Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood (21 page)

“Of course not! All I want is to return it to its rightful owner.”

“Fear not, Leo. We will recover it. In the meantime, stall them as far as you can, and if you can, keep me posted on how much you have let them know.”

“I will.”

Ezio paused. “There is something else.”

“Tell me.”

“I have lost all the Codex weapons you once fashioned for me.”

“I see.”

“Except for the original hidden-blade. But the pistol, the poison-blade, the double-blade, the miraculous bracer—all these are gone.”

“Hmm,” said Leonardo. Then he smiled. “Well, recreating them for you may not be a problem.”

“Really?” Ezio could scarcely believe it.

“The designs you let me have are still in Florence, well hidden with my old assistants Agniolo and Innocento. The Borgia will never have them. If they ever—heaven forfend!—took Florence, or even if the French did, Agniolo has strict orders to destroy them, and even he and Innocento—not that I do not trust them absolutely—would never be able to re-create them independently of me. But
I—I
never forget a design. However—”

He hesitated, almost embarrassed. “You must pay me for the raw materials I will need. In advance.”

Ezio was astonished. “Really? They are not paying you at il Vaticano?”

Leonardo coughed. “Very…very little. I suppose they think that keeping me alive is payment enough. And I am not such a fool as to think that the minute my services become…superfluous to requirements, they will not kill me with as little reflection as they might kill a dog.”

“Hardly that,” said Ezio. “They would rather you were dead than have you work for anyone else.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking along the same lines,” said Leonardo. “And there’s really nowhere to run. Not that I want to—I want to see the Borgia crushed—I’ll engage myself so far in politics as to say that! But my beloved Milan is in French hands…” he started to muse. “Perhaps…later…when all this is over…I might even try my luck in France. They say it’s a very civilized country…”

It was time to bring him back to reality. Ezio went to an ironbound chest and from it produced a leather pouch bulging with ducats. This he gave to Leonardo.

“Payment on account for the Codex weapons,” he said briskly. “When can you have them ready?”

Leonardo considered. “It won’t be as easy as it was last time,” he said. “I must work secretly, and alone—for I cannot wholly trust all the assistants I have working for me here.” He paused. “Let me contact you again. As soon as possible, I promise.” He hefted the heavy bag in his hand. “And who knows, for this much money I may even be able to throw in a couple of new weapons—my own inventions this time, of course, but effective, I think you’ll find.”

“Whatever you can do for us will earn my undying gratitude and my protection, wherever you are,” said Ezio. He made a mental note to delegate a handful of his new recruits, as soon as they finished their training, to keep a watchful eye on Leonardo and to report back regularly on him. “Now, how shall we maintain contact?”

Leonardo said, “I’ve thought of that.” He took out a piece of chalk and on the table between them drew a man’s right hand, pointing.

“It’s beautiful,” said Ezio.

“Thank you—it’s just a sketch of part of a painting I’ve been thinking of doing—of Saint John the Baptist. If I ever get around to it. Go and sit where it’s pointing to.”

Ezio obeyed.

“That’s it,” said Leonardo. “Tell your people to keep their eyes peeled. They see one of these—it’ll just look like a bit of
graffito
to anyone else—tell them to let you know, and follow the direction it’s pointing in. That’s how we’ll rendezvous.”

“Splendid,” said Ezio.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re forewarned. In case you’re thinking of charging off somewhere on some mission or other.”

“Thanks.”

Leonardo stood. “I must go. Otherwise I’ll be missed. But first—”

“First what?”

Leonardo grinned and shook the bag of money.

“First, I’m going shopping!”

Ezio left the hideout shortly after Leonardo, to continue his recruiting work but also to keep himself busy. He was impatient to have the replacement Codex weapons back in his hands.

When, later in the day, he returned for a prearranged meeting, it was to find that Machiavelli had preceded him. Caterina was with him, sitting in a chair, her knees covered with a fur rug. As usual, Machiavelli did not stand on ceremony.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

Ezio didn’t like his tone. “We all have our secrets,” he replied, keeping his voice level. “And, may I ask, what have you been up to?”

Machiavelli smiled. “I’ve been refining our carrier pigeon system. We can use it now to send orders to the new recruits scattered about the city.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Niccolò.”

They looked at each other. Machiavelli was almost ten years Ezio’s junior; yet there was no doubting the independence and ambition behind those veiled eyes. Did he resent Ezio’s leadership? Had he hoped it might have fallen on him? Ezio put the thought aside: no, surely the man was more of a theorist, a diplomat, a political animal. And there could be no doubt about his usefulness—or his allegiance—to the Brotherhood. If only Ezio could convince La Volpe of that, fully.

And, as if on cue, La Volpe entered the hideout, accompanied by Claudia.

“What news?” Ezio asked him, after the two had greeted one another.

“Bartolomeo sends his apologies. It seems that General Valois has had another stab at attacking the barracks.”

“I see.”

“They redoubled their assault. But we are holding our ground.”

“Good.” Ezio turned to his sister, coldly. “Claudia,” he said, inclining his head.

“Brother,” she rejoined, with equal frostiness.

“Please sit down, all of you,” said Ezio.

Once they were settled, he continued. “I have a plan prepared for the Borgia.”

“I suggest,” Machiavelli put in immediately, “that we either go after their supplies or Cesare’s followers.”

“Thank you, Niccolò,” said Ezio evenly. “
My
plan is to attack both. If we can cut off his funds, Cesare will lose his army and return without his men. How does he get his money?”

La Volpe said, “We know that he depends for much of his money on Rodrigo, and Rodrigo’s banker is Agostino Chigi. But Cesare also has his own banker, whose identity has yet to be confirmed, though we have our suspicions.”

Ezio decided, for the moment, to keep his own suspicions in that direction quiet. It would be best to have them confirmed, if possible, by La Volpe’s men.

“I know someone—a client of ours at the Rosa in Fiore—who owes that banker money. The senator Egidio Troche is complaining about interest rates all the time.”

“Bene,”
said Ezio. “Then we must follow that up.”

“There’s something else,” said Machiavelli. “We have news that they are planning to station French troops on the road that leads to Castel Sant’Angelo. Your attack must have really rattled them. And apparently Cesare is planning to return to Rome. Immediately. Quite why, so soon, is beyond me. But we’ll find out. In any case, when he does arrive, he’ll be so well guarded that you’ll never get to him. In any case, our spies tell us that he intends to keep his return secret, at least for the moment.”

“He’s got something up his sleeve,” said La Volpe.

“Brilliant,” said Machiavelli, and the two men ex -changed a look that wasn’t friendly.

Ezio considered this. “Seems to be that our best course of action is to corner this French general of theirs, Octavien, and kill him. Once he’s out of the way, Bartolomeo will have the Frenchmen on the defensive, and they’ll abandon their guard duty at the Castel.”

Caterina spoke for the first time. “Even so, Ezio—even with those troops gone, the Papal Guard will continue to protect the bridge and the main gate.”

“Ah,” said La Volpe, “but there’s a side entrance. Lucrezia’s latest plaything, the actor Pietro Benintendi, has a key.”

“Does he?” said Ezio. “I saw him with her at the Castel.”

“I’ll have my men find out where he is,” promised La Volpe. “Shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Caterina smiled. “Sounds like a good idea. I’d like to help. We should be able to scare that key out of him—and he’ll stop seeing Lucrezia. Anything to rob that bitch of any pleasure.”

“Momentino, Contessa,”
said Machiavelli. “We are going to have to do without your help.”

Caterina looked at him, surprised. “Why?”

“Because we are going to have to get you out of the city—maybe to Florence, until we can get Forlì back for you. Your children are already safe there.” He looked around. “Ezio’s rescuing you wasn’t without its consequences. There are heralds all over the city proclaiming a rich reward for the
contessa
‘s capture—alive or dead. And no bribe can shut them up.”

There was a silence. Then Caterina rose, letting the rug fall to the floor. “Then it appears that I have out-stayed my welcome,” she said. “Excuse me.”

“What are you talking about?” said Ezio, alarmed.

“Only that I am in danger here—”

“We will protect you!”

“And—more important—a liability to you.” She was looking at Machiavelli as she spoke. “Isn’t that so, Niccolò?”

Machiavelli was silent.

“I am answered,” said Caterina. “I will make my preparations at once.”

“Are you sure you are able to ride?” Ezio asked her.

“I rode from the Castel when you rescued me, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but then there was no choice.”

“Is there a choice now?”

Ezio was silent. It was the following morning and Ezio watched as Caterina and her two female attendants packed the few clothes and provisions Claudia had organized for her journey. She would leave the next day before dawn. A small escort of Ezio’s men would ride with her part of the way, to see her safely out of Rome. Ezio had offered to join them, but this Caterina had refused. “I don’t like goodbyes,” she’d said. “And the more drawn out they are, the worse they are.”

He watched her as she bustled about her packing. He thought about the times they had had together, long ago in Forlì, and then about what he had fondly imagined was a reunion in Monteriggioni. The Assassins’ Brotherhood seemed to have taken over his life—and left him alone.

“I wish you would stay,” he said.

“Ezio, I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Dismiss your women.”

“I have to hurry.”

“Dismiss them. This won’t take long.”

She did so, but he could see with what reluctance, and even then she said, “Be sure to return in five minutes by the water clock.”

Once they were alone, he didn’t know where to begin.

“Well?” she said, more gently, and he could see that her eyes were troubled—though by what, he could not tell.

“I…I rescued you,” he said lamely.

“You did, and I am grateful. But didn’t you tell the others that you did so purely because I am still a useful ally—even with Forlì gone?”

“We’ll get Forlì back.”

“And then I shall go there again.”

Ezio was silent again. His heart felt empty.

She came up to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Ezio, listen. I am no use to anyone without Forlì. If I leave now, it is to seek safety—and to be with my children. Don’t you want that for me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then—”

“I didn’t rescue you because you’re valuable to the cause.”

It was her turn to be silent.

“But because—”

“Don’t say it, Ezio.”

“Why not?”

“Because I cannot say it back.”

No weapon could have cut more deeply into him than those words. “You used me, then?”

“That sounds rather harsh.”

“What other words would you wish me to use?”

“I tried to explain earlier.”

“You are a ruthless woman.”

“I am a woman with work to do, and a duty.”

“Then whatever serves your cause, goes.”

She was silent again, then said, “I’ve tried to explain this to you already. You must accept it.” She had taken her hands from his shoulders. He could see that her mind had wandered back to her journey. She was looking at the stuff yet to be packed.

He thought, recklessly,
To hell with the Brotherhood! I know what I want! Why shouldn’t I live for myself, for a change?

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

She turned to him again, her eyes serious. “Listen, Ezio. Perhaps you are making a choice, but you are making it too late. Perhaps I have done the same thing. But you are leader of the Assassins now. Don’t give up the work you have started—the great work of rebuilding after the disaster at Monteriggioni. Without you, things will fall apart again, and then who will there be to save us?”

“But you never really wanted me.”

He looked at her. She was still there, in the room with him, but her spirit had long gone. How long ago it had left him, he did not know—perhaps it had never really been there. Perhaps he had only hoped for it, or imagined it. At that moment, he felt that he was looking at the corpse of love, yet still he refused to believe in its death. But, as with any other death, he saw that he had no choice now but to get used to its reality.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said Caterina, and her attendants returned.

Ezio left them to their packing.

The next morning he was determined to resist seeing them off, but he could not. It was cold. When he got to the appointed square, in a safe district of the city, they were already mounted, the horses restless. Perhaps, even now, at the last moment, she would relent.

But her eyes, though kind, were distant. He thought he could have borne things better if she hadn’t looked at him with kindness. Kindness was almost humiliating.

All he could say was, “
Buona fortuna, Contessa
—and…farewell.”

“Let’s hope it’s not ‘farewell.’”

“Oh, I think it is.”

She looked at him once more. “Well, then—
buona fortuna anche
, my prince; and—
Vittoria agli Assassini!
”