Assassin's Creed: Renaissance (22 page)

The monk looked surprised. ‘For the Lord’s protection!’

‘If you think the Lord has any interest in our affairs, Brother Girolamo, you have another think coming! But please, by all means, continue to delude yourself, if it helps you to pass the time.’

Brother Girolamo was shocked. ‘What you speak is blasphemy!’

‘No. I speak truth.’

‘But, to deny His most exalted Presence – !’

‘- is the only rational response, when faced with the declaration that there exists some invisible madman in the sky. And believe me, if our precious Bible is anything to go by, He’s completely lost His mind.’

‘How can you say such things? You are yourself a priest!’

‘I am an administrator. I use these clerical robes to bring me closer to the accursed Medici, so that I may chop them off at the knees, in the service of my true Master. But first, there is still the business of this Assassin, Ezio. For too long he has been a thorn in our side, and we must pluck him out.’

‘There you speak truth. That unholy demon!’

‘Well,’ said Stefano with a crooked smile. ‘At least we agree on something.’

Girolamo lowered his voice. ‘They say the Devil has given him unnatural speed and strength.’

Stefano looked at him. ‘The Devil? No, my friend. These are gifts he gave himself, through rigorous training over years.’ He paused, his scrawny body bent at a pensive angle. ‘You know, Girolamo, I find it disturbing that you are so unwilling to credit people for their own circumstances. I think you’d make victims out of the entire world if you could.’

‘I forgive your lack of faith and your forked tongue,’ replied Girolamo piously. ‘You are still one of God’s children.’

‘I told you -‘ Stefano began with some asperity; but then spread his hands and gave it up. ‘Oh, what’s the use? Enough of this! It’s like speaking to the wind!’

‘I will pray for you.’

‘As you wish. But do so quietly. I must keep watch. Until we have this Assassin dead and buried, no Templar can drop his guard for an instant.’

The monk withdrew with a bow, and Stefano was left alone in the courtyard. The bell for First and Second Qauma had sounded, and all the Community were in the abbey church. Ezio emerged from the shadows like a wraith. The sun shone with the silent heaviness of midday. Stefano, crow-like, stalked up and down by the north wall, restless, impatient, possessed.

When he saw Ezio, he showed no surprise at all.

‘I am unarmed,’ he said. ‘I fight with the mind.’

‘To use that, you must remain alive. Can you defend yourself?’

‘Would you kill me in cold blood?’

‘I will kill you because it is necessary that you die.’

‘A good answer! But do you not think I may have secrets that would be useful to you?’

‘I can see that you would not bow under any torture.’

Stefano looked at him appraisingly. ‘I will take that as a compliment, though I am not so sure myself. However, it is of merely academic significance.’ He paused, before continuing in his thin voice. ‘You have missed your chance, Ezio. The die is cast. The Assassins’ cause is lost. I know you will kill me whatever I do or say, and that I shall be dead before the midday Mass is over; but my death will profit you nothing. The Templars already have you in check, and soon it will be checkmate.’

‘You cannot be sure of that.’

‘I am about to meet my Maker – if He exists at all. It will be refreshing to find out. In the meantime, why should I lie?’

Ezio released his dagger.

‘How clever,’ commented Stefano. ‘What will they think of next?’

‘Redeem yourself,’ said Ezio. ‘Tell me what you know.’

‘What do you
wish
to know? The whereabouts of my Master, Jacopo?’ Stefano smiled. ‘That is easy. He meets our confederates soon, at night, in the shadow of the Roman gods.’ He paused. ‘I hope that makes you happy, for nothing you can do will make me say more. And it is in any case of no significance, for I know in my heart that you are too late. My only regret is that I will not see your own undoing – but who knows? Perhaps there
is
an Afterlife, and I shall be able to look down on your death. But for the present – let us get this unpleasant business over with.’

The abbey bell was ringing once more. Ezio had little time. ‘I think you could teach me much,’ he said.

Stefano looked at him sadly. ‘Not in this world,’ he said. He opened the neck of his gown. ‘But do me the favour of sending me quickly into the night.’

Ezio stabbed once, deeply, and with deadly accuracy.

‘There are the ruins of a Temple of Mithras to the south-west of San Gimignano,’ said Mario thoughtfully when Ezio returned. ‘They are the only Roman ruins of any significance for miles around, and you say he spoke of the shadow of the Roman
gods
?’

‘Those were his words.’

‘And the Templars are to meet there – soon?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then we must not delay. We must keep a vigil there from this night on.’

Ezio was despondent. ‘Da Bagnone told me it was already too late to stop them.’

Mario grinned. ‘Well then, it’s up to us to prove him wrong.’

It was the third night of the vigil. Mario had returned to his base to continue his schemes against the Templars in San Gimignano, and left Ezio with five trusted men, Gambalto among them, to keep watch concealed in the dense woods which fringed the isolated, desolate ruins of the Temple of Mithras. This was a large set of buildings developed over centuries, whose last occupant had indeed been Mithras, the god the Roman army had adopted, but which contained more ancient chapels, once consecrated to Minerva, Venus and Mercury. There was also a theatre attached to the complex, whose stage was still solid, though faced by a broken semicircle of terraced stone benches, the home now of scorpions and mice, backed by a crumbling wall and flanked by broken columns where owls had made their nests. Everywhere ivy climbed, and tough buddleia shouldered its way through the cracks it had made in the stained and decaying marble. Over all, the moon cast a ghastly light, and, used though they were to tackling mortal foes unafraid, one or two of the men were distinctly nervous.

Ezio had told himself that they would keep watch for a week, but he knew it would be hard for the men to keep their nerve in this place for that long, for the ghosts of the pagan past were a strong presence here. But towards midnight, as the Assassins ached in every limb from lack of activity and keeping still, they heard the faint tinkling of harness. Ezio and his men braced themselves. Soon afterwards there rode through the complex a dozen soldiers bearing torches and headed by three men. They were making for the theatre. Ezio and his
condottieri
shadowed them there.

The men dismounted and formed a protective circle round their three leaders. Watching, Ezio recognized with triumph the face of the man he had sought so long – Jacopo de’ Pazzi, a harassed-looking greybeard of sixty. He was accompanied by one man he did not know and another whom he did – the beak-nosed, crimson-cowled, unmistakable figure of Rodrigo Borgia! Grimly, Ezio attached the poison-blade to the mechanism on his right wrist.

‘You know why I have called this meeting,’ Rodrigo began. ‘I have given you more than enough time, Jacopo. But you have yet to redeem yourself.’

‘I am sorry,
Commendatore
. I have done all that is within my power. The Assassins have outflanked me.’

‘You have not regained Florence.’

Jacopo bowed his head.

‘You have not even been able to strike off the head of Ezio Auditore, a mere cub! And with every victory over us, he gains strength, becomes more dangerous!’

‘It was my nephew Francesco’s fault,’ babbled Jacopo. ‘His impatience made him reckless! I tried to be the voice of reason -‘

‘More like the voice of cowardice,’ put in the third man, harshly.

Jacopo turned to him with markedly less respect than he had shown Rodrigo. ‘Ah,
Messer
Emilio. Perhaps we would have been better served had you sent us weaponry of quality, instead of the rubbish you Venetians call armaments! But you Barbarigi were always cheapskates.’

‘Enough!’ thundered Rodrigo. He turned again to Jacopo. ‘We put our faith in you and your family, and how have you repaid us? With inaction and incompetence. You retake San Gimignano! Bravo! And there you sit. You even allow them to attack you there. Brother Maffei was a valuable servant of our Cause. And you could not even save your own secretary, a man whose brain was worth ten of yours!’

‘
Altezza
! Just give me the chance to make amends, and you will see -‘ Jacopo looked at the hardened faces surrounding him. ‘I will show you -‘

Rodrigo allowed his features to soften. He even sketched a smile. ‘Jacopo. We know the best course to take now. You must leave it to us. Come here. Let me embrace you.’

Hesitantly, Jacopo obeyed. Rodrigo put his left arm round his shoulders, and with his right drew a stiletto from his robes and slid it firmly between Jacopo’s ribs. Jacopo pushed his way back off the knife, while Rodrigo looked at him in the same way as a father might regard his errant son. Jacopo clutched his wound. Rodrigo had not penetrated any vital organ. Perhaps –

But now Emilio Barbarigo stepped up to him. Instinctively, Jacopo held up his bloodied hands to protect himself, for Emilio had drawn a wicked-looking basilard, one of its edges roughly serrated, and with a deep blood-gutter along the side of its blade.

‘No,’ whimpered Jacopo. ‘I have done my best. I have always served the Cause loyally. All my life. Please… Please don’t…’

Emilio gave a brutal laugh. ‘Please don’t what, you snivelling piece of shit?’ And he tore Jacopo’s doublet open, immediately dragging the serrated blade of his heavy dagger across Jacopo’s chest, tearing it open.

Jacopo screamed and fell first to his knees and then on to his side, writhing in blood. He looked up to see Rodrigo Borgia standing over him, a narrow sword in his hand.

‘Master – have pity!’ Jacopo managed to say. ‘It is not too late! Give me one last chance to put matters right -‘ Then he choked on his own blood.

‘Oh, Jacopo,’ said Rodrigo, gently. ‘How you have disappointed me.’

He raised his blade and thrust it through Jacopo’s neck with such force that the point emerged at the nape, seeming to sever the spinal cord. He twisted it in the wound before drawing it out slowly. Jacopo raised himself, his mouth full of blood, but he was already dead and sank back, twitching, until he was, at last, still.

Rodrigo wiped his sword on the dead man’s clothes, and, drawing his cloak aside, sheathed it. ‘What a mess,’ he murmured. Then he turned, looked directly in Ezio’s direction, grinned, and shouted, ‘You can come out now, Assassin! My apologies for having robbed you of your prize!’

Before he could react, Ezio found himself grabbed by two guards whose tunics bore a red cross within a yellow shield – the coat of arms of his arch-enemy. He called to Gambalto, but there was no answer from any of his men. He was dragged on to the stage of the ancient theatre.

‘Greetings, Ezio!’ said Rodrigo. ‘I am sorry about your men, but did you really think I didn’t expect to find you here? That I didn’t plan for you to come? Do you think Stefano da Bagnone all but told you the exact time and place of this meeting without my knowledge and approval? Of course, we had to make it seem difficult, or you might have sensed a trap.’ He laughed. ‘Poor Ezio! You see, we’ve been at this game a lot longer than you have. I had my guards hidden in the woods here long before you even arrived. And I’m afraid your men were taken as much by surprise as you were – but I wanted to see you again alive before you leave us. Call it a whim. And now I am satisfied.’ Rodrigo smiled and addressed the guards holding Ezio’s arms. ‘Thank you. You may kill him now.’

Together with Emilio Barbarigo, he mounted his horse and rode away, together with the guards who had accompanied him there. Ezio watched him go. He thought fast. There were the two burly men holding him – and how many others, still concealed in the woods? How many men had Borgia set in place to ambush his own troop?

‘Say your prayers, boy,’ one of his captors told him.

‘Look,’ said Ezio. ‘I know you’re only obeying orders. So, if you release me, I’ll spare your lives. How about that?’

The guard who had spoken looked amused. ‘Well! Listen to you! I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone able to keep their sense of humour like you at a moment like -‘

But he didn’t get to finish his sentence. Ezio sprang out his hidden blade and, taking advantage of their surprise, cut at the man holding him on his right. The poison did its work and the man staggered back, falling not far away. Before the other guard could react, Ezio had thrust his blade deep into his armpit, the one spot armour could not cover. Free, he leapt into the shadows at the edge of the stage and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. From out of the woods the other ten guards Rodrigo had hidden there emerged, some warily scanning the fringes of the theatre, others bending over their fallen comrades. Moving with the deadly speed of a lynx, Ezio threw himself among them, slashing at them with sickle-like cuts, concentrating on any part of their bodies that was exposed. Already frightened and taken half off-guard, the Borgia troops reeled before him, and Ezio had slain five of their number before the others took to their heels and vanished, bellowing in panic, into the woods. Ezio watched them go. They wouldn’t report back to Rodrigo unless they wanted to be hanged for incompetence, and it would take a while before they were missed, and Rodrigo learned that his satanic plan had misfired.

Ezio knelt over the body of Jacopo de’ Pazzi. Battered and robbed of all dignity, all that was left was the shell of a pathetic, desperate old man.

‘You poor wretch,’ he said. ‘I was angry when I saw that Rodrigo had robbed me of my rightful prey, but now, now -‘

He fell silent and reached over to close de’ Pazzi’s eyes. Then he realized that the eyes were looking at him. By some miracle, Jacopo was still – just – alive. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound could come. It was clear that he was in the last extremes of agony. Ezio’s first thought was to leave him to a lingering death, but the eyes pleaded with him. Show mercy, he remembered, even when you yourself have been shown none. That too was part of the Creed.