Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood

by Oliver Bowden

  In the chapel, Ezio and his uncle were surprised to find themselves faced with a number of priests, who had returned to complete the Mass interrupted by Ezio’s confrontation with the Pope, as he and Rodrigo had battled for control of the Pieces of Eden they had discovered.

  The priests confronted them angrily, surrounding them and clamoring:

  “Che cosa fate qui?—What are you doing here?” They yelled. “You have desecrated the sanctity of this holy place!” And: “ Assassini! God will see that you pay for your crimes!”

  As Mario and Ezio pushed their way through the angry throng, the bells of Saint Peter’s began to ring the alarm.

  “You condemn what you do not understand,” said Ezio to a priest who was trying to bar their way. The softness of the man’s body repelled him. He shoved him aside as gently as possible.

  “We must go, Ezio,” said Mario urgently.“Now!”

  “His is the voice of the Devil!” another priest’s voice rang out.

  And another: “Turn away from them!”

  Ezio and Mario pushed their way through the mob and out into the great courtyard of the church. There, they were confronted by a sea of red robes. It seemed that the entire College of Cardinals was assembled, confused, but still under the dominion of Pope Alexander VI—the Spaniard, as he was known—and also as Rodrigo Borgia, captain of the Order of the Templars.

  “For we wrestle not against flesh and blood,” the cardinals were chanting, “but against Principalities, against Powers, against the Rulers of the Darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, and the shield of Faith, wherewith you shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the Wicked.”

  “What’s the matter with them?” Ezio asked.

  “They are confused. They seek guidance,” Mario replied grimly. “Come on. We must get away before the Borgia guards take notice of our presence.” He looked back toward the Vatican. There was a glitter of armor in the sunlight.

  “Too late. Here they come. Hurry!”

  THREE

  The sea of red, the billowing vestments of the cardinals, parted as four Borgia guards pushed through in pursuit of Ezio and Mario. Panic took over the crowd as the cardinals started shouting in fear and alarm. Ezio and his uncle found themselves encircled by a human arena—the cardinals, not knowing where to turn, had inadvertently formed a barrier; perhaps their courage had been unconsciously bolstered by the arrival of the heavily armored guards, breastplates gleaming in the sunlight. The four Borgia soldiers had unsheathed their swords and stepped into the circle to face Ezio and Mario, who in turn had drawn their own blades.

  “Lay down your weapons and surrender, Assassins. You are surrounded and outnumbered!” shouted the lead soldier, stepping forward.

  Before he could utter another word, Ezio had sprung from his stance, energy returning to his weary limbs. The lead guard had no time to react, not expecting his opponent to be so bold in the face of such overwhelming odds. Ezio’s sword arm circled in a blur, the blade whistling as it sliced through the air—the guard tried in vain to raise his sword to parry, but Ezio’s movement was simply too quick. The Assassin’s sword hit its mark with unfaltering accuracy, slicing into the guard’s exposed neck—a plume of blood following its impact. The three remaining guards stood motionless—astonished at the speed of the Assassin and idiotic in the face of such a skilled foe. This delay was their death. Ezio’s blade had barely finished its first lethal arc as he raised his left hand, the mechanism of his hidden-blade clicking as the lethal spike revealed itself from his sleeve. It pierced the second guard between the eyes before he could even twitch a muscle in defense.

  Meanwhile Mario, unnoticed, had taken two steps sideways, closing the angle of attack on the two remaining guards—their attention still entirely drawn to the shocking display of violence unfolding before them. Two steps more, he closed in and heaved his sword under the breastplate of the nearest guard—the point rising up sickeningly into the man’s torso. The guard’s face contorted with confused agony. Horror shone in the eyes of the one man left and he turned as if to flee—but too late. Ezio’s blade struck his right flank as Mario’s sword sliced into his thigh. The man fell to his knees with a grunt. Mario kicked him over.

  The two Assassins looked around—the blood of the guards spread across the paved ground, soaking into the scarlet hems of the cardinals’ vestments.

  “Let’s go—before more of the Borgia’s men reach us.” They brandished their swords at the now-terrified cardinals—who quickly fled the Assassins—a path clearing that would lead them from the Vatican. They heard the sound of approaching horses, no doubt more soldiers. They pushed their way forcefully toward the southeast, running at full speed across the expanse of the plaza, away from the Vatican and in the direction of the Tiber. The horses Mario had organized for their escape were tethered just outside the purlieus of the Holy See. But they had to turn to those papal guards who had followed on horseback and were bearing down on them fast. The thundering of hooves echoed on the cobbles. Using their falchions, Ezio and Mario managed to strike away the halberds the guards were thrusting at them.

  Mario cut one guard down just as he was about to stab Ezio from behind with his spear.

  “Not bad for an old man,” Ezio cried gratefully.

  “I expect you to return the favor,” replied his uncle. “And not so much of your ‘old man’!”

  “I haven’t forgotten everything you taught me.”

  “I should hope not! Look out!” And Ezio whirled around just in time to slice the legs of a horse from under a guard who’d galloped up wielding a vicious-looking mace.

  “Buona questa!” shouted Mario. “Good one!”

  Ezio leapt sideways, avoiding two more of his pursuers, and managed to unsaddle them as they careered past, carried forward by their own momentum. Mario, heavier and older, preferred to stand his ground and cut at his enemies before leaping out of their reach. But once they had gained the edge of the broad square that faced the great cathedral church of Saint Peter, the two Assassins quickly clambered to the safety of the rooftops, scaling the crumbling house walls as nimbly as geckos, and scampered across them, leaping over the gaps where the streets between them made canyons. It wasn’t always easy, and at one point Mario nearly didn’t make it, his fingers scrabbling for the gutters as he fell just short. Panting hard, Ezio doubled back to pull him clear, succeeding just as the crossbow bolts fired by their pursuers rattled uselessly past them into the sky.

  But their going was far faster than that of the guards, who, more heavily armored and lacking the skills of the Assassins’ Brotherhood, tried in vain to keep up by running though the pathways beneath. They gradually fell back. The two men clattered to a halt on a roof overlooking a small square on the edge of Trastevere. Two large, tough-looking chestnut horses were saddled and ready outside a lowly-looking inn, its battered sign bearing the image of a sleeping fox. Watching over the horses was a walleyed hunchback with a bushy mustache.

  “Gianni!” hissed Mario.

  The man looked up and immediately undid the reins by which the horses were tethered to a huge iron ring set into the wall of the inn. Mario instantly leapt down from the rooftop, landing in a crouch, and from there sprang into the saddle of the nearer, and larger, of the two horses. It whinnied and trod the earth in nervous anticipation.

  “Shh, Campione,” said Mario to the animal, and then, looking up to where Ezio still stood on the parapet, he yelled: “Come on! What are you waiting for?”

  “Just a minute,Zio,” said Ezio, turning to face two Borgia guards who had managed after all to struggle up to the roof and were now facing him with—to his astonishment—cocked pistols of a type that was new to him. Where the hell had they got those from? But this was no time for questions. He whirled through the air at them, unleashing his hidden-blade and slicing each neatly through the jugular before they could even fire.

  “Impressive
,” said Mario, reining in his impatient horse. “Now, get a move on!Cosa diavolo aspetti?”

  Ezio threw himself off the roof to land close by the second horse, held firmly by the hunchback, and rebounded off the ground to spring into the animal’s saddle. It reared excitedly under his weight but he immediately had it under control and wheeled it around to follow his uncle as he rode fast toward the Tiber. At the same time Gianni disappeared into the inn, and a detachment of Borgia cavalry tore around the corner, into the square. Digging his heels into the horse’s flanks, Ezio sped after his uncle as they made their way at breakneck speed through the broken-down streets of Rome toward the dirty, sluggish river. At their backs they could hear the shouts of the mounted Borgia guards—cursing their prey as Mario and Ezio galloped through the maze of ancient streets, slowly pulling farther away.

  Having reached Tiber Island they crossed the river by a rickety bridge that trembled beneath their horses’ hooves, and then they doubled back, turning north to ride up the main street leading out of the squalid little town that had once been the capital of the civilized world. They did not stop until they were in the depths of the countryside and had assured themselves that they were out of the reach of their pursuers.

  Near the settlement of Sette Bagni, in the shade of a massive elm tree by the side of the dusty road that ran alongside the river, they reined their horses in and took time to draw breath.

  “That was too close, Uncle.”

  The older man shrugged and smiled, a little painfully. From a saddlebag Mario produced a leather flagon of rough red wine and proffered it to his nephew.

  “Here,” he said, slowly catching his breath. “Good for you.”

  Ezio drank, then grimaced. “Where did you get this?”

  “It’s the best they can do at the Sleeping Fox,” said Mario, grinning broadly. “But once we get to Monteriggioni you’ll fare better.”

  Ezio, grinning, too, passed the flask back to his uncle. But then his features became troubled.

  “What is it?” asked Mario, in gentler tones.

  Slowly Ezio produced the Apple from the pouch in which he’d stowed it. “This. What am I to do with it?”

  Mario looked grave. “It is a heavy responsibility. But it is one you must shoulder alone.”

  “How can I?”

  “What does you heart tell you?”

  “My heart tells me to be rid of it. But my brain…”

  “It was vouchsafed you…by whatever Powers you encountered in the Vault,” said Mario solemnly. “They would not have given it back to mortals if there was not a purpose devised for it.”

  “It is too dangerous. If it fell into the wrong hands again…” Ezio looked ominously at the slothful river flowing nearby. Mario watched him expectantly.

  Ezio hefted the Apple in his gloved right hand. But still he hesitated. He knew, he couldn’t throw such a great treasure away, and his uncle’s words had swayed him. Surely Minerva would not have allowed him to take back the Apple without reason.

  “The decision must be yours alone,” said Mario. “But if you feel unhappy at having custody of it now, give it tome for safekeeping. You can take it back later, when your mind is calmer.”

  Ezio hesitated still, but then they both heard, in the distance, the sound of thundering hooves and the baying of hounds.

  “Those bastards don’t give up easily,” said Mario through gritted teeth. “Come, give it to me.”

  Ezio sighed but replaced the Apple in its leather pouch and swung it over to Mario, who quickly stowed it in his saddlebag.

  “And now,” said Mario, “we must jump these nags into the river and swim them across. That’ll put the damned dogs off our scent, and even if they’re bright enough to ford the Tiber themselves, we’ll be able to lose them in the woods over there. Come on. I want to be in Monteriggioni by this time tomorrow.”

  “How hard do you expect to ride?”

  Mario dug his heels into his mount’s flanks. The beast reared, foam at the corners of its mouth.

  “Very hard,” he said. “Because from now on we don’t simply have Rodrigo to contend with. His son and his daughter are with him—Cesare and Lucrezia.”

  “And they are…?”

  “The most dangerous people you are ever likely to meet.”

  FOUR

  It was the afternoon of the following day when the little walled town of Monteriggioni, dominated by Mario’srocca, appeared on its hill on the horizon. They had made better time than they’d expected and had now eased their pace to spare the horses.

  “…and then Minerva told me about the sun,” Ezio was saying. “She told of a disaster that happened long ago, and foretold of another which is to come…”

  “But not for some time in the future,vero?” said Mario. “Then we need not fret about it.”

  “Sì,” Ezio replied. “I wonder how much more work we have to do.” He paused reflectively. “Perhaps it will soon be finished.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  Ezio was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of an explosion—cannon fire, from the direction of the town. He drew his sword, rising in his saddle to scan the ramparts.

  “Don’t worry,” said Mario, laughing heartily. “It’s only exercises. We’ve upgraded the arsenal here and installed new cannon all along the battlements. We have training sessions daily.”

  “As long as they aren’t aiming at us.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Mario again. “It’s true that the men still need to get their eye in, but they have enough sense not to fire at the boss!”

  A short while later they were riding through the open principal gate of the town and up the broad main thoroughfare, which led to the citadel. As they did so, crowds gathered to line the street, looking at Ezio with a mixture of respect, admiration, and affection.

  “Welcome back, Ezio!” one woman called.

  “Grazie, Madonna.” Ezio smiled back, inclining his head slightly.

  “Three cheers for Ezio!” a child’s voice rang out.

  “Buon giorno, fratellino,” Ezio said to him. Turning to Mario, he added, “It’s good to be home.”

  “I think they’re more pleased to see you than to see me,” said Mario, but he was smiling as he spoke, and in fact much of the cheering, especially from the older townsmen, was for him.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing the old family seat again,” said Ezio. “It’s been a while.”

  “It has indeed, and there are a couple of people there who’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Who?”

  “Can’t you guess? You can’t be that preoccupied with your duties to the Brotherhood.”

  “Of course—you mean my mother and my sister! How are they?”

  “Well. Your sister was very unhappy when her husband died, but time heals most things, and I think she’s much better now. In fact, there she is.”

  They had ridden into the courtyard of Mario’s fortified residence now, and as they dismounted, Ezio’s sister, Claudia, appeared at the top of the marble staircase that led up to the main entrance, flew down it, and ran into her brother’s arms.

  “Brother!” she cried, hugging him. “Your return home is the best birthday present I could have wished for!”

  “Claudia, my dearest,” said Ezio, holding her close. “It is good to be back. How is our mother?”

  “Well, thanks be to God. She’s dying to see you—we’ve been on tenterhooks ever since the news reached us that you were returning. And your fame goes before you!”

  “Let’s go in,” said Mario.

  “There’s someone else who’ll be glad to see you,” continued Claudia, taking his arm and escorting him up the staircase. “The Countess of Forlì.”

  “Caterina? Here?” Ezio tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  “We did not know when exactly you would arrive. She and Mother are with the abbess, but they will be here by sunset.”

  “Business first,�
�� said Mario, knowingly. “I am calling a meeting of the Council of the Brotherhood here tonight. Machiavelli, I know, is especially keen to talk to you.”

  “Is it finished, then?” asked Claudia intently. “Is the Spaniard truly dead?”

  Ezio’s grey eyes hardened. “I will explain everything at the meeting this evening,” he told her.

  “Very well,” replied Claudia, but her own eyes were troubled as she took her leave.

  “And please give my greetings to the countess when she returns,” Ezio called after her. “I will see her, and Mother, this evening. First I have business to attend to with Mario that will not wait.”

  Once they were alone, Mario’s tone became serious. “You must prepare well for tonight, Ezio. Machiavelli will be here by sunset and I know he has many questions for you. We will discuss matters now, and then I advise you to take some time off—it won’t hurt you to get to know the town again a little.”

  After a session of deep conversation with Mario in his study, Ezio made his way back into Monteriggioni. The question of the Pope’s survival hung heavily over him, and he sought distraction from it. Mario had suggested he visit his tailor to order some new clothes to replace his travel-stained ones, and first he made his way to the man’s shop, where he found him sitting cross-legged on his workbench, sewing a brocade cloak of a rich emerald green.

  Ezio liked the tailor, a good-natured fellow a little older than Ezio was himself. The tailor greeted him warmly.

  “To what do I owe the honor?” he asked.

  “I think I’m due some new clothes,” said Ezio a little ruefully. “Tell me what you think. Be honest!”

  “Even if it were not my job to sell you clothes,signore, I would have to advise you that a new suit would be the making of you.”

  “I thought as much! Very well!”

  “I’ll measure you now. Then you can pick out the colors you’d like.”

  Ezio submitted himself to the tailor’s ministrations and chose a discreet dark grey velvet for the doublet, with matching hose in wool.