Assassin’s Creed®

by Oliver Bowden

  Of course, Ezio thought, he hadn’t reckoned on competition so had wasted time collecting backup.

  ‘Beat you to it,’ he taunted Cesare.

  ‘It won’t do you any good, Ezio Auditore. You’ve been a thorn in my side too long. But it ends here. Now. My sword will take your life.’

  He drew a modern schiavona with a basket hilt and took a step towards Ezio. But then, suddenly, he turned grey and clasped his stomach, dropping his sword as his knees buckled. Evidently it had not been a strong enough antidote, thought Ezio, breathing a sigh of relief.

  ‘Guards!’ croaked Cesare, struggling to stay on his feet.

  There were ten of them, five armed with muskets. Ezio ducked and dived as they fired at him, the balls from their muskets cannoning into the floor and walls as Ezio skittered to cover behind a pillar. Whisking out the poison darts from his belt, he sprang from his cover, drawing close enough to the musketeers to hurl the darts one by one. Cesare’s men weren’t expecting an assault, and looked at each other in surprise. Ezio threw his darts, and each one found its fatal mark. Within seconds, three guards were down, the poison in the darts quickly having mortal effect.

  One of the musketeers regained his composure for a moment and hurled his weapon like a club, but Ezio ducked and the weapon went spiralling over his head. He quickly loosed the next two darts, until the musketeers were all down. Ezio had no time to retrieve his darts as Leonardo had suggested.

  The five swordsmen, after recovering from their initial shock – for they’d assumed that their comrades with guns would have made short work of the Assassin – closed in quickly, wielding heavy falchions. Ezio almost danced among them as he avoided their clumsy blows – the swords were too heavy for fast work or much manoeuvrability – releasing the newly recrafted Poison Blade and drawing his dagger. Ezio knew he didn’t have much time to engage the soldiers before Cesare made a move, so his fighting technique was more sparse and efficient than usual, preferring to lock his opponents’ blade with his dagger and use the Poison Blade to finish the job. The first two fell without a whisper, at which point the remaining three decided to attack all at once. Ezio pulled back five quick paces and extended his dagger up full and high, charging forward at the nearest of the three oncoming guards. As he drew into range, Ezio skidded to his knees, sliding across the ground and under the blade of one baffled guard. The Poison Blade nicked the man’s thigh as Ezio skidded past, barrelling towards the remaining guards, while his dagger slashed at the tendons of their lower legs. Both men shrieked as Ezio’s blade found its target and the men fell, their legs useless.

  Cesare watched all this in quiet disbelief, and as Ezio careened towards the last three guards, Cesare decided not to wait for the outcome of the fight. He recovered himself enough to turn and flee.

  Hemmed in by the guards and unable to follow, Ezio watched him go out of the corner of his eye.

  No matter, though, for he still had the Apple, and he remembered enough of its power – how could he forget? – to use it, after the melee was over, to guide him back through the Vatican by a different route from that by which he’d come, reckoning, as he did, that Cesare would have wasted no time in securing the Passetto di Borgo. Glowing from within the leather bag, the Apple indicated on its surface a way through the high painted halls and chambers of the offices of the Vatican towards the Sistine Chapel, and thence by a southward-leading corridor into St Peter’s itself. Its power was such that passing monks and priests within the Vatican turned away from Ezio, avoiding him, and Papal guards remained rigidly at their posts.

  Ezio wondered how soon news of the Pope’s death would filter down through the hierarchy of the Vatican. The confusion that would follow in its wake would need a strong hand to control it, and he prayed that Cesare would not have the opportunity to take advantage of any uncertainty to stake his own claim, if not to the Papacy – surely that was out of his reach – then to influencing the election in order to place a new Pope, friendly to his ambitions, on St Peter’s throne.

  Passing young Michelangelo’s brilliant new sculpture of the Pietà on his left, Ezio left the basilica and blended into the crowds milling about in the shabby old square that lay in front of the east entrance.

  45

  By the time he reached the Assassin hideout on Tiber Island, church bells had begun to ring out all over Rome. They were sounding the Pope’s death knell.

  He found his friends waiting for him.

  ‘Rodrigo is dead,’ he announced.

  ‘We guessed as much from the bells,’ said Machiavelli. ‘Magnificent work!’

  ‘It was not by my hand, but Cesare’s.’

  It took a moment for this to sink in. Then Machiavelli spoke again: ‘And what of Cesare?’

  ‘He lives, though the Pope tried to poison him before he died.’

  ‘The serpent is biting its own tail,’ said La Volpe.

  ‘Then the day is saved!’ cried Claudia.

  ‘No.’ said Machiavelli. ‘If he’s freed himself of the restraint of his father, Cesare may yet regain the ground he has lost. We must not allow him to assemble his remaining supporters. The coming weeks will be critical.’

  ‘With your aid I will hunt him down,’ said Ezio firmly.

  ‘Niccolò is right; we must act fast,’ La Volpe put in. ‘Do you hear those trumpets? They are a summons to the Borgia forces to gather.’

  ‘Do you know where?’ asked Bartolomeo.

  ‘It’s likely that they’ll rally their troops in the piazza in front of Cesare’s palace in Trastevere.’

  ‘My men will patrol the city,’ said Bartolomeo, ‘but we’d need a full army to do it properly.’

  Ezio carefully produced the Apple from its bag. It glowed dully. ‘We have one,’ he said. ‘Or something just as good.’

  ‘Do you know how to use it?’ asked Machiavelli.

  ‘I remember enough from when Leonardo experimented with it long ago in Venice,’ replied Ezio. He held the strange artefact aloft and, concentrating, tried to project his thoughts at it.

  There was no response for several minutes, and he was about to give up when, slowly at first, and then with increasing energy, the Apple began to glow more and more brightly, until the light emanating from it made them cover their eyes.

  ‘Stand back!’ bawled Bartolomeo as Claudia gasped in alarm, and even La Volpe started back.

  ‘No,’ said Machiavelli. ‘Science – but something out of our reach.’ He looked at Ezio. ‘If only Leonardo were here.’

  ‘As long as it serves our purpose,’ said Ezio.

  ‘Look,’ said La Volpe. ‘It’s showing us the campanile of Santa Maria in Trastevere. That’s where Cesare must be.’

  ‘You were right,’ cried Bartolomeo. ‘But look at the number of troops he still has.’

  ‘I’m going. Now,’ said Ezio, as the projected scene faded and the Apple became inert.

  ‘We’re coming with you.’

  ‘No.’ Ezio held up a hand. ‘Claudia, I want you to go back to The Rosa in Fiore and get your girls to find out all they can about Cesare’s plans, then mobilize our recruits. Gilberto, get your thieves to fan out all over the city and bring word of any Templar chapters that may be reorganizing. Our enemies are fighting for their very lives. Bartolomeo, organize your men and have them ready to move at a moment’s notice.’

  He turned to Machiavelli. ‘Niccolò. Get over to the Vatican. The College of Cardinals will be going into conclave soon to elect a new Pope.’

  ‘Indeed. And Cesare will certainly try to use what influence he has left to elevate a candidate favourable to him to the Papal Throne – or at least someone he can manipulate.’

  ‘But Cardinal della Rovere wields great authority now, and he is the Borgia’s implacable enemy, as you know. If only—’

  ‘I will go and talk to the Cardinal Camerlengo. The election may be long and drawn out.’

  ‘We must take every advantage we can of the interregnum. Thank you, Niccolò.’
>
  ‘How will you manage on your own, Ezio?’

  ‘I’m not on my own,’ said Ezio, gently replacing the Apple in its bag. ‘I’m taking this with me.’

  ‘Just as long as you know how to keep it under control,’ said Bartolomeo mistrustfully. ‘If you ask me, it’s a creation straight out of Beelzebub’s workshop.’

  ‘In the wrong hands, perhaps. But as long as we have it—’

  ‘Then don’t let it out of your sight, let alone your grasp.’

  They broke up then, each hastening away to attend to the duties Ezio had assigned them. Ezio himself crossed to the west bank of the river and sprinted the short distance to the church La Volpe had recognized in the vision accorded them by the Apple.

  The scene had changed by the time he reached it, though he saw units of soldiers in Cesare’s livery making their way out of the square in organized groups, as if under orders. These were disciplined men who understood that failure would spell their ruin.

  There was no sign of Cesare, but Ezio knew that he must still be sick from the effects of the poison. His rallying call to the troops must have taken it out of him. There was only one place he would think of retreating to: his fortified palazzo, not far away. Ezio set off in its direction.

  He blended in with a group of Borgia attendants who wore Cesare’s personal crest on the shoulders of their cloaks. They were too agitated to have noticed him, even if he hadn’t been using the Apple to render himself as good as invisible. Using the guards as cover, he slipped through the palazzo’s gates, which opened quickly for them and then, just as quickly, clanged shut again behind them.

  Ezio slipped into the shadows of the courtyard’s colonnade and glided along the perimeter of the inner walls, stopping to peer in at each unshuttered window. Then, ahead, he saw a door with two guards posted outside it. He looked around. The rest of the courtyard was deserted. He approached silently, releasing his Hidden Blade, and fell upon the guards before they knew what was happening. One, he killed instantly. The other managed to get a blow in, which would have severed his left hand from his arm had it not been for the Bracer. While the man recovered from his astonishment at what appeared to be witchcraft, Ezio plunged the Blade into the base of his throat, and he fell like a sack to the ground.

  The door was unlocked and its hinges, when Ezio warily tried them, proved well-oiled, so that he could slide into the room noiselessly.

  It was large and gloomy. Ezio took refuge behind an arras near the door, set there to exclude draughts, and watched the men seated around a large oak table at its centre. The table was spread with papers and illuminated by candles in two iron candelabra. At its head sat Cesare, his personal doctor, Gaspar Torella, at his side. His face was grey and he was sweating prodigiously as he glared at his officers.

  ‘You must hunt them down,’ he was saying, grasping the arms of his chair tightly in an effort to stay upright.

  ‘They are everywhere and nowhere at once,’ declared one helplessly.

  ‘I don’t care how you do it, just do it!’

  ‘We cannot, signore, not without your guidance. The Assassins have regrouped. With the French gone, or in disarray, our own forces are scarcely able to match them. They have spies everywhere, and our own network is no longer able to root them out. Ezio Auditore has turned vast numbers of the citizenry to his cause.’

  ‘I am ill, idioti! I depend on your initiative.’ Cesare sighed, falling back in his chair. ‘I was damned nearly killed, but I still have teeth.’

  ‘Sir …’

  ‘Just hold them at bay, if that’s the best you can do.’ Cesare paused to catch his breath, and Doctor Torella mopped his brow with a lint cloth soaked in vinegar, or some other strong-smelling astringent, muttering soothingly to his patient as he did so. ‘Soon,’ Cesare continued, ‘Soon, Micheletto will reach Rome with my own forces from Romagna and the north, and then you will see how quickly the Assassins will crumble into dust.’

  Ezio stepped forth and revealed the Apple. ‘You delude yourself, Cesare,’ he said in a voice of true authority.

  Cesare started from his chair, fear in his eyes. ‘You! How many lives do you have, Ezio? But this time you will surely die. Call the guard! Now!’ he bellowed at his officers as he allowed his doctor to hurry him from the room to safety through an inner door.

  Lightning-fast, one of the officers made for the door to raise the alarm while the others drew pistols and levelled them at Ezio, who just as swiftly withdrew the Apple from its bag and held it aloft, concentrating hard and pulling the hood of his tunic down low to shield his eyes.

  The Apple began to pulsate and glow, and the glow turned to an incandescence that gave out no heat, but which was as bright as the sun. The room turned white.

  ‘What sorcery is this?’ shouted one of the officers, firing wildly. By chance his shot hit the Apple, but it had no more effect on it than a handful of dust.

  ‘Truly, this man has God Himself on his side!’ another bawled, vainly trying to shield his eyes and staggering blindly in what he thought he thought was the direction of the door.

  As the light increased, the officers blundered up against the table, covering their eyes with their hands.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘How is this possible?’

  ‘Do not smite me, Lord!’

  ‘I cannot see!’

  His lips pressed together in concentration, Ezio continued to project his will through the Apple, but even he dared not look up from under the protecting peak of his cowl. He had to judge the moment to cease. When he did so, a wave of exhaustion hit him as the Apple, invisible within its own light, suddenly went dead. There was no sound in the room. Cautiously, Ezio lifted his hood and saw that the room was almost as it was before. The candles on the table cast a pool of light at the centre of the gloom, burning on, almost reassuringly, as if nothing had happened. Their flames were steady, as there was no hint of a breeze.

  The tapestry on the arras was bleached of all its colour, and all the officers lay dead around the table, save the one who had first been making for the door; he was slumped against it, his hand still on the latch. Ezio went over to him and had to move him aside in order to leave.

  As he rolled the man over, he inadvertently looked into his eyes. He wished he hadn’t – it was a sight he would never forget.

  ‘Requiescat in Pace,’ said Ezio, acknowledging the chill realization that the Apple did indeed have powers which, if unleashed without check, could control the minds of men and open up undreamed-of possibilities and worlds.

  It could wreak destruction so terrible as to be beyond the power of imagination itself.

  46

  The conclave was undecided. Despite the efforts of Cardinal della Rovere to outwit him, Cesare clearly still had enough clout to hold him in check. Fear, or self-interest, kept the cardinals wavering. Machiavelli guessed what they were trying to do – they would find a candidate to elect who might not last long, but who would be acceptable to all parties. An interim Pope, if you like a caretaker until the balance of power resolved itself.

  Bearing this in mind, Ezio was pleased when, after weeks of deadlock, Claudia brought news to Tiber Island.

  ‘The Cardinal of Rouen – a Frenchman, Georges d’Amboise – has revealed under … duress … that Cesare has planned a meeting with Templar loyalists in the countryside, outside Rome. The cardinal himself attends.’

  ‘When is it?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘The location is to be kept secret until the last minute.’

  ‘Then I will go to the cardinal’s residence and follow him when he leaves.’

  ‘They have elected a new Pope,’ said Machiavelli, coming in hurriedly. ‘Your pet French cardinal, Claudia, will take the news to Cesare tonight. In fact, a small delegation of them, still friendly to the Borgia, is going with him.’

  ‘Who is the new Pope?’ asked Ezio

  Machiavelli smiled. ‘It is as I though
t,’ he said. ‘Cardinal Piccolomini. He’s not an old man – he’s sixty-four – but he’s in poor health. He’s chosen to be known as Pius III.’

  ‘Whom does he support?’

  ‘We don’t know yet, but all the foreign ambassadors put pressure on Cesare to leave Rome during the election. Della Rovere is furious, but he knows how to wait.’

  Ezio spent the rest of the day in consultation with Bartolomeo, and between them they put together a combined force of recruits and condottieri strong enough for any battle that might ensue with Cesare.

  ‘It’s just as well you didn’t kill Cesare back at his palazzo,’ said Bartolomeo. ‘This way, he’ll draw all his supporters to him and we can smash the lot of them.’ He looked at Ezio. ‘I’ve got to hand it to you, my friend. You might almost have planned it this way.’

  Ezio smiled and returned to his lodgings, where he strapped on the Pistol, and put the Double Blade into the wallet on his belt.

  With a small group of hand-picked men, Ezio made up the advance guard, leaving the rest to follow some way behind. When the Cardinal of Rouen rode out in the late afternoon with his fellows and their entourage, Ezio and his horsemen followed at a safe distance. They did not have a long ride before the Cardinal stopped at a large country estate whose mansion was set behind fortified walls near the shores of Lake Bracciano.

  Ezio scaled the walls of the mansion alone and shadowed the delegation of cardinals as it made its way to the Great Hall, blending in with the Borgia’s hundred or so leading officers. There were many other people present from other lands, whom Ezio did not recognize, but knew must be members of the Templar Order. Cesare, fully recovered now, stood on a raised dais in the centre of the crowded hall. Torches flickered in their sconces on the stone walls, making shadows leap and giving the congress more of an air of a witches’ coven than a gathering of military forces.