Assassin's Creed: Renaissance

by Oliver Bowden

  'Then it's settled,' the Spaniard was saying. 'Vieri, you will remain here and re-establish our position as soon as possible. Francesco will organize our forces in Florence for the moment when the right time comes to strike, and you, Jacopo, must be prepared to calm the populace once we have seized control. Do not hurry things: the better planned our action is, the greater the likelihood of success.'

  'But, Ser Rodrigo,' put in Vieri, 'what am I to do with that ubriacone, Mario?'

  'Get rid of him! There is no way that he must learn of our intentions.' The man they called Rodrigo swung himself up into the saddle. Ezio saw his face clearly for a moment, the cold eyes, the aquiline nose, and guessed him to be in his mid-forties.

  'He's always been trouble,' snarled Francesco. 'Just like that bastardo of a brother of his.'

  'Don't worry, padre,' said Vieri. 'I will soon reunite them - in death!'

  'Come,' said the man they called Rodrigo. 'We have stayed too long.' Jacopo and Francesco mounted their steeds beside him, and they turned towards the northern gate, which the Pazzi guards were already opening. 'May the Father of Understanding guide us all!'

  They rode out and the gates closed again behind them. Ezio was wondering whether now would be a good opportunity to try to cut Vieri down, but he was too well guarded, and besides, it might be better to take him alive and question him. But he carefully made a mental note of the names of the men he had overheard, intending to add them to his father's list of enemies, for clearly a conspiracy was afoot in which they were all involved.

  As it was, he was interrupted by the arrival of a further squad of Pazzi guards, the leader of which approached Vieri at a run.

  'What is it?' snapped Vieri.

  'Commandante, I bring bad news. Mario Auditore's men have broken through our last defences.'

  Vieri sneered. 'That's what he thinks. But see,' he waved at the strong force of men around him, 'more men have arrived from Florence. We will sweep him out of San Gimignano before the day is done like the vermin he is!' He raised his voice to the assembled soldiers. 'Hurry to meet the enemy!' he cried. 'Crush them like the scum they are!'

  Raising a harsh battle-cry, the Pazzi militia formed up under their officers and moved away from the north gate southwards through the city to encounter Mario's condottieri. Ezio prayed that his uncle would not be taken unawares, for now he would be severely outnumbered. But Vieri had remained behind, and, alone now except for his personal bodyguard, was making his way back into the safety of the palazzo. No doubt he still had some business pertaining to the meeting to conclude there. Or perhaps he was returning to strap on his armour for the fray. Either way, soon, the sun would be up. It was now or never. Ezio stepped out of the darkness, pulling back the cowl from over his head.

  'Good morning, Messer de' Pazzi,' he said. 'Had a busy night?'

  Vieri rounded on him - a combination of shock and terror flickering across his face for an instant. He regained his composure, and blustered, 'I might have known you'd turn up again. Make your peace with God, Ezio - I've more important things than you to deal with now. You're just a pawn to be swept off the board.'

  His guards rushed Ezio, but he was ready for them. He brought down the first of them with his last throwing-knife - the small blade scything through the air with a devilish zinging sound. Then he drew his sword and battle-dagger and closed with the rest of the guards. He cut and thrust like a madman in a swirl of blood, his movement economical and lethal, until the last, badly wounded, limped away to safety. But now Vieri was on him, wielding a cruel-looking battleaxe he'd seized from the saddle of his horse, which still stood where the others had been tethered. Ezio swerved to avoid his deadly aim, but the blow, though it glanced off his body-armour, still sent him reeling and he fell, letting his sword drop. In a moment, Vieri stood over him, kicking the sword out of reach, the axe raised above his head. Summoning his remaining strength, Ezio aimed a kick at his opponent's groin, but Vieri saw it coming and jumped back. As Ezio took the chance to regain his feet, Vieri threw his axe at his left wrist, knocking the battle-dagger out of it and cutting a deep wound in the back of his left hand. Vieri drew his own sword and dagger.

  'If you want a job doing well, do it yourself,' Vieri said. 'Sometimes I wonder what I pay these so-called bodyguards for. Goodbye, Ezio!' And he closed on his enemy.

  The heat of pain had seared through the young man's body as the axe had slashed his hand, making his head swim and his vision white-out. But now he remembered all that he had been taught, instinct taking over. He shook himself, and in the moment when Vieri poised himself to deliver the fatal blow on his supposedly unarmed opponent, Ezio flexed his right hand, spreading his fingers up and open. Instantaneously, the mechanism of his father's concealed dagger clicked, the blade shooting out from under his fingers, extending to its full and lethal length, the dull metal belying the vicious edge.Vieri's arm was raised. His flank was open. Ezio plunged the dagger into his side - the blade slipping in without the least resistance.

  Vieri stood for a moment transfixed, then, dropping his weapons, fell to his knees. Blood flowed like a waterfall from between his ribs. Ezio caught him as he sank to the ground.

  'You don't have much time, Vieri,' he said urgently. 'Now it is your chance to make your peace with God. Tell me, what were you discussing? What are your plans?'

  Vieri answered him with a slow smile. 'You will never defeat us,' he said. 'You will never conquer the Pazzi and you will certainly never conquer Rodrigo Borgia.'

  Ezio knew he had only moments before he'd be talking to a corpse. He persisted with even greater urgency. 'Tell me, Vieri! Had my father discovered your plans? Is that why your people had him killed?'

  But Vieri's face was ashen. He grasped Ezio's arm tightly. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth and his eyes were beginning to glaze. Still, he managed an ironic smile. 'Ezio, what are you hoping for - a full confession? I'm sorry, but I just don't have. the time.' He gasped for breath and more blood flowed from his mouth. 'A pity, really. In another world, we might even have been. friends.'

  Ezio felt the grip on his arm relax.

  But then the pain of his wound welled up again, together with the stark memory of the death of his kinsmen, and he was riven with a cold fury. 'Friends?' he said to the corpse. 'Friends! You piece of shit! Your body should be left on the side of a road to rot like a dead crow! Nobody will miss you! I only wish you'd suffered more! I -'

  'Ezio,' said a strong, gentle voice behind him. 'Enough! Show the man some respect.'

  Ezio stood and whirled round to confront his uncle. 'Respect? After all that's happened? Do you think, if he'd won, he wouldn't have hanged us from the nearest tree?'

  Mario was battered, covered with dust and blood, but he stood firm.

  'But he didn't win, Ezio. And you are not like him. Do not become a man like he was.' He knelt by the body, and with a gloved hand reached down and closed its eyes. 'May death provide the peace your poor, angry soul sought,' he said. 'Requiescat in pace.'

  Ezio watched in silence. When his uncle stood up, he said, 'Is it over?'

  'No,' replied Mario. 'There is still fierce fighting. But the tide is turning in our favour, Roberto has brought some of his men over to our side, and it is only a matter of time.' He paused. 'You will I am sure be grieved to know that Orazio is dead.'

  'Orazio - !'

  'He told me what a brave man you were before he died. Live up to that praise, Ezio.'

  'I will try.' Ezio bit his lip. Though he did not acknowledge it consciously, this was another lesson learned.

  'I must rejoin my men. But I have something for you - something that will teach you a little more about your enemy. It's a letter we took from one of the priests here. It was intended for Vieri's father, but Francesco, evidently, is no longer here to receive it.' He handed over a paper, the seal broken open. 'This same priest will oversee the funeral rites. I'll get one of my sergeants to make the arrangements.' 'I have things to tell
you -'

  Mario raised his hand. 'Later, when our business here is finished. After this setback, our enemies won't be able to move as fast as they'd hoped, and Lorenzo in Florence will be very much on his guard. For the moment, we have the advantage of them.' He stopped. 'But I must get back. Read the letter, Ezio, and reflect on what it says. And see to your hand.'

  He was gone. Ezio moved away from Vieri's body and sat beneath the tree he had hidden behind earlier. Flies were already hovering round Vieri's face. Ezio opened the letter and read:

  Messer Francesco:

  I have done as you requested and spoken with your son. I agree with your assessment, though only in part. Yes, Vieri is brash, and prone to act without forethought; and he has a habit of treating his men like playthings, like chesspieces for whose lives he shows no more concern than if they were made of ivory or wood. And his punishments are indeed cruel: I have received reports of at least three men being disfigured as a result.

  But I do not think him, as you put it, beyond repair. Rather, I believe the solution to be a simple matter. He seeks your approval. Your attention. These outbursts of his are a result of insecurities borne of a sense of inadequacy. He speaks of you fondly and often, and expresses a desire to be closer to you. So, if he is loud and foul and angry, I believe it is simply because he wants to be noticed. He wants to be loved.

  Act as you see fit on the information I've given you here, but now I must ask that we end this correspondence. Were he to discover the nature of our discourse, I candidly fear what might become of me.

  Yours in confidence,

  Father Giocondo

  Ezio sat for a long while after having read the letter, thinking. He looked at Vieri's body. There was a wallet at his belt he had not noticed before. He walked over and took it, returning to his tree to examine its contents. There was a miniature picture of a woman, some florins in a pouch, a little notebook that had not been used, and, carefully rolled, a piece of vellum. With trembling hands, Ezio opened it, and immediately recognized what it was. A page of the Codex.

  The sun rose higher, and a group of monks appeared with a wooden stretcher on which they laid Vieri's body, and carried it away.

  As spring turned to summer again, and the mimosa and azaleas had given way to lilies and roses, an uneasy peace returned to Tuscany. Ezio was content to see that his mother continued in her recovery, though her nerves had been so shattered by the tragedy that had struck her that now it seemed to him she might never leave the peaceful calm of the convent. Claudia was considering taking the first vows that would lead to her novitiate, a prospect that pleased him less, but he knew that she had been born with as stubborn a streak as his own, and that to try to thwart her would merely strengthen her resolve.

  Mario had spent the time ensuring that San Gimignano, now under the sober and reformed control of his old comrade, Roberto, and its territory, no longer posed a threat, and that the last pockets of Pazzi resistance had been weeded out. Monteriggioni was safe, and after the victory celebrations had been concluded, Mario's condottieri were allowed a well-earned furlough, using it according to their tastes by spending time with their families, or drinking, or whoring, but never neglecting their training; and their squires kept their weapons sharp and their armour free from rust, as the masons and carpenters ensured that the fortifications of both town and castle were well maintained. To the north, the external threat that might have been posed by France was in abeyance, since King Louis was busy getting rid of the last of the English invaders, and facing up to the problems the Duke of Burgundy was causing him; while to the south, Pope Sixtus IV, a potential ally of the Pazzi, was too busy promoting his relatives and supervising the construction of a magnificent new chapel in the Vatican to give much thought to interference in Tuscany. Mario and Ezio had had many and long conversations, however, regarding the threat that they knew had not disappeared.

  'I must tell you more of Rodrigo Borgia,' Mario told his nephew. 'He was born in Valencia, but studied law in Bologna and has never returned to Spain, since he is better placed to pursue his ambitions here. At the moment, he is a prominent

  member of the Curia in Rome, but his sights are always set higher. He is one of the most powerful men in all Europe, but he is more than a cunning politician within the Church.' He lowered his voice. 'Rodrigo is the leader of the Order of the Templars.'

  Ezio felt his heart turn over in his body. 'That explains his presence at the murder of my poor father and my brothers. He was behind it.' 'Yes, and he won't have forgotten you, especially as it was largely thanks to you that he lost his power-base in Tuscany. And he knows the stock you come from, and the danger you continue to pose him. Be fully aware, Ezio, that he will have you killed as soon as he gets the chance.' 'Then I must stand against him if I wish ever to be free.'

  'He must remain in our sights, but we have other business nearer home first, and we have stayed our hand long enough. Come to my study.' They made their way from the garden where they had been walking into an inner room of the castle, at the end of a corridor that led from the map-room. It was a quiet place, dark without being gloomy, book-lined and more like the room of an accademico than a military commander. Its shelves also contained artefacts that looked as if they might have come from Turkey or Syria, and volumes that Ezio could see from the writing on their spines were written in Arabic. He had asked his uncle about them, but received only the vaguest of replies.

  Once there, Mario unlocked a chest and from it drew a leather document wallet from which he took a sheaf of papers. Among them were some

  Ezio recognized immediately. 'Here is your father's list, my boy - though I should not call you that any more, for you are a man now, and a full- blooded warrior - and to it I have added the names you told me of in San Gimignano.' He looked at his nephew, and handed him the document. 'It is time for you to begin your work.'

  'Every Templar on it shall fall to my blade,' said Ezio, evenly. His eye lit on the name of Francesco de' Pazzi. 'Here, with him, I will start. He is the worst of the clan and fanatical in his hatred of our allies, the Medici.'

  'You are right to say so,' Mario agreed. 'So, you will make your preparations for Florence?'

  'That is my resolve.'

  'Good. But there is more you must learn if you are to be fully equipped. Come.' Mario turned to a bookcase and touched a hidden button set into its side. On silent hinges it swung out and open to reveal a stone wall beyond, on which a number of square slots had been marked out. Five were filled. The rest were empty.

  Ezio's eyes gleamed as he saw it. The five filled spaces were occupied with pages of the Codex!

  'I see you recognize what this is,' said Mario. 'And I am not surprised. After all, there is the page your father left you, which your clever friend in Florence managed to decode, and these, which Giovanni managed to find and translate before he died.'

  'And the one I took from Vieri's body,' added Ezio. 'But its contents are still a mystery.'

  'Alas, you are right. I am not the scholar your father was, though with every page that is added, and with the help of the books in my study, I am getting closer to unravelling the mystery. Look! Do you see the way the words cross from one page to the next, and how the symbols join?'

  Ezio looked hard, an eerie feeling of remembrance flooding his brain, as though a hereditary instinct was reawakening -and with this the scrawls on the pages of the Codex seemed to come alive, their intentions untwisting in front of his eyes. 'Yes! And there seems to be part of a picture of some sort underneath it - look, it's like a map!'

  'Giovanni - and now I - managed to make out what appears to be a kind of prophecy written across these pages, but what it refers to I have yet to learn. Something about "a piece of Eden". It was written long ago, by an Assassin like us, whose name appears to have been Altair. And there is more. He goes on to write of "something hidden beneath the earth, something as powerful as it is old" - but we have yet to discover what.'

  'Here is Vieri's page,'
said Ezio. 'Add it to the wall.'

  'Not yet! I will copy it before you go, but take the original to your friend in Florence with the brilliant mind. He need not know the full picture, at least, what there is of it so far, and indeed it may be dangerous for him to have such knowledge. Later, Vieri's parchment will join the others on this wall, and we will be a little closer to deciphering the mystery.'

  'What of the other pages?'

  'They are yet to be rediscovered,' said Mario. 'Do not concern yourself. For you must concentrate on the undertaking you have immediately before you.'

  8

  Ezio had preparations to make before he left Monteriggioni. He had much more to learn, at his uncle's side, of the Assassin's Creed, the better to equip himself for the task that faced him. There was also the need to ensure that it would be at least relatively safe for him in Florence, and there was the question of where he might lodge, since Mario's spies within the town had reported that his family palazzo had been closed and boarded up, though it remained under the protection and guard of the Medici family and so had been left unmolested. Several delays and setbacks made Ezio increasingly impatient, until, one morning in March, his uncle told him to pack his bags.

  'It's been a long winter -' Mario said.

  'Too long,' put in Ezio.

  '- but now all is settled,' continued his uncle. 'And I would remind you that meticulous preparation accounts for most victories. Now, pay attention! I have a friend in Florence who has arranged a secure lodging for you not far from her own house.'

  'Who is she, Uncle?'

  Mario looked furtive. 'Her name is of no consequence to you, but you have my word that you can trust her as much as you would trust me. In any case she is presently away from the town. If you have need of help, get in touch with your old housekeeper, Annetta, whose address has not changed and who now works for the Medici, but it would be best if as few people as possible in Florence knew of your presence there. There is, however, one person you must contact, though he isn't easy to reach. I've written his name down here. You must ask around for him discreetly. Try asking your scientific friend while you're showing him the Codex page, but don't let him know too much, for his own good! And here, by the way, is the address of your lodgings.' He handed Ezio two slips of paper and a bulging leather pouch. 'And one hundred florins to get you started, and your travelling papers, which you will find in order. The best news of all is that you may set off tomorrow!'