Assassin's Creed: Renaissance

by Oliver Bowden

  He bowed his head and fell silent. A deep silence, interrupted only by the murmured prayers of the priest, followed as Giovanni Auditore walked with dignity to the gallows and commended his soul to the last great adventure it would travel on.

  Ezio was too shocked to feel grief at first. It was as if a great iron fist had slammed into him. But as the trap opened below Giovanni, he couldn't help himself. 'Father!' he cried, his voice cracking.

  Instantly the Spaniard's eyes were on him. Was there something supernatural about the man's vision, to pick him out in such a throng? As if in slow motion, Ezio saw the Spaniard lean towards Alberti, whisper something, and point.

  'Guards!' shouted Alberti, pointing as well. 'There! That's another one of them! Seize him!'

  Before the crowd could react and restrain him, Ezio muscled through it to its edge, smashing his fists into anyone who stood barring his way. A guard was already waiting for him. He snatched at Ezio, pulling back his hood. Acting now on some instinctive drive within him, Ezio wrenched free and drew his sword with one hand, grabbing the guard by the throat with the other. Ezio's reaction had been far faster than the guard had anticipated, and before he could bring his arms up to defend himself Ezio tightened his grip on both throat and sword, and in one swift punching movement ran the guard through, slicing the sword in the body as he drew it out so that the man's intestines spilled from under his tunic on to the cobblestones. He threw the body aside and turned to the rostrum, fixing Alberti with his eye. 'I will kill you for this!' he screamed, his voice straining with hatred and rage.

  But other guards were closing in. Ezio, his instinct for survival taking over, sped away from them, towards the comparative safety of the narrow streets beyond the square. To his dismay, he saw two more guards, swift of foot, rushing to cut him off.

  They confronted each other at the edge of the square. The two guards faced him, blocking his retreat, the others closing in behind. Ezio fought them both frantically. Then an unlucky parry from one of them knocked his sword out of his hand. Fearing that this was the end, Ezio turned to flee from his attackers - but before he could find his feet, something astonishing happened. From the narrow street he was making for, and was within a few feet of, a roughly dressed man appeared. With lightning speed he came up on the two guards from behind, and, with a long dagger, cut deep under the pits of their sword arms, tearing through tendons and rendering them useless. He moved so fast that Ezio could scarcely follow his movements as he retrieved the young man's fallen sword and threw it to him. Ezio suddenly recognized him, and smelled once more the stench of onions and garlic. At that moment, damask roses couldn't have smelled sweeter.

  'Get out of here,' said the man; and then he, too, was gone. Ezio plunged down the street, and ducked off it down alleys and lanes he knew intimately from his nightly forays with Federico. The hue and cry behind him faded. He made his way down to the river, and found refuge in a disused watchman's shack behind one of the warehouses belonging to Cristina's father.

  In that hour Ezio ceased to be a boy and became a man. The weight of the responsibility he now felt he carried to avenge and correct this hideous wrong fell on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.

  Slumping down on a pile of discarded sacks, he felt his whole body begin to shake. His world had just been torn apart. His father. Federico. and, God, no, little Petruccio. all gone, all dead, all murdered. Holding his head in his hands, he broke down - unable to control the pouring out of sorrow, fear and hatred. Only after several hours was he able to uncover his face - his eyes bloodshot and run through with an unbending vengeance. At that moment, Ezio knew his former life was over - Ezio the boy was gone for ever. From now, his life was forged for one purpose and one purpose alone - revenge. Much later in the day, knowing full well that the watch would still be out looking for him relentlessly, he made his way via back alleys to Cristina's family mansion. He didn't want to put her in any danger, but he needed to collect his pouch with its precious contents. He waited in a dark alcove that stank of urine, not moving even when rats scuttled at his feet, until a light in her window told him that she had retired for the night.

  'Ezio!' she cried as she saw him on her balcony. 'Thank God you're alive.' Her face flooded with relief - but that was short-lived, grief taking over. 'Your father, and brothers.' She couldn't finish the sentence, and her head bowed.

  Ezio took her in his arms, and for several minutes they just stood holding each other.

  Finally, she broke away. 'You're mad! What are you still doing in Florence?'

  'I still have matters to attend to,' he said grimly. 'But I cannot stay here long, it's too big a risk for your family. If they thought you were harbouring me -'

  Cristina was silent.

  'Give me my satchel and I'll be gone.'

  She fetched it for him, but before she gave it to him said, 'What about your family?'

  'That is my first duty. To bury my dead. I can't see them thrown into a lime-pit like common criminals.'

  'I know where they have taken them.'

  'How?'

  'The town's been talking all day. But no one will be there now. They're down near the Porta San Niccolo, with the bodies of paupers. There's a pit prepared, and they're waiting for the lime-carts to come in the morning. Oh, Ezio - !'

  Ezio spoke calmly but grimly. 'I must see to it that my father and my brothers have a fitting departure from this earth. I cannot offer them a Requiem Mass, but I can spare their bodies indignity.'

  'I'll come with you!'

  'No! Do you realize what it would mean if you were caught with me?'

  Cristina lowered her eyes.

  'I must see that my mother and sister are safe too, and I owe my family one more death.' He hesitated. 'Then I will leave. Perhaps for ever. The question is - will you come with me?'

  She drew back, and he could see a host of conflicting emotions in her eyes. Love was there, deep and lasting, but he had grown so much older than she since they had first held each other in their arms. She was still a girl. How could he expect her to make such a sacrifice? 'I want to, Ezio, you don't know how much - but my family - it would kill my parents -'

  Ezio looked at her gently. Though they were the same age, his recent experience had made him suddenly far more mature than she was. He had no family to depend on any more, just responsibility and duty, and it was hard. 'I was wrong to ask. And who knows, perhaps, some day, when all this is behind us -' He put his hands to his neck and from the folds of his collar withdrew a heavy silver pendant on a fine chain of gold. He took it off. The pendant bore a simple design - just the initial letter 'A' of his family name. 'I want you to have this. Take it, please.'

  With trembling hands she accepted it, crying softly. She looked down at it, then up at him, to thank him, to make some further excuse.

  But he was gone. On the south bank of the Arno, near the Porta San Niccolo, Ezio found the bleak place where the bodies were arranged next to a huge gaping pit. Two sorry-looking guards, raw recruits by the look of them, patrolled nearby, dragging their halberds as much as carrying them. The sight of their uniforms aroused Ezio's anger, and his first instinct was to kill them, but he had seen enough of death that day, and these were just country boys who'd stumbled into uniforms for want of anything better. It caught at his heart when he saw his father's and his brothers' bodies lying near the edge of the pit, still with their nooses round their scorched necks, but he could see that, once the guards fell asleep, as they surely soon would, he could carry the corpses to the river's edge, where he had prepared an open boat which he'd loaded with brushwood.

  It was about the third hour, and the first faint light of dawn was already bleaching the eastern sky by the time he had completed his task. He stood alone on the riverbank, watching as the boat bearing his kinsmen's bodies, all aflame, drifted slowly with the current towards the sea. He watched until the light of the fire flickered away into the distance.

  He made his way back to the city. A hard resolve had
overcome his grief. There was still much to do. But first, he must rest. He returned to the watchman's shack, and made himself as comfortable as he could. Some little sleep would not be denied; but even as he slept, Cristina would not leave his thoughts, or dreams.

  He knew the approximate whereabouts of the house of Annetta's sister, though he had never been there, or indeed met Paola; but Annetta had been his wet-nurse, and he knew that if he could trust no one else, he could trust her. He wondered if she knew, as she must, of the fate that had befallen his father and brothers, and if so, whether she had told his mother and sister.

  He approached the house with great care, using an indirect route, and covering the distance where he could by running at a crouch over rooftops in order to avoid the busy streets where, he was sure, Uberto Alberti would have his men searching. Ezio could not rid himself of the thought of Alberti's treachery. What faction had his father referred to on the gallows? What could induce Alberti to bring about the death of one of his closest allies?

  Paola's house lay in a street just north of the cathedral, Ezio knew. But when he got there, he didn't know which it was. There were few signs hanging from the fronts of the buildings here to identify them, and he could not afford to loiter in case

  he was recognized. He was about to depart when he saw Annetta herself, coming from the direction of the Piazza San Lorenzo.

  Pulling his hood down so that his face was shadowed, he made his way to meet her, making himself walk at a normal pace, trying as best he could to blend in with his fellow citizens as they went about their business. He passed Annetta herself, and was gratified that she did not give any sign that she had noticed him. A few yards on, he doubled back and fell into step just behind her.

  'Annetta -'

  She had the wit not to turn round. 'Ezio. You're safe.'

  'I wouldn't say that. Are my mother and sister.?'

  'They are protected. Oh, Ezio, your poor father. And Federico. And -' she stifled a sob, '- little Petruccio. I have just come from San Lorenzo. I lit a candle to San Antonio for them. They say the Duke will be here soon. Perhaps -'

  'Do my mother and Maria know what has happened?'

  'We thought it best to keep that knowledge from them.'

  Ezio thought for a moment. 'It is best so. I will tell them when the time is right.' He paused. 'Will you take me to them? I couldn't identify your sister's house.'

  'I am on my way there now. Stay close and follow me.'

  He fell back a little, but kept her in sight.

  The establishment she entered had the grim, fortress-like facade of so many of the grander Florentine buildings, but once inside, Ezio was taken aback. This was not quite what he had expected.

  He found himself in a richly decorated parlour of great size, and high-ceilinged. It was dark, and the air was close. Velvet hangings in dark reds and deep browns covered the walls, interspersed with oriental tapestries depicting scenes of unequivocal luxury and sexual pleasure. The room was illuminated by candlelight, and a smell of incense hung in the air. The furniture mainly consisted of deep-seated daybeds covered with cushions of the costly brocade, and low tables on which there were trays bearing wine in silver carafes, Venetian glasses, and golden bowls of sweetmeats. But what was most surprising were the people in the room. A dozen beautiful girls, wearing silks and satins in green and yellow, cut in the Florentine fashion but with skirts slit to the top of the thigh, and plunging necklines that left nothing to the imagination except the promise of where it should not venture. Around three walls of the room, beneath the hangings and tapestries, a number of doors could be seen.

  Ezio looked round, in a sense not knowing where to look. 'Are you sure this is the right place?' he asked Annetta.

  'Ma certo! And here is my sister to greet us.'

  An elegant woman who must have been in her late thirties but looked ten years younger, as beautiful as any principessa and better dressed than most, was coming towards them from the centre of the room. There was a veiled sadness in her eyes which somehow increased the sexual charge she transmitted, and Ezio, for all else that was on his mind, found himself stirred.

  She extended her long-fingered, bejewelled hand to him. 'It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Messer Auditore.' She looked at him appraisingly. 'Annetta speaks quite highly of you. And now I can see why.'

  Ezio, blushing despite himself, replied, 'I appreciate the kind words, Madonna -'

  'Please, call me Paola.'

  Ezio bowed. 'I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude to you for extending your protection to my mother and sister, Mado - I mean, Paola.'

  'It was the least I could do.'

  'Are they here? May I see them?'

  'They are not here - this would be no place for them, and some of my clients are highly placed in the city's governance.'

  'Is this place then, forgive me, but is it what I think it is?'

  Paola laughed. 'Of course! But I hope it is rather different from those stews down by the docks! It is really too early for business, but we like to be ready - there's always the chance of the occasional caller on his way to the office. Your timing is perfect.'

  'Where is my mother? Where is Claudia?'

  'They are safe, Ezio; but it's too risky to take you to see them now, and we mustn't compromise their security.' She drew him to a sofa and sat down with him. Annetta, meanwhile, disappeared into the bowels of the house on some business of her own.

  'I think it will be best,' Paola continued, 'for you to leave Florence with them at the earliest opportunity. But you must rest first. You must gather your strength, for you have a long and arduous road ahead of you. Perhaps you'd like -'

  'You are kind, Paola,' he interrupted her gently, 'and you are right in what you suggest. But just now, I cannot stay.'

  'Why? Where are you going?'

  During their conversation Ezio had been growing ever calmer, as all his racing thoughts came crashing together. At last he found himself able to shrug off his shock and his fear, for he had come to a decision and found a purpose, both of which he knew were irrevocable. 'I am going to kill Uberto Alberti,' he said.

  Paola looked worried. 'I understand your desire for vengeance, but the Gonfaloniere is a powerful man, and you're not a natural killer, Ezio -'

  Fate is making me one, he thought, but he said, as politely as he could, 'Spare me the lecture,' for he was bent on his mission.

  Paola ignore him and completed her sentence: '- but I can make you one.'

  Ezio fought down suspicion. 'And why would you want to teach me how to kill?'

  She shook her head, 'In order to teach you how to survive.'

  'I'm not sure that I need any training from you.'

  She smiled. 'I know how you feel, but please allow me to hone the skills I am sure you have naturally. Think of my teaching as an extra weapon in your armoury.'

  She started his training that very day, recruiting those girls who were off-duty, and trusted house-servants, to help her. In the high-walled garden behind the house she organized twenty of her people into five groups of four. They then started to mill

  around the garden, crisscrossing each other, talking and laughing, some of the girls casting bold looks on Ezio, and smiling. Ezio, who still carried his precious pouch at his side, was immune to their charms.

  'Now,' Paola told him, 'discretion is paramount in my profession. We must be able to walk the streets freely - seen, but unseen. You too must learn properly how to blend in like us, and become one with the city's crowds.' Ezio was about to protest but she held up her hand. 'I know! Annetta tells me you do not acquit yourself badly, but you have more to learn than you know. I want you to pick a group and try to blend in with them. I don't want to be able to pick you out. Remember what almost happened to you at the execution.'

  These harsh words stung Ezio, but the task didn't appear to him that difficult, provided he used his discretion. Still, under her unforgiving eye he found it harder than he'd expected. He would jostle
clumsily against someone, or trip up, sometimes causing the girls or the male servants in his selected group to scatter from him, leaving him exposed. The garden was a pleasant place, sunlit and lush, and birds chirruped in the ornamental trees, but in Ezio's mind it became a labyrinth of unfriendly city streets, a potential enemy in every passerby. And always he was nettled by Paola's unremitting criticism. 'Careful!' she would say. 'You can't go charging in like that!' 'Show my girls some respect! Tread carefully when you're near them!' 'How do you plan to blend in with people if you're busy knocking them around?' 'Oh, Ezio! I expected better from you!'

  But at last, on the third day, the biting comments grew fewer, and on the morning of the fourth he was able to pass right under Paola's nose without her batting an eyelid. Indeed, after fifteen minutes without saying a word, Paola called out: 'All right, Ezio, I give up! Where are you?'

  Pleased with himself, he emerged from a group of girls, himself the very model of one of the young male house-servants. Paola smiled and clapped her hands, and the others joined in the applause.

  But the work didn't end there.

  'Now that you have learned to blend into a crowd,' Paola told him on the morning of the following day, 'I am going to show you how to use your new-found skill - in order to steal.'

  Ezio baulked at this but Paola explained, 'It is an essential survival skill which you may need on your journey. A man is nothing without money, and you may not always be in a position to earn it honestly. I know you would never take anything from anyone who could not afford to lose it, or from a friend. Think of it as a blade in a penknife, which you seldom use, though it's good to know it's there.'

  Learning how to pick pockets was a lot harder. He would sidle up to a girl successfully enough, but as soon as his hand closed on the purse at her girdle, she would scream 'Al ladro!' and flee from him. When he first managed to draw some coins out successfully, he stayed where he was for a moment, triumphant, then felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. 'Ti arresto!' said the manservant who was playing the role of a city watchman, grinning; but Paola did not smile. 'Once you've stolen from someone, Ezio,' she said, 'you mustn't linger.'