Outside, Borgia soldiers were gathering in numbers that surprised Ezio, who had not forgotten Cesare’s remark about Micheletto bringing his remaining troops out of the provinces to back him up. He was worried that even with Bartolomeo’s men and his own recruits, who had drawn up a couple of hundred yards from the mansion, they might find their match in this assembly. But it was too late now.
Ezio watched as a pathway was made between the serried ranks in the hall to allow the cardinals to approach the dais.
‘Join me and I will take back Rome for us,’ Cesare declaimed as the Cardinal of Rouen made his appearance with his fellow prelates. Seeing them, Cesare broke off.
‘What news of the conclave?’ he demanded.
The Cardinal of Rouen hesitated. ‘Good news – and bad,’ he said.
‘Spit it out!’
‘We have elected Piccolomini.’
Cesare considered this. ‘Well, at least it isn’t that fisherman’s son, della Rovere!’ He turned on the Cardinal. ‘But it’s still not the man I wanted. I wanted a puppet. Piccolomini may have one foot in the grave, but he can still do me a lot of damage. I paid for your appointment. Is this how you thank me?’
‘Della Rovere is a powerful foe.’ The Cardinal hesitated again. ‘And Rome is not what it once was. Borgia money has become tainted.’
Cesare looked at him coldly. ‘You will regret this decision,’ he said frostily.
The Cardinal bowed his head and turned to go, but as he did so, he spotted Ezio, who had made his way forward in order to see more clearly.
‘It’s the Assassin!’ he yelled. ‘His sister put me to the Question. That’s how he got here. Run! He’ll kill us all!’
The cardinals took to their heels as one amidst a general panic. Ezio followed them and, once outside, fired his pistol. The sound carried to his advance guard, posted just outside the walls, and they in turn fired muskets as a signal to Bartolomeo to attack. They arrived just as the gates in the walls were opened to allow the fleeing cardinals to depart. The defenders had no time to close the gates before being overpowered by the advance guard, who managed to hold the gate until Bartolomeo, whirling Bianca above his head and roaring his war cry, came up with the main Assassin force. Ezio fired his second shot into the belly of a Borgia guard, who came screaming up, flailing an evil-looking mace, but he had no time to reload. In any case, for close fighting, the Double Blade was the perfect weapon. Finding an alcove in the wall, he took shelter in it and, with practised hand, exchanged the Pistol for the Blade. Then he rushed back into the hall, looking for Cesare.
The battle in the mansion, and the area within its encircling walls, was short and bloody. The Borgia and Templar troops were unprepared for an attack of this magnitude, and they were trapped within the walls. They fought hard, and many a condottiero and Assassin recruit lay dead by the time it was over. The Assassins had the advantage of being already mounted, though, and few of the Borgia faction got to their horses before they were cut down.
It was late by the time the dust had settled. Ezio, bleeding from a flesh wound in his chest, had laid about him so furiously with the Double Blade that it had sliced through his own glove and cut his hand deeply. Around him lay a host of bodies, half, perhaps, of the assembly – those who had not been able to flee and ride off north into the night.
Cesare was not among them, though. He, too, had fled.
47
Much occurred in the weeks that followed. The Assassins sought Cesare frantically, but in vain. He did not return to Rome, and indeed Rome seemed purged of all Borgia and Templar influence, though Ezio and his companions remained on the alert, knowing that as long as the enemy lived, there was danger. They suspected there were still pockets of diehard loyalists just waiting for a signal.
Pius III proved to be a bookish and deeply religious man. Sadly, though, after a reign of only twenty-six days, his already frail health succumbed to the additional pressures and responsibilities the Papacy placed on it and, in October, he died. He had not, as Ezio had feared, been a puppet of the Borgia. Rather, during the short span of his supremacy, he set in motion reforms within the College of Cardinals that swept away all the corruption and sensuality fomented by his predecessor. There would be no more selling of cardinalates for money, and no more accepting of payments in order to let well-off murderers escape the gallows. Alexander VI’s pragmatic doctrine of ‘Let them live in order to repent’ no longer held currency.
Most importantly, however, he had issued a warrant throughout the Papal States for the arrest of Cesare Borgia.
His successor was elected immediately and by an overwhelming majority. Only three cardinals opposed him – one of them being Georges d’Amboise, the Cardinal of Rouen, who vainly hoped to gain the Triple Tiara for the French. Following the check in his career caused by the election of Pius III, Giuliano della Rovere, Cardinal of San Pietro in Vincoli, had wasted no time in consolidating his supporters and assuring himself of the Papacy at the next opportunity, which he knew would come soon.
Julius II, as he styled himself, was a tough man of sixty, still vigorous, mentally and physically. He was a man of great energy, as Ezio would soon learn, a political intriguer and a warrior, and proud of his humble origins as the descendant of fishermen – for had not St Peter himself been a fisherman?
The Borgia threat still cast its shadow, though.
‘If only Cesare would show himself,’ growled Bartolomeo as he and Ezio sat in conference in the map room of his barracks.
‘He will. But only when he’s ready.’
‘My spies tell me he plans to gather his best men to attack Rome through one of its principal gates.’
Ezio considered this. ‘If Cesare’s coming from the north, as seems almost certain, he’ll try to get in by the gate near the Castra Praetoria. He might even try to retake the Castra itself as it’s in a strong strategic position.’
‘You’re probably right.’
Ezio stood. ‘Gather the Assassins. We’ll face Cesare together.’
‘And if we cannot?’
‘That’s fine talk from you, Barto! If we can’t, I will face him alone.’
They parted company, arranging to meet in Rome later in the day. If there were going to be an attack, the Holy City would be ready for it.
Ezio’s hunch proved right. He’d told Bartolomeo to summon the others to a church piazza near the Castro, and when they arrived, they made their way to the northern gate. It was already heavily defended, as Julius II had shown himself perfectly happy to accept Ezio’s advice. The sight that met their eyes, a couple of hundred yards distant, was a sobering one. There was Cesare, on a pale horse, surrounded by a group of officers wearing the uniform of his own private army, and behind him was at least a battalion of his own troops.
Even at that distance, Ezio’s keen ears could pick out Cesare’s bombast – the odd thing was, why did people still fall for it?
‘All of Italy shall be united, and you will rule at my side!’ Cesare was proclaiming.
He turned and spotted Ezio and his fellow Assassins ranged along the ramparts of the gate. Then he rode alone a little closer, though not close enough to be within crossbow- or musket-range.
‘Come to watch my triumph?’ he shouted up at them. ‘Don’t worry. This isn’t all my strength. Soon, Micheletto will arrive with my armies, but you will all be dead by then. I have enough men to deal with you.’
Ezio looked at him, then turned to look down at the mass of Papal troops, Assassin recruits and condottieri ranged beneath him inside the gate. He raised a hand, and the gatekeepers drew back the wooden staves that kept the gates shut. They stood ready to open them at his next signal. Ezio kept his hand raised.
‘My men will never fail me!’ cried Cesare. ‘They know what awaits them if they do! Soon you will pass from this Earth, and my dominions will return to me.’
Ezio wondered if the New Disease had affected the balance of his mind. He let his hand drop, and below him the gates
swung open and the Roman forces streamed out, cavalry first, infantry running behind. Cesare yanked at his reins, desperately, forcing the bit hard into his horse’s mouth as he wheeled the steed round. The violence of his manoeuvre made his mount stumble, though, and he was quickly overtaken. As for his battalion, it broke and ran at the sight of the oncoming Roman brigades.
Well, well, thought Ezio. My question is answered. These men were prepared to fight for money, but not from loyalty. You can’t buy loyalty.
‘Kill the Assassins!’ yelled Cesare frantically. ‘Uphold the honour of the Borgia!’ It was all in vain, though. He was surrounded.
‘Throw down your arms, Cesare,’ Ezio called to him.
‘Never!’
‘This is not your city any more. You are no longer Captain-General. The Orsini and the Colonna families are on the side of the new Pope, and when some of them paid lip service to you, that was all it was – lip service. They were just waiting for the chance to reclaim the cities and estates you stole from them.’
A small deputation rode out through the gates now. Six knights in black armour, one of them bearing Julius II’s crest – a sturdy oak tree – on a pennant. At their head, on a dapple-grey palfrey (the very opposite of a war horse) rode an elegantly dressed man whom Ezio instantly recognized as Fabio Orsini. He led his men straight up to the still-proud Cesare.
Silence fell.
‘Cesare Borgia, called Valentino, sometime Cardinal of Valencia and Duke of Valence,’ Orsini proclaimed – Ezio could see the triumphant twinkle in his eye – ‘by order of His Holiness, Pope Julian II, I arrest you for the crimes of murder, betrayal and incest!’
The six knights fell in next to Cesare, two on each side, one before and one behind. The reins of his horse were taken from him and he was tied to the saddle.
‘No, no, no, no!’ bawled Cesare. ‘This is not how it ends!’
One of the knights flicked at Cesare’s horse’s rump, and it started forward at a trot.
‘This is not how it ends!’ Cesare yelled defiantly. ‘Chains will not hold me!’ His voice rose to a scream. ‘I will not die by the hand of Man!’
Everybody heard him, but nobody was listening.
‘Come on, you,’ said Orsini crisply.
48
‘I wondered what had happened to you,’ Ezio said. ‘Then I saw the chalk drawing of a pointing hand, and I knew you were signalling me, which is why I sent you a message. And now, here you are! I thought you might have slipped away to France.’
‘Not me – not yet!’ said Leonardo, brushing some dust off a chair at the Assassin’s Tiber Island hideaway before sitting down. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows.
‘I’m glad of it. Even gladder that you didn’t get caught in the dragnet the new Pope has organized to capture any remaining Borgia supporters.’
‘Well, you can’t keep a good man down,’ replied Leonardo. He was as finely dressed as ever, and didn’t appear to have been affected by recent events at all. ‘Pope Julius isn’t a fool – he knows who’d be useful to him and who wouldn’t, never mind what they’ve done in the past.’
‘As long as they are truly repentant.’
‘As you say,’ Leonardo answered drily.
‘And are you prepared to be useful to me?’
‘Haven’t I always been?’ smiled Leonardo. ‘Is there anything to worry about, now that Cesare’s under lock and key? It’s only a matter of time before they take him out and burn him at the stake. Look at the list of arraignments! It’s as long as your arm.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Of course, the world wouldn’t be the world without trouble,’ said Leonardo, going off on another tack. ‘It’s all very well that Cesare’s been brought down, but I’ve lost a valuable patron, and I see they’re thinking of bringing that young whippersnapper Michelangelo here from Florence. I ask you! All he can do is knock out sculptures.’
‘He’s a pretty good architect, too, from what I hear. And not a bad painter either.’
Leonardo gave him a black look. ‘You know that pointing finger I drew? One day soon, I hope, it’s going to be at the centre of a portrait of a man – John the Baptist – pointing towards heaven. Now that will be a painting!’
‘I didn’t say he was as good a painter as you,’ added Ezio quickly. ‘And as for being an inventor …’
‘He should stick to what he knows best, if you ask me.’
‘Leo, are you jealous?’
‘Me? Never!’
It was time to bring Leonardo back to the problem that was bothering Ezio, and the reason he’d responded to Leonardo’s message that he was seeking him out. He just hoped he could trust him, though he knew Leonardo well enough to understand what made him tick.
‘Your former employer …’ he began.
‘Cesare?’
‘Yes. I didn’t like the way he said, “Chains will not hold me.” ’
‘Come on, Ezio. He’s in the deepest dungeon of the Castel Sant’Angelo. How the mighty are fallen, eh?’
‘He still has friends.’
‘A few misguided creatures may still think he has a future, but since Micheletto and his armies don’t seem to have materialized, I can’t see that there’s any real danger.’
‘Even if Micheletto failed to keep the remains of Cesare’s forces together, which seems likely, since none of our spies in the countryside have reported any troop movements—’
‘Look, Ezio, when news reached them of della Rovere’s elevation to the Papacy, and of Cesare’s arrest, the old Borgia army will have scattered like ants from a nest when you pour boiling water into it.’
‘I won’t rest easy until I know Cesare is dead.’
‘Well, there is a way to find out.’
Ezio looked at Leonardo. ‘Do you mean the Apple?’
‘Where is it?’
‘Here.’
‘Then get it, let’s consult it.’
Ezio hesitated. ‘No, it’s too powerful. I must hide it from Mankind for ever.’
‘What, a valuable thing like that?’ Leonardo shook his head.
‘You said yourself, many years ago, that it should never be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.’
‘Then all we have to do is keep it out of the wrong hands.’
‘There is no guarantee that we can always do that.
Leonardo looked serious. ‘Look, Ezio, if you ever decide to bury it somewhere, promise me one thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, two things. First, hang on to it for as long as you need it. You should have everything on your side if your goal is to eradicate the Borgia and the Templars for ever. But when you are done, and you do hide it from the world, then think of it as a seed to be planted. Leave some kind of clue as to its whereabouts for such as may be able to find it. Future generations – perhaps future Assassins – may have need of the Apple’s power one day, to use on the side of good.’
‘And if it fell into the hands of another Cesare?’
‘Back on Cesare, I see. Listen, why not put yourself out of your misery and see if the Apple can offer you any guidance?’
Ezio wrestled with himself for a few moments longer, then said, ‘All right. I agree.’
He disappeared for a moment and then returned, holding a square lead-covered box with a massive lock. From within his tunic, he took a key, tied to a silver chain around his neck, and opened the box. There, on a bed of green velvet, lay the Apple. It looked drab and grey, as it always did when inert, the size of a small melon and with a curiously soft and pliant texture, much like human skin.
‘Ask it,’ urged Leonardo, his eyes keen as he saw the Apple again. Ezio knew his friend was fighting down a desire to grab the thing and run, and he understood how great the temptation was for the polymath, whose thirst for knowledge at times threatened to overwhelm him and never let him rest.
Ezio held the Apple up and closed his eyes, concentrating his thoughts as he formulated questions. The App
le began to glow almost at once, and then it began to throw images onto the wall.
They came thick and fast and did not last long, but Ezio – and Ezio alone – saw Cesare escape from his prison and Rome. That was all, until the inchoate images on the wall coalesced to show a busy seaport, the water shining and glittering beneath a southern sun, and a fleet in the harbour. The vision dissolved, and then there was a view of a distant castle, or perhaps a fortified hill town, which Ezio somehow knew was far away – from the landscape and heat of the sun, it was certainly not in the Papal States of Italy. The architecture, too, looked foreign, but neither Ezio nor Leonardo could place it. Then Ezio saw Mario’s citadel at Monteriggioni, and the picture moved and shifted, taking him to Mario’s secret study – the Sanctuary – where the Codex pages had been assembled. The concealed door to it was closed, and on the outside of it Ezio could see arcane figures and letters written. Next it was as if he were an eagle flying over the ruins of the Assassin former stronghold. Then, abruptly, the Apple went dead, and the only light in the room was once again provided by calm sunlight.
‘He will escape! I have to go!’ Ezio dropped the Apple back into its box and stood so abruptly he knocked over his chair.
‘What about your friends?’
‘The Brotherhood must stand, with or without me. That is how I have built it.’ Taking it from its box again, Ezio placed the Apple in its leather bag. ‘Forgive me, Leo, I have no time to waste.’ He already had his Hidden Blade and his Bracer strapped on, and he packed the Pistol and some ammunition in his belt-wallet.
‘Stop. You must think. You must plan.’
‘My plan is to finish Cesare. I should have done it long ago.’
Leonardo spread his hands. ‘I see that I cannot stop you. But I have no plans to leave Rome, and you know where my studio is.’
‘I have a gift for you,’ said Ezio. There was a small strongbox on the table between them. Ezio laid a hand on it. ‘Here.’
Leonardo rose. ‘If this is goodbye, then keep your money. I do not want it.’
Ezio smiled. ‘Of course it isn’t goodbye, and of course you want it. You need it, for your work. Take it. Think of me as your patron, if you like, until you find a better one.’
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