Renaissance

by Oliver Bowden

  ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that! In any case, it’s absurd. You’ll never get away with this, and I’ll be safe at home within the hour. In fact, I’m getting bored. I’m surprised you don’t have anything better to do, while I wait for you to die!’

  ‘All right, that’s quite enough,’ said the older guard, reaching out to grab her. But at that moment Ezio fired his pistola from the rooftop, hitting the soldier squarely in the chest. The man was launched from his feet – crimson blossoming through his tunic even before he hit the ground. Ezio mused for a second that Leonardo’s powder mix must be improving. In the flurry of confusion that followed the guard’s sudden death, Ezio leapt down from the rooftop, landing with the grace and power of a panther, and with his double-blades quickly rounded on the younger guard, who fumbled in drawing an ugly-looking dagger. Ezio slashed precisely at the man’s forearm, shearing through tendons as though they were ribbons. The man’s dagger dropped to the ground, sticking point first in the mud – and before he could muster any further defence, Ezio had brought the double-blade under his jaw, stabbing through the soft tissue of the mouth and tongue, into the cavity of the skull. Ezio calmly withdrew the blades, leaving the corpse to slump to the ground.

  ‘Are they the only two?’ he asked the undismayed Bianca as he quickly reloaded.

  ‘Yes! And thank you, whoever you are. My mother will see that you are amply rewarded. But they’ve got my brother Ottaviano too –’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ asked Ezio, swiftly reloading his pistol.

  ‘They’ve got him in the watchtower – by the ruined bridge! We must hurry!’

  ‘Show me where, and stay very close!’

  He followed her out of the house and along the road until they came upon the tower. They were just in time, for there was Lodovico himself, dragging the whimpering Ottaviano along by the scruff of his neck. Ezio could see that the little boy was limping – he must have twisted his ankle.

  ‘You!’ shouted Lodovico when he saw Ezio. ‘You’d better hand the girl over and go back to your mistress – tell her we’ll finish the pair of them if we don’t get what we want!’

  ‘I want my mamma,’ bawled Ottaviano. ‘Let me go you, you big thug!’

  ‘Shut up, marmocchio!’ Lodovico snarled at him. ‘Ezio! Go fetch the Apple and the Map or the kid gets it.’

  ‘I need to pee!’ wailed Ottaviano.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, chiudi il becco!’

  ‘Let him go,’ said Ezio firmly.

  ‘I’d like to see you make me! You’ll never get close enough, you fool! The minute you make a move, I’ll slit his throat as easily as winking!’

  Lodovico had dragged the little boy in front of him with both hands, but now had to free one hand in order to draw his sword. At that moment Ottaviano tried to break free, but Lodovico grasped him firmly by the wrist. Nevertheless, Ottaviano was no longer between Lodovico and Ezio. Seeing his opportunity, Ezio sprang out his pistol and fired.

  Lodovico’s enraged expression was transformed to one of disbelief. The ball had hit him in the neck – cutting the jugular. His eyes goggling, he let go of Ottaviano and sank to his knees, clutching his throat – the blood seeping through his fingers. The boy ran forward to be embraced by his sister.

  ‘Ottaviano! Stai bene!’ she said, hugging him close.

  Ezio moved forward to stand over Lodovico, but not too close. The man hadn’t fallen yet and his sword was still in his hand. Blood oozed down on to his jerkin, a trickle becoming a torrent.

  ‘I don’t know what Devil’s instrument has given you the means to get the better of me, Ezio,’ he panted. ‘But I am sorry to tell you that you will lose this game whatever you do. We Orsi are not the fools you seem to take us for. If anyone is a fool, you are – you and Caterina!’

  ‘You are the fool,’ said Ezio, his voice cold with scorn, ‘To die for a bagful of silver. Do you really think it was worth it?’

  Lodovico grimaced. ‘More than you know, friend. You’ve been outwitted. And whatever you do now, the Master will gain his prize!’ His face contorted in agony at the pain from his wound. The bloodstain had spread. ‘You’d better finish me, Ezio, if you have any mercy in you at all.’

  ‘Then die with your pride, Orsi. It means nothing.’ Ezio stepped forward and further opened the wound in Lodovico’s neck. An instant later, he was no more. Ezio stooped over him and closed his eyes. ‘Requiescat in pace,’ he said.

  But there was no time to be lost. He returned to the children, who had been watching wide-eyed. ‘Can you walk?’ he asked Ottaviano.

  ‘I’ll try, but it hurts terribly.’

  Ezio knelt and looked. The ankle wasn’t twisted, but sprained. He lifted Ottaviano on to his shoulders. ‘Courage, little Duce,’ he said. ‘I’ll get you both home safe.’

  ‘Can I have a pee first? I really do need to.’

  ‘Be quick.’

  Ezio knew it wouldn’t be an easy matter to get the children back through the village. It was impossible to disguise them, as they were gorgeously dressed, and in any case by now Bianca’s escape would surely have been discovered. He exchanged the gun on his wrist for the poison-blade, putting the wrist mechanism in his pack. Taking Bianca’s right hand in his left, he made for the woods that skirted the western side of the village. Climbing a low hill, he was able to look down on Santa Salvaza and saw Orsi troops running in the direction of the watchtower, but none seemed to have deployed in the woods. Grateful for the respite, and after what seemed an age, he arrived with the children back where he had tethered his horse, placed them on its back and got up behind them.

  Then he rode back north to Forlì. The city looked quiet. Too quiet. And where were the Orsi forces? Had they raised the siege? It didn’t seem possible. He spurred his horse on.

  ‘Take the southern bridge, Messere,’ said Bianca, in front, holding on to the saddle’s pommel. ‘It’s the most direct way home from here.’

  Ottaviano nestled against him.

  As they approached the walls of the town, he saw the southern gates open. Out came a small troop of Sforza guards, escorting Caterina and, close behind her, Machiavelli. Ezio could see at once that his fellow Assassin had been wounded. He urged his mount forwards, and when he reached the others, swiftly dismounted and passed the children into Caterina’s waiting arms.

  ‘What in the name of the Blessed Virgin is going on?’ he asked, looking from Caterina to Machiavelli and back again. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Oh, Ezio,’ said Caterina. ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry!’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The whole thing was a trick. To lower our defences!’ Caterina said despairingly. ‘Taking the children was a diversion!’

  Ezio turned his glance back to Machiavelli. ‘But the city is safe?’ he said.

  Machiavelli sighed. ‘Yes, the city is safe. The Orsi no longer have an interest in it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘After we’d driven them out, we relaxed – only momentarily, to regroup and see to our wounded. It was then that Checco counter-attacked. They must have planned the whole thing! He stormed the city. I fought him man-to-man and hard, but his soldiers came on me from behind and overwhelmed me. Ezio, now I must ask you to show courage: for Checco has taken the Apple!’

  Ezio was stunned for a long moment. Then he said slowly, ‘What? No – that cannot be.’ He looked around wildly. ‘Where has he gone?’

  ‘As soon as he had what he wanted, he beat a retreat with his men, and the army split up. We couldn’t see which group had the Apple, and we were too battle-weary to give effective chase anyway. But Checco himself led a company into the mountains to the west –’

  ‘Then all is lost?’ Ezio cried, thinking that Lodovico had been right – he had underestimated the Orsi.

  ‘We still have the Map, thank God,’ said Caterina. ‘He didn’t dare spend too much time searching for it.’

  ‘But what if, now he has the Ap
ple, he no longer needs the Map?’

  ‘The Templars cannot be allowed to triumph,’ said Machiavelli, grimly. ‘They cannot! We must go!’

  But Ezio could see that his friend had turned grey from his wounds. ‘No – you stay here. Caterina! Tend to him. I must leave now! There may yet be time!’

  23

  It took a long time for Ezio, riding by day and taking what little rest he could when changing his horse, to arrive in the Appenines, and when he did, he knew the search for Checco Orsi would take him even longer. But he also knew that if Checco had returned to his family’s seat at Nubilaria, he would be able to cut him off on the road that led from there south on the long, winding route it took to Rome. There was no guarantee that Checco wouldn’t have gone directly to the Holy See, but Ezio thought that with such a precious cargo as the Apple, his adversary would first seek safety where he was known, and from there send couriers to establish whether the Spaniard had returned to the Vatican before making contact with him there.

  Ezio therefore decided to take the Nubilaria road himself, and, entering the town in secret, set about discovering what he could about Checco’s whereabouts. But Checco’s own spies were everywhere, and it wasn’t long before Ezio learned that Checco was aware that he was closing in, and was planning to take off in a caravan of two carriages with the Apple, in order to escape from him and foil his plans.

  On the morning Checco planned to depart, Ezio was ready, keeping a close watch on the southern gates of Nubilaria, and soon the two carriages he’d been expecting rumbled out through them. Ezio mounted his horse to give chase, but at the last moment a third, lighter carriage, driven by an Orsi henchman, came fast out of a side street and deliberately blocked Ezio’s path, causing his horse to rear and throw him. With no time to waste, Ezio was obliged to abandon his steed, and, jumping up, clambered on to the Orsi carriage, felling its driver with a single blow and throwing him to the ground. He whipped up the horses and gave chase.

  It wasn’t long before he had his adversary’s vehicles in sight, but they saw him too and increased their speed. As they pelted down the treacherous mountain road, Checco’s escort-carriage, filled with Orsi soldiers who were preparing to fire their crossbows at Ezio, took a corner too fast. The horses broke their traces and raced on round the bend ahead, but the carriage, its steering-gear gone and its hafts empty, shot straight on over the edge of the road and crashed hundreds of feet into the valley below. Under his breath, Ezio thanked fate for her kindness. He urged his own horses on, worried that he would drive them too hard and cause their hearts to burst, but they were pulling less weight than the animals pulling Checco’s carriage and steadily made up the distance that separated Ezio from his quarry.

  As Ezio drew level, the Orsi coachman struck out at him with his whip, but Ezio caught it in his hand and pulled it free. Then, when the right moment came, he let go of his own reins and leapt from his carriage to the roof of Checco’s. In panic, the horses of his carriage, relieved of both the weight and the control of a driver, bolted, and careered out of sight down the road ahead of them.

  ‘Get the hell off!’ yelled Checco’s driver, alarmed. ‘What in God’s name do you think you are doing? Are you crazy?’ But without his whip, he was finding it harder to control his own team of horses. He had no leisure to fight.

  From inside the carriage, Checco himself was shouting, ‘Don’t be a fool, Ezio! You’ll never get out of this!’ Leaning half out of the window, he lunged at Ezio with his sword while the coachman frantically tried to control the horses. ‘Get off my carriage, now!’

  The driver tried deliberately swerving the carriage to throw Ezio off, but he clung on for dear life. The carriage veered dangerously and, at last, as they were passing a disused marble quarry, it ran completely out of control, crashing on to its side and throwing the driver heavily on to a pile of slabs of marble of all sizes that had been sawn out by the masons and then abandoned owing to faults that ran through the stone. The horses were pulled down in their traces, pawing the ground in frantic terror. Ezio jumped clear, landed in a crouch, and had his sword out ready for Checco, who, winded but unhurt, was clambering out, fury in his face.

  ‘Give me the Apple, Checco. It’s all over.’

  ‘Imbecile! It’ll be over when you’re dead !’ Checco swung his sword at his opponent, and immediately they were cutting and slashing at each other dangerously close to the edge of the road.

  ‘Give me the Apple, Checco, and I’ll let you go. You have no idea of the power of what you have!’

  ‘You’ll never have it. And when my Master does, he will have undreamed-of power, and Lodovico and I will be there to enjoy our share of it!’

  ‘Lodovico is dead! And do you really think your Master will let you live, once your usefulness to him is over? You already know too much!’

  ‘You killed my brother? Then this is for you, for his sake!’ Checco rushed at him.

  They closed, blades flashing, and Checco struck at Ezio again, his sword deflected by the metal arm-guard. The fact that his well-aimed blow had not struck home momentarily put Checco off his guard, but he quickly recovered and struck a blow at Ezio’s right arm, cutting deeply into his bicep and causing him to let his weapon fall.

  Checco gave a hoarse cry of triumph. He held the point of his sword at Ezio’s throat. ‘Don’t beg for mercy,’ he said, ‘for I’ll give you none.’ And he drew back his arm to drive in the fatal blow. At that instant, Ezio unleashed the double-bladed dagger from its mechanism on his left forearm and, swinging round with lightning speed, rammed it into Checco’s chest.

  Checco stood stock still for a long moment, looking down at the blood dripping on to the white roadway. He dropped his sword and fell against Ezio, clutching on to him for support. Their faces were close. Checco smiled. ‘So, you have your prize again,’ he whispered, as the life-blood pumped out faster from his chest.

  ‘Was it really worth it?’ asked Ezio. ‘So much carnage!’

  The man gave what sounded like a chuckle, or it might have been a cough, as more blood flooded his mouth: ‘Look, Ezio, you know how hard it will be for you to hold on to a thing of such value for long.’ He fought for breath. ‘I am dying today, but it will be you who dies tomorrow.’ And as the expression faded from his face and his eyes rolled upwards, his body sank to the ground at Ezio’s feet.

  ‘We shall see, my friend,’ Ezio told him. ‘Rest in peace.’

  He felt groggy. Blood was pouring from the wound in his arm, but he made himself walk to the carriage and calmed the horses, cutting them free of their traces. Then he searched the interior and quickly located the teak box. Opening it quickly to ensure that its contents were safe, he reclasped it shut again and tucked it firmly under his good arm. He glanced across the quarry, where the driver lay inert. It wasn’t necessary to verify that the man was dead, for the broken angle of the body told him everything.

  The horses had not moved far, and Ezio went over to them, wondering if he had the strength to mount one and use it at least to get him part of the way back to Forlì. He hoped he would find everything there as he had left it, for his tracing of Checco had taken far longer than he’d hoped or expected. But he had never pretended that his work would be easy, and the Apple was back in Assassin control. The time he had spent had not been in vain.

  He looked at the horses again, deciding that the lead-beast would be his best choice of the four. He went to put his hand on its mane, to pull himself up, for it was not equipped with riding tack, but as he did so he staggered.

  He had lost more blood than he’d thought. He would have to bind up his wound somehow before he did anything else. He tethered the horse to a tree, and cut a strip from Checco’s shirt to use as a bandage. Then he dragged the body out of sight. If anyone came by, they would assume, if they did not look too carefully, that Ezio and the driver had been the victims of a tragic road accident. But it was getting late, and there would be few travellers abroad at this hour.

  Howe
ver, the effort drained the last of his resources. Even I have to rest, he thought, and the thought was a sweet one. He sat down in the shade of the tree and listened to the sound of the horse as it gently grazed. He placed the teak box on the ground beside him, and took one last cautious look round, for this was the last place he should remain for long; but his eyelids were heavy, and he did not see the silent watcher concealed by a tree on the knoll which rose above the road behind him.

  When Ezio awoke, darkness had fallen, but there was just enough moonlight for him to see a figure moving silently near him.

  Ezio’s right bicep ached dully, but when he tried to raise himself with his good left arm, he found he could not move it. Someone had brought a slab of marble from the quarry and used it to pin the arm down. He struggled, using his legs to try to stand, but he could not. He looked down to where he had left the box containing the Apple.

  It was gone.

  The figure, who was dressed, Ezio saw, in the black cappa and white habit of a Dominican monk, had noticed him wake, and turned to him, adjusting the marble slab so that it held him more securely. Ezio noticed that a finger was missing from one of the monk’s hands.

  ‘Wait!’ he said. ‘Who are you? What are you doing?’

  The monk didn’t reply. Ezio could see the box as the monk stooped to pick it up again. ‘Don’t touch that! Whatever you do, don’t –’

  But the monk opened the box, and a light as bright as the sun shone forth.

  Ezio thought he heard the monk give a sigh of satisfaction, before he passed out again.

  When he woke again, it was morning. The horses were all gone, but with daylight, some of his strength had returned. He looked at the marble slab. It felt heavy, but it did move slightly when his arm moved under it. He looked around. Just within reach of his right hand he could see a stout branch that must have fallen from the tree at some point in the past but which was still green enough to be strong. Gritting his teeth, he picked it up and manoeuvred it under the slab. His right arm hurt like hell and started to bleed again as he wedged one end of the branch under the slab and heaved. A half-forgotten line from his schooldays had flashed through his mind: Give me a lever long enough, and I will lift the earth… He pushed hard. The slab started to move, but then his strength failed him and it fell back into place again. He lay back, rested, and tried again.