Assassin's Creed: Renaissance (3 page)

The small crowd that had inevitably gathered had given Ezio a round of applause. He had bowed, smilingly, but as he’d turned away he’d known that he might have made a new friend, but he had also made an implacable enemy.

‘Let Cristina sleep,’ Federico said again, drawing Ezio back from his reverie.

‘Time enough for that – later,’ he replied. ‘I must see her.’

‘All right, if you must – I’ll try to cover for you with Father. But watch yourself – Vieri’s men may still be about.’ With that, Federico shinned down the tower to the roof, and bounded off that into a hay-wagon parked in the street which led home.

Ezio watched him go, then decided to emulate his brother. The hay-wain looked very far below him, but he remembered what he’d been taught, controlled his breathing, calmed himself, and concentrated.

Then he flew into the air, taking the greatest leap of his life so far. For an instant he thought he might have misjudged his aim, but he calmed his own momentary panic and landed safely in the hay. A true leap of faith! A little breathless, but exhilarated at his success, Ezio swung himself into the street.

The sun was just appearing over the eastern hills but there were still very few people about. Ezio was just about to start off in the direction of Cristina’s mansion when he heard echoing footsteps and, desperately trying to conceal himself, he shrank into the shadows of the church porch and held his breath. It was none other than Vieri and two of the Pazzi guards who rounded the corner.

‘We’d better give up, chief,’ said the senior guard. ‘They’ve long gone by now.’

‘I know they’re here somewhere,’ snapped Vieri. ‘I can practically smell them.’ He and his men made a circuit of the church square but showed no sign of moving on. The sunlight was shrinking the shadows. Ezio cautiously crept into the shelter of the hay again and lay there for what seemed an age, impatient to be on his way. Once, Vieri passed so close that Ezio could practically smell
him
, but at last he motioned his men with an angry gesture to move on. Ezio lay still for a while longer, then climbed down and let out a long sigh of relief. He dusted himself off, and quickly covered the short distance that separated him from Cristina, praying that no one in her household would yet be stirring.

The mansion was still silent, though Ezio guessed that servants would be preparing the kitchen fires at the back. He knew which Cristina’s window was, and threw a handful of gravel up at her shutters. The noise seemed deafening and he waited, heart in mouth. Then the shutters opened and she appeared on the balcony. Her nightdress revealed the delicious contours of her body as he gazed up at her. He was at once lost in desire.

‘Who is it?’ she called softly.

He stood back so she could see him. ‘Me!’

Cristina sighed, though in a not unfriendly way. ‘Ezio! I might have known.’

‘May I come up,
mia colomba
?’

She glanced over her shoulder before answering in a whisper. ‘All right. But just for a minute.’

‘That’s all I need.’

She grinned. ‘Indeed?’

He was confused. ‘No – sorry – I didn’t mean it quite like that! Let me show you…’ Looking round himself to make sure the street was still deserted, he gained a foothold in one of the large iron rings set into the grey stonework of the house for tethering horses, and hoisted himself up, finding relatively easy handholds and footholds in the rusticated masonry. In two winks of an eye he had hoisted himself over the balustrade and she was in his arms.

‘Oh, Ezio!’ she sighed as they kissed. ‘Look at your head. What have you been doing this time?’

‘It’s nothing. A scratch.’ Ezio paused, smiling. ‘Perhaps now I’m up, I could also come in?’ he said gently.

‘Where?’

He was all innocence. ‘To your bedchamber, of course.’

‘Well, perhaps – if you’re sure a minute is all you need…’

Their arms around each other, they went through the double doors into the warm light of Cristina’s room.

An hour later, they were awakened by the sunlight streaming in through the windows, the bustling noises of carts and people in the street, and – worst of all – the sound of Cristina’s father’s voice as he opened the bedroom door.

‘Cristina,’ he was saying. ‘Time to get up, girl! Your tutor will be here at any – What the devil? Son of a bitch!’

Ezio kissed Cristina, quickly but hard. ‘Time to go, I think,’ he said, seizing his clothes and darting to the window. He shinned down the wall and was already pulling on his suit when Antonio Calfucci appeared on the balcony above. He was in a white rage.

‘
Perdonate, Messere
,’ Ezio offered.

‘I’ll give you
perdonate, Messere
,’ yelled Calfucci. ‘Guards! Guards! Get after that
cimice
! Bring me his head! And I want his
coglioni
as well!’

‘I’ve said I’m sorry -‘ Ezio began, but already the gates of the mansion were opening and the Calfucci bodyguards came rushing out, swords drawn. Now more or less dressed, Ezio set off at a run down the street, dodging wagons and pushing past citizens on his way, wealthy businessmen in solemn black, merchants in browns and reds, humbler folk in homespun tunics and, once, a church procession which he collided with so unexpectedly that he all but tipped over the statue of the Virgin the black-cowled monks were carrying. At last, after ducking down alleys and leaping over walls, he stopped and listened. Silence. Not even the shouts and curses that had followed him from the general population could be heard any more. As for the guards, he’d shaken them off, he was sure of that.

He only hoped Signor Calfucci hadn’t recognized him. Cristina wouldn’t betray him, he could be sure of that. Besides, she could run rings round her father, who adored her. And even if he did find out, Ezio reflected, he wouldn’t be a bad match. His father ran one of the biggest banking houses in town, and one day it might be bigger than that of the Pazzi or even – who knew? – of the Medici.

Using back streets, he made his way home. The first to meet him was Federico, who looked at him gravely and shook his head ominously. ‘You’re in for it now,’ he said. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

The office of Giovanni Auditore was on the first floor, and overlooked the gardens behind the palazzo through two sets of double windows which opened on to one broad balcony. The room was panelled in dark, scrolled oak, whose severity was scarcely mitigated by the ornate plasterwork of the ceiling. Two desks faced each other in the room, the larger of which belonged to Giovanni, and the walls were lined with bookcases stuffed with ledgers and parchment scrolls from which heavy red seals dangled. The room was designed to say to any visitor: here you will find opulence, respectability and trust. As head of the Auditore International Bank, which specialized in loans to the kingdoms of Germania within what was notionally at least a Holy Roman Empire, Giovanni Auditore was well aware of the weighty and responsible position he held. He hoped his two older sons would make haste to come to their senses and help him shoulder the burdens he had inherited from his own father, but he could see no sign of that yet. Nevertheless…

He glowered across the room at his middle son from his seat at his desk. Ezio stood near the other desk, vacated by Giovanni’s secretary to give father and son the privacy they required for what Ezio feared would be a very painful interview. It was now early afternoon. He’d been dreading the summons all morning, though he’d also used the time to snatch a couple of hours of necessary sleep and smarten himself up. He guessed his father had wanted to give him those opportunities before carpeting him.

‘Do you think me blind and deaf, my son?’ Giovanni was thundering. ‘Do you think I haven’t heard all about the fight with Vieri de’ Pazzi and his lot down by the bridge last night? Sometimes, Ezio, I think you’re not much better than he is, and the Pazzi make for dangerous enemies.’ Ezio was about to speak, but his father held up a cautionary hand. ‘Kindly allow me to finish!’ He took a breath. ‘And as if that weren’t bad enough, you take it upon yourself to chase after Cristina Calfucci, the daughter of one of the most successful merchants in all Tuscany, and, not content with that, to tumble her in her own bed! It’s intolerable! Don’t you consider our family’s reputation at all?’ He paused, and Ezio was surprised to see the ghost of a twinkle in his eye. ‘You do realize what all this means, don’t you?’ continued Giovanni. ‘You do realize who you remind me of, don’t you?’

Ezio bowed his head, but then he was surprised when his father got up, crossed the room to him and put an arm round his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

‘You little devil! You remind me of myself when I was your age!’ But Giovanni immediately became grave again. ‘Don’t think, however, that I wouldn’t punish you without mercy if I didn’t have sore need of you here. If I didn’t, mark my words, I’d send you off to your Uncle Mario and get him to recruit you into his
condottieri
squadron. That’d knock some sense into you! But I have to count on you, and although you don’t seem to have the brains to see it, we’re passing through a crucial time in our city. How’s your head feeling? I see you’ve taken the bandage off.’

‘Much better, father.’

‘So I assume nothing’s going to interfere with the work I have lined up for you for the rest of the day?’

‘I promise you, Father.’

‘It’s a promise you’d better keep.’ Giovanni returned to his desk and, from a compartment, drew a letter bearing his own seal and passed it to his son, together with two parchment documents in a leather case. ‘I want you to deliver these to Lorenzo de’ Medici at his bank without any delay.’

‘May I ask what it concerns, Father?’

‘As for the documents, you may not. But it’d be as well for you to know that the letter brings Lorenzo up to date on our dealings with Milan. I spent all this morning preparing it. This must go no farther, but if I don’t give you my trust, you’ll never learn responsibility. There’s a rumour of a plot against Duke Galeazzo – a nasty piece of work, I grant you, but Florence can’t afford to have Milan destabilized.’

‘Who’s involved?’

Giovanni looked at his son narrowly: ‘They say the principal conspirators are Giovanni Lampugnani, Gerolamo Olgiati and Carlo Visconti; but it looks as if our own dear Francesco de’ Pazzi is involved as well, and above all, there’s a plan afoot which seems to encompass more than just the politics of two city-states. The Gonfaloniere here has taken Francesco into custody for the moment but the Pazzi won’t like that at all.’ Giovanni stopped himself. ‘There. I’ve already told you far too much. Make sure this gets to Lorenzo quickly – I’ve heard he’s leaving for Careggi very soon to take some country air, and while the cat’s away…’

‘I’ll get it there as fast as possible.’

‘Good boy. Go now!’

Ezio set off on his own, using the back streets as far as possible, never thinking that Vieri might still be out looking for him. But suddenly, in a quiet street within minutes of the Medici Bank, there he stood, blocking Ezio’s path. Trying to double back, Ezio found more of Vieri’s men blocking his retreat. He turned again. ‘Sorry, my little piglet,’ he shouted at Vieri, ‘but I simply don’t have time to give you another drubbing now.’

‘It’s not me that’s going to get a drubbing,’ Vieri shouted back. ‘You’re cornered; but don’t worry – I’ll send a nice wreath for your funeral.’

The Pazzi men were closing in. No doubt Vieri knew of his father’s imprisonment by now. Ezio looked around desperately. The street’s tall houses and walls hemmed him in. Slinging the satchel containing the precious documents securely round his body, he selected the most likely house within his reach and sprang at its wall, gripping the rough-hewn stone with both hands and feet before scaling up to the roof. Once there, he paused a moment to look down at Vieri’s irate face. ‘I haven’t even got time to piss on you,’ he said, and scampered away along the rooftop as fast as he could, dropping to the ground with new-found agility as soon as he was clear of his pursuers.

A few moments later, he was at the doors of the bank. He entered and recognized Boetio, one of Lorenzo’s most trusted servants. Here was a stroke of luck. Ezio hurried up to him.

‘Hey, Ezio! What brings you here in such a hurry?’

‘Boetio, there is no time to waste. I have letters here from my father for Lorenzo.’

Boetio looked serious, and spread his hands. ‘
Ahimè
, Ezio! You’re too late. He’s gone to Careggi.’

‘Then you must make sure he gets these as soon as possible.’

‘I’m sure he hasn’t gone for more than a day or so. In these times…’

‘I’m beginning to find out about these times! Make sure he gets them, Boetio, and in confidence! As soon as possible!’

When he had returned to his own palazzo, he made his way quickly to his father’s office, ignoring both the amiable backchat from Federico, who was lazing under a tree in the garden, and the attempts of his father’s secretary, Giulio, to prevent him from passing the closed door of Giovanni’s inner sanctum. There, he discovered his father in deep conversation with the Chief Justice of Florence, the Gonfaloniere Uberto Alberti. No surprise there, for the two men were old friends, and Ezio treated Alberti as he would an uncle. But he’d caught expressions of deep seriousness on their faces.

‘Ezio, my boy!’ said Uberto, genially. ‘How are you? Out of breath as usual, I see.’

Ezio looked urgently at his father.

‘I’ve been trying to calm your father down,’ continued Uberto. ‘There’s been a lot of trouble, you know; but
‘ he turned to Giovanni and his tone became more earnest, ‘
the threat is ended.’

‘Have you delivered the documents?’ Giovanni asked, crisply.

‘Yes, father. But Duke Lorenzo had already left.’

Giovanni frowned. ‘I hadn’t anticipated his leaving so soon.’

‘I left them with Boetio,’ said Ezio. ‘He’ll get them to him as soon as possible.’

‘That may not be soon enough,’ said Giovanni, darkly.

Uberto patted him on the back. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘It can only mean a day or two. We have Francesco under lock and key. What could possibly happen in such a short time?’