‘My uncle mentioned a sister,’ Ezio began.
Machiavelli turned to him. ‘Yes. Lucrezia. She and Cesare are … how shall I say? Very close. They are a very close-knit family; when they are not killing those other brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, whom they find inconvenient to them, they are … coupling with each other.’
Maria Auditore could not suppress a cry of disgust.
‘We must approach them with all the caution we would use to approach a nest of vipers,’ Machiavelli concluded. ‘And God knows where and how soon they will next strike.’ He paused and drank half a glass of wine. ‘And now, Mario, I leave you. Ezio, we will meet again soon, I trust.’
‘You’re leaving this evening?’
‘Time is of the essence, good Mario. I ride for Rome tonight. Farewell.’
The room was silent once Machiavelli had left. After a long pause, Ezio said bitterly, ‘He blames me for not killing Rodrigo when I had the chance.’ He looked round at them. ‘You all do.’
‘Any of us might have made the decision you made,’ said his mother. ‘You were sure he was dying.’
Mario came and put an arm round his shoulders. ‘Machiavelli knows your value; we all do. And even with the Pope out of the way, we’d still have had to deal with his brood.’
‘But if I had cut off the head, could the body have survived?’
‘We must deal with the situation as it is, good Ezio, not with it as it might have been.’ Mario clapped him on the back. ‘And now, as we are in for a busy day tomorrow, I suggest we dine and prepare for an early night!’
Caterina’s eyes met Ezio’s. Did he imagine it, or was there a flicker of lust there? He shrugged inwardly. Perhaps he was just imagining it.
7
Ezio ate lightly – just pollo ripieno with roasted vegetables – and he drank his Chianti cut half and half with water. There was little conversation at dinner, and he answered his mother’s string of questions politely but laconically. After all the tension that had mounted in anticipation of the meeting, and which had now melted away, he was very tired. He had barely had a chance to rest since leaving Rome, and it looked now as if it would be a long time still before he could realize his long-cherished ambition of spending some time back in his old home in Florence, reading and walking in the surrounding gentle hills.
As soon as he decently could, Ezio made his excuses to the company and set off for his bedroom, a large, quiet, dimly lit space on one of the upper floors, with a view across the countryside rather than the town. Once he’d reached it and dismissed the servant, he let go of the steeliness that had supported him throughout the day; his body slumped, his shoulders sagged and his walk eased. His movements were slow and deliberate. He moved across the room to where the servant had already drawn him a bath. As he approached it, he tugged at his boots and took off his clothes and, once naked, he stood for a moment, his clothes bundled in his hands, before a full-length mirror on a stand near the copper tub. He looked at his reflection with weary eyes. Where had the last four long decades gone? He straightened. He was older, stronger even, certainly wiser, but he could not deny the profound fatigue he felt.
Ezio threw his clothes onto the bed. Under it, in a locked elm chest, were the secret Codex weapons that Leonardo da Vinci had fashioned for him. He would check them over first thing in the morning, after the council of war he’d be holding with his uncle. The original Hidden Blade never left him except when he was naked, and even then he kept it within arm’s reach. He wore it always; it had become part of his body.
Sighing with relief, Ezio slipped into the bath. Immersed up to his neck in the hot water, breathing in the gently scented steam, he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath of relief. Peace at last. He had better make the most of the few short hours he had of it.
He had just dozed off and begun to dream when the softest of noises – the door opening and closing behind its heavy, tapestry hanging – caused him to wake. He was instantly alert, like a wild animal. Silently his hand sought the blade and with a practised movement he attached it to his wrist. Then, in one fluid motion, he turned and stood upright in the tub, poised for action and looking in the direction of the door.
‘Well,’ said Caterina, grinning as she approached. ‘You certainly haven’t lost any inches with the years.’
‘You have the advantage of me, Contessa,’ smiled Ezio. ‘You are fully clothed.’
‘I expect we could arrange something to change that. But I am waiting.’
‘Waiting for what?’
‘For you to say that you don’t really need to see for yourself. For you to say that you are sure, even without seeing my naked body, that Nature has been as kind to me, if not kinder, as she has been to you.’ Her grin broadened at Ezio’s confusion. ‘But I remember you were never as good at paying compliments as you were at ridding the world of Templars.’
‘Come here!’
He drew her to him, pulling at the girdle of her skirt as her fingers flew first to the blade, detaching it, and then to the laces of her bodice. Seconds later he had lifted her into the bath with him, their lips glued to one another’s and their naked limbs entwined.
They did not linger long in the bath, but soon got out, drying each other on the rough linen towels the servant had left. Caterina had brought a phial of scented massage oil with her and drew it from a pocket in her dress.
‘Now, lie on the bed,’ she said. ‘I want to make sure you are good and ready for me.’
‘Surely you can see that I am.’
‘Indulge me. Indulge yourself.’
Ezio smiled. This was better than sleep. Sleep could wait.
Sleep, Ezio found, was obliged to wait three hours, at which point Caterina curled up in his arms. She fell asleep before him and he watched her for a while. Nature had indeed been kind to her. Her slender yet curvaceous body, with its narrow hips, broad shoulders and small but perfect breasts, was still that of a twenty-year-old, and her cloud of fine light red hair that tickled his chest as she laid her head on it carried the same scent that had driven him wild all those years ago. Once or twice in the depths of the night, he woke to find he had rolled away from her, and when he took her in his arms again, she nestled up to him without waking, giving a tiny sigh of joy and closing her hand around his forearm. Ezio wondered later if this hadn’t been the best night of love in his life.
They overslept, of course, but Ezio was not about to forego another bout in favour of cannon practice, even though a part of his mind reproved him for this. In the background he could distantly hear the sounds of marching – clattering men moving at a running march – and shouted orders, followed by the boom of cannon.
‘Target practice with the new cannon,’ said Ezio when, for a moment, Caterina stopped and looked at him quizzically. ‘Manoeuvres. Mario’s a hard taskmaster.’
The heavy brocade curtains across the windows shut out most of the light and the room remained cocooned in comfortable dimness; no servant came to disturb them. Soon, Caterina’s moans of pleasure drowned out any other noise to his ear. His hands tightened around her strong buttocks, and she was pulling him up urgently towards her when their lovemaking was interrupted by more than just the roar of cannon.
Suddenly the peace and the softness of the room was shattered. The windows blew away with a mighty roar, taking a part of the stone outer wall with them, as a gigantic cannonball smashed in and landed, boiling hot, inches from the bed. The floor sagged under its weight.
Ezio had instinctively thrown himself protectively over Caterina at the first sign of danger, and in that moment the lovers transformed themselves into professionals and colleagues – if they were to remain lovers, they first had to survive.
They leapt from the bed, throwing on their clothes. Ezio noticed that apart from the delicious phial of oil, Caterina touted a very useful jagged-edged dagger beneath her skirts.
‘What the hell … ?’ Ezio cried.
‘Go and find Mario,’ said
Caterina urgently.
Another ball flew in, shattering the beams over their recently vacated bed and smashing it to pieces.
‘My troops are in the main courtyard,’ said Caterina. ‘I’ll find them and get around the back of the citadel to see if we can’t outflank them. Tell Mario that’s what I’ve decided.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ezio. ‘Stay out of sight.’
‘I wish I’d had time to change,’ she said, laughing. ‘We’d better book into an albergo next time, eh?’
‘Let’s make damned sure there is a next time,’ rejoined Ezio, laughing too, but nervously, as he strapped on his sword.
‘You bet! Arrivederci!’ cried Caterina, rushing from the room without forgetting to blow him a kiss.
He looked at the ruins of the bed. The Codex weapons – the Double Blade, the Poison Blade and the Pistol – were buried beneath it, in all probability destroyed. At least he still had his Hidden Blade. Even in extremis he would never forget that – his murdered father’s last bequest.
8
Ezio had no idea what time it was, but experience told him attacks usually began at dawn, when the victims were still confused and wiping the sleep from their eyes. He was lucky that his training had bestowed on him, even having reached the age of forty, the alertness and agility of a wildcat.
Once outside and on the battlements he scanned the surrounding landscape. The town below him was in flames in many quarters. He saw the tailor’s shop burning, and Angelina’s house too. There would be no birthday party for poor Claudia tonight.
He ducked as another cannonball smashed into the ramparts. For God’s Love, what guns were their attackers bringing to bear? How could they reload and fire so fast? And who was behind this?
Through the smoke and dust he made out Mario, dodging crumbling masonry as he came towards him. Ezio leapt off the ramparts, landing in a crouch near Mario, and ran to join him.
‘Uncle! Che diavolo … ?’
Mario spat. ‘They’ve caught us on the back foot. It’s the Borgia!’
‘Fottere!’
‘We underestimated Cesare. They must have massed to the east during the night.’
‘What must we do?’
‘The main thing is to get all the townspeople clear – those who haven’t already been killed. We’ve got to hold them off until we’ve done that. If they take the town with the people still inside it, they’ll kill them all: everyone in Monteriggioni is either an Assassin or an Assassin’s abettor, in their eyes.’
‘I know the route out. Leave it to me.’
‘Good man. I’ll muster our defenders and give them everything we’ve got.’ Mario paused. ‘Look. Let’s take them on first. You go and command the cannon on the ramparts.’
‘And you?’
‘I’ll lead a frontal assault. Take the battle to the bastards.’
‘Caterina is going to try to take her forces around the flank.’
‘Good. Then we are in with a chance. Now hurry!’
‘Wait!’
‘What is it?’
Ezio lowered his voice. ‘Where is the Apple?’ He did not tell his uncle that the Codex weapons had been destroyed by one of the first cannonades. Inwardly he prayed that, by some miracle, his path would cross Leonardo’s again, for he did not doubt that the Master of all the arts and sciences would help him reconstruct them, in case of need. In the meantime, he had the Hidden Blade still, and he was a past master in the use of conventional weapons.
‘The Apple is safe,’ Mario reassured him. ‘Now go. And if you see that the Borgia show the slightest chance of breaching the walls, shift your attention to evacuating the town. Do you understand?’
‘Si, zio mio.’
Mario placed his hands on Ezio’s shoulders and looked at him gravely for a long moment. ‘Our fate is only partially in our own hands. There is only a certain amount of it that we can control. But never forget – never forget, nephew – that whatever happens to you or me this day, there is never a feather lost by a sparrow that is not brushed away by the finger of God.’
‘I understand, Capitano.’
There was a brief moment of silence between them, then Mario extended his hand.
‘Insieme per la vittoria!’
Ezio took his uncle’s hand in his and wrung it fervently. ‘Insieme!’
As Mario turned to go, Ezio said, ‘Capitano, be careful.’
Mario nodded grimly. ‘I’ll do my best. And you – take my best horse and get to the outer walls as fast as you can.’ He drew his sword and, with a great war cry to rally his men, ran towards the foe.
Ezio watched him briefly, then ran towards the stable, where the old groom whose runaway horse he’d saved the day before was waiting. The huge chestnut was saddled and ready.
‘Maestro Mario had already sent orders,’ the old man said. ‘I may be past my prime, but no one could ever accuse me of being inefficient. Ma attenzione, this horse is full of spirit!’
‘I brought him to heel yesterday. He’ll know me today.’
‘True enough. Buona fortuna. We all depend on you.’
Ezio swung himself into the saddle and urged the eager horse towards the outer walls.
He rode through the already devastated town. The tailor was dead and mutilated in front of his shop – what harm had he ever done anyone? – And Angelina was weeping in front of her burned-down house; what was the point of not showing her pity?
War – that was all. Brutalizing and cruel. Vicious and infantile. Ezio’s gorge rose at it.
Freedom, mercy and love – these were the only things worth fighting and killing for – and these were the prime elements of the Assassin’s Creed. Of the Brotherhood.
As Ezio rode forth, he encountered scenes of terrible desolation. Devastation and chaos surrounded him as his horse carried him through the burning town.
‘My children! Where are my children?!’ a young mother screamed as he passed by, helplessly.
‘Just pack what you can and let’s get out of here.’ A man’s voice rang out.
‘Shit, my leg! My leg’s been shot away!’ yelled a townsman.
‘How can we escape?’ shrieked several people, rushing around in panic.
‘I can’t find my mother! Mamma! Mamma!’ rang out the voice of a little child.
Ezio had to steel his heart. He could not go to the rescue of individuals – there was no time – but if he could organize the defence properly, more people would be saved than lost.
‘Aiuto! Aiuto!’ a teenaged girl, mobbed by Borgia troops, cried out as they forced her down.
Ezio rode grimly on. He would kill them. Kill them all, if he could. Who was this heartless Cesare Borgia? Could he be worse than the Pope? Could there ever be a more evil Templar?
‘Water! Water! Bring water!’ a man’s voice bellowed despairingly. ‘Everything is burning!’
‘Where are you, please, oh God? Where are you, Marcello?’ a woman’s voice sang out.
Ezio rode on, his mouth set, but the cries for help still rang in his ears: ‘Comè usciamo di qui?’
‘Run! Run!’ Voices were raised against the sound of the bombardment. There were screams and sobs, desperate pleas for help, for a means of getting out of the beleaguered town as the pitiless Borgia troops piled cannonade upon cannonade.
Please God they do not breach the walls before our own guns have been brought into play, Ezio thought, and though he could hear the explosions as the sakers and falconets spat shot at the attackers, he could not yet hear the boom of the big guns he had encountered the day before, the only cannon that might be able to smash the huge wooden siege towers the Borgia forces were trundling towards the city walls.
He goaded the chestnut up the ramp to the walls and leapt off as he reached the point where he had last seen the drunken master armourer beside the ten-foot cannon. He was perfectly sober now and directing gunners to bring the gun to bear on a tower which their highly trained attackers were pushing slowly but surely towards the rampart
s. Ezio could see that its top matched the height of the crenellations at the top of the walls.
‘The wretches,’ he muttered. But how could anyone have predicted the speed and – even Ezio had to admit this to himself – masterly perfection of the attack?
‘Fire!’ yelled the grizzled master sergeant who was in command of the first big gun. The great cannon boomed and sprang back, but the ball was just wide and only nicked a splattering of wood off a corner of the siege tower’s roof.
‘Try to hit the fucking towers, you fools!’ yelled the sergeant.
‘Sir, we need more ammunition!’
‘Then go down to the stores and make it snappy! Look! They’re storming the gate!’
Meanwhile the other cannon bellowed and spat. Ezio was pleased to see a tranche of attackers smashed into a sea of blood and bone.
‘Reload!’ yelled the sergeant. ‘Fire again at my command!’
‘Wait until the tower’s closer,’ ordered Ezio, ‘then aim for the bottom. That’ll bring the whole thing down. Our crossbowmen can finish off any survivors.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The armourer came up. ‘You learn tactics fast,’ he said to Ezio.
‘Instinct.’
‘Good instinct’s worth a hundred men in the field,’ returned the armourer. ‘But you missed target practice this morning. No excuse for that.’
‘And what about you?’ said Ezio.
‘Come on,’ grinned the armourer, ‘we’ve got another of these cannon covering the left flank, and the commander of its gun crew is dead: crossbow bolt bang in his forehead. Dead before he hit the ground. You take over. I’ve got my work cut out for me making sure none of the guns overheats or cracks.’
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