‘Micheletto is still at large.’
‘Pah! Without Cesare, Micheletto is nothing.’
‘Micheletto knows Spain well.’
‘He’s nothing, I tell you.’
‘He knows Spain. He was born in Valencia. He’s the bastard nephew of Rodrigo.’
The Pope, who, despite his years, was a large and vigorous man still in the prime of his life, had been pacing the room during this last exchange. Now, he returned to the desk, placed his large hands on it and leant threateningly over Ezio. His manner was convincing.
‘You are letting your worst fears run away with you,’ he said. ‘We don’t even know whether Micheletto is still alive or not.’
‘I think we should find out, once and for all.’
The Pope pondered Ezio’s point and relaxed slightly, sitting down again. He tapped the heavy signet ring on his left hand with the index finger of his right.
‘What do you want to do?’ he asked heavily. ‘Don’t expect any resources from me. The budget’s overstretched as it is.’
‘The first thing is to locate and destroy any last diehards in the city of Rome itself. We may find someone who knows something about Micheletto – his whereabouts or his fate – then …’
‘Then?’
‘Then, if he’s still alive …’
‘You’ll destroy him?’
‘Yes.’ Unless he turns out to be more useful to me alive, Ezio thought.
Julius sat back. ‘I am impressed by your determination, Ezio. It almost frightens me. And I am glad I’m not an enemy of the Assassins myself.’
Ezio looked up sharply. ‘You know about the Brotherhood?’
The Pope made a tent of his fingers. ‘I always needed to know who the enemies of my enemy were. But your secret is safe with me. As I told you, I am not a fool.’
50
‘Your instinct is right. I will guide you and guard you, but I do not belong to you and soon you must let me go. I have no power over him that controls me. I must obey the will of the Master of the Apple.’
Ezio was alone in his secret lodgings, holding the Apple in his hands as he tried to use it to help him locate his quarry in Rome, when the mysterious voice came to him again. This time he could not tell if the voice was male or female, or whether it came from the Apple or somewhere in his mind.
Your instinct is right. But, also, I have no power over him that controls me. Why then had the Apple shown him only hazy images of Micheletto – just enough to tell him that Cesare’s henchman was still alive. And it could not – or would not – pinpoint Cesare’s location. At least for now.
Suddenly Ezio realized something his inner self had always known: that he should not abuse its power by overusing it and that he should not become dependent on the Apple. Ezio knew that it was his own will that had blurred the answers he sought. He must not be slothful. He must fend for himself. One day he would have to again, anyway.
He thought of Leonardo. What could that man not do if he had the Apple? And Leonardo, the best of men, nevertheless invented weapons of destruction as easily as he produced sublime paintings. Might the Apple not only have the power to help Mankind, but to corrupt it? In Rodrigo’s or Cesare’s hands – if either of them had ever been able to master it – it could have become the instrument, not of salvation, but destruction!
Power is a potent drug, and Ezio did not want to fall victim to it.
He looked at the Apple again. It seemed inert in his hands now, but as he placed it back in its box, he found he could hardly bear to close the lid. What paths could it not open up for him?!
No, he must bury it. He must learn to live by the Code without it. But not yet!
He had always sensed in his heart that Micheletto lived. Now he knew it for a fact. And while he lived, he would do his utmost to free his evil master, Cesare.
Ezio had not told Pope Julius his full plan: he intended to seek out Cesare and kill him, or die in the attempt.
It was the only way.
He would use the Apple only when he had to. He had to keep his own instincts and powers of deduction sharp, in anticipation of the day when the Apple would no longer be in his possession. He would hunt down the Borgia diehards in Rome without it. Only if he failed, within three days, to unearth them, would he resort to its power again. He still had his friends – the girls of The Rosa in Fiore, La Volpe’s thieves and his fellow Assassins – and with their help, how could he fail?
Ezio knew that the Apple would, in ways he could not fully comprehend, help him, as long as he respected its potential. Perhaps that was its secret. Perhaps no one could ever fully master it, except a member of the race of ancient Adepts who had left the world in trust to Humanity, to make or break it, as their will elected.
He closed the lid and locked the box.
Ezio summoned a meeting of the Brotherhood on Tiber Island that night.
‘My friends,’ he started, ‘I know how hard we have striven, and I believe that victory may be in sight, but there is still work to do.’
The others, all except Machiavelli, looked at each other in surprise.
‘But Cesare is muzzled!’ cried La Volpe. ‘For good!’
‘And we have a new Pope, who has always been an enemy of the Borgia,’ added Claudia.
‘And the French are driven back,’ put in Bartolomeo. ‘The countryside is secure. And the Romagna is back in Papal hands.’
Ezio held out a hand to quieten them. ‘We all know that a victory is not a victory until it is absolute.’
‘And Cesare may indeed be muzzled, but he lives,’ said Machiavelli quietly. ‘And Micheletto …’
‘Exactly,’ Ezio said. ‘And as long as there are pockets of Borgia diehards, both here and in the Papal States, there is still seed from which a Borgia revival may grow.’
‘You are too cautious, Ezio. We have won,’ cried Bartolomeo.
‘Barto, you know as well as I do that a handful of city states in the Romagna remain loyal to Cesare. They are strongly fortified.’
‘Then I’ll go and sort them out.’
‘They will keep. Caterina Sforza’s army is not strong enough to attack them from Forlì, but I have sent messengers requesting that she keep a close eye on them. I have a more pressing job for you.’
Oh God, thought Ezio, why does my heart still skip a beat when I mention her name?
‘Which is?’
‘I want you to take a force to Ostia and keep watch on the port. I want to know about any suspicious ships coming in and out of the harbour. I want you to have messengers on horseback ready to bring news to me here the instant you have anything to report.’
Bartolomeo snorted. ‘Sentry duty! Hardly the sort of work for a man of action like me.’
‘You will get as much action as you need when the time is right to move against the rebel city states I’ve mentioned. In the meantime, they live in hope, waiting for a signal. Let them live in hope, it’ll keep them quiet. Our job is to snuff out that hope – for ever.’
Machiavelli smiled. ‘I agree with Ezio,’ he said.
‘Well, all right. If you insist,’ Bartolomeo replied grumpily.
‘Pantasilea will enjoy the sea air after her ordeal.’
Bartolomeo brightened. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Good.’ Ezio turned to his sister. ‘Claudia, I imagine the change of regime hasn’t affected business at The Rosa in Fiore too badly?’
Claudia grinned. ‘It’s funny how even princes of the Church find it hard to keep the devil between their loins in abeyance – however many cold baths they say they take.’
‘Tell your girls to keep their ears to the ground. Julius has the College of Cardinals firmly under his control, but he still has plenty of enemies with ambitions of their own, and some of them might just be mad enough to think that if they could free Cesare, they could use him as a means of furthering their own ends. And keep an eye on Johann Burchard, too.’
‘What? Rodrigo’s Master of Ceremonies
? Surely he’s harmless enough. He hated having to organize all those orgies. Isn’t he just a functionary?’
‘Nevertheless, anything you hear – especially if it’s about diehard factions still at large here in Rome – let me know.’
‘It’ll be easier now that we no longer have Borgia guards breathing down our necks every minute of the day.’
Ezio smiled a little absently. ‘I have another question to ask. I have been too busy to visit, and it troubles me, but how is our mother?’
Claudia’s face clouded. ‘She keeps the accounts, but, Ezio, I fear she is failing. She seldom goes out. She speaks more and more often of Giovanni, and of Federico and Petruccio.’
Ezio fell silent for a moment, thinking of his lost father and brothers. ‘I will come when I can,’ he said. ‘Give her my love and ask her to forgive my neglect.’
‘She understands the work you have to do. She knows that you do it not only for the good of us all, but for the sake of our departed kinsmen.’
‘The destruction of those who killed them shall be their monument,’ said Ezio, his voice hard.
‘And what of my people?’ asked La Volpe.
‘Gilberto, your people are vital to me. My recruits remain loyal, but they see that life returns to normal, and most of them long to return to the lives they led before we persuaded them to join us in the struggle to throw off the Borgia yoke. They retain their skills, but they are not sworn members of the Brotherhood, and I cannot expect them to bear the yoke that we bear, for it is a yoke that only death will relieve us of.’
‘I understand.’
‘I know the men and women under your command are city-bred. Some country air will make a change.’
‘How do you mean?’ asked La Volpe suspiciously.
‘Send your best people into the towns and villages around Rome. There will be no need to go further out than Viterbo, Terni, L’Aquila, Avezzano and Nettuno. I doubt if, beyond the rough circle round Rome that those towns define, we’d find much. There can’t be many diehards left, and those there are will want to be within striking distance of Rome.’
‘They’ll be hard to find.’
‘You must try. You know yourself how even a small force in the right place can do untold damage.’
‘I’ll send out my best thieves and disguise them as peddlers.’
‘Report anything you find back to me, especially news of Micheletto.’
‘Do you really think he’s still out there somewhere? Mightn’t he have gone back to Spain, or at least the Kingdom of Naples? If he isn’t dead already, that is.’
‘I am convinced he’s still alive.’
La Volpe shrugged. ‘That’s good enough for me.’
When the others had gone, Machiavelli turned to Ezio and said, ‘What about me?’
‘You and I will work together.’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but before we go into details, I have a question.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Why not use the Apple?’
Ezio, sighing, explained as best he could.
When he’d finished Machiavelli looked at him, took out his little black notebook and wrote in it at length. Then he stood up, crossed the room and sat down next to Ezio, squeezing his shoulder affectionately as he did so. Any such gesture from Machiavelli was as rare as hen’s teeth.
‘Let’s get down to business,’ he said.
‘This is what I have in mind,’ said Ezio.
‘Tell me.’
‘There are women in this city who may help us. We must seek them out and talk to them.’
‘Well, you picked the right man for the job. I am a diplomat.’
Gaining access to the first was easy – Pope Julius had seen to that – but getting her to talk wasn’t.
She received them in a sumptuous parlour on the piano nobile of her large house, whose windows (on four sides) provided sublime vistas of the once-great city, now part crumbling, but also part magnificent, after the last few Popes had poured money into self-aggrandisement.
‘I don’t see how I can help you,’ she said after listening to them, although Ezio noticed that she didn’t meet their eyes.
‘If there are pockets of diehards in the city, we need to know about them, Altezza, and we need your help,’ said Machiavelli. ‘If we find out later that you have held out on us …’
‘Don’t threaten me, young man,’ retorted Vannozza. ‘Dio mio! Do you know how long ago it is since Rodrigo and I were lovers? Well over twenty years!’
‘Perhaps your children … ?’ asked Ezio.
She smiled grimly. ‘I expect you are wondering how a woman like me could have produced such a brood,’ she said. ‘But I tell you there is very little Cattanei blood in them. Well, in Lucrezia, perhaps; but Cesare …’ She broke off and Ezio could see the pain in her eyes.
‘Do you know where he is?’
‘I know no more than you do, and I don’t care to. It’s years since I’ve even seen him, though we lived in the same city. He is dead to me.’
Clearly the Pope was being very careful to keep Cesare’s whereabouts secret. ‘Perhaps your daughter knows?’
‘If I don’t, why should she? She lives in Ferrara now. You could go and ask her, but it’s a long way north, and the Holy Father has forbidden her ever to return to Rome.’
‘Do you see her?’ asked Machiavelli.
Vannozza sighed. ‘As I said, Ferrara’s a long way north. I don’t care to travel much these days.’
She looked around the room, glancing at the servants who stood near the door, and occasionally at the water clock. She had offered them no refreshment and seemed eager for them to go. An unhappy woman, she seemed ill at ease and constantly kneaded her hands together, but was that because she was concealing something, or because she was being forced to talk about people she’d clearly rather not discuss?
‘I have – or rather had – eight grandchildren,’ she said unexpectedly. Ezio and Machiavelli knew that Lucrezia had had several children by her various husbands, but few had survived childhood. People said that Lucrezia had never taken pregnancy very seriously, and that she had a habit of partying and dancing right up to the moment of her accouchement. Had that alienated her from her mother? Cesare had a daughter, Louise, who was a child of four.
‘Do you see any of them?’ asked Machiavelli.
‘No. Louise is still in Rome, I think, but her mother has made sure that she’s more French than Italian.’
She rose then, and the servants, as if on cue, opened the room’s ornate double doors.
‘I wish I could be of more assistance …’
‘We thank you for your time,’ said Machiavelli drily.
‘There are other people you might like to talk to,’ said Vannozza.
‘We intend to visit the Princesse d’Albret.’
Vannozza pressed her lips together. ‘Buona fortuna,’ she said, without conviction. ‘You’d better hurry, too. I hear she’s making preparations to leave for France. Perhaps, if I’m lucky, she’ll come and say goodbye.’
Ezio and Machiavelli had risen, too, and made their farewells.
Once outside in the street, Machiavelli said, ‘I think we’ll have to use the Apple, Ezio.’
‘Not yet.’
‘Have it your own way, but I think you’re a fool. Let’s go and see the princess. Lucky we can both speak French.’
‘Charlotte d’Albret won’t be leaving for France today – I’ve got men watching her palazzo. There’s someone else I want to see first. In fact, I’m surprised Vanozza didn’t mention her.’
‘Who?’
‘Giulia Farnese.’
‘Doesn’t she live in Carbognano these days?’
‘My spies tell me she’s in town, so we ought to take advantage of that.’
‘What makes you think we’ll get any more out of her than we got out of Vannozza?’
Ezio smiled. ‘Giulia was Rodrigo’s last mistress and he was passionate about her.’
‘I remember when the French captured her. He was beside himself.’
‘And then the French foolishly ransomed her for three thousand ducats. He’d have paid twenty times that amount to get her back. He’d probably have struck any kind of deal they wanted. But I guess that’s what happens when your mistress is over forty years younger than you are: you get besotted.’
‘It didn’t stop him dumping her when she turned twenty-five, though.’
‘Yes. She was too old for him by then! Let’s hurry.’
They made their way north, through the narrow streets in the direction of the Quirinale.
On the way, Machiavelli noticed that Ezio was becoming increasingly ill at ease.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Have you not noticed anything?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t look round!’ Ezio was terse.
‘No.’
‘I think we’re being followed … by a woman.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since we left Vannozza’s palazzo.’
‘One of her people?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Alone?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then we’d better shake her.’
Impatient though they were to get on, they slowed their pace, looking in shop windows and even pausing at a wine booth. There, over the rim of his beaker, Ezio caught sight of a tall, athletically built blonde woman dressed in a good, but unassuming dark green robe of a lightweight material. She’d be able to move fast in clothes like that if the need arose.
‘I’ve got her,’ he said.
They both scanned the wall of the building against which the booth was erected. It was a new place, constructed in a fashionably rusticated style of large roughened slabs of stone separated by sunken joints. At intervals, iron rings for tethering horses had been let into the wall.
It was perfect.
They made their way to the back of the booth, but there was no way out there.
‘We’ll have to be quick,’ said Machiavelli.
‘Watch me!’ replied Ezio, putting his beaker down on a table near the entrance. A few seconds later he was halfway up the wall, with Machiavelli close behind him. Bystanders gaped as the two men, their capes fluttering in the breeze, disappeared over the rooftops, leaping across alleyways and streets, sending tiles skeetering down to smash on the cobbles, or flop in the mud of unmade lanes as the people below ducked or jumped out of the way.
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