Assassin’s Creed®

by Oliver Bowden

  Ezio shook his head sadly, as Rosa leant comfortably on the balustrade beside him.

  ‘Why so serious, bello?’ she asked.

  Ezio gave her a deadpan look and shrugged. ‘Happy Birthday to Me.’

  ‘It’s your birthday? You serious? Wow! Rallegramenti! That’s wonderful!’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ sighed Ezio. ‘It’s been over ten years since I watched my father and brothers die. And I have spent ten years hunting down the men responsible, the men on my father’s list, and those added to it since his death. And I know I am close to the end now – but I am no closer to understanding what any of it has really been for.’

  ‘Ezio, you’ve dedicated your life to a good cause. It has made you lonely, isolated, but in one sense it has been your vocation. And though the instrument you have used to further your cause is death, you have never been unjust. Venice is a far better place now than it ever was, because of you. So cheer up. Anyway, seeing as it’s your birthday, here’s a present. Very good timing, as it happens!’ She took out an official-looking logbook.

  ‘Thank you, Rosa. Not quite what I’d imagined you’d give me for my birthday. What is it?’

  ‘Just something I happened to… pick up. It’s the shipping manifest from the Arsenal. The date your black galley sailed for Cyprus late last year is entered in it –’

  ‘Seriously?’ Ezio reached for the book but Rosa teasingly held it away from him. ‘Give it to me, Rosa. This isn’t a joke.’

  ‘Everything has its price…’ she whispered.

  ‘If you say so.’

  He held her in his arms for a long, lingering moment. She melted against him and he quickly snatched the book away.

  ‘Hey! That isn’t fair!’ she laughed. ‘Anyway, just to spare you the suspense, that galley of yours is scheduled to return to Venice – tomorrow!’

  ‘What, I wonder, can they have on board?’

  ‘Why am I not surprised that someone not a million miles from here is going to find out?’

  Ezio beamed. ‘Let’s go and celebrate first!’

  But at that moment a familiar figure bustled up.

  ‘Leonardo!’ said Ezio, greatly surprised. ‘I thought you were in Milan!’

  ‘Just got back,’ replied Leonardo. ‘They told me where to find you. Hello, Rosa. Sorry, Ezio, but we really need to talk.’

  ‘Now? This minute?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Rosa laughed. ‘Go on boys, have fun, I’ll keep!’

  Leonardo ushered a reluctant Ezio away.

  ‘This had better be good,’ muttered Ezio.

  ‘Oh, it is, it is,’ said Leonardo placatingly. He led Ezio along several narrow alleys until they arrived back at his workshop. Leonardo busied about, producing some warm wine and stale cakes, and a pile of documents which he dumped on a large trestle table in the middle of his study.

  ‘I had your Codex pages delivered to Monteriggioni as promised, but I couldn’t resist studying them some more myself and I’ve copied out my findings. I don’t know why I’d never made the connection before, but when I put them together I realized the markings and symbols and ancient alphabets can be decoded and we seem to have struck gold – for all these pages are contiguous!’ He interrupted himself. ‘This wine is too warm! Mind you, I’ve got used to San Colombano; this Veneto stuff is like gnat’s piss by comparison.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Ezio patiently.

  ‘Listen to this.’ Leonardo produced a pair of eyeglasses and perched them on his nose. He shuffled through his papers and read: ‘The Prophet… will appear… when the Second Piece is brought to the Floating City…’

  Ezio drew in his breath sharply at the words. ‘Prophet?’ he repeated.’ “Only the Prophet may open it…” “Two Pieces of Eden…”’

  ‘Ezio?’ Leonardo looked quizzical, doffing his eyeglasses. ‘What is it? Does this ring some kind of bell with you?’

  Ezio looked at him. He appeared to be coming to some kind of decision. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, Leonardo. If I can’t trust you, there’s nobody… Listen! My Uncle Mario spoke of it, long ago. He’s already deciphered other pages of this Codex, as had my father, Giovanni. There’s a prophecy hidden in it, a prophecy about a secret, ancient vault, which holds something – something very powerful!’

  ‘Really? That’s amazing!’ But then a thought struck Leonardo. ‘Look, Ezio, if we’ve found all this out from the Codex, how much do the Barbarigi and the others you’ve been pitched against know about it? Maybe they know about the existence of this vault you mention too. And if so, that’s not good.’

  ‘Wait!’ said Ezio, his brain racing. ‘What if that’s why they sent the galley to Cyprus? To find this “Piece of Eden”! And bring it back to Venice!’

  ‘ “When the Second Piece is brought to the Floating City” – of course!’

  ‘It’s coming back to me! “The Prophet will appear…” “… Only the Prophet can open the Vault!”… My God, Leo, when my Uncle told me about the Codex, I was too young, too brash, to imagine that it was anything but an old man’s fantasy. But now I see it plain! The murder of Giovanni Mocenigo, the killing of my kinsmen, the attempt on the life of Duke Lorenzo and the horrible death of his brother – it’s all been part of his plan – to find the Vault – the first name on my List! The one I have yet to strike a line through – The Spaniard!’

  Leonardo breathed deeply. He knew whom Ezio was talking about. ‘Rodrigo Borgia.’ His voice was a whisper.

  ‘The same!’ Ezio paused. ‘The Cyprus galley arrives tomorrow. I plan to be there to meet it.’

  Leonardo embraced him. ‘Good luck, my dear friend,’ he said.

  The following dawn found Ezio, armed with his Codex weapons and a bandolier of throwing-knives, standing in the shadows of the colonnade near the docks, watching closely as a group of men, dressed in plain uniforms to avoid attracting undue attention but discreetly displaying the crest of Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia, unloaded a plain-looking, smallish crate from a black galley which had recently put in from Cyprus. They handled the crate with kid gloves, and one of their number, under guard, hoisted it on to his shoulder and prepared to set off with it. But then Ezio noticed that several other guards were hoisting similar crates on to their shoulders, five of them in all. Did each crate contain some precious artefact, the second piece, or were all but one of them decoys? And the guards all looked the same, certainly from the distance at which Ezio would be obliged to shadow them.

  Just as Ezio prepared to break cover and follow, he noticed another man watching what was going on from a similar vantage-point to his own. He suppressed an involuntary gasp as he recognized this second man as his uncle, Mario Auditore; but there was no time to hail or challenge him, as the Borgia-trooper carrying the crate had already moved off with his guard. Ezio pursued them at a safe distance. However, a question nagged him – had the other man really been his uncle? And if so, how had he got to Venice, and why, at this precise moment?

  But he had to put the notion away as he tailed the Borgia guards, concentrating hard to keep the one with the original crate in his line of sight – if that indeed were the one that contained – whatever it was. One of the ‘Pieces of Eden’?

  The guards arrived at a square which had five streets leading off it. Each crate-carrying guard, with his escort, here set off in a different direction. Ezio swarmed up the side of a nearby building so that he could follow the course of each guard from the rooftops. Watching them keenly, he saw one of them leave his escort and turn into the courtyard of a solid-looking brick building, place his crate on the ground there, and open it. He was quickly joined by a Borgia sergeant. Ezio bounded over the roofs to hear what was being said between them.

  ‘The Master awaits,’ the sergeant was saying. ‘Repackage it with care. Now!’

  Ezio watched as the guard transferred an object wrapped carefully in straw from the crate to a teak box brought to him from the building by a servant. Ezio thought fast. The Mast
er! In his experience, when Templar minions mentioned that title it could only refer to one man – Rodrigo Borgia! They were clearly repacking the true artefact in an attempt to double their security. But now Ezio knew exactly which guard to target.

  He slipped down to street level again and cornered the trooper carrying the teak box. The sergeant had left to rejoin the escort of Cardinal’s guards, waiting outside the courtyard. Ezio had a minute to slit the throat of the trooper, pull the body out of sight, and don his outer uniform, cape and helmet.

  He was about to shoulder the box when the temptation to have a quick glance inside it overwhelmed him and he lifted the lid. But at that moment the sergeant re-appeared at the gateway of the courtyard.

  ‘Get a move on!’

  ‘Yessir!’ said Ezio.

  ‘Just look fucking lively. This is probably the most important thing you’ll do in your life. Do you get me?’

  ‘Yessir.’

  Ezio took his place at the centre of his escort and the detail set off.

  They made their way through the city north from the Molo to the Campo dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo, where Messer Verrocchio’s recent and massive equestrian statue of the condottiero Colleone dominated the square. Following the Fondamenta dei Mendicanti north again, they arrived at last at a dull-looking house in a terrace overlooking the canal. The sergeant knocked on the door with the pommel of his sword, and it immediately swung open. The group of guards hustled Ezio in first, and followed, and the door closed behind them. Heavy bolts were shot across it.

  They were facing an ivy-festooned loggia, in which a beak-nosed man in his mid to late fifties sat, dressed in robes of dusty purple velvet. The men saluted. Ezio did so too, trying not to meet the icy cobalt eyes he knew too well. The Spaniard!

  Rodrigo Borgia spoke to the sergeant. ‘Is it really here? You were not followed?’

  ‘No, Altezza. Everything went perfectly –’

  ‘Go on!’

  The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘We followed your orders exactly as specified. The mission to Cyprus was more difficult than we had anticipated. There were… complications at the outset. Certain adherents to the Cause… had to be abandoned in the interests of our success. But we have returned with the artefact. And have transported it to you with all due care, as Su Altezza instructed. And according to our agreement, Altezza, we now look forward to being generously recompensed.’

  Ezio knew that he could not allow the teak box and its contents to fall into the hands of the Cardinal. At that moment, when the unpleasant but necessary subject of payment for services rendered had come up, and as usual the supplier had to nudge the client for the cash due for the special duties undertaken, Ezio grasped his opportunity. Like so many rich people, the Cardinal could be miserly when the time came for handing over money. Unspringing the poison-blade on his right forearm and the double-bladed dagger on his left, Ezio cut down the sergeant, a single stab to the man’s exposed neck enough to deliver the deadly venom to his bloodstream. Ezio quickly turned on the five guards of the escort with his double-dagger in one hand, and the poison-blade under his right wrist, spinning like a dervish, using quick, clinical movements to deliver single lethal blows. Moments later, all the guards lay dead at his feet.

  Rodrigo Borgia looked down at him, sighing heavily. ‘Ezio Auditore. Well, well. It’s been some time.’ The Cardinal seemed completely unruffled.

  ‘Cardinale.’ Ezio gave an ironic bow.

  ‘Give it to me,’ said Rodrigo, indicating the box.

  ‘Tell me first where he is.’

  ‘Where who is?’

  ‘Your Prophet!’ Ezio looked around. ‘It doesn’t look as if anyone’s shown up.’ He paused. More seriously, he continued: ‘How many people have died for this? For what’s in this box? And look! There’s nobody here!’

  Rodrigo chuckled. A sound like bones rattling. ‘You claim not to be a Believer,’ he said. ‘And yet here you are. Do you not see the Prophet? He is already present! I am the Prophet!’

  Ezio’s grey eyes widened. The man was possessed! But what curious madness was this, which seemed to transcend the rational and the natural courses of life itself? Alas, Ezio’s pondering left him momentarily off-guard. The Spaniard drew a schiavona, a light but deadly-looking sword, with a cat’s-head pommel, from his robes and leapt from the loggia, aiming the thin sword at Ezio’s throat. ‘Give me the Apple,’ he snarled.

  ‘That’s what’s in this box? An apple? It must be a pretty special one,’ said Ezio, while in his mind his uncle’s voice reverberated: a piece of Eden. ‘Come and take it from me!’

  Rodrigo sliced at Ezio with his blade, slashing his tunic and drawing blood at the first pass.

  ‘Are you alone, Ezio? Where are your Assassin friends now?’

  ‘I don’t need their help to deal with you!’

  Ezio used his daggers to cut and slash, and his left-forearm guard-brace to parry Rodrigo’s blows. But, though he landed no cut with the poison-blade, his double-blade stabbed through the velvet robe of the Cardinal and he saw it stained with the man’s blood.

  ‘You little shit,’ bellowed Rodrigo, in pain. ‘I can see that I’ll need help to master you! Guards! Guards!’

  Suddenly, a dozen armed men bearing the Borgia crest on their tunics stormed into the courtyard where Ezio and the Cardinal were confronting one another. Ezio knew there was precious little poison left in the hilt of his right-hand dagger. He leapt back, the better to defend himself against Rodrigo’s reinforcements, and at that moment one of the new guards stooped to sweep the teak box off the ground and hand it to his Master.

  ‘Thank you, uomo coraggioso!’

  Ezio, meanwhile, was seriously outmatched, but he fought with a strategic coldness born of an absolute desire to recapture the box and its contents. Sheathing his Codex blades, he reached for his bandolier of throwing-knives and shot them from his hands with deadly accuracy, first bringing down the uomo coraggioso and then, with a second knife, knocking the box from Rodrigo’s gnarled hands.

  The Spaniard bent to pick it up again and make his retreat, when – shoof! – another throwing-knife hurtled through the air to clatter against a stone column inches from the Cardinal’s face. But this knife had not been thrown by Ezio.

  Ezio whirled round to see a familiar, jovial, bearded figure behind him. Older, perhaps, and greyer, and heavier, but no less deft. ‘Uncle Mario!’ he exclaimed. ‘I knew I’d seen you earlier!’

  ‘Can’t let you have all the fun,’ said Mario. ‘And don’t worry, nipote. You are not alone!’

  But a Borgia guard was bearing down on Ezio, halberd raised. The moment before he could deliver the crushing blow which would have sent Ezio into an endless night, a crossbow bolt appeared as if by magic, buried in the man’s forehead. He dropped his weapon and fell forwards, a look of disbelief etched on his face. Ezio looked round again and saw – La Volpe!

  ‘What are you doing here, Fox?’

  ‘We heard you might need some back-up,’ said the Fox, reloading quickly as more guards began to pour out of the building. It was as well that more reinforcements, in the shape of Antonio and Bartolomeo, appeared on Ezio’s side.

  ‘Don’t let Borgia get away with that box!’ yelled Antonio.

  Bartolomeo was using his greatsword Bianca like a scythe, cutting a swathe through the ranks of guards as they tried to overpower him by sheer force of numbers. And gradually the tide of battle turned back in favour of the Assassins and their allies.

  ‘We’ve got them covered now, nipote,’ called Mario. ‘Look to the Spaniard!’

  Ezio turned to see Rodrigo making for a doorway at the rear of the loggia and hastened to cut him off, but the Cardinal, sword in hand, was ready for him. ‘This is a losing battle for you, my boy,’ he snarled. ‘You cannot stop what is written! You’ll die by my hand like your father and your brothers –for death is the fate that awaits all who attempt to defy the Templars.’

  Nevertheless, Rodrigo’s voice lacked
conviction and, looking round, Ezio saw that the last of his guards had fallen. He blocked Rodrigo’s retreat at the threshold of the doorway, raising his own sword and preparing to strike, saying, ‘This is for my father!’ But the Cardinal ducked the blow, knocking Ezio off balance, yet dropping the precious box as he darted through the doorway to save his skin.

  ‘Make no mistake,’ he said balefully as he left. ‘I live to fight another day! And then I’ll make sure your death is as painful as it will be slow.’

  And he was gone.

  Ezio, winded, was trying to catch his breath and struggle to his feet when a woman’s hand reached down to help him. Looking up, he saw that the owner of the hand was – Paola!

  ‘He’s gone,’ she said, smiling. ‘But it doesn’t matter. We have what we came for.’

  ‘No! Did you hear what he said? I must get after him and finish this!’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ said another woman, coming up. It was Teodora. Looking round the assembled company, Ezio could see all his allies, Mario, the Fox, Antonio, Bartolomeo, Paola and Teodora. And there was someone else. A pale, dark-haired young man with a thoughtful, humorous face.

  ‘What are you all doing here?’ asked Ezio, sensing a tension among them.

  ‘Perhaps the same thing as you, Ezio,’ said the young stranger. ‘Hoping to see the Prophet appear.’

  Ezio was confused and irritated. ‘No! I came here to kill the Spaniard! I couldn’t care less about your Prophet – if he exists at all. He certainly isn’t here.’

  ‘Isn’t he?’ The young man paused, looking steadily at Ezio. ‘You are.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A prophet’s arrival was foretold. And here you have been among us for so long without our guessing the truth. All along you were the One we sought.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Who are you, anyway?’

  The young man sketched a bow. ‘My name is Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli. I am a member of the Order of the Assassins, trained in the ancient ways, to safeguard the future of mankind. Just like you, just like every man and woman here.’

  Ezio was astounded, looking from one face to the next. ‘Is this true, Uncle Mario?’ he said at last.