we have other business nearer home first, and we have stayed our hand long enough. Come to my study.’
They made their way from the garden where they had been walking into an inner room of the castle, at the end of a corridor that led from the map-room. It was a quiet place, dark without being gloomy, book-lined and more like the room of an accademico than a military commander. Its shelves also contained artefacts that looked as if they might have come from Turkey or Syria, and volumes that Ezio could see from the writing on their spines were written in Arabic. He had asked his uncle about them, but received only the vaguest of replies.
Once there, Mario unlocked a chest and from it drew a leather document wallet from which he took a sheaf of papers. Among them were some Ezio recognized immediately. ‘Here is your father’s list, my boy – though I should not call you that any more, for you are a man now, and a full-blooded warrior – and to it I have added the names you told me of in San Gimignano.’ He looked at his nephew, and handed him the document. ‘It is time for you to begin your work.’
‘Every Templar on it shall fall to my blade,’ said Ezio, evenly. His eye lit on the name of Francesco de’ Pazzi. ‘Here, with him, I will start. He is the worst of the clan and fanatical in his hatred of our allies, the Medici.’
‘You are right to say so,’ Mario agreed. ‘So, you will make your preparations for Florence?’
‘That is my resolve.’
‘Good. But there is more you must learn if you are to be fully equipped. Come.’ Mario turned to a bookcase and touched a hidden button set into its side. On silent hinges it swung out and open to reveal a stone wall beyond, on which a number of square slots had been marked out. Five were filled. The rest were empty.
Ezio’s eyes gleamed as he saw it. The five filled spaces were occupied with pages of the Codex!
‘I see you recognize what this is,’ said Mario. ‘And I am not surprised. After all, there is the page your father left you, which your clever friend in Florence managed to decode, and these, which Giovanni managed to find and translate before he died.’
‘And the one I took from Vieri’s body,’ added Ezio. ‘But its contents are still a mystery.’
‘Alas, you are right. I am not the scholar your father was, though with every page that is added, and with the help of the books in my study, I am getting closer to unravelling the mystery. Look! Do you see the way the words cross from one page to the next, and how the symbols join?’
Ezio looked hard, an eerie feeling of remembrance flooding his brain, as though a hereditary instinct was reawakening – and with this the scrawls on the pages of the Codex seemed to come alive, their intentions untwisting in front of his eyes. ‘Yes! And there seems to be part of a picture of some sort underneath it – look, it’s like a map!’
‘Giovanni – and now I – managed to make out what appears to be a kind of prophecy written across these pages, but what it refers to I have yet to learn. Something about “a piece of Eden”. It was written long ago, by an Assassin like us, whose name appears to have been Altair. And there is more. He goes on to write of “something hidden beneath the earth, something as powerful as it is old” – but we have yet to discover what.’
‘Here is Vieri’s page,’ said Ezio. ‘Add it to the wall.’
‘Not yet! I will copy it before you go, but take the original to your friend in Florence with the brilliant mind. He need not know the full picture, at least, what there is of it so far, and indeed it may be dangerous for him to have such knowledge. Later, Vieri’s parchment will join the others on this wall, and we will be a little closer to deciphering the mystery.’
‘What of the other pages?’
‘They are yet to be rediscovered,’ said Mario. ‘Do not concern yourself. For you must concentrate on the undertaking you have immediately before you.’
8
Ezio had preparations to make before he left Monteriggioni. He had much more to learn, at his uncle’s side, of the Assassin’s Creed, the better to equip himself for the task that faced him. There was also the need to ensure that it would be at least relatively safe for him in Florence, and there was the question of where he might lodge, since Mario’s spies within the town had reported that his family palazzo had been closed and boarded up, though it remained under the protection and guard of the Medici family and so had been left unmolested. Several delays and setbacks made Ezio increasingly impatient, until, one morning in March, his uncle told him to pack his bags.
‘It’s been a long winter –’ Mario said.
‘Too long,’ put in Ezio.
‘– but now all is settled,’ continued his uncle. ‘And I would remind you that meticulous preparation accounts for most victories. Now, pay attention! I have a friend in Florence who has arranged a secure lodging for you not far from her own house.’
‘Who is she, Uncle?’
Mario looked furtive. ‘Her name is of no consequence to you, but you have my word that you can trust her as much as you would trust me. In any case she is presently away from the town. If you have need of help, get in touch with your old housekeeper, Annetta, whose address has not changed and who now works for the Medici, but it would be best if as few people as possible in Florence knew of your presence there. There is, however, one person you must contact, though he isn’t easy to reach. I’ve written his name down here. You must ask around for him discreetly. Try asking your scientific friend while you’re showing him the Codex page, but don’t let him know too much, for his own good! And here, by the way, is the address of your lodgings.’ He handed Ezio two slips of paper and a bulging leather pouch. ‘And one hundred florins to get you started, and your travelling papers, which you will find in order. The best news of all is that you may set off tomorrow!’
Ezio used the short time left to ride to the convent to take his leave of his
mother and sister, to pack all his essential clothing and equipment, and to say goodbye to his uncle and the men and women of the town who had been his companions and allies for so long. But it was with a joyful and determined heart that he saddled his horse and rode forth from the castle gates at dawn the following morning. It was a long but uneventful day’s ride, and by dinner-time he was settled in his new quarters and ready to re-acquaint himself with the city which had been his home all his life, but which he had not seen for so long. But this wasn’t a sentimental return, and once he had found his feet again, and permitted himself one sad walk past the façade of his old family home, he made his way straight to Leonardo da Vinci’s workshop, not forgetting to take Vieri de’ Pazzi’s page of the Codex with him.
Leonardo had expanded into the property to the left of his own since Ezio had gone away, a vast warehouse with ample room for the physical results of the artist’s imaginings to take shape. Two long trestle tables ran from one end of the place to the other, lit by oil-lamps and by windows set high in the walls – Leonardo had no need of prying eyes. On the tables, hanging from the walls, and scattered, partly assembled, in the middle of the room, were a confusing number of devices, machines and bits of engineering equipment, and pinned to the walls were hundreds of drawings and sketches. Among this pandemonium of creativity, half a dozen assistants busied and scuttled, overseen by the slightly older, but no less attractive, Agniolo and Innocento. Here, there was a model of a wagon, except that it was round, bristled with weapons, and was covered with an armoured canopy in the shape of a raised cooking pot lid, at the top of which was a hole through which a man might stick his head to ascertain what direction the machine was going in. There, the drawing of a boat in the shape of a shark but with an odd tower on its back. More oddly still, it looked from the drawing as if the boat were sailing underwater. Maps, anatomical sketches showing everything from the working of the eye, to coitus, to the embryo in the womb – and many others which it was beyond Ezio’s imagination to decipher – crowded all available wall-space, and the samples and clutter piled on the tables reminded Ezio of the organized chaos he remembered from his last visit here, but multiplied one hundredfold. There were precisely figured images of animals, from the familiar to the supernatural, and designs for everything from water-pumps to defensive walls.
But what caught Ezio’s eye most was hanging low from the ceiling. He had seen a version of it before, he remembered, as a smallish model, but this looked like a half-scale mock-up of what might one day be a real machine. It still looked like the skeleton of a bat, and some kind of durable animal skin had been stretched tightly over the frames of two wooden projections. Nearby was an easel with some paperwork attached to it. Among the notes and calculations, Ezio read:
… spring of horn or of steel fastened upon wood of willow encased in reed.
The impetus maintains the birds in their flying course during such time as the wings do not press the air, and they even rise upwards.
If a man weigh two hundred pounds and is at point n, and raises the wing with his block, which is one hundred and fifty pounds, with power amounting to three hundred pounds he would raise himself with two wings…
It was all Greek to Ezio, but at least he could read it – Agniolo must have transcribed it from Leonardo’s impenetrable scrawl. In that moment he saw Agniolo looking at him, and hastily turned his attention elsewhere. He knew how secretive Leonardo liked to be.
Presently Leonardo himself arrived from the direction of the old studio and bustled up to Ezio, embracing him warmly. ‘My dear Ezio! You’re back! I am so glad to see you. After all that’s happened, we thought…’ But he let the sentence hang there, and looked troubled.
Ezio tried to lighten his mood again. ‘Look at this place! Of course I can’t make head or tail of any of it, but I suppose you know what you’re doing! Have you given up painting?’
‘No,’ said Leonardo. ‘Just following up… on other things… that’ve caught my attention.’
‘So I see. And you’ve expanded. You must be prospering. The past two years have been good to you.’
But Leonardo could see both the underlying sadness and the severity that had settled in Ezio’s face now. ‘Perhaps,’ said Leonardo. ‘They leave me alone. I imagine they think I’ll be useful to whoever wins absolute control one day… Not that I imagine anyone ever will.’ He changed. ‘But what of you, my friend?’
Ezio looked at him. ‘There will be time, I hope, one day to sit down and talk over all that has happened since we last met. But now, I need your help again.’
Leonardo spread his hands. ‘Anything for you!’
‘I have something to show you which I think will interest you.’
‘Then you had better come to my studio – it is less busy there.’
Once back in Leonardo’s old quarters, Ezio produced the Codex page from his wallet and spread it on the table before them.
Leonardo’s eyes widened with excitement.
‘You remember the first one?’ asked Ezio.
‘How could I forget?’ The artist gazed at the page. ‘This is most exciting! May I?’
‘Of course.’
Leonardo studied the page carefully, running his fingers over the parchment. Then, drawing paper and pens towards him, he began to copy the words and symbols down. Almost immediately, he was darting to and fro, consulting books and manuscripts, absorbed. Ezio watched him work with gratitude and patience.
‘This is interesting,’ said Leonardo. ‘Some quite unknown languages here, at least to me, but they do yield a kind of pattern. Hmmn. Yes, there’s a gloss here in Aramaic which makes things a bit clearer.’ He looked up. ‘You know, taking this with the other page, you’d almost think they were part of a guide – on one level, at least – a guide to various forms of assassination. But of course there’s far more to it than that, though I have no idea what. I just know that we’re only scratching the surface of what this may have to reveal. We’d need to have the whole thing complete, but you’ve no idea where the other pages are?’
‘None.’
‘Or how many in the complete volume?’
‘It is possible that… that that may be known.’
‘Aha,’ said Leonardo. ‘Secrets! Well, I must respect them.’ But then his attention was caught by something else. ‘But look at this!’
Ezio looked over his shoulder but could see nothing but a succession of closely grouped, wedge-shaped symbols. ‘What is it?’
‘I can’t quite make it out, but if I’m right this section contains a formula for a metal or an alloy that we know nothing of – and that, logically, shouldn’t possibly exist!’
‘Is there anything else?’
‘Yes – the easiest bit to decipher. It’s basically the blueprint for another weapon, and it seems to complement the one you already have. But this one we’ll have to make from scratch.’
‘What kind of weapon?’
‘Fairly simple, really. It’s a metal plate encased in a leather bracer. You’d wear it on your left forearm – or your right if you were left-handed, like me – and use it to ward off blows from swords or even axes. The extraordinary thing is that although it’s evidently very strong, the metal we’re going to have to cast is also incredibly light. And it incorporates a double-bladed dagger, spring-loaded like the first.’
‘Do you think you can make it?’
‘Yes, though it will take a little time.’
‘I haven’t much of that.’
Leonardo pondered. ‘I think I have all I need here, and my men are skilled enough to forge this.’ He thought for a moment, his lips moving as he made calculations. ‘It will take two days,’ he decided. ‘Come back then and we’ll see if it works!’
Ezio bowed. ‘Leonardo, I am most grateful. And I can pay you.’
‘I am grateful to you. This Codex of yours expands my knowledge – I fancied myself an innovator, but I find much in these ancient pages to intrigue me.’ He smiled, and murmured
almost to himself. ‘And you, Ezio, cannot guess how indebted I am to you for showing them to me. Let me see any more that you may find – where they come from is your business. I am only interested in what they contain, and that no one else outside your inner circle, apart from me, should know about them. That is all the recompense I require.’
‘That is indeed a promise.’
‘Grazie! Until Friday, then – at sunset?’
‘Until Friday.’
Leonardo and his assistants discharged their commission well. The new weapon, though it was defensive in application, was extraordinarily useful. Leonardo’s younger assistants mock-attacked Ezio, but using real weapons, including double-handed swords and battle-axes, and the wrist plate, light as it was and easy to wield, easily deflected the heaviest blows.
‘This is an amazing armament, Leonardo.’
‘Indeed.’
‘And it may well save my life.’
‘Let’s hope you get no more scars like the one across the back of your left hand,’ said Leonardo.
‘That is a last souvenir from an old… friend,’ said Ezio. ‘But now I need one more piece of advice from you.’
Leonardo shrugged. ‘If I can help you, I will.’
Ezio glanced over at Leonardo’s assistants. ‘Perhaps in private?’
‘Follow me.’
Back in the studio, Ezio unwrapped the slip of paper Mario had given him and handed it to Leonardo. ‘This is the person my uncle told me to meet. He told me it’d be no good to try to find him directly –’
But Leonardo was staring at the name on the paper. When he looked up, his face was filled with anxiety. ‘Do you know who this is?’
‘I read the name – La Volpe. I guess it’s a nickname.’
‘The Fox! Yes! But do not speak it aloud, or in public. He is a man whose eyes are everywhere, but who himself is never seen.’
‘Where might I find him?’
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