Renaissance

by Oliver Bowden

  ‘I am sorry, Uncle, but I have no idea what you are talking about.’

  Mario shook his head. ‘I don’t know what your father must have been thinking of. Perhaps he judged the time not to be right. But events have overtaken any such consideration now.’ He looked hard at Ezio. ‘We must talk, long and hard. Leave me the documents you have in your pouch. I must study them while you go into the town and get yourself equipped. Here’s a list of what you’ll need, and money to pay for it.’

  In a confused mood, Ezio set off for the town in the company of one of Mario’s sergeants, a grizzled veteran called Orazio, and under his guidance acquired from the armourer there a battle-dagger, light body-armour, and – from the local doctor – bandages and a basic medical kit. He returned to the castle to find Mario waiting impatiently for him.

  ‘Salute,’ said Ezio. ‘I have done as you requested.’

  ‘And quickly too. Ben fatto! And now, we must teach you properly how to fight.’

  ‘Uncle, forgive me, but as I told you, I have no intention of staying.’

  Mario bit his lip. ‘Listen, Ezio, you were barely able to hold your own against Vieri. If I hadn’t arrived when I did…’ He broke off. ‘Well, leave if you must, but at least first learn the skills and knowledge you’ll need to defend yourself, or you won’t last a week on the road.’

  Ezio was silent.

  ‘If not for me, do it for the sake of your mother and sister,’ Mario pressed him.

  Ezio considered his options, but he had to admit that his uncle had a point. ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘Since you’ve been kind enough to see me kitted out.’

  Mario beamed and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Good man! You’ll live to thank me!’

  In the following weeks the most intensive instruction in the use of arms followed, but while he was learning new battle skills, Ezio was also finding out more about his family background, and the secrets his father had not had time to divulge to him. And, as Mario let him have the run of his library, he gradually became troubled by the fact that he might be on the verge of a far more important destiny than he had believed possible.

  ‘You say my father was more than just a banker?’ he asked his uncle.

  ‘Far more,’ replied Mario gravely. ‘You father was a highly trained killer.’

  ‘That cannot be – my father was always a financier, a businessman… how could he have possibly been a killer?’

  ‘No, Ezio, he was much more than that. He was born and bred to kill. He was a senior member of the Order of Assassins.’ Mario hesitated. ‘I know you must have found out something more about all this in the library. We must discuss the documents that were entrusted to you, and which you – thank God! – had the wit to retrieve from Alberti. That list of names – it isn’t a catalogue of debtors, you know. It carries the names of all those responsible for your father’s murder – and they are men who form part of a still greater conspiracy.’

  Ezio struggled to take it all in – everything he thought he knew about his father, his family, it all now seemed to be a half-truth. How could his father have kept this from him? It was all so inconceivable, so alien. Ezio chose his words with care – his father must have had a reason for this secrecy. ‘I accept that there was more to my father than I ever knew, and forgive me for doubting your word, but why is the need for secrecy so great?’

  Mario paused before replying. ‘Are you familiar with the Order of the Knights Templar?’

  ‘I have heard of them.’

  ‘They were founded many centuries ago, soon after the First of the Crusades, and became an elite fighting force of warriors for God – effectively they were monks in armour. They took a pledge of abstinence and a vow of poverty. But the years rolled by, and their status changed. In time, they became involved in international finance, and very successful they were at it, too. Other Orders of Knights – the Hospitallers and the Teutonic Knights – looked on them askance, and their power began to be a cause for concern, even to kings. They established a base in southern France, and planned to form their own state. They paid no taxes, supported their own private army, and began to lord it over everyone. At last, nearly two hundred years ago, King Philip the Fair of France moved against them. There was a terrible purge, the Templars were arrested and driven away, massacred, and at last excommunicated by the Pope. But they could not all be rooted out – they had fifteen thousand chapters throughout Europe. Nevertheless, with their estates and properties annexed, the Templars seemed to dis appear, their power apparently broken.’

  ‘What happened to them?’

  Mario shook his head. ‘Of course, it was a ruse to ensure their own survival. They went underground, hoarding the riches they had salvaged, maintaining their organization, and bent more than ever now on their true goal.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘What is that, you mean!’ Mario’s eyes blazed. ‘Their intention is nothing less than world domination. And only one organization is devoted to thwarting them. The Order of the Assassins, to which your father – and I – have the honour to belong.’

  Ezio needed a moment to take this in. ‘And was Alberti one of the Templars?’

  Mario nodded solemnly. ‘Yes. As are all the others on your father’s list.’

  ‘And – Vieri?’

  ‘He is one as well, and his father Francesco, and all the Pazzi clan.’

  Ezio pondered this. ‘That explains much…’ he said. ‘There is something I haven’t shown you yet –’

  He rolled up his sleeve to reveal his secret dagger.

  ‘Ah,’ said Mario. ‘You were wise not to reveal that until you were sure you could trust even me completely. I was wondering what had become of it. And I see that you have had it repaired. It was your father’s, given to him by our father, and to him by his. It was broken in… a confrontation your father was involved in many years ago, but he could never find a craftsman skilled or trustworthy enough to restore it. You have done well, my boy.’

  ‘Even so,’ said Ezio. ‘All this talk of Assassins and Templars sounds like something from an ancient tale – it reeks of the fantastic.’

  Mario smiled. ‘Like something from an old parchment covered in arcane writing, perhaps?’

  ‘You know of the Codex page?’

  Mario shrugged. ‘Had you forgotten? It was with the papers you handed over to me.’

  ‘Can you tell me what it is?’ Ezio was somehow reluctant to involve his friend Leonardo in this unless it became strictly necessary.

  ‘Well, whoever repaired your blade must have been able to read at least some of it,’ said Mario, but he raised his hand as Ezio was about to open his mouth. ‘But I will ask you no questions. I can see that you wish to protect someone, and I will respect that. But there is more to the page than the working instructions for your weapon. The pages of the Codex are scattered now throughout Italy. It is a guide to the inner workings of the Assassins’ Order, its origin, purpose and techniques. It is, if you will, our Creed. Your father believed that the Codex contained a powerful secret. Something that would change the world.’ He paused for thought. ‘Perhaps that is why they came for him.’

  Ezio was overwhelmed at this information – it was a huge amount to take in all at once. ‘Assassins, Templars, this strange Codex –’

  ‘I will be your guide, Ezio. But you must first learn to open your mind, and always remember this: nothing is true. Everything is permitted.’

  Mario would tell him nothing more then, though Ezio pressed him. Instead, his uncle continued to put him through the most rigorous process of military training, and from dawn to dusk he found himself exercising with the young condottieri on the practice-ground, falling into bed each night too exhausted to think of anything but sleep. And then, one day…

  ‘Well done, nephew!’ his uncle told him. ‘I think you are ready.’

  Ezio was pleased. ‘Thank you, Uncle, for all you’ve given me.’

  Mario’s answer was to give the boy a bear-hug. �
��You are family! Such is my duty and desire!’

  ‘I’m glad you persuaded me to stay.’

  Mario looked at him keenly. ‘So – have you reconsidered your decision to leave?’

  Ezio returned his gaze. ‘I am sorry, Uncle, but my mind is made up. For the safety of Mamma and Claudia – I still intend to make for the coast and take ship for Spain.’

  Mario did not hide his displeasure. ‘Forgive me, nephew, but I have not taught you the skills you now have either for my own amusement or your exclusive benefit. I have taught you so that you may be better prepared to strike against our enemies.’

  ‘And, if they find me, so I will.’

  ‘So,’ Mario said bitterly. ‘You want to leave? To throw away everything your father fought and died for? To deny your very heritage? Well! I cannot pretend to you that I am not disappointed – highly disappointed. But so be it. Orazio will take you to the convent when you judge the moment to be right for your mother to travel, and he will see you on your way. I wish you buona fortuna.’

  With that, Mario turned his back on his nephew and stalked away.

  More time passed, as Ezio found he had to allow his mother enough peace and quiet to pave the way to her recovery. He himself made his preparations for leaving with a heavy heart. At last he set out to pay what he imagined might be his last visit to the convent to visit his mother and sister before taking them away, and found them better than he’d dared to hope. Claudia had made friends with some of the younger nuns, and it was clear to Ezio, to his surprise and not greatly to his pleasure, that she was beginning to be attracted to the life. Meanwhile his mother was making a steady but slow recovery, and the abbess, on hearing of his plans, demurred, advising him that rest was what she still badly needed, and that she should not be moved again just yet.

  When he returned to Mario’s castle, therefore, he was full of misgivings, and he was aware that these misgivings had grown with time.

  At that period, some kind of military preparations had been going on in Monteriggioni, and now they seemed to be coming to a head. The sight of them distracted him. His uncle was nowhere to be seen, but he managed to track Orazio down to the map-room.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Where’s my uncle?’

  ‘He’s preparing for battle.’

  ‘What? With whom?’

  ‘Oh, I expect he’d have told you if he’d thought you were staying. But we all know that that is not your intention.’

  ‘Well…’

  ‘Listen, your old friend Vieri de’ Pazzi has set himself up at San Gimignano. He’s tripling the garrison there and has let it be known that as soon as he’s ready, he’s coming to raze Monteriggioni to the ground. So we’re going there first, to crush the little snake and teach the Pazzi a lesson they won’t forget in a hurry.’

  Ezio took a deep breath. Surely this changed everything. And perhaps it was Fate – the very stimulus he’d unconsciously been seeking. ‘Where is my uncle?’

  ‘In the stables.’

  Ezio was already halfway out of the room.

  ‘Hey! Where are you off to?’

  ‘To the stables! There must be a horse for me, too!’

  Orazio smiled as he watched him go.

  7

  Mario, with Ezio riding at his side, led his forces to within sight of San Gimignano in the middle of a spring night in 1477. It was to be the beginning of a tough confrontation.

  ‘Tell me again what made you change your mind,’ said Mario, still much pleased by his nephew’s change of heart.

  ‘You just like to hear it.’

  ‘What if I do? Anyway, I knew it’d take Maria a good while to recover, and they are safe enough where they are, as you well know.’

  Ezio smiled. ‘As I’ve already told you, I wanted to take responsibility. As I’ve already told you, Vieri troubles you because of me.’

  ‘And as I’ve told you, young man, you certainly have a healthy sense of your own importance. The truth is, Vieri troubles us because he is a Templar and we are Assassins.’

  As he spoke, Mario was scanning the tall towers, built close together, of San Gimignano. The square-built structures seemed almost to scrape the sky, and Ezio had a strange sense of having seen such a view before, but it must have been either in a dream or in another life, for he had no precise memory of the occasion.

  The tops of the towers were each aflame with torch-light, and there were many other torches visible on the battlements of the town walls, and at its gates.

  ‘He’s well garrisoned,’ said Mario. ‘And to judge by the torches it looks as if Vieri may well be expecting us. It’s a pity, but I’m not surprised. After all, he has his spies just as I have mine.’ He paused. ‘I can see archers on the ramparts, and the gates are heavily guarded.’ He continued to scan the city. ‘But even so, it looks as if he hasn’t got enough men to cover every gate sufficiently. The one on the south side looks less well defended – it must be the place he expects an attack to be least likely. So that is where we’ll strike.’

  He raised an arm and kicked his horse’s flanks. His force moved forward behind him. Ezio rode beside him. ‘This is what we’ll do,’ said Mario, his voice urgent. ‘My men and I will engage the guards at the gate, while you must find a way over the wall and get the gate opened from the inside. We must be silent and swift.’

  He unslung a bandolier of throwing-knives and handed it to Ezio. ‘Take these. Use them to dispatch the archers.’

  As soon as they were close enough, they dismounted. Mario led a group of his best soldiers towards the cohort of guards posted at the southern entrance to the town. Ezio left them, and hurried the last hundred yards on foot, using the cover of bushes and shrubs to conceal his progress, until he found himself at the foot of the wall. He had his hood up, and by the light of the torches at the gate he could see that the shadow cast by his hood on the wall bore a strange resemblance to an eagle’s head. He looked up. The wall rose sheer above him, fifty feet or more. He couldn’t see if anyone was on the battlements above. Slinging his bandolier securely, he began to climb. It was hard, as the walls were of dressed stone and gave few opportunities for footholds, but embrasures near the top allowed him to gain a firm place to lodge himself while he peered warily over the battlements’ edge. Along the rampart to his left, two archers, their backs to him, were leaning over the wall, bows drawn. They had seen Mario’s attack begin, and were preparing to fire down on the Assassin condottieri. Ezio did not hesitate. It was their lives or those of his friends, and now he appreciated the new skills his uncle had insisted on teaching him. Quickly, concentrating his mind and his eye in the flickering semi-darkness, he drew two knives and threw them, one after the other, with deadly accuracy. The first struck an archer in the nape of the neck – the blow fatal in an instant. The man slumped over the crenellations without a whisper. The next knife flew a little lower, catching the second man full in the back with such force that, with a hollow cry, he pitched forward into the blackness beneath.

  Below him, at the foot of a narrow stone stairway, lay the gate, but now he appreciated that Vieri’s force was not enough to guard the city with absolute efficiency, for there were no soldiers posted on its interior side. He bounded down the steps three at a time, seeming almost to fly, and soon located the lever that operated the heavy iron bolts which locked the solid, ten-foot-high oak doors. He pulled it, needing all his strength to do so, for it was not designed to yield to the force of just one man, but at last the job was done, and he hauled on one of the massive rings which were set into the doors at shoulder height. It gave, and the gate began to swing open, revealing as it did so that Mario and his men were just completing their bloody task. Two Assassin men lay dead, but twenty of Vieri’s force had been sent to their Maker.

  ‘Well done, Ezio!’ Mario cried softly. So far, no alarm seemed to have been raised, but it would only be a matter of time.

  ‘Come on!’ said Mario. ‘Silently, now!’ He turned to one of his sergeants a
nd said, ‘Go back and bring the main force up.’

  Then he led the way carefully through the silent streets – Vieri must have imposed some kind of curfew, for there was no one to be seen. Once, they almost fell foul of a Pazzi patrol. Shrinking back into the shadows, they let it pass, before rushing up from the rear to attack the men and bring them down with clinical efficiency.

  ‘What next?’ Ezio asked his uncle.

  ‘We need to locate the captain of the guard here. His name’s Roberto. He’ll know where Vieri is.’ Mario was showing more stress than usual. ‘This is taking too long. It’ll be better if we split up. Look, I know Roberto. At this time of night, he’ll either be drunk in his favourite taverna or he’ll be already sleeping it off in the citadel. You take the citadel. Take Orazio and a dozen good men with you.’ He looked at the sky, which was just beginning to lighten, and tasted the air, which already carried the coolness of a new day in it. ‘Meet me by the cathedral before cock-crow to report. And don’t forget – I leave you in command of this gang of hooligans!’ He smiled affectionately at his men, took his own force, and disappeared along a street that led uphill.

  ‘The citadel’s in the north-west of the town – sir,’ said Orazio. He grinned, as did the others. Ezio sensed both their obedience to Mario, and their misgivings at having been entrusted to the command of such an untried officer.

  ‘Then let’s go,’ Ezio replied firmly. ‘Follow me. At my signal.’

  The citadel formed one side of the town’s main square, not far from the cathedral and near the top of the small hill on which the town was built. They reached it without difficulty, but before they entered it Ezio noticed a number of Pazzi guards posted at its entrance. Motioning his men to stay back, he approached them, keeping to the shadows and silent as a fox, until he was close enough to overhear the conversation which was going on between two of them. It was clear that they were unhappy with Vieri’s leadership, and the more vehement of the two was in full flow.