Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood

by Oliver Bowden

  The unfortunate senator answered Claudia’s description perfectly.

  “No more arguing,” the guards’ sergeant was saying.

  “Your payment’s fallen due,” added his corporal. “A debt’s a debt.”

  Egidio had dropped any pretense of dignity. He was pleading. “Make an exception for an old man!” he quavered. “I beg of you!”

  “No,” snarled the sergeant, nodding to two of his men, who seized Egidio and threw him to the ground. “The Banker has sent us to collect—and you know what that means!”

  “Look—give me until tomorrow—this evening!—I’ll have the money ready then!”

  “Not good enough,” responded the sergeant, kicking the senator hard in the stomach. He stepped back and the corporal and the two other guards set about belaboring the prostrate old man.

  “That won’t get you your money,” said Ezio, stepping forward.

  “Who are you? Friend of his?”

  “I’m a concerned bystander.”

  “Well, you can take your concern and fuck off with it! And mind your own fucking business!”

  The sergeant, as Ezio had hoped, had stepped too close. With practiced ease he slipped the catch on his hidden-blade and, raising his arm, swept it across the guard’s exposed throat just above the gorget he was wearing. The other guards watched, rooted to the spot in astonishment as their leader fell to his knees, his hands futilely scrabbling at the wound to stanch the fountaining blood. Before they could react, Ezio was upon them, and, a matter of seconds later, the three of them had joined their sergeant on the Other Side, all with their throats slit. Ezio’s mission left no time for swordplay—only swift, efficient killing.

  The piazza had emptied as if by magic. Ezio helped the senator to his feet. There was blood on the man’s clothes and he looked—and indeed was—in a state of shock. But it was shock mingled with relief.

  “We’d better get out of here,” Ezio said to him.

  “I know a place. Follow me,” Egidio replied, and he set off with remarkable speed for an alleyway between two of the larger government buildings. They hastened down it and turned left, then down some stairs into a basement area and to a door. This the senator quickly unlocked, and he ushered Ezio into a small, dark, but comfortable-looking apartment.

  “My bolt-hole,” said Egidio. “Useful when you have as many creditors as I have.”

  “But one big one.”

  “My mistake was to consolidate all my debts with the Banker. I wasn’t fully aware of his exact connections at the time. I should have stuck to Chigi. At least he’s honest—as far as a banker can be!” Egidio paused. “But what of you? A Good Samaritan in Rome? I thought they were a dying breed.”

  Ezio let that go. “You are Egidio Troche,il s enatore?”

  Egidio looked startled. “Don’t tell me I owe you money as well!”

  “No—but you can help me. I am looking for Cesare’s banker.”

  The senator smiled thinly. “CesareBorgia’s banker? Ha! And you are…?”

  “Let’s just say I’m a friend of the family.”

  “Cesare has a lot of friends these days. Unfortunately, I am not one of them. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have some packing to do.”

  “I can pay.”

  Egidio stopped looking nervous. “Ah! You canpay? Ma che merviglia! He fights off guards for one, and he offers one money! Tell me, where have you been all my life?”

  “Well, I haven’t descended from heaven. You help me, and I’ll help you. It’s as simple as that.”

  Egidio considered this. “We’ll go to my brother’s place. They’ve got no quarrel with him, and we can’t stay here—it’s too depressing, and it’s far too close to my—dare I say, our?—enemies.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  “But you’ll have to protect me. There’ll be more of Cesare’s guards out after me, and they won’t be especially friendly, if you know what I mean—especially after that little show you put on in the piazza.”

  “Come on.”

  Egidio led the way out, cautiously, making sure the coast was clear before they set off by a labyrinthine route through back alleys and seedy lanes, across littlepiazze, and skirting the edges of markets. Twice they encountered pairs of guards, and twice Ezio had to fight them off—this time using his sword to full effect. It seemed that the city was on full alert for both men—and both men in flight together proved too good a bounty for the Borgia henchmen. Time was not on Ezio’s side—so when the next pair of guards appeared at the other side of one small piazza, they simply had to run for it, and Ezio, unable to take to the rooftops with the senator in tow, simply had to depend on Egidio’s apparently exhaustive knowledge of Rome’s backstreets. But at last they reached the rear of a new, quietly splendid villa, set in its own walled courtyard, a few blocks east of Saint Peter’s. Egidio let them into the courtyard through a small ironbound gate set into one of the walls, for which he produced a key.

  Once inside, they both breathed more easily.

  “Someone really wants you dead,” said Ezio.

  “Not yet—they want me to pay them first.”

  “Why? Once they’ve got their money—? And by the sound of things you’re something of a milch-cow to them.”

  “It isn’t that simple. The fact is, I’ve been a fool. I’m no friend of the Borgia, even if I have borrowed money from them, and recently a bit of information came my way that gave me an opportunity of doing them down—if only a little.”

  “And that was…?”

  “A few months ago, my brother Francesco, who’s Cesare’s chamberlain—I know, I know, don’t get me started—Francesco told me a good deal about Cesare’s plans for the Romagna. What he plans to do there, I mean. And that is, to create a mini-kingdom from which he intends to conquer the rest of the country and bring it to heel. As the Romagna is on the doorstep of the Venetian territories, Venice is already unhappy about Cesare’s inroads there.”

  “So what did you do?”

  Egidio spread his hands. “I wrote to the Venetian ambassador, giving him all the information I’d got from Francesco. Warning him. But one of my letters must have been intercepted.”

  “But won’t that implicate your brother?”

  “He’s managed to keep himself in the clear so far.”

  “But what possessed you to do such a thing?”

  “I had to do something. The Senate has nothing to do, really, these days, except put its imprimatur on all the Borgia’s decrees. If it didn’t, it would cease to exist altogether. As it is, there’s nothing to do—nothing independent. Do you know what it’s like not to haveun cazzo to do?” Egidio shook his head. “It changes a man. I admit that even I have taken to gambling, to drinking…”

  “And whoring.”

  The senator looked at him. “Oh, you’re good. You’re very good. What was it that gave me away? The scent of perfume on my sleeve?”

  Ezio smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Hmm. Well, anyway, as I was saying, senators used to do what senators are supposed to do—petitioning about real issues, like—oh, I don’t know, where to start?—like unlawful cruelty, abandoned children, street crime, lending rates, keeping some kind of rein on Chigi and the other bankers. Now the only legislation we are allowed to draw up independently concerns stuff like the appropriate width of the sleeves of women’s dresses.”

  “But not you. You try to raise money for false causes in order to use it to pay off your gambling debts.”

  “They’re not false causes, my boy. As soon as we have a proper government again, and as soon as I’m on an even keel financially again, I intend to pursue them vigorously.”

  “And when do you think that will be?”

  “We must be patient. Tyranny is unbearable, but it never lasts. It’s too brittle.”

  “I wish I could believe that.”

  “Of course you’ve got to stand up to it. Whatever happens. You obviously do.” He paused. “I’m probably—what?—
ten or fifteen years older than you. I must make the most of my time. Or have you never looked at a grave and thought, ‘This is the most significant thing I will ever do—die’?”

  Ezio was silent.

  “No,” continued Egidio. “I guess not.” He turned in on himself. “Maledetto letters! I should never have sent them to the ambassador. Now Cesare will kill me as soon as he gets a chance, debt or no debt, unless by some miracle he decides to vent his anger on someone else. God knows, he’s capricious enough.”

  “Someone else? Like your brother?”

  “I’d never forgive myself.”

  “Why not? You’re a politician.”

  “We’re not all bad.”

  “Where is your brother?”

  “I’ve no idea. Not here, thank God. We haven’t talked since he found out about the letters, and I’m enough of a liability for him. If he saw you—”

  “Can we get down to business?” said Ezio.

  “Of course. One good turn, and so on…Now, what was it you wanted again?”

  “I want to know where Cesare’s banker is. Where he works. Where he lives. And most of all, who he is.”

  Egidio was suddenly all briskness. “Right! I need to arrive with the money.” He spread his hands again. “Problem is, I have none.”

  “I told you I’d get it for you. Just tell me how much. And where you are meeting this Banker.”

  “I never know until I’m actually there. I usually go to one of three prearranged points. His associates meet me and take me to him.

  “I owe ten thousand ducats.”

  “No problem.”

  “Sul serio?” Egidio almost beamed. “You have to stop this! You might actually give me hope!”

  “Stay here. I’ll return with the money at sunset.”

  Early in the evening, Ezio returned to an increasingly incredulous Egidio. He placed two heavy leather bags in the senator’s hands.

  “You came back! You actually came back!”

  “You waited.”

  “I am a desperate man. I cannot believe you would just…do this.”

  “There is a condition.”

  “I knew it!”

  “Listen,” Ezio said. “If you survive, and I hope you will, I want you to keep an eye on what’s going on politically in this city. And I want you to report everything you find to…” He hesitated, then said, “To Madonna Claudia, at the bordello they call the Rosa in Fiore. Especially anything you can pick up on the Borgia.” Ezio smiled inwardly. “Do you know the place?”

  Egidio coughed. “I…I have a friend who sometimes frequents it.”

  “Good.”

  “What’ll you do with this information? Make the Borgia disappear?”

  Ezio grinned. “I’m just…recruiting you.”

  The senator looked at the bags of money. “I hate to give this to them.” He fell into a thoughtful silence, then said, “My brother has watched my back because we’re family. I hate thepezzo di merda, but he is still my brother.”

  “He works for Cesare.”

  Egidio pulled himself together. “Va bene. They sent me word of the meeting place this afternoon while you were gone. The timing’s perfect. They’re impatient for their money, so the meeting’s for tonight. I sweated blood, you know, when I told their messenger that I’d be sure to have their money ready for them.” He paused again. “We should go soon. What will you do? Follow me?”

  “It wouldn’t look good if you didn’t seem to be alone.”

  Egidio nodded. “Good. Just time for a glass of wine before we set off. Join me?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I certainly need one.”

  THIRTY-ONE

  Ezio followed the senator through another maze of streets, though these, leading closer to the Tiber, were also more familiar to him, and he passed monuments, squares, and fountains familiar to him, as well as building works—for the Borgia spent lavishly onpalazzi and theaters and even galleries in quest of their own self-aggrandizement. At last Egidio halted in an attractive square formed by large private houses on two sides and a row of expensive shops on a third. On the fourth was a well-tended little park that sloped down toward the river. This was Egidio’s destination. He selected a stone bench and took up a position by it in the gathering gloom, looking left and right, but apparently unruffled. Ezio admired his poise—and it was also useful. Any sign of nervousness might have put the Banker’s minions on their guard.

  Ezio took up a position by a cedar tree and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Minutes after Egidio’s arrival, a tall man dressed in a livery he did not recognize came up to him. A badge on his shoulder showed, on one half of the crest, a red bull in a golden field, and on the other, broad black and gold horizontal stripes. Ezio was none the wiser for this.

  “Good evening, Egidio,” the newcomer said. “It seems that you are ready to die like a gentleman!”

  “That’s hardly friendly of you,Capitano,” replied Egidio. “Seeing that I have the money.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, that makes all the difference. The Banker will be most pleased. You came alone, I trust?”

  “Do you see anyone else here?”

  “Just follow me,furbacchione.”

  They moved off, retracing their steps eastward, and crossed the Tiber. Ezio followed them at a discreet distance, but staying within earshot.

  “Is there any news of my brother,Capitano?” asked Egidio as they walked.

  “I can only tell you that Duke Cesare wishes very much to interview him. As soon as he returns from the Romagna, that is.”

  “He’s all right, I hope.”

  “If he has nothing to hide, he has nothing to fear.”

  They continued in silence, and at the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, turned north, in the direction of the Pantheon.

  “What’ll happen to my money?” said Egidio. Ezio realized that he was pumping the captain for Ezio’s benefit. Clever man.

  “Your money?” The captain snickered. “I hope all the interest’s there.”

  “It is.”

  “It had better be.”

  “Well?”

  “The Banker likes to be generous to his friends. He treats them well. He can afford to.”

  “Treat you well, does he?”

  “I like to think so.”

  “How generous he is,” observed Egidio, with such heavy sarcasm that even the captain caught it.

  “What did you say?” he asked threateningly, breaking his stride.

  “Oh—nothing.”

  “Come on—we’re there.”

  The great bulk of the Pantheon rose out of the gloom in its cramped piazza. The tall Corinthian portico of the fifteen-hundred-year-old building, constructed as a temple to all the Roman gods but long since consecrated as a church, towered above them. In its shadow three men were waiting. Two were dressed similarly to the captain. The third was in civilian dress, a tall but dry and withered-looking man, whose fine robes sat ill on him. They greeted the captain, and the civilian nodded coldly at Egidio.

  “Luigi! Luigi Torcelli!” said Egidio loudly, for Ezio’s benefit. “It’s good to see you again. Still the Banker’s agent, I see. Thought you’d have been promoted by now. Desk job and all that.”

  “Shut up,” said the withered man.

  “He’s got the money,” said the captain.

  Torcelli’s eyes glittered. “Well, well! Thatwill put my master in a good mood. He’s having a rather special party this evening, so I’m delivering your payment to him personally, at his palazzo. And I must hurry. Time is money. So give it here!”

  Egidio clearly hated to comply, but the two underling guards leveled their halberds at him and he handed the bags over.“Oof!” he said. “It’s heavy. Glad to get shot of them!”

  “Shut up,” snapped the agent once again. To the guards he said, “Hold him here until I get back.”

  With that, he disappeared inside the cavernous, deserted church, closing its
mighty, heavy doors firmly behind him.

  Ezio needed to follow him, but there was no way he’d get through those doors, and anyway, first he had to get past the guards undetected. But Egidio must have guessed this, for he started up a line of banter with the uniforms, irritating them, but, above all, distracting them.

  “Well, why not release me? I’ve paid up,” he said indignantly.

  “What if you’ve sold us short?” replied the captain. “The money has to be counted first. You must see that.”

  “What? Ten thousand ducats? It’ll take all night!”

  “It has to be done.”

  “If Luigi’s late, he’ll get the stick. I can imagine the kind of man the Banker must be!”

  “Shutup.”

  “You people certainly have a very limited vocabulary. Look, think of poor old Torcelli—if he doesn’t show up with the money soon, the Banker probably won’t let him join in the fun.Does he let his lackeys join in the fun?”

  The captain cuffed the senator impatiently on the head, and Egidio fell silent, still grinning. He’d seen Ezio slip past and begin to climb the façade of the building in the direction of the dome behind it.

  Once on the roof of the circular edifice, which the classical frontage partially concealed, Ezio made his way toward the round opening—the oculus—he knew was at its center. It would be a test of all his climbing skills, but once inside, he would find the agent and put the next phase of the plan, which was rapidly forming in his mind, into operation. The agent was about his size, though far less muscular, and his flowing robes would hide Ezio’s physique—if all went well.

  The trickiest part would be lowering himself through the aperture at the dome’s apex and then finding some way of descending from there. But he’d been to the church before and knew that censers, hanging far below, were suspended by chains from this very roof. If he could reach one of them…if it would take his weight…