‘Give me the letter. Be quick about it!’ ordered Machiavelli.
‘But I haven’t got it; he has,’ Vinicio cried, pointing towards the fleeing horse. ‘They took it from me.’
‘Get after him!’ Machiavelli shouted to Ezio. ‘Whatever it costs, get that letter and bring it to me at the Terme di Diocleziano by midnight. I’ll be waiting.’
Ezio rode off in pursuit.
It was easier than catching the thief had been. Ezio’s horse was better than the courier’s, and the man he was pursuing was no fighter. Ezio pulled him from the horse with ease. He didn’t like to kill the man, but he couldn’t afford to let him go and raise the alarm. ‘Requiescat in Pace,’ he said softly as he slit his throat. He put the letter, unopened, in his belt pouch and made a tow rope from the horse’s bridle so he could take the courier’s steed with him. He then turned his own mount and made for the ruins of the Baths of Diocletian.
It was now almost pitch dark, except for where the occasional torch guttered in a wall-mounted sconce. To reach the baths, Ezio had to cross a sizeable stretch of wasteland, and halfway across, his horse reared and neighed in fear. The other horse followed suit and Ezio had his hands full calming them. Suddenly a blood-curdling sound came to his ears, like the howling of wolves, and yet not quite the same. Possibly worse. It sounded more like human voices imitating the animals. He spun his horse round in the dark, loosening the tow rope he’d made. Once free, the courier’s horse turned tail and galloped off into the night. Ezio hoped it would find its way home in one piece.
He didn’t have much time to reflect on that as he reached the deserted baths. Machiavelli had not yet arrived – no doubt he was off again on one of his mysterious private missions in the city – but then …
From among the hillocks and tussocks of grass that had grown over the remains of the ancient Roman city, figures appeared and surrounded him. Feral-looking people who were hardly human in appearance at all. They stood upright, but they had long ears, snouts, claws and tails, and they were covered in rough grey hair. Their eyes seemed to glint red. Ezio drew a sharp breath – what on earth were these devilish creatures? His eyes darted around the ruins; he was encircled by at least a dozen of these wolfmen. Ezio unsheathed his sword once more. This was not turning out to be the best of days.
With wolf-like snarls and howls, the creatures fell upon him. As they came close, Ezio could see that these were indeed men like him, only seemingly mad, like creatures in some kind of holy trance. Their weapons were long, sharp steel talons sewn firmly into the tips of heavy gloves, and with these they slashed at his legs and at the horse’s flanks, trying to bring him down.
He was able to keep them at bay with his sword and, as their disguises seemed to have no chain mail or other protection under the wolfskins, he was able to wound them with the keen edge of his sword. He cut one creature’s arm off at the elbow and it slunk away, wailing horribly in the darkness. The strange creatures seemed to be more aggressive than skilful, and their weapons were no match for the point of Ezio’s flashing blade. He quickly pressed forward, splitting the skull of another and pierced the left eye of a third. Both wolfmen fell on the spot, mortally injured by Ezio’s blows. By then the other wolfmen seemed to be having second thoughts about continuing their attack, melting into the darkness or into hollows and caves formed by the overgrown ruins surrounding the baths. Ezio gave chase, gouging the thigh of one of his would-be assailants, while another fell under the hooves of his horse, only to have his back broken. Overtaking a sixth, Ezio leant down and, turning backwards, ripped the man’s stomach open so that his guts spilled onto the ground and he stumbled over them as he fell and died.
Finally, all was silent.
Ezio calmed his horse and stood up in his stirrups, willing his eyes to penetrate the darkness and his ears to pick up signals his eyes could not see. Presently he thought he could make out the sound of laboured breathing not far off, though nothing was visible. He urged his horse into a walk and softly made his way in the direction it was coming from.
It seemed to be coming from the blackness of a shallow cave, formed by the overhang of a fallen archway and festooned with creepers and weeds. Dismounting and tying his horse firmly to a tree stump, he rubbed the blade of his sword with dirt so that it would not glint and give his location away and gingerly made his way forward. For a brief second he thought he saw the flickering of a flame in the bowels of the cave.
As he inched forward, bats swooped over his head and out into the night. The place stank of their droppings. Unseen insects and doubtless other creatures clattered and scuttled away from him. He cursed them for the noise they made as it seemed as loud as thunder to him, but the ambush – if there was one – still did not come.
Then he saw the flame again, and heard what he could have sworn was a faint whimpering. He saw that the cave was less shallow than the fallen arch suggested, and that its corridor curved gently, and at the same time narrowed, leading into a deeper darkness. As he followed the curve, the flickers of flame he had glimpsed earlier resolved themselves into a small fire, in the light of which he could make out a hunched figure.
The air was slightly fresher here. There must be some airway in the roof which he could not see. That would be why the fire could breathe. Ezio stood stock still and watched.
Whimpering, the creature reached out a skinny left hand, grubby and bony, and plucked at the end of an iron bar, which was stuck in the fire. Its other end was red hot, and, tremblingly, the creature drew it out and, bracing itself, applied the end to the bloody stump of its other arm, stifling a shriek as it did so, in an attempt to cauterize the wound.
It was the wolfman Ezio had maimed.
In the moment when the wolfman’s attention was bound up in his pain and the job in hand, Ezio surged forward. He was almost too late, for the creature was fast and nearly got away, but Ezio’s fist closed hard around its good arm. It was difficult, for the limb was slippery with grease, and the stench the creature released as it moved was all but overpowering, but Ezio held on firmly. Catching his breath and kicking the iron bar away, Ezio said, ‘What the fuck are you?’
‘Urgh,’ was all the reply he got. Ezio slapped the man hard round the head with his other fist, which was still sheathed in a mailed glove. Blood spurted close to the man’s left eye and he moaned in pain.
‘What are you? Speak!’
‘Ergh.’ His open mouth displayed a broken, greyish set of teeth, and the smell that came from it made that of a drunken whore seem sweet.
‘Speak!’ Ezio drove the point of his sword into the stump and twisted it. He hadn’t time to mess about with this wreck of a person. He was worried about his horse.
‘Aargh!’ Another cry of pain, then a rough, almost incomprehensible voice emerged from the inarticulate grunting, speaking good Italian. ‘I am a follower of the Secta Luporum.’
The Sect of the Wolves? What the hell is that?’
‘You will find out. What you did tonight—’
‘Oh, shut up.’ Tightening his grip, Ezio stirred up the fire to gain more light and glanced around. Now he saw that he was in a kind of domed chamber, possibly hollowed out deliberately. There was little in it but a couple of chairs and a rough table with a handful of papers on it, weighted down with a stone.
‘My brothers will return soon, and then …’
Ezio dragged him to the table, pointing with his sword at the papers. ‘And these? What are these?’
The man looked at him and spat. Ezio placed his sword point close to the bloody stump again.
‘No!’ wailed the man. ‘Not again!’
‘Then tell me.’ Ezio looked at the papers. The moment would come when he would have to put his sword down, however briefly, to pick them up. Some of the writing was in Italian, some in Latin, but there were other symbols, which looked like writing, but which he could not decipher.
Then he heard a rustling, coming from the direction he had come. The wolfman’s eyes gleamed
. ‘Our secrets,’ he said.
At the same moment two more of the creatures bounded into the room, roaring and clawing at the air with their steel claws. Ezio’s prisoner wrenched himself free and would have joined them if Ezio had not slashed his head from his shoulders and sent it rolling towards his friends. He tore round to the other side of the table, seizing the papers, and hurling the table over towards his enemies.
The firelight dimmed. The fire needed stirring again – either that or more fuel. Ezio’s eyes strained to pick out the two remaining wolfmen. They were like grey shadows in the room. Ezio dropped back into the darkness, stashed the papers in his tunic and waited.
The wolfmen may have had the strength of the insane, but they couldn’t have been very skilled, except in the art, perhaps, of scaring people to death. They certainly couldn’t keep quiet or move silently. Using his ears more than his eyes, Ezio managed to circle them, skirting the walls until he knew he was behind them, while they thought he was still somewhere in the darkness ahead of them.
There was no time to lose. He sheathed his sword, unleashed his Hidden Blade, came up, silent as a real wolf behind one of them and, holding him firmly from behind, cut his throat. He died instantly and silently, and Ezio eased the body quietly to the floor. He considered trying to capture the other, but there was no time for interrogation. There might be more of them, and Ezio wasn’t sure he had enough strength to fight any more. Ezio could sense the other man’s panic, which was confirmed when he left off his impersonation and called anxiously into the silent darkness, ‘Sandro?’
It was a simple matter then to locate him, and again the exposed throat was Ezio’s hoped-for target. This time, however, the man spun round, frantically tearing at the air in front of him with his claws. He could see Ezio, but Ezio remembered that these creatures wore no mail under their fancy dress. He withdrew the Hidden Blade, and with his larger and less subtle dagger, which had the advantage of a serrated edge, opened the man’s breast. The exposed heart and lungs glistened in the dying firelight as the last wolfman fell forward, his face in the fire. A smell of burning hair and flesh threatened to overcome Ezio, but he sprang back and made his way as fast as he could, fighting down panic, to the kindly night air outside.
Once outside, he saw that the wolfmen hadn’t touched his horse. Perhaps they had been too sure of trapping him to bother to kill it or drive it away. He untied it and realized he was trembling too much to mount. Instead, he took its bridle and led it back to the Baths of Diocletian. Machiavelli had better be there and he had better be well-armed. By God, if only he still had his Codex gun, or one of those things Leonardo had fashioned for his new master. At least Ezio had the satisfaction of knowing he could still win fights by using his wits and his training – two things they couldn’t deprive him of until the day they caught him and tortured him to death.
He remained fully alert on the short journey back to the baths, and found himself occasionally starting at shadows – something that would not have happened to him as a younger man. The thought of a safe arrival brought him no comfort. What if there were another ambush awaiting him there? And what if these creatures had surprised Machiavelli. Was Machiavelli himself aware of the Secta Luporum?
Where were Machiavelli’s loyalties anyway?
He reached the dim, vast ruin – a memorial to the lost age when Italy had ruled the world – in safety. There was no sign of life that he could see, but then Machiavelli himself emerged from behind an olive tree and greeted him soberly.
‘What kept you?’
‘I was here before you. But then I was … distracted.’ Ezio looked at his colleague evenly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Some jokers in fancy dress. Sound familiar?’
Machiavelli’s gaze was keen. ‘Dressed as wolves?’
‘So you do know about them.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why suggest here as a meeting place?’
‘Are you suggesting that I—?’
‘What else am I to think?’
‘Dear Ezio.’ Machiavelli took a step forward. ‘I assure you, by the Sanctity of our Creed, that I had no idea they would be here.’ He paused. ‘But you are right. I sought a meeting place remote from men, little realizing that they too might choose such a place.’
‘Unless they’d been tipped off.’
‘If you are impugning my honour …’
Ezio made an impatient gesture. ‘Oh, forget it,’ he said. ‘We’ve enough to do without quarrelling with each other.’ In truth, Ezio knew that for the moment he would have to trust Machiavelli. And so far he had had no reason not to. He would play his cards closer to his chest in future, though. ‘Who are they? What are they?’
‘The Sect of the Wolves. Sometimes they call themselves the Followers of Romulus.’
‘Shouldn’t we move away from here? I managed to grab some papers of theirs and they might be back to collect them.’
‘First, tell me if you got the letter back, and tell me quickly what else has happened to you. You look as if you’ve been in the wars,’ said Machiavelli.
After Ezio had done so, his friend smiled. ‘I doubt that they will return tonight. We are two trained, armed men and it sounds as if you well and truly thrashed them. But that in itself will have incensed Cesare. You see, although there is little proof as yet, we believe that these creatures are in the Borgia’s employ. They are a band of false pagans who have been terrorizing the city for months.’
‘To what purpose?’
Machiavelli spread his hands. ‘Political. Propaganda. The idea is that people will be encouraged to throw themselves under the protection of the Papacy, and in return a certain loyalty is exacted from them.’
‘How convenient. But even so, shouldn’t we be getting out of here now?’ Ezio felt suddenly and unsurprisingly tired. His very soul ached.
‘They won’t be back tonight. No disparagement to your prowess, Ezio, but the wolfmen aren’t fighters or even killers. The Borgia use them as trusted go-betweens, but their main job is to frighten. They are poor, deluded souls whom the Borgia have brainwashed into working for them. They believe their new masters will help them rebuild ancient Rome from its very beginnings. The founders of Rome were Romulus and Remus, and they were suckled as babies by a she-wolf.’
‘I remember the legend.’
‘For the wolfmen, poor creatures, it is no legend. But they are a dangerous enough tool in the Borgia’s hands.’ He paused briefly. ‘Now – the letter! And those papers you say you grabbed from the wolfmen’s lair. Well done, by the way.’
‘If they’re of any use.’
‘We’ll see. Give me the letter.’
‘Here it is.’
Hastily, Machiavelli broke the seal on the parchment. ‘Cazzo,’ he muttered. ‘It’s encrypted.’
‘What do you mean?’
This one was supposed to be in plain text. Vinicio is – was – one of my moles among the Borgia. He told me he had it on good authority. The fool! They are transmitting information in code. Without their code sheet we have nothing.’
‘Perhaps the papers I got hold of will help.’
Machiavelli smiled. ‘By heaven, Ezio, sometimes I thank God we are on the same side. Let’s have a look.’
Quickly he sifted through the pages Ezio had seized, and his troubled face cleared.
‘Any good?’
‘I think … perhaps …’ He read on, his brow furrowed once more. ‘Yes! By God, yes! I think we have it!’ He clapped Ezio on the shoulder and laughed.
Ezio laughed, too. ‘You see? Sometimes logic is not the only way to win a war. Luck can play a part, too. Andiamo! You said we had allies in the city. Come on, bring me to them.’
‘Follow me.’
15
‘What about the horse?’ Ezio asked.
‘Turn her loose. She’ll find her way back to her stable.’
‘I can’t abandon her.’
‘You must. We are going b
ack to the city. If we let her go there, they’ll know you got back. If they find the horse out here, they’ll think – with luck – that you’re still wandering around this area and divert their search here.’
Ezio reluctantly did as he was told, and Machiavelli led him to a concealed flight of stone steps leading underground. At the foot of them a torch was burning, which Machiavelli seized.
‘Where are we?’ asked Ezio.
‘This leads to a system of ancient underground tunnels that criss-cross the city. Your father discovered them and they have remained the Assassin’s secret ever since. We can use this route to avoid any guards who are out looking for us, because you may be sure that the wolfmen who escaped will raise the alarm. They’re big, because they were used for transport and troops in ancient times, and they’re well built, too, as everything was in those days. Many of the outlets within the city have collapsed now and are blocked, so we must pick our way carefully. Stay close – it would be fatal for you to get lost down here.’
For two hours they passed through a labyrinth that seemed never-ending. On the way Ezio glimpsed side tunnels, blocked entranceways, strange carvings of forgotten gods over archways and the occasional flight of steps, some leading upwards, some leading into blackness, a few others showing a glimmer of light at their heads. Finally Machiavelli, who had kept up a steady but hurried pace all along, paused at one such flight.
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