‘Just give him a moment.’
Ezio watched anxiously, and after what seemed an age, the actor sat up.
‘I think I feel slightly better,’ he said.
‘Miracolo!’ said Ezio in relief.
‘Not really,’ said the doctor. ‘He can’t have had much, and for my sins I’ve had quite a bit of experience with cantarella victims – it’s enabled me to develop a pretty effective antidote. Now,’ he continued judiciously, ‘I’ll apply some leeches. They will lead to a full recovery. You can rest here, my boy, and very soon you’ll be as right as rain.’ He bustled some more and produced a glass jar full of black, wriggling creatures. He scooped out a handful.
‘I cannot thank you enough,’ said Pietro to Ezio. ‘I—’
‘You can thank me enough,’ replied Ezio briskly. ‘The key to the little gate you use for your trysts at the Castel Sant’Angelo with Lucrezia. Give it to me. Now!’
Misgiving appeared on Pietro’s face. ‘What are you talking about? I’m simply a poor actor, a victim of circumstance … I …’
‘Listen, Pietro, Cesare knows about you and Lucrezia.’
Now misgiving was replaced by fear. ‘Oh God!’
‘But I can help you. If you give me the key.’
Mutely, Pietro delved into his loincloth and handed it over. ‘I always keep it with me,’ he said.
‘Wise of you,’ said Ezio, pocketing the key. It was reassuring to have it, for it would guarantee him access to the Castel whenever he had need of it.
‘My men will fetch your clothes and get you to a place of safety. I’ll detail a couple of them to keep watch over you. Just keep out of sight for a while.’
‘But … my public!’ wailed the actor.
‘They’ll have to make do with Longinus until it’s safe for you to put your head above the parapet again,’ grinned Ezio. ‘I shouldn’t worry. He isn’t a patch on you.’
‘Oh, do you really think so?’
‘No question.’
‘Ouch!’ said Pietro, as the first leech went on.
In the wink of an eye, Ezio had disappeared outside. There he gave the necessary orders to his men. ‘Get out of those costumes as soon as you can,’ he added. ‘The Baths of Trajan aren’t far. With any luck, your street clothes will still be where you left them.’
He departed on his own, but he hadn’t gone far when he noticed a figure skulking in the shadows. As soon as the man felt Ezio’s eyes on him, he cut and ran. But not before Ezio had recognized Paganino, the thief who’d been determined to stay behind at the sack of Monteriggioni.
Hey!’ Ezio shouted, giving chase. ‘Un momento!’
The thief certainly knew his way around these streets. Ducking and diving, he was so adroit that Ezio all but lost him in the pursuit, and more than once had to leap to the rooftops to scan the streets below in order to locate the man again. Leonardo’s magical glove came in surprisingly handy at such times, he found.
At last he managed to get ahead of his prey and cut off his line of escape. The thief went for his dagger, an ugly-looking cinquedea, but Ezio quickly wrested it out of his hand so that it clattered harmlessly to the pavement.
‘Why did you run?’ asked Ezio, pinioning the man. Then he noticed a letter protruding from the man’s leather belt-pouch. The seal was unmistakeable: it was that of Pope Alexander VI – Rodrigo – the Spaniard!
Ezio let out a long breath as a series of suspicions fell into place. Long ago Paganino had been with Antonio de Magianis’ Thieves’ Guild in Venice. He must have been offered enough money by the Borgia to switch sides, and then he’d infiltrated La Volpe’s group here – the Borgia had had a mole at the heart of the Assassin organization all along.
Here was the traitor – not Machiavelli at all!
While Ezio’s attention was distracted, the thief wrenched himself free and, in a flash, seized his fallen weapon. His desperate eyes met Ezio’s.
‘Long live the Borgia!’ he cried, and thrust the cinquedea firmly into his own breast.
Ezio looked down at the fallen man as he thrashed about in his death agonies. Well, better this death than a slow one at the hands of his masters – Ezio well knew the price exacted by the Borgia for failure. He stuffed the letter into his doublet and made off. Merda, he thought to himself. I was right. And now I have to stop La Volpe before he gets to Machiavelli.
37
As Ezio made his way across the city, he was accosted by Saraghina, one of the girls from The Rosa in Fiore.
‘You must come quickly,’ she said. ‘Your mother wants to see you urgently.’
Ezio bit his lip. There should be time. ‘Hurry,’ he said.
Once at the bordello, he found Maria waiting for him, and her face betrayed her anxiety.
‘Ezio,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’
‘I have to be quick, Mother.’
‘There’s something amiss.’
‘Tell me.’
‘The old proprietor of this establishment—’
‘Madonna Solari?’
‘Yes.’ Maria collected herself. ‘It turns out she was a cheat and a liar. We’ve discovered that she was playing il doppio gioco, and she had close ties with the Vatican. Worse, several of those still employed here may be—’
‘Don’t worry, Madre. I’ll root them out. I’ll send my most trusted recruits to interview the girls. Under Claudia’s direction, they will soon get at the truth.’
‘Thank you, Ezio.’
‘We will ensure that only girls loyal to us remain here. As for the rest …’ The expression on Ezio’s face was harsh.
‘I have other news.’
‘Yes?’
‘We have word that ambassadors from King Ferdinand of Spain and from the Holy Roman Emperor, Maximilian, have arrived in Rome. It seems they seek an alliance with Cesare.’
‘Are you sure, Mother? What need have they of him?’
‘I don’t know, figlio mio.’
Ezio’s jaw was set. ‘We had better be safe rather than sorry. Ask Claudia to investigate for me. I give her a full mandate to give orders to the recruits I will send.’
‘You trust her for this?’
‘Mother, after the business with the banker, I would trust the two of you with my life. I am ashamed not to have done so before, but it was only my anxiety for your safety that—’
Maria held up a hand. ‘You do not need to explain. And there is nothing to forgive. We are all friends again now. That is what matters.’
‘Thank you. Cesare’s days are numbered. Even if the ambassadors gain his support, they will soon find it is worthless.’
‘I hope your confidence is well-founded.’
‘Believe me, Mother, it is. Or will be – if I can save Machiavelli from La Volpe’s misguided suspicion.’
38
Borrowing a horse from the stables he had liberated, Ezio rode post-haste to the Sleeping Fox. It was crucial that he get there before anything happened to Machiavelli. Lose him and he’d lose the best brains in the Brotherhood.
Although the hour was not that late, he was alarmed to see that the inn was closed. He had his own key and let himself in through the wicket gate.
The scene that met his eyes told him that he had arrived not a moment too soon. The members of the Thieves’ Guild were all present. La Volpe and his principal lieutenants stood together, busily discussing something that appeared to be of great importance, and it looked as though judgement had been reached, since La Volpe, a baleful look on his face, was approaching Machiavelli, a businesslike basilard in his right hand. Machiavelli, for his part, looked unconcerned, seemingly without any idea about what was happening.
‘Stop!’ shouted Ezio, bursting in on the scene and catching his breath after his headlong ride.
All eyes turned to him, while La Volpe stood rooted to the spot.
‘Stay your hand, Gilberto!’ commanded Ezio. ‘I have discovered the real traitor.’
‘What?’ said La Volp
e, shocked, against a background of excited murmuring from his people.
‘He is – was – one of your own men: Paganino! He was present at the attack on Monteriggioni, and now I see his mischief in many of our recent misfortunes.’
‘Are you sure of this?’
‘He himself revealed his guilt.’
La Volpe’s brow darkened. He sheathed his dagger. ‘Where is he now?’ he growled.
‘Where no one can touch him any more.’
‘Dead?’
‘By his own hand. He was carrying this letter.’ Ezio held the sealed parchment aloft and passed the letter to La Volpe. Machiavelli came up as the thieves’ leader broke the seal and opened the paper.
‘My God!’ said La Volpe, scanning the words.
‘Let me see,’ said Machiavelli.
‘Of course,’ La Volpe said, crestfallen.
Machiavelli was scanning the letter. ‘It’s from Rodrigo to Cesare. Details of our plans for the French general, Octavien – amongst other things.’
‘One of my own men!’
‘This is good news,’ Machiavelli said to Ezio. ‘We can substitute this letter with another containing false information – put them off the scent …’
‘Good news indeed,’ replied Ezio, but his tone was cold. ‘Gilberto, you should have listened to me.’
‘I am once again in your debt, Ezio,’ said La Volpe, humbly.
Ezio also allowed himself a smile. ‘What debt can there be amongst friends who trust – who must trust – one another?’
Before La Volpe could reply, Machiavelli put in: ‘And congratulations, by the way. I gather you resurrected Christ three days early.’
Ezio laughed, thinking of his rescue of Pietro. How did Machiavelli find out about things so fast?!
La Volpe looked around at the men and women of the Guild gathered around them. ‘Well, what are you staring at?’ he said. ‘We’re losing business here.’
Later, after Machiavelli had left to deal with the intercepted letter, La Volpe drew Ezio aside. ‘I’m glad you are here,’ he said, ‘and not just because you prevented me from making a total fool of myself.’
‘More than that,’ said Ezio lightly. ‘Do you know what I would have done to you if you had killed Niccolò?’
La Volpe grunted. ‘Ezio …’ he said.
Ezio clapped him on the back. ‘But all’s well. No more quarrels. Within the Brotherhood, we cannot afford them. Now, what is it you wanted to say to me? Do you have need of my assistance?’
‘I do. The Guild is strong, but many of my men are young and untested. Look at that kid who nicked your purse. Look at young Claudio …’
‘And your point is … ?’
‘I was coming to that. Generally, the thieves in Rome are young men and women – skilled in their trade, sure, but young and prone to rivalries. Damaging rivalries.’
‘Are you speaking of another gang?’
‘Yes. One in particular, which may pose a threat. I need reinforcements to deal with them.’
‘My recruits?’
La Volpe was silent, then he said, ‘I know I refused you help when my suspicions about Niccolò were at their height, but now …’
‘Who are they?’
‘They call themselves the Cento Occhi – the One Hundred Eyes. They are creatures of Cesare Borgia and they cause us significant trouble.’
‘Where is their base?’
‘My spies have located it.’
‘Where?’
‘Just a moment. They are angry and they are spoiling for a fight.’
‘Then we must surprise them.’
‘Bene!’
‘But we must be prepared for retaliation.’
‘We will strike first, then they will have no opportunity for retaliation.’ La Volpe, now more his old self, rubbed his hands in anticipation. ‘The main thing is to take out their leaders. They alone have direct contact with the Borgia. Remove them and we will have beheaded the Cento Occhi.’
‘And you really need my help for this?’
‘You broke the power of the Wolfmen.’
‘Without your help.’
‘I know.’
‘The man who helped me break the Wolfmen was …’
‘I know!’
‘Listen, Gilberto. We will combine forces and do this together – have no fear of that. Then, I presume, your Guild will be the dominant cartel in Rome.’
‘That is true,’ agreed La Volpe reluctantly.
‘If I help you in this,’ said Ezio slowly, ‘there is a condition.’
‘Yes?’
‘That you shall not, again, threaten the unity of the Brotherhood. For that is what you almost did.’
La Volpe bowed his head. ‘I am schooled,’ he said meekly.
‘Whether we succeed in this venture of yours or fail.’
‘Whether we succeed or fail,’ agreed La Volpe. ‘But we won’t.’
‘Won’t what?’
La Volpe gave his friend a Mephistophelean grin. ‘Fail,’ he said.
39
Having detailed a group of his growing recruit-militia to help La Volpe in his efforts against the Cento Occhi, Ezio made his way back to his lodgings. He refilled the Poison Blade’s inner phial with the venom Leonardo had prepared especially, and checked and cleaned the retractable Pistol, the Double Blade, and the new crossbow and poison darts.
His work was interrupted by a messenger from Bartolomeo, bidding him come to the mercenaries’ barracks as quickly as possible. Sensing trouble, and worried about it – he had hoped that Bartolomeo and his condottieri had the French in check – Ezio packed the Codex weapons he judged he might need into a saddlebag and made his way to the stables, where he rented his favourite horse and set off. It was a fine day, and the road was more or less dry, since rain had held off for about a week. The countryside seemed a little dusty as he rode through it, taking care to choose a route obscure enough not to be monitored by Borgia troops, and taking the odd short cut through the woods and across fields, where cows raised their heads idly from their grazing to watch him pass.
It was afternoon by the time he reached the barracks, and all seemed quiet. He noticed that, since their renovation, the ramparts and walls had taken a slight bruising from French cannonades, but the damage wasn’t serious, and a handful of men were busy on scaffolding or slung in baskets from the battlements, repairing the gouges and cracks the cannonballs had made.
He dismounted and handed the bridle to an ostler who came running up, gently wiping the little flecks of foam from his horse’s mouth – he hadn’t ridden her hard. Ezio patted her muzzle before making his way, unannounced, across the parade ground in the direction of Bartolomeo’s quarters.
His mind was on his next step, now that Cesare’s banker had been removed, and he was considering what counter-action his enemy might take to ensure that there was no cessation in his supply of funds, so he was surprised to find himself nose to the tip with Bianca, Bartolomeo’s great sword.
‘Who goes there?’ bellowed Bartolomeo.
‘Salve to you, too,’ rejoined Ezio.
Bartolomeo gave vent to a huge belly laugh. ‘Got you!’
‘Teach me to be on my toes.’
‘Actually,’ Bartolomeo gave a theatrical wink, ‘I was expecting my wife.’
‘Well, well.’
Bartolomeo lowered his sword and embraced Ezio. When he released him from the bear hug, his expression was more serious.
‘I’m glad you’ve come, Ezio.’
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Look.’
Ezio followed his friend’s gaze to where a platoon of wounded mercenaries were entering the parade ground.
‘The French puttane have got us under pressure again,’ said Bartolomeo, answering Ezio’s unspoken question.
‘I thought you’d barked the shins of their general – what’s his name?’
‘Octavien de Valois thinks he’s some kind of descendant of the noble house of Val
ois. Some wretched spawn of a bastard, if you ask me.’
Bartolomeo spat as another contingent of wounded men appeared.
‘Looks serious,’ said Ezio.
‘King Louis must have sent reinforcements to back up Cesare after we gave Valois a bashing.’ Bartolomeo scratched his beard. ‘I suppose I should be flattered.’
‘How bad is it?’
‘They’ve got their tower back,’ said Bartolomeo grumpily.
‘We’ll get it back. Where’s Valois now?’
‘You’re right.’ Bartolomeo ignored the question. ‘Of course we’ll get it back again! We’ll have the scoundrels in retreat before you can say fottere! It’s only a matter of time.’
Just then, a bullet whizzed past their ears and embedded itself in the wall behind them.
‘It was so quiet when I rode up,’ said Ezio, looking at the sky. The sun had gone behind large clouds, which had suddenly rolled across the sky.
‘Seemed so quiet, you mean. They’re sneaky bastards, the French. But I’ll have Valois by the throat soon enough, mark my word.’ He turned to yell an order to a sergeant who’d come running up. ‘Close the gates! Get those men off the outer walls! Move!’
Men ran hither and thither, manning the battlements and priming the cannon.
‘Don’t worry, friend,’ said the big condottiero. ‘I’ve got the situation well in hand.’
At that moment a large cannonball crashed into the ramparts nearest the two men, sending dust and shards of stone flying in all directions.
‘They seem to be getting closer!’ yelled Ezio.
Bartolomeo’s men fired a salvo from the barracks’ main cannon by way of reply and the walls seemed to shake with the report from the great guns. The response from the French artillery was just as ferocious: the thunder of two score guns tore at the air, and this time the balls found their marks more accurately. Bartolomeo’s men were still desperately trying to restore defensive orders when another huge salvo from the French rocked the walls of the barracks. This time the French seemed to be focusing their efforts on the main gate and two of the gatekeepers fell dead, having been caught up in the bombardment.
‘CLOSE THE FUCKIN’ GATES!’ roared Bartolomeo.
Assassin’s Creed® Page 59