Well, there was no other way. Ezio knew full well that even he couldn’t climb, flylike, across the inner curve of a dome, coffered though it was, 140 feet above the cold grey flagstones of the floor.
He hung over the edge of the oculus and peered into the gloom beneath. A pinpoint of light far below showed where the agent was, seated on a bench that ran around the edge of the wall. He’d have the money next to him and be counting it by candlelight. Next, Ezio looked around for the chains. None was within reach, but if he could just…
He changed his position and lowered his legs over the edge of the circular opening, gripping it with both hands. It was a huge risk, but the chains looked solid and old, and far heavier than he’d thought. He looked at their fixtures in the ceiling, and as far as he could see they were set fast in the solid stone.
Well, there was nothing for it. Pushing hard with his hands, he threw himself forward and sideways into the void.
For a moment it seemed to him that he was suspended in the air, that the air even held him up, as water does a swimmer. But then he started to fall.
His arms flailed forward and he willed his body toward the nearest chain. And caught it! The links slipped under his gloves and he slid several feet before he was able to get a firm grip, but then he found himself swaying gently in the darkness. He listened. He had heard no sound, and it was too dark for the agent to see the chain swinging, from far below where he sat. Ezio looked toward the light. It still burned steadily and there were no calls of alarm.
Steadily, he lowered himself, down and down, until he was near the floor, perhaps twenty feet above it. He was quite close to the agent and could see his silhouette as he hunched over the money bags, the gold coins glinting in the the candlelight. Ezio could hear the man muttering and the gentle, rhythmic click of an abacus.
Suddenly, though, there was an awful, tearing sound from above. The fixture of the chain in the roof could bear the strain of the extra weight no longer and had ripped loose. Ezio let go of the chain as it went slack in his hands and threw himself forward, toward the candle. As he sailed through the air, he heard a startled “Who’s there?” from the agent, and a seemingly unending rattle as 140 feet of chain fell snaking to the floor. Ezio thanked God the church doors were closed: their thickness would deaden any sound from within.
Ezio fell upon the agent with his full weight, knocking the breath out of him. Both men sprawled on the floor, the agent spread-eagled beneath Ezio.
He wriggled free, but Ezio had him by the arm.
“Who are you? Christ protect me!” said the agent, terrified.
“I am sorry, friend,” said Ezio, releasing the hidden-blade.
“What? No! No!” the agent jabbered. “Look, take the money! It’s yours! It’syours!”
Ezio adjusted his grip and drew the man close.
“Get away from me!”
“Requiescat in pace,” said Ezio.
Leaving the body on the floor, Ezio quickly stripped the agent of his outer robes and put them on over his own, drawing a scarf over his lower face and tipping the agent’s hat down low. The robes were a little snug on him, but it was not a noticeably bad fit. Then he finished transferring the money from the bags into the metal box the agent had brought for the purpose, where much of it was already neatly stacked. To it he added the account book, and, abandoning the abacus and the leather bags, he tucked the heavy box under his arm and made for the door. He had heard enough of the agent’s manner of speech to be able to emulate it tolerably, he hoped. Anyway, he’d have to chance it.
As he approached the door, it opened and the captain called through it, “Everything going well in there?”
“Just done.”
“Well, hurry up, Luigi, or we’ll be late.”
Ezio emerged into the portico.
“The count is complete?”
Ezio nodded.
“Va bene,” said the captain. Then, turning to the men who held Egidio, he crisply ordered: “Kill him.”
“Wait!” said Ezio.
“What?”
“Don’t kill him.”
The captain looked surprised. “But that’s…that’s hardly usual procedure, is it, Luigi? Besides, do you know what this guy’sdone?”
“I have my orders. From the Banker himself. This man is to be spared.”
“May I ask why?”
“Do you question the commands of the Banker?”
The captain shrugged and nodded to the guards, who let go their hold of the senator.
“Lucky you,” he said to Egidio, who had the sense not to glance at Ezio before hastening off, without another word.
The captain turned to Ezio. “OK, Luigi. Lead the way.”
Ezio hesitated. He was stumped, as he had no idea where to go. He hefted the box. “This is heavy. Have the guards carry it between them.”
“Certainly.”
He passed the box over but still didn’t move.
The guards waited.
“Ser Luigi,” said the captain after a few moments, “with respect, we must get this to the Banker on time. Of course, I am not questioning your authority…but should we not get going?”
What was the point of buying time to think? Ezio knew he’d have to work on a hunch. It was likely that the Banker would live somewhere in the vicinity either of the Castel Sant’Angelo or of the Vatican. But which? He plumped for the Castel Sant’Angelo and started off in a westerly direction. His security detail looked at one another, but followed him. Even so, he sensed their disquiet, and indeed, after they had gone a little way, he heard the two guardsmen whispering:
“Is this some kind of test?”
“Not sure.”
“Perhaps we’re too early?”
“Maybe we’re taking a roundabout route deliberately—for some reason.”
Finally the captain tapped him on the shoulder and said: “Luigi—are you all right?”
“Of course I am!”
“Then—again with respect—why are you taking us toward the Tiber?”
“Security reasons.”
“Ah—I did wonder. Normally we just go straight there.”
“This is a particularly important consignment,” said Ezio, hoping it was. But the captain didn’t bat an eyelid.
While they had stopped to talk, one of the guards muttered to the other, “Load of rubbish, if you ask me. This kind of arsing about makes me wish I were still a blacksmith.”
“I’m starving. I want to go home,” muttered the other. “Stuff the security. It’s only a couple of blocks north of here.”
Hearing this, Ezio breathed a sigh of relief, for his mind had flashed on the location of the palazzo of the other banker, Agostino Chigi, who dealt with the Pope’s affairs. That was a little to the northeast of where they were now. It stood to reason that Cesare’s banker’s place would not be far away—in the financial district. What a fool he’d been not to think of that before. But it had been another busy day.
“We’ve made enough of a detour,” he said decisively. “We’ll take a direct route from here.”
He set off toward the Palazzo Chigi and was reassured by the sense of relief he got from his companions. After a while, the captain even decided to take the lead. They adopted a brisk pace and very soon reached a district of clean, broad streets. The large and well-lit marble edifice they then headed for had different guards on duty at the foot of its entrance steps and in front of the imposing double front door at their head.
Evidently, Ezio’s party was expected.
“Not before time,” said the leader of the new guards, who clearly outranked the captain. Turning to Ezio, he added, “Hand over the box to my men, Luigi. I’ll see the Banker gets it. But you’d better come, too. There’s someone here who wants to talk to you.” He looked around. “Where’s Senator Troche?”
“Dealt with as ordered,” said Ezio quickly, before anyone else could answer.
“Good,” replied the guard leader gruffly.
E
zio followed the box, now in the hands of the new guards, up the steps. Behind him, the captain made to follow.
“Not you,” said the guard leader.
“We can’t go in?”
“Not tonight. You and your men are to join the patrol here. And you might send one of them to fetch another detachment. We’re on full security. Orders of Duke Cesare.”
“Porco puttana,” growled one of Ezio’s guards, the former blacksmith, to his mate.
Ezio pricked up his ears.Cesare? He’s here?—he thought to himself, his mind racing, and he went through the open doors into an entrance hall ablaze with light and, luckily, thronged with people.
The captain and the guard leader were still arguing about the extra patrol duty when a detachment of papal city police came up to them on the double. They were out of breath, and concern showed on their faces.
“What is it, Sergeant?” the guard leader said to their commander.
“Perdone, Colonnello—but we’ve just been on the beat near the Pantheon—the doors were open—”
“And?”
“And so we investigated. I sent some men in—”
“Spit it out, man!”
“We foundMesser Torcelli, sir. Murdered.”
“Luigi?” The guard leader turned to look up at the front door, through which Ezio had just disappeared. “Nonsense. He arrived here a few minutes ago. With the money. Must be some mistake.”
THIRTY-TWO
Ezio, after having quickly and discreetly divested himself of Luigi’s outer garments and hidden them behind a column, made his way through the crowd of richly attired guests, many of them wearing masks, keeping a close eye on the guards with the box of money. He drew nearer to them as they approached an attendant in fine livery, to whom they handed it.
“For the Banker,” said one of the guards.
The attendant nodded and, carrying the box with ease, turned to make his way toward the back of the hall. Ezio was about to follow when he was joined by three girls, who brushed against him. Their dress was as opulent as that of the other guests, but their décolletage left little to the imagination. With a shock both of surprise and pleasure, Ezio recognized them as courtesans from the Rosa in Fiore. He’d obviously underestimated his sister. No wonder she was so furious with him.
“We’ll take over from here, Ezio,” said one of the girls.
“It wouldn’t do for you to get too close,” said a second. “But keep us in sight.”
They swanned off after the attendant and caught up with him; one of the girls engaged him in conversation.
“Hi, there,” she said.
“Hello,” replied the man guardedly. But it wasn’t much fun, being at such a party and yet having to be on duty.
“Mind if I walk with you? All these people! Hard to get through them with any speed.”
“Sure. I mean—I don’t mind if you want to keep me company.”
“I’ve never been here before.”
“Where did you come from?”
“Trastevere.” She shuddered theatrically. “Have to pass some of the old ruins to get here. They make me nervous.”
“You’re safe here.”
“With you, you mean?”
The attendant smiled. “I could protect you—if the need arose.”
“I bet you could.” She looked at the box. “My, what a fine chest you have there.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“Oh—but you are holding it in those strong arms of yours. What muscles you must have!”
“Want to touch them?”
“My goodness! But what would I tell the priest in Confession?”
By now they had arrived at an ironbound door flanked by two guards. Ezio watched as one of them knocked. A moment later, the door was opened and a figure in the red robes of a cardinal appeared in the entrance, with an attendant similarly dressed to the first.
“Here is the money you were expecting, Your Eminence,” said the first attendant, handing the box to the second.
Ezio drew in his breath, his suspicions confirmed. The Banker was none other than Juan Borgia the Elder, Archbishop of Monreale and Cardinal-Priest of Santa Susanna. The selfsame man he had seen in Cesare’s company at Monteriggioni and in the stable yard at the Castel Sant’Angelo!
“Good,” said the Banker. Black eyes glittered in a sallow face. He was eyeing the girl, who still stood close to the first attendant. “I’ll take her, too, I think.”
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him. He looked levelly at the first attendant. “As for you—you are dismissed.”
“Onoratissima!” said the girl willingly, snuggling up to the Banker as the attendant tried to control the expression on his face. The second attendant disappeared into the room beyond the door and it closed behind him as the Banker led the girl back into the party.
The first attendant watched them go, then gave a resigned sigh. He started to leave, but then stopped, patting himself down. “My coin purse! What’s happened to it?” he muttered, then he looked in the direction the Banker had gone with the girl. They were surrounded by laughing guests, among whom agile servants moved with silver trays loaded with food and drink. “Oh, shit!” he said to himself and made his way back toward the front doors. As he passed through them, the doors closed behind him. Evidently all the guests had arrived. Ezio watched him go and thought,If they continue to treat people like that, I should have no trouble at all in mustering all the new recruits I need.
Ezio turned and pushed his way through to a position close to the Banker. At that point a herald appeared on a gallery and a trumpeter blew a short fanfare to make silence for him.
“Eminenze, Signore, Signori,” announced the herald. “Our esteemed lord, and guest of honor, the Duke of Valence and Romagna, Captain-General of the Papal Forze Armate, Prince of Andria and Venafro, Count of Dyois, and Lord of Piombino, Camerino, and Urbino—His Grace Messer Cesare Borgia—is about to honor us with an address in the great inner chamber!”
“Come on, my dear—you shall sit near me,” the Banker said to the courtesan from the Rosa in Fiore, his bony hand snaking around her buttocks. Joining the press of people that now moved obediently through the double doors leading to the inner chamber, Ezio followed. He noticed that the other two girls were not far away, but now they sensibly ignored him. He wondered how many other allies his sister had managed to infiltrate into this gathering. If she succeeded in all he had asked her to do, he would have to do more than eat humble pie, but he also felt proud and reassured.
He took a seat on an aisle near the middle of the assembly. Papal guards lined the edges of the room, and another row stood in front of the dais that had been erected at one end of it. Once everyone had settled, the women fanning themselves, for the room was hot, a familiar figure in black strode onto the dais. He was accompanied, Ezio noticed, by his father; but Rodrigo simply took a seat behind him. To his relief, Lucrezia was nowhere to be seen, though she must have been released from her cell by now.
“Welcome, my friends,” said Cesare, smiling a little. “I know we all have a long night ahead of us…” And he paused for the laughter and scattered applause…“But I will not detain you long…My friends, I am honored that the Cardinal-Priest of Santa Susanna has gone to so much trouble to help me celebrate my recent victories…”
Applause.
“…And what better way shall I have to mark them than by joining in the brotherhood of Man? Soon, soon we will gather here again for an even greater gala, for then we shall be celebrating a united Italy. Then, then, my friends, the feasting and the revelry will last not one night, or two, or even five, six, or seven—but we shall spendforty days and nights in celebration!”
Ezio saw the Pope stiffen at this, but Rodrigo said nothing, did not interrupt. The speech, as Cesare had promised, was a short one, amounting to a list of the new city-states brought under his sway and a vague outline of his plans for future conquests. When it was over, amid loud shouts of approval and appl
ause, Cesare turned to go, but his way was blocked by Rodrigo, clearly struggling to suppress his fury. Ezio made his way forward to listen to the terse conversation that had started, sotto voce, between father and son. As for the other revelers, they had begun to drift back to the main hall, their minds already on the pleasures of the party ahead.
“We did not agree to conquer all Italy,” Rodrigo was saying, his voice full of spite.
“But,caro padre, if your brilliant captain-general says we can do it, why not rejoice, and let it happen?”
“You risk ruining everything! You risk upsetting the delicate balance of power we have worked so hard to maintain!”
Cesare’s lip curled. “I appreciate all that you have done for me, of course,caro padre. But do not forget that I control the army now, and that means that I am the one who makes the decisions.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Don’t look so glum! Enjoy yourself!”
With that, Cesare walked off the dais and through a curtained door to one side. Rodrigo watched him go for a moment, then, muttering to himself, followed.
Strut as much as you like for now, Cesare, thought Ezio. But I’ll pluck you down. In the meantime, your Banker must pay the price for his involvement with you.
Putting on the air of any other party guest, he sauntered in the direction the others had gone. During the speech, the main hall had been transformed—beds and couches were placed around it under heavy canopies, and the floor had been covered with damask cushions and thick Persian rugs. Servants still passed among the guests, providing wine, but the guests had now become more interested in one another. All over the room, men and women were shedding their clothes, in pairs, threesomes, foursomes, and more. The smell of sweat rose with the heat.
Several women and not a few men, some not yet engaged in the fun and games, gave Ezio the eye, but few paid any serious attention to him as he made his way, using the columns of the room as cover, toward the Banker, who had now shed his biretta, his magnificentferraiolo, and his cassock to reveal a spindly figure in a white cotton shirt and woolen long johns. He and the courtesan were half sitting, half lying on a canopied couch set in an alcove, more or less hidden from the view of the rest of the guests. Ezio drew near.
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