Part Eleven: Death of Conspirators II
The mercenaries had fared much better in the fight than Ezio, and the captain immediately put him to the cart with the gardener, tying his horse to another and riding for almost three hours before stopping. "They won't look this far out," he said, hopping into the cart with two of his lieutenants. "Let's look at that leg."
The gash Ezio had taken from the broadsword was deep - fast though he had been - and even after ripping several strips of cloth from his cape to tie off the injury it was still oozing blood. The twenty-year old felt light-headed on top of the pain, but he utterly refused to faint.
"Merda," the captain cursed, examining the slash and motioning for one of the lieutenants. The mercenary opened up his pack and began pulling out bandages and needles, and a wineskin that the captain immediately made Ezio drink from before pouring it over the injury, causing the young Florentine to hiss in surprise.
"Merda!" Ezio cursed, "That's no way to use wine!" But the captain and his two men had already lit a candle and were heating a needle, pulling out thread. When the burning hot needle first touched Ezio's skin, his muscles instinctively jerked away and he cried out. "What are you doing?"
"Keeping Alfeo from killing me," the captain said, "Or Mentor, for that matter."
This was nothing like the stitches he had received for his lip the night Frederico taught him to climb. There were no gentle hands, or reassuring presence, or even a kind word; just quick, clinical, rough work, and Ezio nearly passed out before the surgery was done. Then the captain turned to his other men and began assessing them, and Ezio realized that this, too, was part of being in charge: looking after the men he was to lead. He felt ashamed at his childish cries, watching as the other mercenaries took their stitches or bandaging with no complaint, barely even a hiss, and he felt like a child for the first time since his father died and he assumed himself head of the family.
The ride back to Monteriggioni seemed to take forever to Ezio, injured in both his body and his pride. The captain had sent one of the men ahead, and as dawn approached Mario, Claudia, and the doctor Alfeo all stood at the gates; Mario with a hard face, Claudia painfully impatient, and Alfeo stoic and still.
"You idiot!" Claudia immediately cried out, running up to the cart. "How can you expect to protect us if you can't even look after yourself! Do you have any idea how worried we were when Antonio came riding in saying you were hurt? What were you possibly-"
"Piccina," Mario said in a low, gravely voice, "If you cannot be quiet then you cannot be here, do you understand?"
Red faced, Claudia turned to her uncle to offer a temperamental retort, but he fixed her with his one-eyed gaze and she backed down.
The spindly doctor Alfeo, meanwhile, adjusted his cracked mask as he climbed onto the cart. "How bad?" he asked.
"Twelve stitches," the captain said. "Don't worry, I remembered to heat the needle this time."
"Did you boil the thread?"
"..."
"How many times do I have to go over this?" Alfeo demanded. "I'll have to redo them. Come on, let's get him to the apothecary. Are there any others as bad off as Ser Ezio?"
"No."
"Then they can wait until tomorrow. Let's go."
Ezio couldn't stop the grunt in his chest as he was lifted out of the cart and carried to the doctor's residence, several candles already lit and the heavy aroma of everything from sheep's urine to lead to pomegranate to leeches to herbs Ezio didn't even try to identify. The doctor was already uncorking a bottle of leeches, but Ezio weakly knocked it away.
"You need it Messer, to get rid of the bad blood."
"The last thing I need is the loss of more blood," Ezio said, his baritone hard.
"A difficult patient, I see. Very well, I'll just wait until you've passed out." And Alfeo put the leeches away, pulling thread out of a boiling kettle and putting a needle up to a candle. Ezio took a deep breath, not relishing going through this again, and shifted his weight as best he could. Claudia, gone from hot tempered to utterly white at the sight of the injury, shook like a leaf beside him, and Ezio reached up and grabbed her hand. "I'll be fine, piccina," he said in his strongest voice. "You know me, I like to live dangerously." His eighteen-year-old sister blinked, looking at him in surprise and confusion. "Do you not remember?" he asked in a light voice, "All the night guards knew Federico's and my name. On sight. Do you remember all the complaints father would receive?"
She snorted, rolling her eyes slightly. "I remember the other girls always talking about you, wanting to know how impressive you were."
"You exalted my charms and personality."
"No," she sniffed. "I told them you were smaller than Petruccio."
"Claudia!" he cried out shocked, before hissing as the doctor pulled out the captain's stitches. His breathing quickened a moment, scaring his sister, but he quickly brought himself under control and gave a snide retort. "Were that your figure was as big as your mouth."
"Ezio! Just because I don't have much weight doesn't mean that I'm not attractive!"
"No, you're the most beautiful girl in Monteriggioni."
"Woman, big brother. I'm a woman."
"Who's so exacting she still can't find a husband."
"Says the man who's still smaller than Petruccio."
Alfeo began the new stitches, and Ezio and Claudia both kept insulting each other, angering and surprising and distracting each other from the work that needed to be done. Another twelve stitches later, Alfeo was disrobing Ezio of his doublet and linens, looking at the arrow injury. "At least this was treated well," he murmured, insensitive hands exploring the wounds. Ezio winced and hissed, sweating from the pain he was in, but he kept talking to Claudia, and she kept responding, the two working through the surgery until it was midmorning.
"All finished, Messer," Alfeo said. "You'll need to stay off the leg for several days, possibly even a week; I'll come by then to take out the stitches. Use this salve and use some leeches at least once a day to keep the bad blood out."
"Of course," Ezio said, stoutly planning the exact opposite in terms of leeches.
"I'm surprised you didn't pass out. Most would have by now."
Ezio offered a level glare but did not respond. He was many things, but "most" was not one of them. He slowly swung his legs to the floor, gingerly testing his weight before cursing and looking to his sister with helpless frustration. Claudia was already offering her shoulder, however, and she helped him hop out of the shop. Several of the townspeople looked at their patron and in less than five minutes a mother arrived with a crutch, she and her three children trailing after Ezio to see if there was more they could do. Santino left his shop, staring in horror, before muttering about metals and better armor and shouting to Marco and Carlo to get to work. One of the carpenters quickly crafted a second, makeshift crutch, and with two of them Ezio could swing instead of hobble - save that he didn't put all his weight on his bad shoulder - and he and his sister made better time back to the villa. He was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was go to bed for a week, but as leader of the mission, he instead limped his way into his uncle's office and gave his report, explaining everything that happened from the greased pig to the archer to the gardener.
Mario nodded, slowly. "You've had a long night, nipote. Rest."
"It's about time," Claudia said, helping her brother up and setting him to bed.
Ezio woke to his mother praying by his bedside, and a long string of well-wishers to bid him a speedy recovery.
A week later, Alfeo came as he said he would and gave a disapproving look when he saw how starved his precious leeches were, but he said nothing as he pulled out the stitches.
"Doctor," Ezio said, twitching as the thread was pulled out of his thigh. His shoulder didn't hurt this much and it had gotten the arrow. "Can you teach me?"
The tall man looked up, his cracked beak crooked on his face. "Pardon?"
The young Florentine hissed again, the man had no sensitivity in his hands, but he pressed on. "I was lucky that night," he said, "that the captain knew that I needed stitches, and knew - mostly - how to give them. I may not be so lucky the next time. Can you teach me how to treat myself if there's no one else around?"
"You mean beside the simple advice of avoiding arrows and broadswords?"
"Si," Ezio said with some irritation. "Besides that."
The doctor took off his beaked mask, running his gloved hands through his thick matte of dark hair. Alfeo's face was bony and as gangly as the rest of him. He sighed. "Come see me next week," he said, "And we'll see if you're any better at learning than that idiot mercenary."
"It's a deal," Ezio said, smiling.
Though his leg and shoulder were impaired, Ezio just couldn't sit still for his recovery. He watched the practice ring with Ulderico, trying to learn what he could of strategy and pestered the mercenary mercilessly on when he could get back in to the ring to learn. Ulderico steadfastly refused to let Ezio pick up a sword until Ezio could run up the grand stairs of the villa without being winded and climb the face of Monteriggioni and back down with no arm hurting.
Ezio grumbled about this.
Going down into the town was difficult with a bad shoulder on the crutches, and Claudia was always flitting here and there instead, looking into how the construction was going, haggling better prices, and so on. Mario was once more out in the countryside, searching down the leads that Ezio, confined to the villa as he was, could not. He spent time with his mother, Annetta often hovering nearby, but those times were painful as Maria didn't truly respond.
Alfeo gave his lessons when he did his weekly check up on Maria, and Ezio studied the books the doctor left behind, learning about stitches, what herbs to mix for a quick salve, and all sorts of interesting things for field medicine, depending on where he was. Granted, Ezio had a healthy dose of being skeptical on some of the cures: leeches, lead, and sheep's urine being at the tops of the list for various reasons. (People didn't eat steel or copper, so why drink lead? Urine was meant to leave a body, not reenter it...) Still Ezio sat down one afternoon with the town doctor and went over the small bag of medical supplies he had when he left Monteriggioni, seeing what was good to keep and what needed replacing. Alfeo, having outfitted many a mercenary's medkit, took Ezio through a more compact, but useful medkit that used the bandages to cushion vials of useful elixirs and a tiny booklet of what plants to keep an eye out for.
Still waiting for Ulderico's permission to get back to his training, Ezio also spent time painting. It was during this sick time, when he couldn't move much, that he gained the most ground in his paintings, finally getting certain methods correct and feeling confident enough in his ability to try things on his own. Specifically a portrait of his mother, who had no problems sitting still.
Ezio also spent time with the Codex pages they'd found. They continued to pull at his heart, and he was certain he saw something in the words that was just out of his grasp of understanding. He also read his father's journals, trying to see if Giovanni was like Ezio at this age or if Ezio still had work to do. His father was a great man, and Ezio couldn't help but wonder, especially now that he could do nothing for a time, if he would ever match his father's greatness.
A month later, however, of taking it easy, and Ezio could no longer stand it. Ulderico's permission or not, the stitches had been removed and, while the muscles were weak and tired him out, he took up his training once more. No one knew when news of the next conspirator would arrive, so Ezio sought to ensure he was ready.
The weather started to cool as autumn settled around the countryside. Alfeo called Ezio down into town once or twice to assist him in a surgery and see how procedures went.
News trickled into the villa slowly, and none were of what Ezio wanted to hear, such as the Pope's nephew Girolamo Riario, Lord of Imola, and his teenage wife, Caterina Sforza, giving birth to their first child. Ezio tried not to think of it, knowing that investigations took time and that he could do nothing while he was still healing, but he still worked as hard as he could and tried not to be impatient.
It wasn't until late November that Mario arrived with word of finding another of the conspirators. And a new toy.
"We've found Stefano da Bagnone," Mario said to Ezio by the training ring. "He's hiding in an abbey a few days ride from here. In fact, he's been kicked out of the abbey he stays in due to blasphemous words, I hear, which is why he's only just now appeared in our laps."
"Then I must be on my way, zio," Ezio replied, rotating his shoulder and glad that it was finally back to condition. His leg was still on the weak side, but was getting better.
"Not quite yet, nipote," Mario placed a heavy hand on said shoulder. "I've found out about a new toy that I want to show you."
"Uncle, it's been almost a year since the attack on Il Magnifico. Lorenzo has already returned from Napoli with great success. We've only found one of the conspirators and still no Jacopo de' Pazzi. I need to go 'talk' to Stefano da Bagnone."
"Ah, to be young again and always in a rush," Mario smiled. "Very well, nipote, you can leave after you find me."
"Find you?"
But Ezio didn't get an answer as there was a loud bang and smoke suddenly engulfed the two of them. He could hear Mario running, but couldn't tell the direction with his ears ringing from the bang and the smoke masking directionality. He called upon his eagle and found it just as blind.
Coughing, Ezio stumbled out of the smoke, his eyes watering.
"Uncle!" Ezio called out, then coughed again. "I like this new toy of yours!"
Once he had his breathing back under control, he started to hunt down his uncle with a smile.
The one difficulty of the smoke bombs was that the supplies necessary to build them weren't readily available in Italy. Further east, in Constantinople, it was almost common, but here it took time to order. Mario had placed such an order, or rather Claudia had insisted she should, and through several different places so no one noticed such a large amount was headed to them and wondered why, and Ezio looked at the five smoke bombs he had and decided to use them sparingly.
Ezio left alone, as he didn't need to storm a villa like for Salviati, and an abbey wouldn't look very kindly at a host of mercenaries arriving to look for someone. Claudia came down to the gate to see him off, insisting he be careful this time as she noticed he would still limp after too much exertion. He promised her he would and hugged her close.
The ride took longer than Ezio was anticipating, as his leg needed stretching and shorter bursts of riding to prevent aching. Even after three months the muscle still wasn't back to the conditioning Ezio was used to. It was frustrating, but Ezio pushed it aside.
Hours away from the abbey, Ezio went to a cluster of trees and prepared himself. He kept his hidden blades and the dagger in his boot. His throwing knives stayed on his belt, but he hid his sword in his travel pack, along with his armor. Instead, he wore the heavy brown robes of a priest and a wooden cross on a string. While it was not the hood he had been wearing for years now, the robes did have a hood to hide his face. From there it was just a matter of riding at a slower pace and appearing to be contemplative.
The abbey welcomed him and Ezio sat down on a bench with his travel pack in the courtyard. All around him was a sea of brown, priests and monks conversing, praying, and going from one part of the abbey to another. Mario had said it was a large abbey but Ezio had not been expecting so many priests. To find just one would be a nightmare.
If one didn't have Ezio's gift. With his hood still down, Ezio called on that strange vision that was unique to only him in his family, the sharp eyes of an eagle he was named for. His surroundings faded in color and Ezio saw the gold of what he was seeking flitting through the crowds.
Ezio swallowed a smile. Too easy.
An autumn breeze blew through the courtyard and Ezio involuntarily shivered, as did several other priests, and Ezio paused, hearing the distinct clink of sheathed swords.
Ezio eyed his surroundings once more, looking at the sea of brown. Everyone was almost indistinguishable from anyone else. Instead, Ezio looked to the feet that passed him, and indeed saw swords pointing out from under robes, boots that were too expensive for a priest, and hands too calloused for a life of prayer.
He called on his eagle again, looking around once more at those around him and looked more intently at one of the sword-bearing priests. As he focused, Ezio thought he heard the shriek of an eagle overhead. Slowly, as Ezio concentrated, those who bore arms started to flicker with red.
Enemies.
Lots of enemies.
Damn. Ezio looked to the gold of Stefano da Bagnone, and saw that he had two disguised guards walking beside him. The red flickered still, something Ezio was not used to looking for, but he had always trusted this vision of his. He would not stop now.
What to do... Ezio turned to the priest beside him and attempted to strike up a conversation, keeping his eyes on Stefano, who was by the door of the abbey, talking with another priest. It seemed like he'd be there a while in whatever heated debate, so Ezio took the time to strike up a friendly conversation with his neighbor.
After about ten minutes of amiable conversation, Ezio put on another shiver. "It's quite chilly out here. Why don't we go inside?"
"I think that's a good idea."
Ezio lifted his pack and started ambling along with his new friend. Together they walked towards the door where Stefano was still talking and paused, listening to the heated debate.
"Let us pray brother," an elderly priest beside Stefano said, running a hand over his bald head.
"Pray? Pray for what?" Stefano grumbled.
"The Lord's protection!"
"If you think the Lord has any interest in our affairs," Stefano said coldly, "you've another thing coming. But please, by all means, continue to delude yourself if it helps to pass the time."
The bald priest's face was slack in shock. "You speak blasphemy!"
"No. I speak truth."
"But to deny His most exalted existence..."
"...Is the only rational response when faced with the declaration that there exists some invisible madman in the sky. And believe me, if your precious Bible is anything to go by, he's completely lost his mind."
"'Your' Bible," Ezio's companion grunted. "That's 'our' Bible. He's supposed to be one of us."
"He must be facing a crisis of faith," Ezio replied quietly. "I hear he's been moved from abbey to abbey as he deals with it."
"God forgive me, but I hope he'll be moved on from our abbey. Such words..."
Stefano's companion seemed upset as well. "How can you speak as such? You wear His vestments..."
"Only because they afforded me the opportunity to get close to the Medici," Stefano said bitterly. "But you're right, I should look into replacing them - after the Assassin is dealt with."
"Ah! That unholy demon!"
"At least on this we agree."
"Indeed," Ezio's friend agreed. "Thou shalt not kill."
To this, Ezio gave a soft chuckle. "Yet the Pope has ordered deaths and war with the Crusades."
Ezio's friend laughed as well. "Ah, we forget these little things. But the Bible..."
"They say the devil has gifted him with unnatural speed and strength," Stefano's companion nodded. "An unholy demon to be sure."
"The devil?" Stefano actually laughed. "No. These are gifts he gave himself, through training. It is disturbing how unwilling you are to credit people for their circumstances. I think you'd make victims out of the entire world if you could."
"I forgive your lack of faith and forked tongue," the bald priest retorted. "You are still one of His children."
"I told you... Oh, what's the use," Stefano grumbled. "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. "
"A hunted man, that one," Ezio's companion sighed.
"It would seem so."
They had passed to the door of the abbey and Ezio pulled out a smoke bomb and dropped it. There were shouts of surprise as people tried to stumble out of the harsh smoke and yelped and screamed at the sudden noise. The guards, those who had flickered red in Ezio's unique sight, tried to approach but could see nothing.
As for Stefano, Ezio's blade had bit into his lung from behind and he gently brought the priest down.
Stefano coughed. "Now I will see who was right... if there is a God or a Madman..."
"Where is Jacopo?" Ezio demanded.
"Nothing to fear I suppose..." Stefano coughed again. "They meet in the shadows of the Roman Gods..."
"Be free of your fear now," Ezio said quietly. "Requiescat in pace."
With a nimbleness that he knew he would pay for later, Ezio climbed the abbey wall to the roof with his pack over his shoulder and then down the other side as another autumn breeze started to blow away the smoke. From there it was easy to find his horse and be on his way.
Claudia was much happier when he returned to Monteriggioni unhurt compared to the last time he had shown up. Life settled back into routine, with Ezio training, learning, painting, helping out in town, helping his mother, and keeping busy. Mario returned and stayed through December, where they spent another solemn Christmas together, marking the third year since Giovanni, Frederico, and Petruccio's deaths. Claudia's birthday managed to be happier, particularly when Maria hugged her without any prompting.
Winter settled in, cold and rainy, and even moved on into spring.
Ezio was starting to get impatient again, as the one-year mark of the Pazzi's conspiracy approached. He started asking Mario - when his uncle was in the villa - what he could do to help things along, get things moving.
Finally Mario was fed up. "We've had the most rumors out of San Gimignano, nipote, go bug them!"
So Ezio packed his horse once again and left. He was at peak condition again, and the heavy training with Mario and Ulderico were showing improvements in almost everything he did. Ulderico had taken to training him on horseback, both to get Ezio used to long rides and to defend himself from mounted enemies.
With the funding Monteriggioni was receiving from the improvements, Ezio was able to afford a room at a small tavern and would be able to stay there as long as necessary. It was his first time really in the town, excluding his chaotic night when he killed Vieri de' Pazzi and Ezio took almost two weeks to familiarize himself with the various nooks and crannies natural to a town built on a hill. The towers were impressive and Ezio longed to climb them, his eyes often plotting out paths along the facades that he could easily scale. It would be a several hour investment, but the challenge of it called to him.
But there were guards on top and Ezio did not wish to kill needlessly.
So he stayed to the streets, occasionally going to a roof to get a better feel for the levels, and talked to the mercenaries he found and recognized from Monteriggioni. Ezio also used his special sight, as often as he could. He'd only used it briefly before and after not finding Francesco de' Pazzi before the attack on Lorenzo, getting shot in the shoulder while infiltrating Salviati's villa, and the horde of enemies that surrounded Stefano da Bagnone, Ezio knew his vision could do more. He needed it to do more. So he trained. Focused on finding certain items, or paying urchins to hide something so that he might track and find it. Looking at guards and trying to determine if they were the danger of red or not.
After a month in San Gimignano, Ezio was getting impatient again.
One afternoon, however, Ezio ran, quite literally, into a young woman carrying a basket of groceries.
"My apologies," Ezio offered, helping her gather her food. He noted that she was wearing the black of mourning, "let me help you."
"Thank you," the woman said. She was easily in her thirties, and very beautiful. "It's been a long time since any young man offered me aide."
"Then you haven't faced any real men," he replied with a smooth grin. She was definitely kind on the eyes.
She blushed, and smiled right back at him. "My home is this way," she said. "It's felt incredibly empty since my husband died."
"My condolences."
The woman smiled. "More like congratulations. That man only knew how to use his fists."
Ezio shook his head. "I'll never understand the need to strike down such beautiful things."
The widow arched an eyebrow at him and smiled. They continued to chat amicably. At the widow's home, she smiled coyly, and arched her brow prettily at him again. "Would you like to come in?"
Ezio couldn't quite stop the smile. It seemed he still had his touch. It would take his mind away from the frustrations of hunting down the conspirators, to say nothing of how excellent he would feel afterwards. He offered his own grin, leaned down, and kissed the corner of her mouth. "I'll come in wherever you want me to."
She smiled and shut the door behind them. Ezio helped her put the bags in the kitchen before she led him up to her rooms. Armor and clothes were dispensed of and Ezio, for the first time since Cristina, admired a woman. He kissed her, a hand reaching down to-
"Fast-forward the damn memory!"
"Oops, sorry Desmond."
"Baby Assassin."
"Come on, guys. Grow up."
The next morning, feeling much better, he left. He checked in at the tavern he was staying at to find a courier had come, telling Ezio he was needed at a tavern across town.
It was all Ezio needed and he headed out quickly.
The tavern was clearly cheaper than the one Ezio stayed at (and even that tavern was on the cheap side, as Ezio didn't know how long he'd be staying...) and was serving the remains of a breakfast crowd that had dwindled down to a handful.
"Ezio!" it was the captain Ezio had worked with when going after Salviati, Estachio. "About time you got here. We've found Bernardo Baroncelli. Sort of."
"This is good news!" Ezio smiled, laying down the coin for the meal Estachio was having. "Tell me where he is and I'll see that he's dealt with."
"That's the trouble," the captain grunted, sipping his wine. "Lorenzo actually had him arrested days ago, after being returned to us from Constantinople."
"Constantinople! No wonder we haven't found him," Ezio leaned back. "It takes time to sail and then come back."
"But he escaped!" Estachio grunted. "We believe him to be somewhere inside San Gimignano."
"Va bene. I'll see if I can't pin him down," Ezio said with confidence, already planning what he needed to do to hunt down his next target.
"How do you expect to succeed where the rest of us have failed?"
"I have my ways..." Ezio smiled. "Can we get me to the top of any of these towers?"
Atop one of the shorter towers of San Gimignano, Ezio focused intently on what he wanted to see, narrowing his gaze, calling on his inner eagle to help sharpen his eyes. He kept looking around the town, studying, seeing, trying to find that hint of gold that would indicate where he needed to see.
He had been at this for hours, and he was feeling a sort of strain. Estachio said nothing, just watched as Ezio studied the town over and over again.
Finally, off to the east, Ezio thought he caught the barest flickers.
"He's to the east," Ezio said, letting out a breath and sinking down to rest. He rubbed his burning eyes and took another deep breath. "He's somewhere east of us."
"Bene," Estachio said, skeptically. "I'll send my men there to keep an eye out."
Little did Ezio realize, this feat would create a rumor, almost a legend, which would reach all the way to Constantinople.
After a night of rest, Ezio joined some of the captain's men in wandering around the eastern wall of San Gimignano, switching to his eagle's vision when his eyes weren't burning, until he at last saw a trail of gold, something he was far more familiar with.
He switched his posture, adjusted his hidden blades, and checked all his gear. "This way."
Off in the distance, slinking from shadow to shadow, was the plump Bernardo Baroncelli.
"...I just need to take things one day at a time..." the man muttered constantly to himself.
"He'll get bored... Lost... Confused... Distracted... Killed... It'll be okay..." Clearly, he was scared of someone; likely Ezio given that he'd taken down two other conspirators.
"And if he does come... If it happens... I keep moving... Never in one place for long... Only... Only how to sleep... When to sleep... Where to sleep..."
Ezio watched the man, his feathered cap askew, seemed to be making steady progress forward to one of the towers.
"The guard tower perhaps..." Bernardo muttered. "They'll think me mad... They don't know... I'll pay them, yes... Then what will it matter... All they care about is coin... All anyone cares about is coin... Good for the brotherhood... Good for me... Safer this way... Yes... Yes..."
Ahead was a well, and Ezio motioned for the men with him to wait. Swiftly, he scaled the ladder in the alley next to them and flew across the roofs. Bernardo wasn't there yet...
He leapt down to a dark alley and watched Bernardo, now behind Ezio, startle at the sound.
"Wait! What is that... I saw something... Another mercenary come to spy on me... No... No... Just my nerves... Hard to stay calm knowing that he seeks me... I must stay focused... And soon this will be done... Soon..."
While Bernardo tried to calm himself down Ezio dashed to the well and leapt inside, holding tightly onto the lip.
Bernardo Baroncelli, still muttering to himself, sat down in the shadow of the well and Ezio took his moment to strike. He pulled himself up, grabbing the plump man by the throat.
"I knew you would come..." Bernardo whispered.
"Where is Jacopo?" Ezio demanded.
"So you can do to him what you've done to me?"
Ezio let out a soft sigh into the feathers of Bernardo's cap. "There is still time for you to clear your conscience."
There was a long moment. "We gather at the church when a meeting is called..."
"I am sorry that it came to this," Ezio said quietly. His hidden blade sprung forward, burying itself into Bernardo's neck, and Ezio hauled him over into the well, letting the body fall. "Requiescat in Pace."
He easily leapt out of the well and rejoined the men he'd been working with.
Almost as soon as Ezio returned to Monteriggioni, a good report for Mario, his Uncle handed him a letter from Lorenzo. The patron of Florence wanted a progress report on his work. The young Florentine winced, reading it over several times, and wondered if he could just write a letter and send it off... But that would be a disrespect to the man who had been so kind to Ezio and his father and his family. Sighing, he saddled his horse not a day after his return and rode to Florence, wondering how he could possibly make failing to kill all the Pazzi after a year of searching sound good by any stretch of the imagination. Even knowing that Mario and his mercenaries were working tirelessly, even knowing that riding the countryside would serve him little, he could not quite get around the fact that it was taking forever, and he feared that he would never get to the true source of the conspiracy: Jacopo de' Pazzi. Moreover, he wondered if he would ever get to the next name on his list, learn who else was connected to the slaughter of his family, breaking Petruccio's neck, strangling Federico, and Giovanni...
He shook his head, leaving his horse at a stable outside the city gate, brushing the stallion down and taking care of the saddle and tack. He entered the east gate and followed the main road of the San Marco district, passing by tailors and blacksmiths and letting his eyes wander the marvelous architecture of his former home. He could trace trails up to the roofs almost without thinking about it, marking barrels and carts and lampposts, seeing open windows and find cracks for handholds in the arches and semicircles and flowerbeds.
He paused, looking at the alley that would lead him to Rosa Colta and Paola. It had been a year since his last visit, but... Lorenzo came first.
... How was he going to explain this?
He grit his teeth and kept to the main road, following its natural curves until he saw the impressive façade of the Palazzo Medici.
He also saw Poliziano, the humanist scholar, coming out the back alley of the palazzo with a bloody arm and two city guards giving chase after him.
Ezio, barely taking the time to think, drew a throwing knife and let it fly, landing deep in the neck of one of the guards while he ran full tilt into the second guard, the man barreling to the ground and giving Ezio time to extend his hidden blade and plunge it deep into the man's shoulder before twisting and slashing it out.
"What happened here?" the twenty-year old asked, helping Poliziano to his feet. The man winced, clutching his arm, and Ezio quickly pulled out his medical pack, grabbing a bandage and dressing the long (but blessedly thin) gash on his associate's arm.
"The city guards," the scholar said, grunting as Ezio tightened the bandage, "Lorenzo thought he had eliminated all the traitors but some few managed to regroup. They snuck into the Palazzo and have assaulted it. I told the Maestro to hide his family, I'm off to get help... ah, not so tight!"
"Go," Ezio said, "Alert the guards, gather the humanists, too, to make sure they do as they're told. I'll go in and see if I can't thin their ranks."
"Auditore, that's suicide! Even your father couldn't-"
"Go!" he said, shoving the man back onto the streets and ducking into the alley Poliziano had just escaped. He saw the back entrance he had used a year ago, helping the wounded Lorenzo into his palazzo for safekeeping before going out to deal with Francesco de' Pazzi. Would Jacopo be here, leading the assault? Ezio hoped so, and he stalked into the central courtyard, paying little mind to the bronze statue of David in its center, eyeing the arches and recesses and columns. Bodies were everywhere, some servants, some likely guests, some personal guards; pots were overturned, their plants and soil spilling out everywhere, as were bits of parchment and quills, books and trays, refuse of chaos as it descended on the palazzo.
He ducked into a corner, shoving open a door and going up a spiral servant staircase, winding his way up to the second floor and drawing his sword as he did so. He could hear boots above him, and knew that at this stage of the assault there would be few allies indeed that were still alive. He prayed that Lorenzo was one of them.
Ezio burst into a dining room on the second floor, several chairs upturned and the wine rack open and wounded. Three guards were there and Ezio didn't pause to announce his presence, he just stabbed one of them brutally in the back, causing a meaty and surprised gasp. The other two turned, startled, but Ezio was already kicking the body off his sword and running at the second man, feebly trying to lift his sword up but Ezio deflected it easily, extending his hidden blade and stabbing the man in his opening, deep between the ribs and through a lung. The third had time to recover from the shock, and Ezio was soon pressed into a tight swordfight, but he had spent three years conditioning his body and training his muscle memory, and so it was nearly effortless to circle the sword away, kick the guard in the shins and forcing him to his knees, and then shoving his sword down in a violent slash into the man's shoulder, severing muscle and sinew and blood spurting everywhere before ripping the blade out to cause even more damage.
Three bodies were at his feet in less than two minutes.
Immediate threat over, he looked around, mourning the ripped paintings that made the palazzo as magnificent as its namesake. Lorenzo was not here, however, and so he left, making a quick search of the second floor. The library had another array of guards, but Ezio's speed and his hard-earned grace made it very nearly child's play, dashing in and around defense circles and making a bloody mess of the guards that were assaulting the palazzo. One man in full armor managed to swing hard and knock Ezio's sword away. The young Florentine remembered in a brief flash when his family had been hung, a similar brute knocking his sword out of his hand, and the unparalleled fear he had felt that made him run. He still felt that fear now, looking up to the towering man and his heavy axe, but Ezio had training, now, and purpose and maturity and conviction to save Il Magnifico and so took the armored man on with his bare fists.
The brute laughed at first, bracing for a heavy and lethal swing, but Ezio grabbed at the heavily armored man's grip, fighting for footing briefly before wrenching the axe away, the yank sending Ezio into a tight spin that he used to build momentum, swinging the axe into the armored man's side and splitting through the heavy armor like silk instead of metal. The brute gave a heavy, wet gurgle before falling to his knees, but Ezio was not done with him yet, yanking out the axe with a meaty tug and holding it over his head, swinging down and cleaving the man's helmet and skull both, nearly in two. Blood and brain matter spurted everywhere.
Ezio was breathing heavily now, looking at the havoc he had wrought and knowing that he had to slow down. His initial instinct to kill everyone in sight to save Il Magnifico had faded, and his mind was starting to work again. He had made quite the commotion, and so his first priority was hiding.
He slipped through an open window, listening to the guards as they found the bodies, some gagging at the stench and the violence. He waited, holding his breath to slow his pounding heartbeat, and eventually the guards, now nervous and jittery, went back to searching the house.
"It's time to earn your florins," said one, a captain. "I want half of you to search the courtyard, the other half come with me to check the Chapel."
"Yes, Captain."
"What about Lorenzo?"
The captain snorted. "By now, Lorenzo is already dead."
Anger burned in Ezio, and he swore that the bastard would die slowly if that were the case.
Soon the library was empty again, however, and Ezio crept back into it, knowing that he couldn't stay out in the courtyard for long - even if he was several dozen feet above their heads.
Frowning, Ezio looked up to the upper balconies, a possible shortcut to the third floor, where the Chapel was and likely where the Medici would be hiding. The sounds of killing and looting had faded, and instead Ezio could faintly hear the rush of footsteps down stairs and flooding the courtyard. He dared to look out the window to see at least a dozen of the corrupt city guards preparing for a fight. Poliziano must have found help. That meant it was a race, those left would be desperate to finish their mission and Lorenzo would be dead - if he wasn't already - and Ezio refused to let that happen.
Climbing up a bookshelf and hopping from one to another, the young Florentine pulling himself up to one of the viewing balconies and made his way deeper into the third floor. He checked on one of Lorenzo's quarters, the canopy bed ripped and even more signs of chaos. The hallways were filled less with bodies and more with ripped or overturned rugs, more paintings were wounded, the occasional marble tile smashed.
Further down the hall was the Medici Chapel, where Giovanni's portrait was, lost in the procession of the Magi - or rather, the Medici - and a half dozen guards including the impertinent captain were abusing the door to gain entry.
Ezio ran at them full tilt, the sounds of fighting below muting his boot-falls, and he leapt first onto the two men in full armor, both hidden blades extended and slipping between helmet and armor, stabbing deep into their necks with such momentum and force that they plunged to the ground, breaking Ezio's leap and startling the four left. The young Florentine took a throwing knife to two more, and in less than a minute four men were down, a fifth on the way as Ezio pulling himself free from the two brutes and advanced, attacking furiously before feinting, his hidden blade sinking deep into the man's abdomen, making him double over before Ezio followed up with a second step, this time in the back of the neck, adding to the pile of corpses at his feet.
That left only the impertinent captain.
To the man's credit, he had drawn his mace and advanced on a secure line, pushing Ezio back as the young Florentine tried to take a breath from his rapid and furious assault. Ezio soon found himself halfway down the hall before he had recovered, and he looked at the captain and openly snarled. The mace deflected all of Ezio's moves with his hidden blade, and so he drew his sword with its longer reach and took up a classic stance, luring the captain into a false sense of security before ducking under a strike, swinging low enough with the back of his sword to upend the man's feet. Circling around, Ezio changed his grip on his sword and stabbed it deep into the man's unprotected abdomen.
"This is the price you pay for attacking a Medici," he growled, letting the words sink into the gasping man's muddled brain before savagely twisting the blade, doing even more damage to the man's innards, and then pulling it out, blood spurting from the fatal wound. Ezio flicked the worst of the blood off but held off on cleaning it, not knowing if there were more still lingering up here.
He studied the door to the Chapel, letting his eagle examine it before seeing a loose panel in the frame. Pressing it, Ezio could faintly hear a click and the distinct sound of a lock, and he slowly pushed open the door, feeling as if the frescos were staring at him as he stalked inside.
"Get back!" a voice shouted.
Ezio instinctively drew his hidden blades, but almost immediately retracted them as he recognized the voice.
"Lower your sword!" he said, straightening and spreading his hands. "It's me, Il Magnifico."
"Ezio!"
Lorenzo came out of the shadows, his wife Clarice close behind him. Clutched in her arms were the two youngest Medici children, her skirts divided up between the others, including adopted Giulio and Piero, the oldest son. Clarice's face was streaked in tears, as were the daughters. "Again, you save me," Lorenzo said, lowering his sword and stepping further forward. "Are they all gone?"
"If not they soon will be," Ezio said, drawing his bloody sword. Piero flinched and ducked away, Giulio blinked, staring, open-mouthed. "Poliziano gathered the loyal guards, they were fighting in the courtyard last I saw."
"Then the day is won," the patron said, sagging with relief. "First they enter my church, and now my home..."
"Lorenzo..." Clarice said, equally relieved, and soon the Medici family were all clutching each other tightly, engulfed in silks and embroidery and finery but still a family nonetheless. Ezio gave them their moment, guarding the door and keeping his eagle eyes sharp for any signs of trouble.
Within an hour Poliziano, flanked by two guards, strode up the hall.
"Maestro! Auditore! Are you still alive?"
"Yes, we are in the Chapel!"
"By the Thrice Blessed, thank God!" the scholar said.
It took the rest of the day for the guards, Ezio, and some of the humanists to clean up the bodies, Lorenzo looking over each one he knew and praying over them personally, ordering the traitors to be burned while a priest from the Duomo was summoned to handle those who suffered the slaughter. Clarice ushered her children out of sight with the help of some surviving servants. The next day filled the palazzo with architects and carpenters to fix the damage, and Ezio was ushered into a meeting with Florence's patron.
Nervous, Ezio bowed and said what was on his mind. "I'm sorry, Lorenzo," he said. "This is my fault: I have not yet found Jacopo de' Pazzi. He probably was responsible for the attack on your palazzo."
Lorenzo took in the news slowly, gazing at his ruined courtyard. "The others?"
"Francesco Salviati, Stefano da Bagnone, and Bernardo Baroncelli are dead."
"Baroncelli," Lorenzo said softly. "My friend Mehmet had found him. Then he escaped when he came to Italy. You found him?"
"Si, just now, before I came here."
"... Then you are moving faster than I expected," Lorenzo said, smiling softly.
The young Florentine looked up, startled. "... 'Faster'?" he said, confused.
"Ah, Ezio, to be young again," Lorenzo said, a wistful quality in his voice. The thirty-year-old sighed. "Work of the greatest quality takes time, Ezio," he said. "Roma was not built in a day. Il Duomo was not done in a year, neither was this palazzo, or the Palazzo della Signoria, or even your own villa. Finding a well-funded man who wishes to disappear can take even longer. You yourself should know how easy it is to disappear, I spent weeks trying to find you when I heard what had happened to Giovanni, but you were lost to the wind before I had even returned. That you have found three of the five in only a year is impressive."
The reassurance helped Ezio as he stayed in Florence for another week or two; and it gave him the confidence to ride out to San Gimignano and get right to work. He explored the Roman amphitheatre Stefano had hinted at southwest of the city, looking over every nook and cranny of the ancient Roman structure. The marble had long been stripped for building materials, leaving only the extremely hard and durable stone. The theater was overgrown, the steps lost or half-covered with earth, several columns broken, seats worn away to a gentle slope. He saw no signs of a meeting place, no buried fire pit or fresh tracks other than his own.
In light of that, he began to stalk the Santa Maria Assunta, the church mentioned by Bernardo, attending services weekly and exploring the church at night, as well as the square in front of it, listening to heralds as they talked about tax levies on stone masons and reduced work capacity of the trade. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and not even his nighttime explorations yielded him anything. He ascended many of the towers in the city, straining his eyes as he tried to determine where he was supposed to go, where his target was, but even that was fruitless. Mario sent some of his mercenaries to watch both locations before Ezio finally came home, frustrated and fed up. Summer came and left with no word, and dipped quickly into a sudden autumn.
Patience be damned, he wanted to kill somebody.
Even Claudia finding a tailor could not make him feel better, nor could the steady work on the mines or the completion of the construction on the smithy and the bank. Vines were still being torn down from the walls of Monteriggioni, overgrown and taking bits of the façade with it. Mario, when he wasn't gallivanting all across Italy, suggested Ezio help with the harvest, and though he learned much about grapes and wines - and even more about women - Ezio could not stop pacing about, desperate for word.
It wasn't just that he was letting Lorenzo de' Medici down, the patron of Florence, close friend to his father, and his own benefactor. It was that he was letting his family down. He would wake up in the mornings with a start, reliving the gallows and the three undeserving bodies swinging uselessly, of burying his family in the rain with Cristina. How could they be avenged while he did nothing? How could Claudia and Maria ever be safe outside of Monteriggioni if those conspirators, those Templars, weren't dead? He spent many nights in the arms of women, trying to chase away the nightmares and feeling close to his brother as he flirted his way into their beds.
As harvest ended, the rains came, the air going from cool to chilly, and Ezio began pacing the villa, driving Claudia to frustrated distraction until she sat him down to go over the accounts. Even that could not hold his attention, and he was soon racing every inch of the city, hopping and leaping over chimneys and rooftops, climbing arches in front of the nonplussed citizens, leaping from higher and higher heights and landing in tight rolls, racing his horse around the city walls, anything to work off the energy that was building up inside him.
It got even worse at the end of the year. Mario had come home by then, and all four of them clustered around the drawing room; Maria praying over her feathers, Claudia poking at quill and parchment with a blank stare, Mario trying to read but failing, and Ezio pacing about the room, unable to be still for even a moment. Christmas was a solemn affair, everyone locked up in their own rooms and their own thoughts and their own miseries. Claudia's eyes were red rimmed for several mornings, and Ezio became harder and harder to find, let alone catch, as he pushed himself to run faster and faster; whether it was to or from something, even he did not know.
And then, at last,
"Mentor! We've found Antonio Maffei!"
Ezio was saddled and packed in record time, all he needed to hear was San Gimignano, and he rode overnight to the city of towers, risking his horse injury in the dark wet roads but smiling for the first time in eight months. At last, at last a lead, and with Maffei out of the way all that was left was Jacopo, and no more underlings to help hide him.
It was dawn when he entered the city, walking quickly up the many steps until he hit the main square, Santa Maria Assunta sprawled up a set of steps, flanked by the Palazzo Comunale, San Gimignano's equivalent to Florence's Palazzo della Signoria, the seat of the city's government. Towering over it was the Torre Grossa, built by the city to overpower all the other towers in San Gimignano that were built by wealthy families in the 1300s. Ezio was told it was the only tower with a belfry, and he looked about the square, hoping to spy his contact.
Estachio was leaning by the church, seemingly idle, but Ezio knew better and marched right up to the man.
"Salute Ezio!" the mercenary said. "I thought you'd be the one to come."
"Who else would?" he asked, impatient.
"... Never mind. Antonio Maffei has sought refuge atop the city's tallest structure - spouting scripture."
Ezio paused, blinking. Pulling his hood down, he cupped his ears and strained to listen, spinning around and tilting his head. "I hear nothing," he said.
"Not much can be," Estachio said, smirking slightly, "That high up the only things that will listen are the birds as they shit on you. The man has clearly lost his mind. Making matters worse, he's posted archers all around him on the other towers. You'd do well to clear them out before approaching."
"Grazie for the information," Ezio said, nodding his head and pulling his hood back up. He walked back out into the square, merging with a cluster of people talking by a hay cart and looking up at the towers. He could just make out the archers, and he knew that climbing the face of the tallest structure, Torre Grossa, would be suicide. He would have to deal with the archers one by one, but that meant climbing - he paused, counting - five or six different towers. That would take all day, and worse, it would tip off Maffei, who would see it all from his high perch. That meant he would have to climb the tower from inside - still a risk, given that it was no doubt filled with guards and mercenaries of the Templar's own, but at least inside the damage could be contained, and word reaching Maffei could be controlled to a point.
... It would still take all day, but Ezio decided that after eight months he could afford to wait a few hours more.
He slowly left the crowd he had joined, and began circling around the Torre Grossa, wondering if he could spy an open window or if he would have to break one. He looked inside himself and asked his eagle for help, hoping to find a hint of gold that served as his intuition. His neck soon ached from constantly looking up, and in the early morning light it was difficult to see anything - eagle sight or no - in the dark shadows of the towers and the narrow alleys. He was slipping through such an alley between the tower and the Comunale, splashing through puddles as the morning began to grey out, when the hint of gold he had waited for drew his eye not up, but down. Startled, he looked to see a skull encased in a red triangle, the symbol of a hidden passage and - if the last two were any indication - the sign of an Assassin tomb.
An Assassin tomb somewhere in Torre Grossa.
Ezio needed no other sign, he knew when God had smiled on him, and so he grabbed the skull's eyes, twisting the stone knob until the red triangle morphed into the Assassin symbol, and pushed the secret door in, lowering himself into an underground cistern of some sort. His landing startled several rats, making the animals scurry away, but Ezio saw a gate on the other side of the cistern, and hopped his way over to it, taking a moment to study it before pulling a lever and opening it.
Up a dank flight of steps was a winery, obviously the basement of the tower to keep the barrels, casks, and supplies cool and dry. Shelves filled the space, some filled with barrels, some not. Buckets used to crush grapes were piled messily in corners, bottles lay on tables waiting to be filled and stopped with wax or cork, everything smelled of dry wood and wine.
The wine cellar held three guards that Ezio could see at a glance, and he cursed that he had not prepared himself better in his mad rush to leave Monteriggioni. He only had five throwing knives and he did not want to waste them here if he needed them later. Frowning, Ezio steeled himself and stalked up to the first guard, almost on top of him, and stabbed him in the back, angling the blade up and twisting slightly, leaving an almost bloodless and silent death. He caught the body before it clattered to the floor, dragging it to a poorly lit corner, and began stalking down the shelves of wine.
One guard paused in a corner by a giant barrel, eyeing it greedily and handling his wineskin, perhaps wondering if he should top off. Ezio dashed in and leapt, stabbing him hard in the back, between the shoulder blade and the ribs for a precision strike. This guard cried out, however, and the third heard it, immediately coming to investigate. Ezio wished he had not worn white, he stood out in such dim light and was quickly forced to draw his sword, the guard growling. The fight was quick, however, Ezio the superior fighter, and he soon deflected a strike, countering by swinging up at the man's elbow, shattering the joint and following up with a vicious slash to the man's midsection.
He waited ten breaths, listening intensely for sounds, before making his way further into the wine cellar, eyes open for stairs.
The ladder leading down to the cellar had been removed, and Ezio was forced to backtrack and climb his way up a few barrels up to the rafters of the ceiling, shimmying along until he could hoist himself up to the upper level of the cellar. Both doors were locked, but as he was examining the upper balcony he saw a guard pacing it. Ducking underneath the balcony, he waited and listened, studying the man's footfalls and marking out the route above him. When he was clear, he jumped up to an overhanging beam meant for a lantern and hoisted himself up, now hidden by the wooden safety rail. He waited for over twenty heartbeats before the guard circled around again, and with a silent "Thank you," to Altair and his new assassination techniques, Ezio reached up and stabbed the guard, yanking him over the rail and letting him fall like a sack of wheat to the floor.
The door up here was open, and Ezio was soon at the ground floor, the stone walls becoming whitewashed and the floors covered in marble. Beyond what appeared to be a main archway was a library, shelves filled with books instead of casks, and Ezio could look up for several meters, meaning he was in the tower proper. Excellent.
He could see one guard amongst the shelves, and Ezio stepped as quietly as he could, sneaking up on the man and stabbing him in the back - up and with a twist - and helping the body fall silently to the floor. As in the wine cellar, all the doors were locked. Obviously Maffei wanted a little access as possible to the upper levels, but he did not take into account a man who had been climbing for three years. Ezio stepped beyond the shelves to a series of study tables, looking up and examining the tower. There were three levels above him, each with a guard pacing the balcony, so he would have to be careful. Knowing that Maffei was at the top, he knew any doors would be locked except those on the highest balcony, and as he scanned the tower he realized there was an assassin symbol, seen only with his eagle, that also pointed up as well. Two birds with one stone, it seemed.
Much like in the cellar, Ezio hoisted himself up to the shelves. Even jumping from them, he almost missed the base of the balcony, but he held on and waited. He assassinated the first guard that passed, and the second took notice of the death. The twenty-year-old almost didn't have time to get his feet on the ground before he was locked in a swordfight, both of his hidden blades extended. It wasn't long before he deflected a strike and sank both blades into the guard's abdomen, twisting as he went before pulling them out. He turned and let the man fall, looking out over the library from above and determining his next route.
The opposite wall had windows with handy crossbars, but more importantly there was a decorative ledge Ezio could stand on, and peering up he saw crossbars that likely held decoration flags. Nodding, he took a deep breath and leapt over the balcony onto one of the library's chandeliers, the heavy sound of his boots hitting the metal and the dull swing of the iron chains making him hold his breath. No shouts of surprise or cries of attack.
Sighing in relief, he repeated the process to a second chandelier, and then climbed up the windows to the decorative platform. He pulled out his throwing knives, now, knowing there was no way to swing across the bars and not be seen by the guards on the third level. It was the furthest he had ever thrown a knife, but his aim held true, and he landed on the balcony unmolested. The assassin symbol his eagle eye had spotted was by an undoored arch, and beyond it was the belfry. Maffei was up there, as was an honored assassin.
... as were several guards.
Growling to himself, impatient, Ezio forced himself to calm down, pulling out a second throwing knife and hitting the guard closest to him, another silent death that the ones above would miss.
He ascended the steps around the tower slowly, hopping onto a crossbeam as needed or ducking under a safety rail when he ran out of throwing knives. It wasn't long before he had run out of stairs and ladders and was climbing the massive support beams of the tower, thick enough for him to be sure of his footing and stand comfortably, occasionally using an iron ring for support if he didn't trust a jump. He was incredibly high up now, a fall from this height could kill him, as it could have in the Duomo in Florence. He understood why these tombs were so well hidden, it took the skill of an assassin to make these climbs; the more traditional routes would lead away from these hidden nooks.
Once at the end of the massive support beams, Ezio thought he could travel no higher, but he saw a set of iron rings; serving no purpose on the wall unless one looked up, seeing that they lead to a small collection of cracks. Grinning, Ezio took a breath and leapt to the rings, climbing up and then around the corner of the tower, gripping the cracks carefully and slowly making his way to one last support beam. His arms were shaking from all the climbing, and he forced himself to rest, shaking out the weary muscles.
In the quiet, he could faintly hear a voice from above.
"Citizens of San Gimignano, heed well my words!"
Maffei.
"You must repent! Repent and seek forgiveness! For your wicked ways have incurred the wrath of a demon! Summoned by your sins, he now walks our world, cloaked in shadow and darkness! And everywhere he treads, death follows!"
Maffei was not the first to call Ezio a demon; the Benedictine priests sheltering Stefano da Bagnone had, and Bernardo Baroncelli had been paranoid with fear over Ezio's hooded approach. Did he really cut such a fearful figure? Ezio did not consider himself gifted with demonic abilities.
"Why you ask?" Maffei shouted. "Because you have strayed and sacrificed your liberty to that wretch Lorenzo de' Medici. You are puppets, enslaved by purse strings! Won over by poisonous words! You have lost your virtue. You have lost your dignity. You have lost your faith! And this draws the demon in to feed. And feed they will. All whilst you wander lost in ignorance. "
Big words indeed, making the benefactor of Florence to be the source of all sin and Ezio the judge of wicked deeds. Although, Ezio thought, he did cast judgment on the wicked, just not quite the way Maffei wished.
"Know that good men have died protecting you from evils! Men who sought to save these lands, to purify them! Join me in prayer, my children, so that together we might stand against this darkness!"
Ezio sighed, leaning against the beam, waiting for his muscles to soothe. Estachio was right; the man had gone mad if he thought the Templars good men. Good men would not have executed his father and brothers so brutally and so callously.
"Give ear, O heaven, and I will speak. And hear, O earth, the words of my mouth. Let my teachings drop as the rain. My speech distill as the dew. As raindrops on the tender herb, and as showers on the grass. For I proclaim the name of the Lord: Ascribe greatness to our God. He is the rock, His work is perfect; for all His ways are justice, a God of truth and without injustice; righteous and upright is He."
And now he was spouting rhetoric. Ezio shook his head; feeling rested and hoisted himself up the iron rings on the beam he had been leaning against, pulling himself up to the level just below the bell tower. The room was ordained with curios and antiquities, an ancient sarcophagus faced like a hooded man, an assassin, and Ezio bowed to it. "I will return in a few minutes," he said softly, before climbing up past the bell of the belfry and exiting to the top of the tower.
Maffei was pacing about, waving his arms around in wild gesticulations. The morning sun was now nearly noon; Ezio had been at this for over five hours.
"They have corrupted themselves;" Maffei was saying, "they are not His children, because of their blemish: A perverse and crooked generation. Do you thus deal with the Lord, O foolish and unwise people? Is He not your Father, who bought you? Has He not made you and established you?" He spun around, revealing wild eyes shining in the drizzle, and he gasped upon seeing the white hood appear, seemingly from nowhere. Maffei drew a dagger and took a weak defensive stance.
"By the light of the Lord, be cleansed!" he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth into the cool air.
"No grazie," Ezio said, extending his two hidden blades and taking his own stance. The fight would be easy, but the height made it dangerous, and Ezio was weary of killing Maffei before he had extracted what he truly wanted: Jacopo de' Pazzi.
"I will put you on your knees, sinner!" Maffei shouted, making a clumsy swing.
"You would enjoy that, wouldn't you?" Ezio countered it, keeping momentum to a minimum to prevent approaching the edge of the tower.
"Beg forgiveness!"
"I have no need to," Ezio growled, blocking another strike with a leather vambrace. "I am not the one who tried to kill a benefactor of a city, nor am I the man who conspired to kill two innocent men and a child." He could see the gallows now, anger filling his mind.
"Give me strength, O Lord - that I might cast out this demon!" Maffei shouted, his voice cracking with volume. "It is not too late for you to turn away from evil! Repent, sinner!" he said, casting a judgmental finger at him. "You may yet be forgiven! I do God's work! And it is good! "
"You stopped working for God a long time ago," Ezio said, seeing his chance and grabbing the dagger. He held firm, Maffei focused on trying to wrest it free, and Ezio stabbed him deep in the chest, between ribs and into a lung.
Maffei gave a gurgled gasp of surprise, looking down in shock as his legs gave out from underneath him.
"Away with you, demon!" he muttered, trying to pull away.
"Have some respect for death, my friend," Ezio said slowly, holding the struggling man still. "Don't waste your last breath in futility, tell me where to find Jacopo de' Pazzi."
"I'll show you respect! -" he gurgled.
"No," Ezio cut him off. "I will: May your body and mind at last be still," he whispered, watching the man slowly die. "Requiescat in Pace."
He pulled back, frustrated. All the conspirators were dead, and none with telling him how to find the last Pazzi. The gallows were filling his mind, overtaking any thought as he remembered Petruccio's broken neck and his unheard whimper, pictured Federico's blank face turning to his little brother in concern and later slowly turning blue, he experienced Giovanni struggling for air, swinging back and forth before being brained by the executioner, fluid and blood flying everywhere. He cursed, bitterly, his words lost on the strong winds surrounding him. Now how was he going to find the bastard? Avenge his family? He was back to square one unless Maffei had any-
He spun around, looting the corpse's pockets, pulling out several letters, all from Jacopo de' Pazzi. Ezio grinned as his emotions completely overturned, filing through them in the low drizzle, finding the most recent letter and reading it.
"Brother,
"As you've no doubt heard by now, he hunts us - in search of retribution. We should never have consented, never have conspired. But what's done is done. And so I have called a meeting with Maestro three nights from now to ask for sanctuary - either in Venezia or with him in Roma.
"We will assemble at the church in San Gimignano and travel to the meeting location at the appointed hour. I urge you to attend. Remaining here would be suicide. The assassin is relentless. We cannot hope to stop him on our own. But perhaps, aided by Maestro, we might buy ourselves the time to form a proper response.
"Guard yourself well. Firenze may be lost to us, but that does not have to mean our end.
"May the Father of Understanding Guide you.
"Your brother, Jacopo"
Ezio checked the date of the letter, day before yesterday. That meant Jacopo was in the city, and tonight he would be at the church. Excellent. Excellent. Feeling better than he had in months, he lowered himself down into the belfry, past the massive bell and into the hidden room where the sarcophagus lay. Now that he had time, he stood over the tomb, offering a prayer, and pushed the lid aside, taking a moment to look at the mummy and the telltale red sash covering it, paying his respects before pulling out the seal, the circular stone this time showing a spear: the Seal of Wei Yu was his. He looked about the antiquities, debating. It was sacrilegious as it was to rob a grave of the seals, and desperate though he had been he had not liked robbing the tombs he had found in Florence. With so many shops open in Monteriggioni, perhaps...
"I will leave your treasures for the next generation," Ezio said, bowing to the assassin and recovering the sarcophagus. Seal and letter in hand, he began the arduous climb down the belfry to write a letter to Mario. With luck, he would still be in Monteriggioni and know what Ezio had planned.
Author's Note: And Ezio slowly starts to wind up, and we see what happens when our not-yet-assassin feels a little stressed. This, ultimately, is the downfall of people who wish to take revenge: impatience and excluding all else. Ezio is so frantic over killing the conspirators because of their connection to his father's death - coupled with his admiration of Lorenzo and not wanting to let him down, he's slowly becoming more and more reckless. But Ezio hasn't realized yet how self-destructive he's becoming. That's next chapter, and oh, the trouble he conjures for himself. (knowing laughter)
We have also, at last, explained why he's such a proclivity to women: a warm bed chases away his nightmares for a time, and the act of flirting makes him feel close to Federico. This will pop up again and again (it IS Ezio, we're talking about), but we feel this was the only way he could be as promiscuous as he is and still have respect for women. He also has a few conditions that must be met when he's picking his women, but more on that later.
Note how close he and Claudia are, especially at the beginning of the chapter. They both help him through surgery, and that level of closeness is important for what we're planning later on.
And, as a random aside, astute readers will pick out that Ezio insulted Claudia by infering that she's skinny. I now have to put on my art history cap from college and point out that, back in ye olden times, being heavy set was a sign of wealth, and therefore a sign of power, and therefore a sign of desirability. All those paintings of women back then, you never see rib cages or toned legs, its because the artist has made them attractive by making them "pleasingly plump." And so long as I have my art history cap on, if anyone's ever played the "Bonus" stage of the Medici Palace, that bronze David in the center courtyard is famous. That was done by sculptor Donatello (which may or may not be familiar to you) and was cast in the early Renaissance. Look it up on wikipedia or google, you'll find a young, almost prepubescent male effeminate-boy in nothing but boots and a feathered cap standing on Goliaths head. Lots of people find it almost pediphilic, but it's a representation of the strength of youth and is one of the three most famous David's in the Renaissance. While that was done early Renaissance, Michelangelo's David was done in high Renaissance, and a third done almost at the beginning of the Baroque (sp?) period. The contrast of the three is really interesting, and it was a fund day in class to discuss it. Or maybe I'm just an art nerd...?
Anyway, next chapter: Ezio is an idiot, Leonardo and he travel. And oh yeah, there's this thing called Leap of Faith...