Assassin's Tale

by Turney, S. J. A.

  The track soon joined a more major road which connected the city to the great Appian Way that ran south from Rome into the Kingdom of Napoli. Still they saw no other sign of life, barring the odd rural hut that had a narrow stream of black smoke issuing from a chimney to ward off the bone chilling cold of an Italian January. Trying to keep to a military step, the six men tramped down the road to the shallow defile that ran below the looming bulk of the city.

  Skiouros tipped his head back so that he could see the walls, the wide brim of his kettle hat cutting off his upper peripheral vision. He wished he hadn’t. Not only did the walls look daunting and impenetrable from this low angle, but it so happened that the heavy black clouds chose that moment to issue a white flash somewhere in the distance that lit the defences for a split-second in all their martial glory. A deep brontide rumble followed somewhere off to the north perhaps three quarters of a minute later. Skiouros made a quick mental calculation that put the storm around ten miles north. More or less over the prison of Cem Sultan at Marino, in fact.

  ‘That had better be going the other way,’ Parmenio grunted. ‘If I’m going to die horribly tonight I’d at least like to do it in the dry.’

  Nicolo shook his head. ‘I heard it faintly before and I reckon it’s hardly moving at all. I’d wager we’ll be heading back into it at the end of all this.’

  ‘Be quiet, the pair of you,’ hissed Orsini as they began the ascent to the gate.

  ‘That’s close enough,’ came a voice from the wall top, and the party of men stumped to a halt, Helwyg scratching his neck casually with his free hand.

  ‘State your business,’ the watch officer called.

  ‘Unless you’re blind,’ Orsini snapped, ‘you can see exactly what our business is. Now let us inside before it starts to throw it down.’

  There was a brief exchange above the gate, including a little childish sniggering.

  ‘You’re back early,’ a second voice called. ‘Frightened of a little water are we?’

  ‘Open the damn gate.’

  ‘Give the password.’

  ‘Octavianus,’ Orsini shouted up and Skiouros held his breath, aware that they had only the word of the cardinal’s turncoat friend that the password would be accepted.

  ‘Did you say Octopus?’

  ‘You know damn well what I said. Now let me in so I can report to my commander. There’s a party of French scouts huddled in a farmhouse a mile away. I think he’ll want to know about that, don’t you?’

  There was a brief, muted debate once more, then finally a deep clunk and some scraping, followed by a click, and the small man-sized door set into one leaf of the main gate swung inwards. Orsini gestured to the others and they moved forward, stepping across the threshold and into the city of Velletri with the feigned confidence of long-time residents. Skiouros held his breath once more as Orsini turned to his left and headed for a street that would lead towards the walled compound to the north where they understood the French to be quartered, carefully restricted to one area by the city authorities.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ the guard at the gate barked suspiciously.

  Skiouros felt his heart skip a beat. Such a simple mistake. They had no idea where they would be expected to report, and Orsini had turned towards their true destination. The guard was pointing down the street from the gate, presumably in their expected direction of travel.

  Orsini yanked his iron hat from his brow and spun to the guard with an angry look on his face.

  ‘I have been on patrol for hours carrying this damned pike and sweating my bollocks off. If it’s alright with you, I’m just going to dip my face in the fountain to cool down. Happy, pisspot?’

  The guard looked at Orsini, whose finger was now wagging at a large stone trough with a trickle of water pouring into it at the corner of the street. With a sheepish grin, the guard held up his hand. ‘Just stand out here for another half hour and you’ll get all the fresh water you could want, I’m thinking.’

  ‘I’ll be inside eating lamb stew by then,’ Orsini snapped, crossed to the trough and propping his pike against the wall behind before leaning forward, plunging his head in and then straightening, sending a spray of cold droplets up into the air in a rainbow, shimmering in the light of the torches.

  ‘Right. Now, I’ll head off and report in,’ he snapped again prissily at the guard, who stepped back and returned to his companion who had closed the door behind them all.

  The six friends traipsed off along the main street towards the heart of Velletri, not even trying now to keep to a military step, Orsini flashing one last irritated glance at the guards. The city streets were all-but deserted, and Skiouros started twice as they moved towards the centre, the first time at a flash and following peal of thunder - which together confirmed that the storm had barely moved - and the second time as the bells of the city began to clang, announcing midnight.

  Passing one of the rare locals out at this time of night who wore the furtive guilty look of the secret lover or the addicted drinker, they made their way around the street’s gentle curve and as they lost sight of the gate and its men, Skiouros exhaled deeply. ’I thought we were in the shit, then. Quick thinking, Cesare.’

  Orsini flashed him a surprised frown. ‘I was not aware I had made an error, Skiouros?’

  ‘You were going for the fountain?’

  ‘Of course. A mile in this kit is warm work.’

  Skiouros shook his head in humorous wonder at his friend as Orsini led them into a side street with the carefree ease of a man who clearly knew his course. Two or three more turns, and Skiouros had lost track of their route, coming to rely entirely on their leader’s innate sense of direction. Thankfully, Orsini seemed to be confident and as they neared the end of an alley that narrowed as it progressed he held up his hand to halt them.

  ‘This is far enough for the men of the podesta,’ he smiled as he lay his unwieldy pike in the gutter as quietly as he could, placed his helmet with it, and then started to remove his tunic, returning to his usual nondescript-if-high-quality hose and doublet. Taking their cue from him, the other five men discarded their pikes - Helwyg with some regret - and their helmets. ‘We leave the gear here and pick it up once we have the cardinal. I wish we had a spare for him.’ As the others removed their tunics and Skiouros struggled, eventually giving in and using his knife to slit two seams for easy removal, Orsini leaned close to the alley’s entrance. Opposite them stood a large building, heavily constructed in local stone. Its civic nature was clear from the coat of arms above the door, which was reached by three wide, balustraded steps. Clearly the place had a number of outbuildings and the whole complex was connected and encircled by a high precinct wall just as their contact, Francesco del Sacco of the Velletri guard, had described. Skiouros, as he joined his friends, wondered just how packed the place was with men, given the number of French soldiers that must be quartered somewhere within.

  ‘What now?’ he whispered.

  ‘We look for a way in. Capitano Francesco said the cardinal would be in one of the outbuildings. They would want him kept in isolation, he thinks, and that would put him somewhere at the other side. I am very much hoping our local contact was right, since infiltrating the main house would be troublesome, given its level of garrisoning.’

  ‘Troublesome is right,’ Nicolo breathed. ‘Suicidal is another good word. So we need a way into the compound, without using the house’s front door.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then look around the side there,’ he said, pointing.

  Orsini frowned a question at him.

  ‘Horse dung in the street,’ Nicolo replied, gesturing. ‘Mostly concentrated at that end. That means there must be a stable block nearby. And no one wants horses clomping up stairs and through their entrance hall, so there must be a gate round there.’

  ‘Quick thinking,’ Orsini smiled. ‘And good eyes, too.’

  ‘Can’t see anyone watching,’ Skiouros noted, his eyes rakin
g the façade of the house and the top of the boundary wall.

  ‘It’s not designed for defence,’ Orsini agreed. There’ll be eyes at the windows close to the front door. Whether or not they’ve put someone on duty at the stable remains to be seen. I’d suggest going over the wall but for the uncertainty of what might be waiting on the other side. The stables it is, then. Come on.’

  Without further pause, Orsini sauntered out into the main street as though he had every right to be there, crossing the wider thoroughfare and picking his way between the mounds of dung, making his way towards the alley opposite, which ran alongside the precinct wall. The others hurried along behind, trying not to look too suspicious just in case, and failing dismally.

  In the event, there was no sign of trouble or interest, and the party of six reached the shade of the far alley easily, where Orsini gestured towards Nicolo’s stable door with a grin. The access consisted of a large heavy double gate in a single archway, with a smaller door inset in a similar fashion to the city gate through which they had entered earlier.

  ‘Any thoughts from here?’ Parmenio shrugged as they halted before the large wooden portal in the darkness, eyes picking out tiny flickers of golden light around the edge, confirming that the interior was well lit.

  ‘All this time,’ Orsini smiled, ‘and you still think me unprepared?’ As he stepped back, Girolamo moved towards the door, drawing an arcane instrument from his purse, selecting a straight implement with a shaped end and peering closely at the join between door leaves. Skiouros smiled. He would have gone with a different tool, himself, but each to their own.

  ‘Oh how quaint,’ the crossbowman said with dripping contempt. ‘A single locking bar.’ As he put away his implement, he drew a solid, inflexible hunting knife and slid it with professional ease into the crack between the gates before jerking it upwards and dislodging the bar. Careful not to lift it so far that it fell noisily away, he held it up as he eased the door open and then caught the bar with his free hand, lowering it again inside. The gate swung wide, revealing a large stable with stalls for more than a dozen horses - four of which appeared to be occupied - a couple of subdivided storage areas and a mezzanine hayloft reached by a ladder.

  In the blink of an eye, Girolamo was inside, Orsini immediately behind him. With the practiced ease of men who had served together in a dozen campaigns now, the six men spread out into the stables, which seemed to be miraculously unoccupied, barring the steeds. Within a minute they had checked each stall and the separate rooms and moved towards the centre, gathering to discuss their next move.

  ‘There are guards in the yard,’ Girolamo announced quietly. ‘I saw them through the window over there. I counted six in sight: two by the main house’s rear door and a pair by each of two outbuildings.’

  ‘Shame. That gives us two possible locations for the cardinal.’

  ‘Shhhh!’ Parmenio hissed and held a hand cupped to his ear. The others listened carefully and quickly picked out heavy footsteps in the yard, approaching fast. Helwyg gestured for them to scatter with a stretch of his fingers and without pause to question, the other five disappeared into whatever hiding places they could find as the Silesian giant stepped beind the door that led into the yard.

  Moments later, there was a click as the latch went up and the door swung inwards. A groom in shabby working leathers and a tabard bearing the insignia of Velletri over the top stepped inside and turned to close the door behind him. As the big wooden portal closed with a click, he turned back again, his eyes widening in panic, his cry of shock stifled as a great, pale, hairy hand closed on his mouth.

  The rest moved in from their hiding places and Helwyg lifted the groom from the ground with ease, carrying him, still gagged and held tight, across to one of the stalls, where he lowered him to the straw.

  ‘In a moment,’ Orsini smiled reassuringly, ‘my large friend here is going to remove his hand. If you make a single sound, he will then hit you hard enough to flatten your head to a disc. If you doubt my words, just look at him and make your own mind up.’

  As Orsini paused for a second, Helwyg allowed the groom to turn his head enough to look upon the giant that held him. The man’s eyes rolled in panic, but he nodded emphatically.

  ‘Good. I have a question for you and if you answer it without giving us any trouble, you will live through this night with little more than a slight headache. Are you happy to cooperate?’

  Again the man nodded wildly.

  ‘Let him go.’

  As Helwyg released the groom, he lifted his huge, meaty paw in a threatening manner ready to bring it down hard and knock the brains from the man.

  ‘We need to know which outbuilding holds Cardinal Cesare Borgia, the Papal legate, and who else might be inside the building in addition to those guarding the door. Now speak.’

  The groom tried to answer, but his voice came out as a nervous croak. Swallowing, he tried again. ‘The second building from this side, next to the pine tree, master. There are two guards on the door, but no one else inside. His Eminence has irritated the French marshal, and in response they have given him solitary confinement. His entourage are kept in the Gilded Goose on the other side of the city, far away from him. Ground floor is unoccupied and used for storage, but upstairs was the head groom’s quarters.’

  ‘Good man,’ Orsini smiled.

  ‘What do we do about the entourage?’ Nicolo asked quietly.

  ‘Nothing. Our orders were clear: the Cardinal is our goal. His lackeys will have to survive on their own wits, I’m afraid. We have to hope that the French will not wish to start a war now that they’ve got what they really want, and will not execute them all. With the Kingdom of Napoli awaiting Charles, causing a war with Rome to their rear could be disastrous even for an army this size, so he will likely be restrained, even when furious.’

  Skiouros nodded. Leaving the other Italians to their fate seemed harsh, but there would be simply no way for the six of them to free Borgia and his entire retinue. Getting back through the gate would be dangerous enough with just one extra body.

  ‘I’m getting a strange feeling that we’ve done all this before, you know?’ he muttered. Last time it was a kitchen wench. This time: a groom. We seem to be bending a lot of effort to breaking into places that have nothing to do with Cem.’

  ‘Look on it as practice,’ Orsini said quietly, and then to the marksman: ‘Girolamo? Go to the window again. Check out that building and report back.’

  As the crossbowman nodded and scurried off, Parmenio gave a low chuckle. ‘Something amusing - and potentially useful - occurs to me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Does this groom remind you of anyone?’ Parmenio grinned.

  The rest of them peered closely at the nervous man and smiles slowly broke out among them. ‘He could almost be the cardinal in a poor light,’ Nicolo whistled.

  ‘Yes. And grooms get everywhere without being looked at twice. They tend horses and walk them, gather supplies and often even run errands. I could not possibly think of a better disguise for the cardinal in these streets. Helwyg? Lay him out.’

  The look of fresh panic that raced into the groom’s eyes was instantly replaced by a vacant one as the pupils rolled up into his skull in response to the heavy blow the giant delivered to his temple. As the unconscious man slumped to the straw, Nicolo and Parmenio began to strip him of his gear and then bind him with a set of reins from the stall’s side, gagging him for good measure, but checking his nose to make sure he still breathed well.

  By the time they had finished, Girolamo had returned and settled into a squat beside them. ‘The building has two floors, but the upper one is low, built into the roof with dormer windows. The lower one is clearly some sort of store, just as the groom said. There are no windows I can see there, but a few small slits for ventilation. It stands some ten or twelve feet from the perimeter wall, which is almost of a height with the windows. There’s no obvious way in apart from the guarded door, but a nimble
man could get across from the wall.’

  ‘There are few more nimble than our Greek friend,’ Orsini smiled, and Skiouros let out a resigned sigh.

  ‘Is there no better way?’

  ‘Essentially: no,’ Girolamo murmured. ‘If we leave this building through the main door, we will be in view of the guards, and this whole night will be over very quickly. If one or two of us move along the wall-top from the stables, we will be out of open view unless the guards happen to look in the right direction at the right time. A rope from there could be secured to the upper floor window, and then we can cross, enter, prepare the cardinal and then bring him out the same way, back into the stables, where we dress him.’

  Orsini shook his head. ‘Despite the potential difficulties, I think we had best all go along the wall. Once we’ve got His Eminence, we can then drop straight over the wall and melt back into the city without coming back through the stables at all. We’ll take the groom’s clothes with us and get him ready before we leave.’

  Two minutes later the six men were moving through the stables and climbing into the small hayloft that would grant them access to the wall. Skiouros was not surprised when the rest held back and waited for him to move out first, and he examined the wall as it marched away from the low gap beneath the tiled roof. It would be a gymnastic move to get from here onto the wall without falling into the yard. He very much doubted Parmenio and Nicolo would make it, let alone Helwyg, but they were urging him on. The ‘window’ of the hayloft that opened close to the wall was protected by a heavy wooden shutter hinged at the top and when he pushed it, with a heart-stopping creak, it only went up to just less than horizontal before a hinged wooden strut went taut at the side and held it open. Taking a deep breath, he yanked the strut from the window frame with a crack that he was sure must have been audible as far as Rome. Amazingly, the guards at the yard doors never looked up as he swung the shutter high and climbed up onto the narrow wooden sill, poised like an acrobat.

  ‘Shit,’ he whispered with feeling, and then tensed.