‘Do I ever?’ Ezio found himself once more needled by the younger man’s remarks. Machiavelli wasn’t the Brotherhood’s leader – after Mario’s death, no one was – and this interregnum would have to be concluded soon. ‘In any case, I have my Hidden Blade.’
‘And the guards have their guns. These things Leonardo has created for them – you know his genius cannot control itself – are fast to reload, as you’ve seen, and moreover they have barrels filed in a cunning way on the inside to make the shot more accurate.’
‘I’ll find Leonardo and talk to him.’
‘You may have to kill him.’
‘He’s worth more to us alive than dead. You said yourself his heart wasn’t with the Borgia.’
‘I said that is what I hope.’ Machiavelli stopped. ‘Look. Here is money.’
‘Grazie,’ said Ezio, taking the proffered pouch.
‘While you are in my debt, listen to reason.’
‘As soon as I hear more reason from you, I shall.’
Ezio left his friend and made his way to the quarter of the armourers, where he provided himself with a new breastplate, steel cuffs, and a better-balanced, higher-quality sword and dagger than those he already possessed. Above all he missed the old Codex Bracer, made of a secret metal, which had staved off so many blows that otherwise would have been fatal. But it was too late to regret that now. He’d just have to rely on his wits and his training. No one, and no accident, could take them from him.
He returned to Machiavelli, who was waiting for him at an inn, their pre-appointed rendezvous.
He found him in a prickly mood.
‘Bene,’ said Machiavelli. ‘Now you can survive the journey back to Firenze.’
‘Perhaps. But I am not going back to Florence.’
‘No?’
‘Perhaps you should. It is where you belong. I have no home there any more.’
Machiavelli spread his hands. ‘It’s true that your old home has indeed been destroyed. I didn’t want to tell you. But surely your mother and sister are safe there now. It is a city safe from the Borgia. My master, Piero Soderini, guards it well. You can recoup there.’
Ezio shuddered at having his worst fears confirmed. Then he pulled himself together and said, ‘I stay here. You said yourself, there will be no peace until we rise up against the entire Borgia family and the Templars who serve them.’
‘Such brave talk! And after Monteriggioni.’
‘That is cheap of you, Niccolò. How could I have known that they would find me so quickly? Or that they would kill Mario?’
Machiavelli spoke earnestly, taking his companion by the shoulders. ‘Look, Ezio, whatever happens we must prepare ourselves carefully. We must not hit out in rash anger. We are fighting scorpioni – worse, serpents! They can coil around your neck and bite your balls in one movement. They know nothing of right and wrong; they only know their goal. Rodrigo surrounds himself with snakes and murderers. Even his daughter Lucrezia has been sharpened into one of his most artful weapons: she knows all there is to know about the art of poisoning.’ He paused. ‘However, even she pales by comparison with Cesare.’
‘Him again.’
‘He is ambitious, ruthless and cruel beyond – thank God! – your imagination. The laws of men mean nothing to him. He has murdered his own brother, the Duke of Gandía, to claw his way towards absolute power. He will stop at nothing.’
‘I’ll pluck him down.’
‘Only if you are not rash. He has the Apple, don’t forget. Heaven help us if he really learns its powers.’
Ezio’s mind flashed nervously to Leonardo, who understood the Apple all too well …
‘He recognizes neither danger nor fatigue,’ Machiavelli continued. ‘Those who do not fall by his sword clamour to join his ranks. Already the powerful Orsini and Colonna families have been brought down and made to kneel at his feet, and King Louis of France stands by his side.’ Machiavelli paused again, thoughtful. ‘But at least King Louis will only remain his ally as long as he is useful to him …’
‘You overestimate the man.’
Machiavelli appeared not to have heard him; he was lost in his own thoughts. ‘What does he intend to do with all that power and money? What drives the man? That, I still do not know. But, Ezio,’ he added, fixing his gaze on his friend, ‘Cesare has set his sights on all Italia, and at this rate he will have it.’
Ezio hesitated, shocked. ‘Is that … is that admiration I hear in your voice?’
Machiavelli’s face was set. ‘He knows how to exercise his will – a rare virtue in the world today – and he is the kind of man who could make the world bend to that will.’
‘What do you mean, exactly?’
‘Just this: people need someone to look up to – to adore even. It may be God, or Christ, but better yet, someone you can really see, not just an image. Rodrigo, Cesare, even a great actor or singer, as long as they’re dressed well and have faith in themselves. The rest follows quite logically.’ Machiavelli drank a little wine. ‘It’s part of us, you see. It doesn’t interest you or me or Leonardo, but there are people out there who have a hunger to be followed, and they are the dangerous ones.’ He finished his drink. ‘Fortunately, they can also be manipulated by people like me.’
‘Or destroyed by people like me.’
They sat in silence for a long moment.
‘Who will lead the Assassins now that Mario is dead?’ asked Ezio.
‘What a question! We are in disorder and there are few candidates. It’s important, of course, and the choice will be made in time. In the meantime, come on. We have work to do.’
‘Shall we take horses? Half of it may be falling down, but Rome’s still a big city,’ suggested Ezio.
‘Easier said than done. As Cesare’s conquests in the Romagna increase – and he controls most of the region now – and the Borgia grow in power, they’ve taken the best areas of the city for themselves. We’re in a Borgia rione now. We won’t get horses from the stables here.’
‘So the will of the Borgia is the only law here now?’
‘Ezio, what are you implying? That I approve of it?’
‘Don’t play dumb with me, Niccolò.’
‘I don’t play dumb with anyone. Do you have a plan?’
‘We’ll improvise.’
They made their way towards the place where the local stables with horses for hire were located, walking down streets where, Ezio noticed, many of the shops that should have been open had their shutters down. What was the matter? Sure enough, the closer they got, the more numerous and menacing were the guards in mulberry-and-yellow livery. Machiavelli, Ezio noticed, was becoming increasingly nervous.
It wasn’t long before a burly sergeant, at the head of a dozen or so tough-looking thugs in uniform, blocked their path.
‘What’s your business here, friend?’ he said to Ezio.
‘Time to improvise?’ whispered Machiavelli.
‘We want to hire some horses,’ Ezio replied evenly to the sergeant.
The sergeant barked out a laugh. ‘Not here you won’t, friend. On your way.’ He pointed back in the direction they’d come.
‘Isn’t it allowed?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
The sergeant drew his sword as the other guards followed suit. He held the point of his blade against Ezio’s neck and pushed slightly, so that a drop of blood appeared. ‘You know what curiosity did to the cat, don’t you? Now, fuck off!’
With an almost imperceptible movement, Ezio swept out his Hidden Blade and with it severed the tendons of the wrist holding the sword, which clattered uselessly to the ground. With a great cry the sergeant buckled over, grasping his wound. At the same time Machiavelli leapt forward and slashed at the nearest three guards with his sword in a great sweeping motion – they all staggered back, astonished at the sudden boldness of the two men.
Ezio swiftly withdrew the Hidden Blade, and in one fluid movement unsheathed his sword and dagger. H
is weapons were clear and poised just in time to cut down the first two of his attackers who, having recovered some of their composure, had stepped forward to avenge their sergeant. None of the Borgia men had the skill at arms required to take on either Ezio or Machiavelli – the Assassin’s training was of a wholly different class. Even so, the odds were against the two allies, who were heavily outnumbered. However, the unexpected ferocity of their attack was enough to give them an unassailable edge.
Taken almost wholly by surprise, and unused to coming off worse in any encounter, the dozen men were soon dispatched. But the commotion of the scuffle had raised the alarm, and more Borgia soldiers were quick to come – over two dozen men all told. Machiavelli and Ezio were nearly overwhelmed by the sheer weight of numbers, and with the effort of taking on so many at once. The flourishes of style that they were capable of were set aside for a quicker, more efficient form of swordsmanship – the three-second kill, a single thrust sufficing. The two men stood their ground, grim determination set on their faces, and finally all their enemies had either fled, or lay wounded, dead or dying at their feet.
‘We’d better hurry,’ said Machiavelli, breathing hard. Just because we’ve sent a few Borgia henchmen to their Maker doesn’t mean we’ll get access to the stables. The ordinary people remain afraid. That’s why so many of them won’t even open their shops.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Ezio. ‘We need to send them a signal. Wait here.’
A fire was burning in a brazier nearby. From it, Ezio seized a brand, then leapt up onto the wall of the stable, where the Borgia flag with the black bull in a golden field flew in the light breeze. Ezio set it on fire, and as it burned, one or two shop doors cautiously opened, as did the gates of the stables.
‘That’s better!’ cried Ezio. He turned to address the small but doubtful crowd that had gathered. ‘Do not fear the Borgia. Do not be in thrall to them. Their days are numbered, and the hour of reckoning is at hand.’
More people came up, raising a cheer.
‘They’ll be back,’ Machivelli said.
‘Yes they will, but we’ve shown these people that they are not the all-powerful tyrants they took them to be.’
Ezio leapt down from the wall into the stable yard, where Machiavelli joined him. Swiftly, they picked two sturdy mounts and had them saddled.
‘We’ll come back,’ Ezio promised the head ostler. ‘You might like to get this place cleaned up a bit – now that it belongs to you again, as it rightfully should.’
‘We will, my Lord,’ said the man. But he still looked fearful.
‘Don’t worry. They won’t harm you now that you’ve seen them bested.’
‘How do you figure that, my Lord?’
‘They need you. They can’t do without you. Just show them you won’t be bullied and pushed around and they’ll have to cajole you into helping them.’
‘They’ll hang us – or worse.’
‘Do you want to spend the rest of your lives under their yoke? Stand up to them. They’ll have to listen to reasonable requests. Even tyrants can’t function if enough people refuse to obey them.’
Machiavelli, already on his horse, took out a small black notebook and wrote in it, smiling absently to himself. Ezio swung himself into the saddle.
‘I thought you said we were in a hurry,’ said Ezio.
‘We are. I was just making a note of what you said.’
‘I hope I should be flattered by that.’
‘Oh yes, you should be. Come on.’
‘You excel at opening wounds, Ezio,’ Machiavelli continued as they rode. ‘But can you also close them?’
‘I intend to heal the sickness that is at the heart of our society, not merely tinker about with the symptoms.’
‘Bold words. But you don’t have to argue with me; we’re on the same side, don’t forget. I’m just putting across another point of view.’
‘Is this a test?’ Ezio was suspicious. ‘If so, let us talk openly. I believe that Rodrigo Borgia’s death would not have solved our problem.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, I mean, look at this city. Rome is the centre of Borgia and Templar rule. What I just said to that stableman holds true. Killing Rodrigo won’t change things – cut off the head of a man and he is dead, sure. But we are dealing with a Hydra.’
‘I see what you mean – like the seven-headed monster Hercules had to kill – and even then the heads grew back until he learned the trick of stopping that happening.’
‘Precisely.’
‘So – you suggest that we appeal to the people?’
‘Maybe. How else?’
‘Forgive me, Ezio, but the people are fickle. Relying on them is like building on sand.’
‘I disagree, Niccolò. Surely our belief in humanity is at the heart of the Assassin’s Creed.’
‘And that’s something you intend to put to the test?’
Ezio was about to reply, but at that instant a young thief ran alongside them and, with his knife, swiftly and surely cut through the leather strings that attached Ezio’s money pouch to his belt.
‘What the—!’ Ezio shouted.
Machiavelli laughed. ‘He must be from your inner circle. Look at him run! You might have trained him yourself. Go, get back what he’s stolen. We need that money. I’ll meet you at the Campidoglio on the Capitoline.’
Ezio wheeled his horse round and galloped off in pursuit of the thief. The man ran down alleys too narrow for the horse and Ezio had to go round, worried that he might lose his quarry but at the same time knowing, to his chagrin, that on foot the younger man would surely outrun him. It was almost as if the man had had some Assassin training. But how could that be?
At last he cornered the man in a blind alley and used the body of the horse to pin him up against the wall of the dead end.
‘Give it back,’ he said evenly, drawing his sword.
The man still seemed bent on escape, but when he saw how hopeless his situation was, his body slumped and, mutely, he raised the hand that held the pouch. Ezio snatched it back and stowed it away safely. But in doing so he let his horse move back a fraction, and in the wink of an eye the man had scrambled up the wall with almost extraordinary speed and disappeared over the other side.
‘Hey! Come back! I haven’t finished with you yet!’ Ezio yelled, but all he got in reply was the receding sound of running feet. Sighing, and ignoring the small crowd that had gathered, he steered the horse in the direction of the Capitoline Hill.
Dusk was falling as he rejoined Machiavelli.
‘Did you liberate your money from our friend?’
‘I did.’
‘A small victory.’
‘They add up,’ said Ezio. ‘And in time, with work, we’ll have a few more.’
‘Let’s hope we make it before Cesare’s gaze falls on us and we are broken again. He damned nearly succeeded at Monteriggioni. Now let’s get on with things.’ Machiavelli spurred on his horse.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the Colosseum. We have a rendezvous with a contact of mine, Vinicio.’
‘And—?’
‘I’m expecting him to have something for me. Come on.’
As they rode through the city towards the Colosseum, Machiavelli commented drily on the various new buildings that had been erected by Pope Alexander VI during his administration.
‘Look at all these façades, masquerading as government buildings. Rodrigo is very clever in the way he keeps this place in business. It fools your friends the “people” quite easily.’
‘When did you become so cynical?’
Machiavelli smiled. ‘I’m not being cynical at all. I’m just describing Roma as she is today. But you’re right, Ezio, perhaps I am a little too bitter, a little too negative sometimes. All may not be lost. The good news is that we do have allies in the city. You will meet them. And the College of Cardinals is not completely under Rodrigo’s thumb, much as he’d like it to be, although it is touch and
go …’
‘What’s touch and go?’
‘Our ultimate success.’
‘We can only try. Giving up is a sure way to failure.’
‘Who said anything about giving up?’
They rode on in silence until they reached the gloomy hulk of the ruined Colosseum, a building over which, for Ezio, the remembered horrors of the Games that had taken place there a thousand years ago, still hung. His attention was immediately caught by a group of Borgia guards with a Papal courier. Their swords drawn, halberds pointing threateningly and bearing flickering red torches, they were jostling a small, harassed-looking man.
‘Merda!’ said Machiavelli softly. ‘It’s Vinicio. They’ve got to him first.’
Silently, the two men slowed their horses, approaching the group quietly and with as much caution as possible in order to gain the greatest element of surprise. As they neared, they picked up snatches of conversation.
‘What you got there?’ one guard was asking.
‘Nothing.’
‘Attempting to steal official Vatican correspondence, eh?’
‘Perdonatemi, signore. You must be mistaken.’
‘No mistake, you little thief,’ said another guard, prodding the man with his halberd.
‘Who are you working for, ladro?’
‘No one.’
‘Good, then no one will care what happens to you.’
‘I’ve heard enough,’ said Machiavelli. ‘We’ve got to save him and get the letter he carries.’
‘Letter?’
‘Come on!’
Machiavelli dug his heels into his mount’s flanks, and the surprised horse bolted forward as Machiavelli tugged hard on the reins. The beast reared, forelegs kicking wildly and slamming into the temple of the nearest Borgia guard, caving his helmet into his skull. The man fell like a stone. Meanwhile, Machiavelli had swivelled himself to his right, leaning low out of his saddle. Reaching down he slashed viciously at the shoulder of the guard threatening Vinicio. The man dropped his halberd instantly and collapsed with the pain flaming through his shoulder. Ezio spurred his steed forward, careening past two other guards and using the pommel of his sword to strike fatally hard down on the first man’s head and slapping the second across the eyes with the flat of his blade. One more guard was left. Distracted by the sudden attack, he didn’t notice Vinicio grabbing the shaft of his halberd and suddenly felt himself yanked forward. Vinicio’s dagger was waiting and pierced the man’s throat. He fell with a sickening gargling sound as blood flooded his lungs. Once again, the element of surprise gave the Assassins the edge; the Borgia soldiers were clearly not used to such effective resistance to their bullying. Vinicio wasted no time and gestured to the main thoroughfare leading from the central plaza. A horse could be seen clattering away from the plaza – the courier standing hard in the stirrups urging on his steed.
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