Renaissance

by Oliver Bowden

  It was in this last game that Dante excelled, but Ezio, using different skills and light on his feet, managed to make the final pair, confronting the giant bodyguard. The man swung at Ezio with fists like piledrivers, but Ezio was agile enough to ensure that no seriously heavy punches landed and he was able to get some meaningful left uppercuts and right hooks in himself.

  There were no breaks between rounds in this last bout, and after a time Ezio could see that Dante was tiring. But he also, out of the corner of his eye, noticed that Silvio Barbarigo was speaking urgently to the Master of Ceremonies and the panel of judges who had gathered at a table under a canopy not far from the ring. He thought he saw a fat leather purse change hands, which the Master of Ceremonies quickly pocketed, but he couldn’t be sure, as he had to return his attention to his opponent, who, angry now, was coming at him with flailing arms. Ezio ducked and landed two quick jabs to Dante’s chin and body, and at last the big man went over. Ezio stood over him and Dante glowered up. ‘This isn’t over yet,’ he growled, but he was finding it hard to get up.

  Ezio looked over at the Master of Ceremonies, lifting his arm in appeal, but the man’s face was stony. ‘Are we sure all the competitors have been eliminated?’ the Master of Ceremonies called. ‘All of them? We cannot announce a winner until we are sure!’

  There was a murmur in the crowd as two grim-looking men detached themselves from it and clambered into the ring. Ezio looked towards the judges but they had averted their gaze. The men were closing in on him and Ezio now saw that each had a stubby little knife, almost invisible, clutched in his paw.

  ‘So that’s how it’s going to be, eh?’ he said to them. ‘No holds barred, then.’

  He danced out of the way as the fallen Dante tried to pull him off balance by grabbing his ankles, then leapt in the air to kick one of his new opponents in the face. The man spat out teeth and reeled away. Ezio came down and stamped hard on the second man’s left foot, crushing the instep. Then he punched him viciously in the stomach and, as he doubled up, brought his knee into hard contact with the man’s descending chin. Howling with pain, the man went over. He had bitten through his tongue, and blood gushed through his lips.

  Without looking back, Ezio vaulted out of the ring and confronted the Master of Ceremonies and the sheepish-looking judges. The crowd behind him cheered.

  ‘I think we have a winner,’ Ezio told the Master of Ceremonies. The man exchanged glances with the judges and with Silvio Barbarigo, who was standing close by. The Master of Ceremonies climbed into the ring, avoiding the blood as best he could, and addressed the crowd.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ he announced after clearing his throat a little nervously. ‘I think you’ll all agree that we’ve enjoyed a hard and fairly fought battle today.’

  The crowd cheered.

  ‘And on such an occasion it’s hard to choose a real winner –’

  The crowd looked puzzled. Ezio exchanged glances with Teodora, who was standing on its fringe.

  ‘It’s been a hard job for the judges and myself,’ continued the Master of Ceremonies, sweating slightly and mopping his brow, but a winner there has to be, and, on aggregate, mind, we have picked one.’ Here he stooped and with difficulty raised Dante to a sitting position. ‘Ladies and gentlemen – I give you the winner of the Golden Mask – Signore Dante Moro!’

  The crowd hissed and booed, yelling their disapproval, and the Master of Ceremonies, together with the judges, had to beat a hasty retreat as the bystanders began to pelt them with any rubbish they could lay their hands on. Ezio hurried across to Teodora and the two of them watched as Silvio, a twisted smile on his livid face, helped Dante off the rostrum and bundled him away down a side-alley.

  19

  Back at Teodora’s ‘convent’, Ezio struggled to contain himself as Teodora herself and Antonio watched him with concern.

  ‘I saw Silvio bribe the Master of Ceremonies,’ said Teodora. ‘And no doubt he lined the judges’ pockets too. There was nothing I could do.’

  Antonio laughed derisively and Ezio cast him an irritable look.

  ‘It’s easy to see why Silvio was so determined to get their man to win the Golden Mask,’ Teodora went on. ‘They’re still on the alert and they don’t want to take any chances with Doge Marco.’ She looked at Ezio. ‘They won’t rest until you are dead.’

  ‘Then they’ll have a lot of sleepless nights.’

  ‘We must think. The party’s tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll find a way of shadowing Dante to the party,’ decided Ezio. ‘I’ll get the mask off him somehow, and –’

  ‘How?’ Antonio wanted to know. ‘By killing the poor stronzo?’

  Ezio turned on him angrily. ‘Do you have a better idea? You know what’s at stake!’

  Antonio held up his hands, deprecatingly. ‘Look, Ezio – if you kill him, they’ll cancel the party, and Marco will retreat back into the palazzo. We’ll have wasted our time – again! No, the thing to do is steal the mask, quietly.’

  ‘My girls can help,’ put in Teodora. ‘Plenty of them will be going to the party themselves – as entertainers! They can distract Dante while you acquire the mask. And once you’re there, have no fear. I will be there too.’

  Ezio nodded reluctantly. He didn’t like being told what to do, but in this instance he knew that Antonio and Teodora were right. ‘Va bene,’ he said.

  The following day, as the sun was setting, Ezio made sure he was in place near where Dante would pass by on the way to the party. Several of Teodora’s girls loitered nearby. At last the big man appeared. He’d gone to some lengths with his clothes, which were expensive but flashy. The Golden Mask hung at his belt. As soon as they saw him the girls cooed and waved, moving up to either side of him, two of them linking arms with him, making sure the mask swung behind him, and walking him to the large, cordoned-off area by the Molo where the party was taking place, and had, indeed, already begun. Timing his action precisely, Ezio chose the last possible minute to cut the mask free of Dante’s belt. He snatched it away and ducked ahead of Dante, to appear with it before the guardsmen who were controlling entrance to the party. Seeing it, they let Ezio in, but when, a few moments later, Dante appeared, and reached behind him to put the mask on, he found that it had gone. The girls who’d escorted him had melted into the crowd and put on their own masks, so he would not recognize them.

  Dante was still arguing with the guards at the gate, who had their inflexible orders, as Ezio made his way through the revellers to make contact with Teodora. She greeted him warmly. ‘You made it! Congratulations! Now, listen. Marco remains very cautious indeed. He’s staying on his boat, the Ducal Bucintoro, on the water just off the Molo. You won’t be able to get all that close to him, but you should find the best vantage-point for your attack.’ She turned to summon three or four of her courtesans. ‘These girls will help cover your movements as you make your way through the party.’

  Ezio set off, but as the girls, radiant in shimmering silver and red satins and silks, moved through the sea of guests, his attention was taken by a tall, dignified man in his mid-sixties, with clear, intelligent eyes and a white spade beard, who was talking to a Venetian noble of similar age. Both wore small masks which covered little of the face, and Ezio recognized the first of them as Agostino Barbarigo, the younger brother of Marco. Agostino might have a lot to do with the fate of Venice if anything untoward should happen to his brother, and Ezio thought it expedient to manoeuvre himself into a position from which he could overhear the man’s conversation.

  As Ezio edged up, Agostino was laughing gently. ‘Honestly, my brother embarrasses himself with this display.’

  ‘You have no right to speak of him that way,’ replied the noble. ‘He is the Doge!’

  ‘Yes, yes. He is the Doge,’ replied Agostino, stroking his beard.

  ‘This is his Party. His Carnevale, and he’ll spend his money as he sees fit.’

  ‘He’s the Doge in name only,’ Agostino said rather more s
harply. ‘And it’s Venetian money that he’s spending, not his own.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There are larger things at stake, and you know it.’

  ‘Marco was the man chosen to lead. It’s true your father may have thought that he’d never amount to much, and so transferred his political ambitions to you, but that hardly matters now, does it, given how things stand?’

  ‘I never wanted to be Doge –’

  ‘Then I congratulate you on your success,’ said the nobleman, coldly.

  ‘Look,’ said Agostino, keeping his temper. ‘Power is more than wealth. Does my brother truly believe he was chosen for any other reason than his riches?’

  ‘He was chosen for his wisdom and his leadership!’

  They were interrupted by the beginning of the firework display. Agostino watched it for a moment, then said, ‘And this is what he does with such wisdom? Offer a light show? He hides away in the Ducal Palace while the city comes apart at the seams, and then thinks some expensive explosions will make people forget all their problems.’

  The noble made a dismissive gesture. ‘The people love the spectacle. It’s human nature. You’ll see…’

  But at that moment Ezio spotted the burly figure of Dante, in the company of a posse of guards, barging through the party, doubtless looking for him. He continued to make his way to an unexposed spot from where he might gain access to the Doge if ever he left the Bucintoro, moored a few yards out from the quay.

  There was a fanfare and for now the fireworks ceased. The people fell silent, then broke into applause as Marco came to the portside of his state barge to address them, and a page introduced him: ‘Signore e signori! I present to you the beloved Doge of Venezia!’

  Marco began his address: ‘Benvenuti! Welcome, my friends, to the grandest social event of the season! In peace or at war, in times of prosperity or paucity, Venezia will always have Carnevale!…’

  As the Doge continued to speak, Teodora rejoined Ezio.

  ‘It’s too far,’ Ezio told her. ‘And he’s not going to leave the boat. So I’ll have to swim out there. Merda!’

  ‘I wouldn’t try it,’ said Teodora in hushed tones. ‘You’d be spotted right away.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to fight my way out th––’

  ‘Wait!’

  The Doge was continuing. ‘Tonight, we celebrate what makes us great. How brightly our lights shine over the world!’ He spread his arms, and there was another short firework display. The crowd cheered and roared their approval.

  ‘That’s it!’ said Teodora. ‘Use your pistola! The one you stopped the murderer with in my bordello. Use the sound of the fireworks when they start again to cover the noise of your gunshot. Time it right, and you’ll walk out of here unnoticed.’

  Ezio looked at her. ‘I like the way you think, Sister.’

  ‘You’ll just have to be very careful how you aim. You’ll only get one chance.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘Buona fortuna, my son. I’ll be waiting for you back at the bordello.’

  She vanished among the partygoers, among whom Ezio could also see Dante and his goons still searching for him. Silent as a wraith, he made his way to a point on the quay as close as he dared get to the spot where Marco was standing on the barge. Fortunately, his resplendent robes, bathed in the lights of the party, made him an excellent target.

  The Doge’s speech continued, and Ezio used it to prepare himself, listening carefully for the resumption of the fireworks. His timing would have to be accurate if he was to get his shot off undetected.

  ‘We all know we have come through troubled times,’ Marco was saying. ‘But we have come through them together, and Venezia stands a stronger city for it… Transitions of power are difficult for all, but we have weathered the shift with grace and tranquillity. It is no easy thing to lose a Doge in the prime of life – and it is frustrating to see our dear brother Mocenigo’s assassin still roam free and unpunished. However, we may comfort ourselves with the thought that many of us were beginning to grow uncomfortable with my predecessor’s policies, to feel unsafe, and to doubt the road he was guiding us down.’ Several voices in the crowd were raised in agreement, and Marco, smiling, held up his hands for silence. ‘Well, my friends, I can tell you that I have found the right road for us again! I can see down it, and I know where we are going! It’s a beautiful place, and we are going there together! The future I see for Venezia is a future of strength, a future of wealth. We will build a fleet so strong that our enemies will fear us as never before! And we will expand our trade routes across the seas and bring home spices and treasures undreamed of since Marco Polo’s time!’ Marco’s eyes glittered as his voice took on a minatory tone. ‘And I say this to those who stand against us: be careful which side of the line you choose, because either you are with us or you are on the side of evil. And we will harbour no enemies here! We will hunt you down, we will root you out, we will destroy you!’ He raised his hands again and declaimed: ‘And Venezia shall always stand – the brightest jewel in all civilization!’

  As he let his arms fall in triumph, a mighty display of fireworks went up – a grand finale which turned night into day. The noise of the explosions was deafening – Ezio’s little lethal gunshot was quite lost in it. And he was well on his way out through the crowd before the people in it had had time to react to the sight of Marco Barbarigo, one of the shortest-reigning doges in Venetian history, stagger, clutching at his heart, and falling dead on the deck of the Ducal Barge. ‘Requiescat in pace,’ Ezio muttered to himself as he went.

  But once the news was out, it travelled fast, and reached the brothel before Ezio did. He was greeted with cries of admiration from Teodora and her courtesans.

  ‘You must be exhausted,’ said Teodora, taking his arm and leading him away from the others towards an inner room. ‘Come, relax!’

  But first Antonio offered his congratulations. ‘The saviour of Venice!’ he exclaimed. ‘What can I say? Perhaps it was wrong of me to doubt so readily. Now at least we’ll have a chance to see where the pieces fall…’

  ‘Enough of that now,’ said Teodora. ‘Come, Ezio. You’ve worked hard, my son. I feel your tired body is in need of comfort and succour.’

  Ezio was quick to catch her meaning, and played along. ‘It is true, Sister. I have such aches and pains that I may need a great deal of comfort and succour. I hope you are up to it.’

  ‘Oh,’ grinned Teodora, ‘I don’t intend to ease your pain single-handed! Girls!’

  A gaggle of courtesans slipped smilingly past Ezio into the inner room, at the centre of which he could see a truly massive bed, by whose side was a singular contraption like a couch, but with pulleys and belts, and chains. It reminded him of something out of Leonardo’s workshop, but he couldn’t imagine what possible use it might be put to.

  He exchanged a long look with Teodora and followed her into the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him.

  A couple of days later Ezio was standing on the Rialto Bridge, relaxed and refreshed, and watching the crowds go by. He was just considering leaving to go and drink a couple of glasses of Veneto before the ora di pranzo, when he saw a man he recognized hurrying towards him – one of Antonio’s messengers.

  ‘Ezio, Ezio,’ the man said as he came up. ‘Ser Antonio wishes to see you – it’s a matter of importance.’

  ‘Then we’ll go immediately,’ said Ezio, following him off the bridge.

  They found Antonio in his office in the company – to Ezio’s surprise – of Agostino Barbarigo. Antonio made the introductions.

  ‘It is an honour to meet you, sir. I am sorry for the loss of your brother.’

  Agostino waved a hand. ‘I appreciate your sympathy, but to be frank my brother was a fool and completely under the control of the Borgia faction in Rome – something I would not wish on Venice ever. Luckily, some public-spirited person has averted that danger by assassinating him. In a curiously original way… There will be inquiries, of course, but I am at a loss personally to see where they will lea
d…’

  ‘Messer Agostino is shortly to be elected Doge,’ put in Antonio. ‘It is good news for Venice.’

  ‘The Council of Forty-One has worked fast this time,’ said Ezio, drily.

  ‘I think they have learnt the error of their ways,’ replied Agostino with a wry smile. ‘But I do not wish to be Doge in name only, as my brother was. Which brings us to the business in hand. Our ghastly cousin Silvio has occupied the Arsenal – the military quarter of town – and garrisoned it with two hundred mercenaries!’

  ‘But when you are Doge, can’t you command them to stand down?’ asked Ezio.

  ‘It would be nice to think so,’ said Agostino, ‘but my brother’s extravagances have depleted the city’s resources, and we will be hard put to it to withstand a determined force who have control of the Arsenal. And without the Arsenal, I have no real control of Venice, Doge or no Doge!’

  ‘Then,’ said Ezio. ‘We must raise a determined force of our own.’

  ‘Well said!’ Antonio beamed. ‘And I think I have just the man for the job. Have you heard of Bartolomeo d’Alviano?’

  ‘Of course. The condottiero who used to serve the Papal States! He’s turned against them, I know.’

  ‘And just now he’s based here. He has little love for Silvio, who, as you know, is also in Cardinal Borgia’s pocket,’ said Agostino. ‘Bartolomeo’s based on San Pietro, east of the Arsenal.’

  ‘I’ll go and see him.’

  ‘Before you do that, Ezio,’ said Antonio, ‘Messer Agostino has something for you.’

  From his robes Agostino withdrew a rolled, ancient vellum scroll, with a heavy black seal, broken, hanging from a tattered red ribbon. ‘My brother had it among his papers. Antonio thought it might interest you. Consider it a payment for… services rendered.’

  Ezio took it. He knew immediately what it was. ‘Thank you, Signore. I am sure this will be of great help in the battle which will surely come.’

  Pausing only to arm himself, Ezio wasted no time in making his way to Leonardo’s workshop, where he was surprised to find his friend in the process of packing up.