Apple Stories – The Language of Strength

Sixteen small towns and two cities have fallen this summer. I have nothing to complain about, except that I don't have him to share it with. And then there is the Apple...

The world was in fresh bloom when I saw him ride away from the camp. I've missed him. Missed everything he has to offer me. It has been four months since we parted. And now I need his help. The Apple is a mystery and Leonardo is a solver of puzzles. If anyone can unlock the Apple's secrets, it's him.

I know he will probably have mixed feelings about the fall of Monteriggioni. There is nothing I can do about that. The Apple is better used in my hands than in the hands of a criminal. And there was no deceit involved in taking the city. Although I had spies there, they were not instrumental in the capture. Only skill and tactics were used. The city was captured in honest combat and the defenders slinked away to whatever darkness they crawled out from originally.

I beat the assassin! I beat him honourably by anyone's standards. Leonardo will understand. But I am not a fool. I still don't fully know what his relationship with the assassin is. He might not wish to see things clearly.

The people I sent were instructed to escort Leonardo to me with all possible courtesy; but also told that he did not have the option of declining my invitation. He wouldn't, though. We parted as friends; he has no reason to refuse.

I look forward to seeing him. My patience is wearing thin.

I-O-I

I hesitate a moment before opening the door. The afternoon sun streaming in from the window behind me is warm on my back. There is a kind of excitement in my mind, happiness a seeing him again, but also a sort of anxiousness I rarely experience. I don't quite know what to expect from him. Not that I ever did...

He has been waiting for a while. I was told that he arrived here about an hour ago, while I was meeting with the leaders of the troops, trying to decide where to go next or whether to end the campaign for the year. It's early September and autumn is on its way, any larger sieges would soon be costly depending on the weather but a few minor towns would still be within reach before the campaigning season ends.

There is so much left to subjugate! But this year my lust for conquest has been at odds with my wish to keep Leonardo close. They are irksomely incompatible, those two desires. Annoyed at my own hesitation, I enter the office.

There is a chill in the air. The sun caresses the other side of the keep and afternoon shadows cling to the corners. There is a plate of refreshments set out on the large table, untouched, and he is leaning against the wall by an open window, looking out at the afternoon landscape beyond the town, his arms crossed. The way he slumps against the stones indicates exhaustion.

His clothes are dirty.

I've never seen that happen before, he's normally almost girlishly careful about his appearance. He slowly turns his head to look at me. I stare, momentarily unable to process what I'm seeing. His eyebrow is cracked and there is still a dark shadow from the bruise under his eye. His lip is split. There is dried blood down the front of his shirt. Buttons torn from his sleeveless doublet. At least a week's worth of stubble on his chin. Wounds around his wrists, cuts on his arms, bruises, bloodied rips in his clothes.

"What the hell is this!" I exclaim angrily. "Get me the people who brought him here, immediately!" I snap at the attendant who followed me into the room.

Leonardo holds up a hand: "I'd be thankful, Your Grace, if I didn't have to see them again." he says softly, measuring his words to protect the wound on his lip.

"Leonardo... What happened!" I ask.

He gives a short, mirthless laugh and just looks at me, his temper impossible to read: "Perhaps I could request a private conversation with you, Your Grace?" he says evenly, his gaze going to the guards in the room and the servants in the corners.

I dismiss them with a wave of my hand and the room falls silent when we are alone. His gaze wanders back to the landscape as I approach him. He seems thinner than the last time. He has a summer tan and freckles on his nose but he is pale and haggard underneath.

"Who did this?" I ask when I'm so close to him that I could reach out and touch him.

"I'm used to travelling between Milano and Venezia, Milano and Firenze, Milano and Monteriggioni... I know the landscapes, the roads, the distances." he says, still staring at the forested hills in the horizon. "But since I made most of the journey drugged, to keep me from escaping a third time, I don't know how far we travelled. I don't even know what day it is." He finally meets my eyes. I see anger in him, a cool and steady sort of anger.

"Where am I, Cesare?" he finally asks. "And why?"

"Drugged?" I ask.

"You are asking questions instead of answering them! Why am I here?" he demands, his voice taut like a drawn bowstring.

"You are here at my invitation. Because your skills are needed." I tell him sharply. I'm not accustomed to anyone using that tone with me, and certainly not a simple painter, but I try to control the anger that flares in my chest. "Now tell me why you are hurt!"

"No!" he shakes his head: "No, this is not an invitation. Your people did this to me when I tried to decline. You can refuse invitations and that was evidently not an option in this case."

"My people did this?" I don't try to hide the surprise I feel at this confirmation. They will most certainly pay for this! Everything considered this was not what I had in mind.

Leonardo takes a step closer so that we are almost nose to nose and stares at me, judging me, weighing me, evaluating me.

"I never authorised them to hurt you. Never! I told them to keep you safe on the journey." Keeping my voice even is a challenge; my anger has to be kept under the surface or I might lose him.

"When they came to my door I was packing." he tells me. "Because I had just heard about Monteriggioni and I had to-" he stops himself midsentence. "I used to live there. It used to be my home."

"It was inevitable." I say and Leonardo lowers his eyes.

"Inevitable?" he asks and gently reaches out to put his hands on my chest. He stands like that for a little while before he finally asks: "Did you kill him?"

"Did I kill who?" I ask. I want to hear him speak the assassin's name. Suddenly the hands on my chest seize my doublet. My instinctive reaction is to grab for the knife in my belt as he swiftly and unexpectedly forces me backwards, forces me into a stumbling run to keep my footing; slams me painfully against the wall.

"Did you kill him!" he roars at me in fury and I cannot help but laugh even though my head hurts from the impact. I have never seen him like this. The exhaustion is gone. The intellect. The shyness. He does speak my language after all.

The door is forcefully torn open; Micheletto is there, all weapons and violent intent. He has such a lovely instinct for protecting me. I hold up a hand to stop him and out of the corner of my eye I see him hesitate in the doorway. Leonardo doesn't even notice him, just slams me against the wall again: "Is he dead!" he yells. I do not try to break his hold on me. I could. But I want to see his rage. The real Leonardo. The man under the gentleness. His eyes are blue flame as we lock gazes.

"I killed an Auditore." I tell him evenly. "He died on his knees before me. But defiant and without fear. He died well."

Leonardo's eyes narrow as he searches my face.

"But no. It wasn't... Ezio." I tell him, smiling. "Though whether he died trying to escape or manage to crawl away I cannot say."

He looks away. The rage is suddenly spent; the tiredness is back and his hands shakily relax their grip. I let go of the dagger and wave Micheletto out.

We stand close together. I want to touch him, but I will have to be satisfied with his hands resting on my chest for now.

"What about Claudia and Maria?" he asks softly. The wound on his lip has opened and a small trickle of blood runs down his chin.

"I have no idea." I tell him. "I never bothered learning that much about the Murderer. He is my father's problem, after all, not mine."

"His sister. His mother. They lived there. Are they dead?" Leonardo asks.

"Not by my hand. I never saw them; that I know of, at least. ...The sister managed the estate, isn't that right?" I ask calmly: "A pity I didn't get to see her. I've heard she's quite a beautiful woman."

The look he sends me is sharp but then he draws a deep breath and slowly runs his hands down my chest, straightening my ruffled clothes. Then he backs away and takes a seat by the table, leans back in the chair and closes his eyes for a moment. I move close to him and brush the blood off his lip with the tips of my fingers. He opens his eyes, but doesn't move away. I sit down next to him.

"What now?" he finally asks. "Am I a prisoner?"

I laugh: "Of course not."

"Wonderful..." he comments and slowly gets to his feet, walks towards the door. I find that I really like this game. It's a new and interesting dimension to him. There is no doubt in my mind that he will stagger out of the keep as he is, and foolishly brave whatever dangers he might encounter on his way, just to keep his pride.

I unhook the pouch from my belt and put it on the table. As always, losing contact with the Apple leaves a sort of hollow in my mind. "Leonardo." I say softly as his hand comes to rest on the door handle. His shoulders slump visibly and he stands still for a few moments before turning.

I open the pouch and push the apple across the table as far as I can reach. The warm metal seems to caress my fingers as I touch it and letting go of it is a battle as always; but I leave it sitting on the tabletop and lean back in the chair.

His gaze is fixed at the thing for a long while; then flickers to me and back again.

"I need your help." I tell him. "And however much you demand in payment for your services, I will give it to you. Whatever materials you might need for the work will be yours. You need only ask."

I watch as the battle of pride versus curiosity rages openly in his features and I cannot prevent a smile from curling my lips. Finally he forces his gaze away from the magnificent golden sphere.

"I'll assume that the assassin didn't let you play with his toys?" I ask and my body quickens as Leonardo licks his wounded lip quickly, obviously struggling to keep his eyes on me.

I go to him, place myself between the Apple and him. My hand caresses his neck before I can stop myself and it is gratifying to have his full attention.

"You've had a horrendous journey. I apologise, this was never meant to happen." I tell him and feel him relax a little under the touch of my fingers. "And you don't have to make any decisions now. Rest, eat, take a warm bath. And please, let my physician have a look at you. We can talk about everything when you are feeling better."

He closes his eyes and for a short, mad moment I'm convinced he has fallen asleep where he stands.

He finally sighs and lifts his tired gaze: "Fine." he says. "My options are limited."

I snatch up the Apple before I call for the servants; make certain he is well provided for in every way. But as I walk to the training grounds with Micheletto afterwards, a tiny part of me cannot help but wonder if turning the Apple over to Leonardo is wise. If his feelings for the Murderer are too strong, he might think to betray me.

If just a small part of him understands the language of strength after all, I might have misjudged him. And I find that I enjoy this phase of the game even more than the last...

Next Chapter - Move and Countermove