The two men hugged each other.
‘We shall see each other again,’ said Ezio. ‘You have my word. Buona fortuna, my oldest friend.’
What the Apple had predicted could not be amended, for the Apple showed the future as it would be, and no man or woman could alter that, any more than he or she could change the past.
As Ezio approached the Castel Sant’Angelo, he could see Papal guards, the new ones who wore the livery of Julius II, running out of the ancient fortress and dispersing in organized bands across the river and down the surrounding streets. Bells and trumpets rang out a warning. Ezio knew what had happened, even before a breathless captain he stopped told him:
‘Cesare’s escaped!’
‘When?’
‘The guards were being changed. About half an hour ago.’ Half an hour! Exactly the time the Apple had shown it happening!
‘Do you know how?’
‘Unless he can walk through walls, we have no idea. But it looks as if he had friends on the inside.’
‘Who? Lucrezia?’
‘No. She hasn’t stirred from her apartments since all this happened. The Pope has had her under house arrest since he took power. We’ve arrested two guards who used to work for the Borgia. One’s a former blacksmith and he might have been able to jemmy the lock, though there’s no sign of damage to the cell door, so they probably just used the key … if they’re guilty.’
‘Is Lucrezia giving us any trouble?’
‘Strangely, not. She seems … resigned to her fate.’
‘Don’t trust her. Whatever you do, don’t be lulled into a sense of false security by her manner. When she’s quiet, she’s at her most dangerous.’
‘She’s being guarded by Swiss mercenaries. They’re hard as rocks.’
‘Good.’
Ezio thought carefully. If Cesare had any friends left in Rome, and evidently he had, they’d get him out of the city as fast as they could. But the gates would already have been sealed, and from what he had seen, Cesare, bereft of the Apple and unskilled in Assassin techniques, would not be able to escape the dragnets and cordons being set up all over Rome.
That left one possibility.
The river!
The Tiber flowed into Rome from the north and left it to the west, where it flowed into the sea only a few miles away, at Ostia. Ezio remembered the slave traders he had killed, and that they had been in Cesare’s pay. They would not have been the only ones! They could get him on a boat, or a small sea-going ship, disguised as a mariner or concealed under tarpaulin amongst the cargo. It wouldn’t take long for a ship under sail or oars, going with the current, to reach the Tyrrhenian Sea, and from there – well, that depended on what Cesare’s plans were. The thing was to catch him before he could put them into effect.
Ezio made his way by the quickest route down to the mid-town docks, which were closest to the Castel. The quays were chock-a-block with boats and ships of all shapes and sizes. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Half an hour. He’d barely have had time to cast off yet, and the tide was only just rising.
Finding a quiet spot, Ezio crouched down and, without hesitation this time, took the Apple out of its pouch. There was nowhere here for it to project its images, but he felt that, if he trusted it, it would find another way of communicating with him. He held it as close to him as he dared, and closed his eyes, willing it to respond to his question.
It did not glow, but he could feel it grow warm through his gloves, and it began to pulse. As it did, strange sounds came from it, or were they sounds within his head? He wasn’t sure. A woman’s voice, oddly familiar though he could not place it, and seemingly quite distant, said softly but clearly, ‘The small caravel with red sails at Pier Six.’
Ezio ran down to the quay. It took him a little time, pushing his way through a throng of busy, cursing mariners, to locate Pier Six, and when he did so, the boat that answered the Apple’s description was just casting off. It, too, seemed familiar. Its decks were stacked with several sacks and boxes of cargo – boxes large enough to conceal a man – and on deck Ezio recognized, with a shock, the seaman he had left for dead after his abortive rescue of Madonna Solari. The man was limping badly as he approached one of the boxes and, with a mate, shifted its position. Ezio noticed that the box had holes bored along each side near the top. He ducked behind a rowing boat, which was raised on trestles for repainting, to keep out of sight, as the sailor he had lamed turned to look back towards the quay, scanning it, perhaps to check for pursuers.
He watched helplessly for a moment as the caravel pushed out into midstream, raising one of its sails to catch the stiff breeze out there. Even on horseback, he couldn’t follow the little ship along the river’s bank, since the path was often blocked or interrupted by buildings that came right up to the water. He had to find a boat for himself.
He made his way back to the quays and walked hastily along them. The crew of a shallop had just finished unloading, and the boat itself was still rigged. Ezio approached the men.
‘I need to hire your boat,’ he said urgently.
‘We’ve just put in.’
‘I’ll pay handsomely.’ Ezio delved into his purse and showed them a handful of gold ducats.
‘We’ve got to get the cargo seen to first,’ said one crew member.
‘Where d’you want to go?’ asked another.
‘Downstream,’ said Ezio, ‘and I need to go now.’
‘See to the cargo,’ said a newcomer, approaching. ‘I’ll take the signore. Jacopo, you come with me. It won’t take more than the two of us to sail her.’
Ezio turned to thank the newcomer and recognized, with a shock, that it was Claudio, the young thief he’d rescued from the Borgia.
Claudio smiled at him. ‘One way of thanking you, Messere, for saving my life. And keep your money, by the way.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wasn’t cut out for thievery,’ said Claudio. ‘La Volpe saw that. I’ve always been a good sailor, so he lent me the money to buy this boat. I’m the master, and I do a good trade between here and Ostia.’
‘We need to hurry. Cesare’s Borgia’s escaped.’
Claudio turned and barked out an order to his mate. Jacopo sprang aboard and began to prepare the sails, then he and Ezio embarked, and the rest of the crew cast them off.
The shallop, free of cargo, felt light in the water. Once they reached midstream, Claudio put on as much sail as he could, and soon the caravel, which was more heavily laden, ceased to be a speck in the distance.
‘Is that what we’re after?’ asked Claudio.
‘Yes, please God,’ replied Ezio.
‘Better get your head down,’ said Claudio. ‘We’re well-known on this stretch, but if they see you, they’ll know what’s up. I know that craft. It’s run by an odd bunch; they don’t socialize.’
‘D’you know how many crew there are?’
‘Five, usually. Maybe fewer. But don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten what La Volpe taught me – it still comes in handy, sometimes – and Jacopo here knows how to use a blackjack.’
Ezio sank beneath the low gunwale, raising his head from time to time just to check the closing distance between them and their objective.The caravel was a faster vessel than the shallop, though, despite it’s heavier load, and Ostia was in sight before Claudio could draw alongside. Nevertheless he boldly hailed the caravel.
‘You look pretty heavily laden,’ he called. ‘What you got on board – gold bullion?’
‘None of your business,’ the master of the caravel snarled back from his place near the wheel. And back off. You’re crowding my water.’
‘Sorry, mate,’ said Claudio, as Jacopo brought the shallop right alongside, bumping the caravel’s fenders. Then he cried to Ezio, ‘Now!’
Ezio leapt from his hiding place across the narrow gap dividing the two ships. Recognizing him, the lame sailor gave out a strangled roar and lunged at him with a bill hook; it caught
on Ezio’s Bracer, and Ezio was able to pull him close enough to finish him with a deep thrust of the Hidden Blade into his side. While he’d been so engaged, he’d failed to notice another crewman stealing up on him from behind, brandishing a cutlass. He turned in momentary alarm, unable to avoid the descending blade, when a shot rang out and the man arched his back, letting his cutlass fall to the deck before crashing overboard himself.
‘Look out!’ yelled Jacopo, who was holding the shallop alongside as the master of the caravel strove to get clear. A third seaman had emerged from below decks and was using a crowbar to prise open the upright crate with holes along its top sides, while a fourth was crouching at his side, covering him with a wheel-lock pistol. No ordinary sailor would have access to such a gun, thought Ezio, remembering the battle with the slave-traders. Claudio leapt from the shallop onto the caravel’s deck and threw himself on the man with the crowbar, while Ezio darted forward and skewered the wrist of the hand holding the gun with his Hidden Blade. It fired harmlessly into the deck and the man retreated, whimpering, holding his wrist, trying to stop the blood pulsing out of the antebrachial vein.
The master of the boat, seeing his men routed, pulled a pistol himself and fired at Ezio, but the caravel lurched in the current at the crucial moment and the shot went wide, though not wide enough, as the ball sliced a nick in Ezio’s right ear, which bled heavily. Shaking his head, Ezio levelled his gun at the master and shot him through the forehead.
‘Quick!’ he said to Claudio. ‘You take the wheel of this thing and I’ll deal with our friend here.’
Claudio nodded and ran to bring the caravel under control. Feeling the blood from his ear soak his collar, Ezio twisted his opponent’s wrist hard to loosen his grip on the crowbar. Then he brought his knee up into the man’s groin, seized his collar and half dragged, half kicked him to the gunwales, where he tossed him overboard.
In the silence that followed the fight, furious and confused shouts and imprecations could be heard coming from the crate.
‘I will kill you for this. I will twist my sword in your gut and give you more pain than you could ever dream possible.’
‘I hope you’re comfortable, Cesare,’ said Ezio. ‘But if you’re not, don’t worry. Once we get to Ostia, we’ll arrange something a little more civilized for your return trip.’
‘It’s not fair,’ said Jacopo from the shallop. ‘I didn’t get a chance to use my blackjack!’
Part Two
* * *
Everything is permitted. Nothing is true.
Dogma Sicarii, I, i.
49
It was late in the spring of the Year of Our Lord 1504. The Pope tore open the letter a courier had just brought him, scanned it, then banged a meaty fist down on his desk in triumph. The other hand held up the letter, from which heavy seals dangled.
‘God bless King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella of Aragon and Castile!’ he cried.
‘Good news, Your Holiness?’ asked Ezio, seated in a chair across from him.
Julius II smiled darkly. ‘Yes! Cesare Borgia has been safely delivered into one of their strongest and most remote rocca!’
‘Where?’
‘Ah, that’s classified information, even to you. I can’t take any chances with Cesare.’
Ezio bit his lip. Had Julius guessed what he’d do if he knew the location?
Julius continued reassuringly: ‘Don’t look so downcast, dear Ezio. I can tell you this: it’s a massive fortress, lost in the plains of central north-eastern Spain, and totally impregnable.’
Ezio knew that Julius had had his reasons for not having Cesare burned at the stake – in case it made a martyr of him – and he acknowledged that this was the next best thing. But still Cesare’s words haunted him: ‘Chains will never hold me.’ Ezio felt in his heart that the only thing that would hold Cesare securely was Death. But he smiled his congratulations anyway.
‘They’ve got him in a cell at the top of the central keep, in a tower one hundred and forty feet high,’ Julius continued. ‘We don’t have anything more to worry about, as far as he’s concerned.’ The Pope looked at Ezio keenly. ‘What I’ve just told you is also classified information, by the way, so don’t go getting any ideas. In any event, at a word from me, they’ll switch the location, just in case anyone goes looking for him and I get wind of it.’
Ezio let it go and changed tack. ‘And Lucrezia? Do we have any news from Ferrara?’
‘Well, her third marriage seems to be doing her good, though I must admit I was worried at first. The d’Este family are such a bunch of snobs that I thought the old Duke would never accept her as a suitable wife for his son. Marrying a Borgia! Talk about marrying beneath you! To them, it would be a bit like you getting hitched to your scullery maid!’ The Pope laughed heartily. ‘But she’s settled down. Not a peep out of her. She’s taken to exchanging love letters and even poems with her old friend Pietro Bembo – all above board, of course’ – here Julius winked broadly – ‘but she is basically a good and faithful wife to Duke Alfonso; she even goes to church and embroiders tapestries. Of course, there’s no question of her coming back to Rome – ever! She’ll end her days in Ferrara, and she should be thankful she’s got away with her head still on her shoulders. All in all, I think it’s safe to say that we’ve got that flock of Catalan perverts out of our hair for good.’
Ezio wondered if the Vatican spy ring was as well informed about the Templars as they were about the Borgia. Cesare had been their leader and continued to be so, even from prison. But about this the Pope kept his counsel.
He had to admit that the affairs of Italy had seen worse days than these. They had a strong Pope, who’d had the sense to retain Agostino Chigi as his banker, and the French were on the back foot. King Louis hadn’t left Italy, but he had at least withdrawn to the north, where he seemed content to dig in. In addition, the French king had ceded Naples to King Ferdinand of Aragon.
‘I hope so, Your Holiness.’
Julius looked at Ezio keenly. ‘Listen, Ezio, I’m not a fool, so don’t take me for one. Why do you think I brought you in as my counsellor? I know there are still pockets of Borgia loyalists around the countryside – and even a few diehards left in the city – but I have other enemies than the Borgia to worry about these days.’
‘The Borgia could still pose a threat.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘And what are you doing about your other enemies?’
‘I’m reforming the Papal Guard. Have you seen what good soldiers the Swiss are? Best mercenaries of the lot! And since they won independence from the Holy Roman Empire and Maximilian five or six years ago, they’ve been putting themselves out to hire. They’re totally loyal and not very emotional – such a change from our own dear fellow countrymen – and I’m thinking of getting a brigade of them put together as my personal bodyguard. I’ll arm them with the usual halberds and stuff, but I’m also issuing them with Leonardo’s muskets.’ He paused. ‘All I need is a name for them.’ He looked at Ezio quizzically. ‘Any ideas?’
‘How about the Swiss Guard?’ suggested Ezio, who was a little tired.
The Pope considered this. ‘Well, it’s not startlingly original, Ezio. Frankly, I rather favoured the Julian Guard, but one doesn’t like to sound too egotistical.’ He grinned. ‘All right, I’ll use what you propose. It’ll do for the time being, at any rate.’
They were interrupted by the sound of hammering and other building works, coming from above their heads, and other parts of the Vatican.
‘Wretched builders,’ commented the Pope. ‘Still, it has to be done.’ He crossed the room to a bell pull. ‘I’ll get someone to go and shut them up until we’ve finished. Sometimes I think builders are the greatest destructive force Man has yet invented.’
An attendant arrived at once and the Pope gave him his orders. Minutes later, amid muffled swearing, tools were downed, noisily.
‘What are you having done?’ asked Ezio, knowing that architecture
vied with warfare as the Pope’s two greatest passions.
‘I’m having all the Borgia apartments and offices boarded up,’ replied Julius. ‘Far too sumptuous. More worthy of a Nero than the Leader of the Church. And I’m razing all their buildings on the roof of the Castel Sant’Angelo. I’ll turn it into one big garden – I might even stick a little summer house up there.’
‘Good idea,’ said Ezio, smiling to himself. The summer house would doubtless be a real pleasure dome, fit, if not for a king, at least for trysts with one or other of the Pope’s mistresses – female or male. The Pope’s private life didn’t concern Ezio. What mattered was that he was a good man and a staunch ally. And compared with Rodrigo, his corruptions were about as significant as a child’s tantrums. Furthermore, he’d steadily continued the moral reforms of his predecessor, Pius III.
‘I’m having the Sistine Chapel done up as well,’ continued the Pope. ‘It’s so dull! So I’ve commissioned that bright young artist from Florence, Michelangelo what’s-his-name, to paint some frescoes on the ceiling. Lots of religious scenes, you know the kind of thing. I thought of asking Leonardo, but his head’s so full of ideas that he scarcely ever finishes a big painting. It’s a pity. I rather liked that portrait he did of Francesco del Giocondo’s wife …’
Julius interrupted himself and looked at Ezio. ‘But you didn’t come here to talk about my interest in modern art.’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure you’re not taking the threat of a Borgia revival too seriously?’
‘I think we should take it seriously.’
‘Look – my army has regained most of the Romagna for the Vatican. There’s no army left for the Borgia to fight with.’
‘Cesare is still alive! With him as a figurehead—’
‘I hope you’re not questioning my judgement, Ezio? You know my reasons for sparing his life. In any case, where he is now, he’s as good as buried alive.’
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