[Author's Note: Chapter 4 is go! Buffer system seems to be working well, slow-but-steady progress continues.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: None that I can think of. Let me know if I've missed something major.
Andiamo!]
Ezio
As soon as the bird had landed on his windowsill and he'd seen the color of the band on its leg, Ezio knew what message it bore. Barely pausing to read the actual words, he'd thrown a bit of food and a lot of money into a pack and stolen a fast horse. When the horse died under him, he ran until the next rider came into view, ripped the man from his mount, and threw a handful of gold coins into the road behind him as he spurred the animal to its fastest. When he reached a stable, he jumped from the sweat-soaked, wild-eyed beast and transferred its bridle to a fresh mount, jumping on bareback and throwing more money into the mud as the proprietor, roused from a sound sleep, came outside just in time to see him round a curve and disappear from sight with the horse already running flat-out.
He ate bites of preserved meat at the gallop, drank only when he had to, slept not at all. His world shrank to white on black dotted by blue and red. People who caught glimpses of his face shrank back in fear or covered their eyes. He bribed his way past most obstacles, threatened when bribing didn't work. On the ninth day, at the border, a group of former Pazzi guards employed by the French recognized him, thought to detain him. They died.
Ten days and a thousand miles later, he slid from his final mount outside the walls of Firenze, removed its tack, and set it free to wander. Someone would pick it up. Leaving everything but his money behind, he stood at the base of the wall and ran a hand over its surface. Numb and nearly blinded with fatigue, he thanked whatever gods watched over him that Florentine politicians worked so slowly. The reinforcements of the city's walls hadn't reached this section yet, and he'd climbed these walls so many times over the years that every crack, every loose brick, every lantern hook was as familiar to him as breathing. Smooth as silk, he was over the wall and in the city streets.
At first he attempted to blend with the crowds, but every slow footfall whispered that he was too late, that she was already gone. He found himself walking briskly, jogging, then running, shoulders colliding with those too slow to get out of the way, leaving consternation and calls for guards in his wake. There was a porter posted at the gate to her property who, as he saw the mud-covered, bloodstained figure come careening down the street, slammed the gate shut, but fences were no obstacle to Ezio and he was up the wall and on the second-level portico, through the louvered doors, and in the upstairs hall.
A young girl coming out of one of the rooms saw him and shrieked, let the bowl of water she was carrying fall, but all that hit the floor was a splash as his hand slid under the cool porcelain. He lifted the bowl to hand it back to her and her eyes found his. She gave a start, then peered closer. As she took the bowl back, she ventured, "Are you Signore Ezio?"
It was the first time someone had spoken to him on a personal level since he'd started his ride, and he realized he couldn't see her face, just a mass of blue space. He shut his eyes and ground the heels of his hands into the sockets, and when he opened them the world was in color again. The shift was disorienting, like the reverse of the first time he'd used his eagle eyes. Then, the black and white and blue had seemed terrifyingly nebulous, as if everything disappeared when he wasn't looking at it. Now, even the shadowed hallway seemed bewilderingly bright and detailed, and some of the shapes didn't quite fit together into the objects they were supposed to be.
"Signore? Are you all right? Do you need the doctor?"
The girl, who had light brown hair pinned up in a tight bun, was looking at him with concern. He realized he'd sagged to the side slightly, supporting himself with one hand on the wall. "Si…I mean, no, I don't need the doctor. I am all right. And to your first question, yes, that is me. Have you been expecting me?"
She nodded. "Milady told us to look for you. You're to be allowed directly in."
His head snapped up and she took a nervous step back. "So I'm not too late, then?"
"No, sir. But…she is very weak. You mustn't tire her, or say or do anything to distress her."
"No…no, I won't. Please, just let me see her now."
The girl motioned to the door she'd just come through.
Even as he paused at the threshold to collect himself, the woman lying in the bed opened her eyes and fixed them on him. Those eyes were the one part of her that had remained the same, clear and silver-grey, soft as a dove's wing or hard as flint depending on her mood. Clouded at first by the narcotic effects of the medicines prescribed by the doctors, they cleared with recognition. A smile curved her lips as she lifted one of her hands from where it lay atop the bedspread, reaching for him.
With two strides he crossed to her bedside and knelt, taking her hand in both of his. Her cheeks were red with burning fever, but her hand was freezing cold. The rasp of her breathing was so loud it seemed to fill the entire room, but when she spoke he had to lean close to understand her words, exhaled with such labor it hurt to hear.
"Was worried…you wouldn't come in time," she said. "Too busy…providing a living…for the English undertakers."
He shook his head. "You know I could never be too busy for you, Caterina."
She laughed, coughed weakly. "Not what you said…when Giovanni was born…"
"I'm sorry."
She frowned at him, struggled to sit up straighter. "No. Don't say that. From you, of all, I…don't want false contrition. Too many have come to me…apologizing because they think they are obligated."
He put a hand on her shoulder. "Dispiace, amore. In that case, I assure you I would have made a terrible father. But you must rest."
She shook her head, but subsided back against her pillows. "Soon…will have all the rest I need…and more. No, don't deny…what you see plainly to be true."
Ezio found himself biting back tears. He'd spent the long ride from England attempting to shove his emotions to the side, to focus only on speed and more speed, on covering the distance. Now, confronted with the truth of what was coming and her insistence that it had to happen, he found himself unprepared for how desperately he wanted things to be different.
His thoughts flashed to the vault under the Coliseum, the heavy golden sphere waiting patiently for its next wielder. It had performed miracles, some of them at his command. He could retrieve it, could come back here and try to use it to fix her, clear the fluid from her lungs and the fever from her blood.
As if reading his thoughts, she grabbed his forearm with her free hand, gripping with surprising strength. "Don't you even think it. I want nothing to do…with that thing, whatever…it is. Do you think…I haven't considered it…a thousand times, lying here…and a thousand more, after I knew…I wouldn't be getting up? My children, my grandchildren…little Gio, especially…they need a strong protector. And while I know you are willing…you have the Order to think of…they are your first responsibility. Leonardo, sweet man that he is…has offered, but we both know…he is even less suited than you. Galeazzo can handle things…for now, but he…has put his career on hold to take care of me. So it seems…even after I die, I will still…be the only truly useful person of the Sforza name."
He cocked his head to the side, confused. Her eyes twinkled with amusement at his expression, and she let go of his arm to point at the desk. It was covered in stacks of letters, tied in sets with colored ribbons, each envelope sealed with her family's coat of arms. There must have been close to two hundred. He looked back to her. "Have you taken up novel writing as a pastime? Dante himself would be jealous of such a volume of literary output."
"Ha! He wished he had my…skill with a sentence. But in seriousness, Ezio…I have three requests. Will you hear them?"
"Of course, cara mia." He kissed her hand.
"All right then. Those letters. They are my protection for my family. I will not trust them…to some overcurious courier…who might think to make a profit from my secrets. Will you use the Order to deliver them? And the deliveries must…be by hand, not by bird. I can make it a…contract, if you like."
He shook his head. "No need. I will see that they reach only their intended recipients and no one else."
She let out a little sigh, and some of the tension seemed to ease from her face. "Thank you." Then she wrinkled her nose. "And now, I think…the rest can wait a while. You smell of…horse sweat, and blood…and worse." For the first time, her gaze took in the details of his appearance, rather than just his presence. Concern drew her brows together as she reached out and ran a feather-light touch down the side of his face. "Oh, just look at you…you silly man, did you even…sleep at all? Of course you didn't. I don't suppose…I could talk you into resting now?"
He shook his head.
"Well, I guess I can't…blame you. I admit…to some sleepless nights of my own, after…Cesare shot you, all those years ago."
"Truly? I didn't know."
"Why should you have? You were in a relationship…with Roma, with the Order, and then you seemed…so happy with Laura. And by the time she left, I felt…I'd lost my chance with you. And now this…well, it seems we were just…destined to always miss one another. But we can talk…more later. I am quite sure…I won't be dying tonight, and if you're…to spend any more time with me, I insist you at least…bathe and put on some clean clothes. Alisa will show you…to your room." She tugged her hand free from his grasp and picked a silver bell up off the nightstand. At its ring, the serving girl Ezio had terrified in the hall appeared at the door.
"Your bath will be ready shortly, Signore. If you would please follow me?"
Ezio glanced back at Caterina, who made a shooing motion with her hands. His earlier frantic hostility gone, and with it the very last of his energy, he followed the girl – Alisa, Caterina had called her – mechanically as she led him to the guest suite that had seemingly been prepared in anticipation of his arrival. It wasn't far from Caterina's rooms; the palazzo was built as a mirror image centered on an entrance space, not unlike the villa at Monteriggioni. Ezio's room was the first door in the men's wing, closest to the upstairs hall connecting the mirrored halves of the building.
The furnishings were understated in design, but brightly colored and of luxurious materials. Though Caterina was technically serving out political exile thanks to her enemies in Forli, most people would have found the high-ceilinged, brightly-lit rooms of the new palazzo preferable to the dank, dark, comparatively cramped castle occupied by the rulers of the fortress city. He ran a silk curtain tie through his hands and smiled. All this tasteful elegance must have gotten on her last nerve.
The rooms in this palazzo had their own attached bathrooms, in the modern style. The door to Ezio's stood ajar, and he could see that it was lit by a leaded glass window, currently glowing gold in the sunset, and a lantern that hung from a hook on the wall. A claw-footed copper tub stood gleaming on the blue and white tile floor, steam rising from the water.
Alisa cleared her throat, and he realized he'd been standing still and silent with the silk curtain tie in his hands for a full minute. He shook himself. "Er…my clothes?"
"Leave them on the floor and they will be collected. Clean garments in your size will be prepared by the time you are finished bathing. Is there anything else you require?"
A way to turn back time. Ezio shook his head. "Not at the moment, no."
Alisa dropped a small curtsy and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Ezio began the process of removing armor, weapons, and clothing that hadn't been cared for in ten days. His work clothes, as he called them, were designed to be worn on long, hard missions, but Assassins in the field always, always made time for sleep and to clean their armor and weapons. Dull wits and dull blades had no place in their business, as Volpe put it.
The leather straps holding everything in place, from pauldrons to greaves, had been exposed to all of the elements without cleaning, and several had already given way. His left bracer was gone, lost in the scuffle at the border. More fittings snapped as he went to unbuckle them. Under it all he wore a padded shirt, to prevent chafing, but against ten days of hard riding it hadn't stood a chance, and as Ezio peeled off his chain mail tunic he could feel the cotton fabric sticking to sores rubbed into his shoulders and back. He didn't even want to think about the state of his feet, avoided looking as he slowly worked off his boots.
Finally, he stood naked in front of the tub. At first the idea of a hot bath had seemed like an excellent idea, but now he confronted the steaming water wearing the same expression with which he would face a spiked wall, or a yard full of vicious dogs, or a vat of boiling oil. Dipping a foot in proved foolish, as the second it broke the surface the raw skin of his heel sent incredible stabbing pains up his leg. Actually, no, it was worse than being stabbed. How was that even possible?
He needed to get clean, though. Several of the worst sores were already turning red around the edges. Leonardo, patching him up back in the early days, had often ranted at length about how medicine needed to move forward in Florence and Rome if they were to hope to keep up with the advances being made in the east. Particularly, he'd stressed the importance of keeping any wound that broke the skin clean, in order to avoid infection.
Scanning the room, Ezio saw that the tub's drain wasn't connected to the floor. Instead, the tiles sloped slightly toward the area under the tub, where there was a drain in the floor itself. He grabbed the large pitcher, meant for drinking water, from the bathroom counter, and filled it with bathwater. Giving himself time for one deep breath, he shut his eyes and poured the water over his head.
Stinging needles swept across his shoulders and upper back. It was like being lashed with a whip, one that was coated in acid and also on fire. "Cazzo! Che fa male! Figlio d'una cagna!"
His swearing brought a pair of servants, Alisa and a young boy he hadn't seen before, running from the hall. "Signore, are you all…oh, Dio mio!" Alisa did a double-take at the sight of Ezio standing naked and soaking wet, turned bright red, and fled for the hall.
"Signore," the boy took up, calm except for a hint of amusement at Alisa's embarrassment, "are you all right?"
Ezio nodded, letting out a resigned sigh. "Could I perhaps trouble you for some soap?"
After thirty minutes and much impugning of the water, the bathtub, the pitcher, the soap, and the mothers of each, Ezio was clean. He stepped over the ring of dirt he'd left on the tiles and found that someone had managed to leave a fluffy white towel and some clothes folded on the bed without him noticing. That was impressive. He'd have to ask Caterina where she got servants that could sneak up on him.
The clothing fit him perfectly, as promised, and was fairly close to what he would've chosen to wear himself. A simple outfit of black canvas breeches, a red silk shirt with long, loose sleeves, a close-fitting black vest with subtle embroidery at the collar, and soft deerskin suede house slippers that didn't aggravate his blisters. His armor was in desperate need of attention, but he merely stacked it neatly on a chair and laid most of his weapons on the desk, taking with him only his sword, knife, and of course the hidden blades.
It was late, and most of the household had gone to bed, but Alisa was sitting in a chair in the hallway outside of Caterina's room, knitting. When she saw him, she blushed and started to stammer out an apology, but he just shook his head and cut her off. "No no, signorina, it is I who should apologize for using such vulgar language in the presence of a young lady. You merely thought I needed aid. So please, accept my apology."
Still red, Alisa nodded. "She is sleeping," she said as he walked past and through the door. "Please try not to wake her. And fetch me if the doctor needs to come."
Ezio padded across the room, the soft shoes almost as good as bare feet for moving silently. He took the chair from the desk and set it by the side of the bed, intending to keep watch through the night. Instead, he found that his eyelids literally would not stay open. None of his usual tricks worked, not even reciting the Creed. He stood and paced across the room, back and forth, since as long as he was moving he could stay awake.
After only his fifth trip across the seven-stride space, Caterina's voice spoke up. "What time is it?" she asked.
He checked the clock on the desk. "About ten minutes until nine at night."
There was a pause. "What day?"
"The same as my arrival. Did I wake you?"
She shook her head. "I only doze now. A few minutes here, an hour or two there. My own breathing wakes me." She patted the bedspread beside her. "I won't try to make you…go to your own room, but at least lie down? You came so far…so quickly, you must be…beyond exhausted."
"I don't know if that's…"
"What? Wise? Appropriate? I'm a dying woman, Ezio. I get to decide what's appropriate now." He never stood a chance against her under normal circumstances, and she was right, he certainly wasn't going to try to argue now. As he passed through the moonlight slanting between a gap in the curtains, she smiled. "Ah, there's my Ezio. You look much better now." She sniffed as he stepped closer. "And smell better, too."
The bed was wide enough that three people could probably have lain in it side by side without touching, so there was plenty of space for Ezio to sit next to her and lean back against the pillows. Caterina lifted her head, took his hand, and placed his arm around her shoulders, then settled into the curve of his shoulder with a contented sigh. The dark softened the harsh effects of sickness on her face, but Ezio could feel her fever through his clothes and see the sweat-darkened curls of hair at her temples.
"You said you had three requests - " he started, but she tapped her hand against his chest and shut her eyes.
"Not now," she said. "I am tired again. I will tell you tomorrow."
Resigned, he stared at the intricately carved wardrobe against the opposite wall, planning to wait for her to wake up. Counting her raspy breaths, he barely got to thirty before his body's needs wrenched control from his mind's intentions and sent him into a deep, dreamless sleep.