First of the Order
Cinque: The Villa
"Yes, it's mine." Lucretia said, strengthening her hold on the rosary's beads. The blonde man only started at her with a simple look in his eye. "So like her." He said softly. Then calmly pulled a gun out of his pocket and aimed it at her. Lucretia's eyes grew wide with fear, but she only grasped the beads harder. "M-my Grandmother…" she stammered. "Yes, your grandmother, and hers, and hers. It has been in your family for centuries." He pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the empty station.
Antonio felt like weeping as he stood at the window and looked out into St. Peter's Square, and watched the line of ragged prisoners file in. He searched through them, picking out faces he knew, Draco, Enrique, Gino, Leone. They had served him faithfully for the past six years, fighting to keep Rambaldi's objects from the hands of the Pope and his son Cesare. These four had disappeared a few months ago, caught in an attempt to steal back the painting Rambaldi had made of Alexander. And now they would fall victim to a family's desire for power.
Then, as Antonio watched, unseen, a fifth prisoner was dragged into the square. Lorenzo. His dearest friend and most faithful associate. He had seen the man only this morning, met with him in the underground catacombs that had once been used by persecuted believers. And here he was, captured, a prisoner. His eyes darted around for a means of escape, but a phalanx of soldiers blocked the entrance. Suddenly, he seemed to see Antonio in the window of the side building. Their eyes held for one moment, before Lorenzo was pulled away. He was helpless to rescue his friends. They would die, just like the man they followed.
Antonio's eyes were drawn to the Vatican windows, where Alexander IV sat with his daughter Lucrezia and son Cesare. Cesare's servant, dressed all in black, stood beside him. It was a dreadful audience. But some of the men saw a hope. Gino, the simple farm boy, looked up at the Pope, earnestly petitioning. Antonio caught a few of his pleading words before a shot rang out. Gino fell dead in the middle of his plea for mercy and Cesare handed the smoking rifle to his servant in exchange for another. The prisoners gasped in fear and horror. A few fell to their knees and begged. Leone tried to pull Draco and Enrique up, urging them to be strong, but Draco was shot through the heart as Leone grasped his shoulder, seconds before Leone fell himself. Another rifle passed from the servants hands to Cesare's and Enrique fell, trembling with fear as the bullet whistled into his head. And Lorenzo stood alone, feet rooted to the same spot, still glaring defiantly at the Pope and his son. Cesare raised the rifle and the retort of the last of the fallen rung through the square.
It rang through Antonio's mind often, and even now, three years later, he could still hear it. Could still smell the singe of the fire that had claimed his father as a heretic, could still see the white face of his friend Luigi as he succumbed to Cesare's poison. It had been a long, bloody war, and Antonio had not forgotten a sing fallen comrade.
But now the battle was changed. And this new tactic of Cesare and Alexander's baffled him. He understood why he still lived, while everyone he even spoke to died at the hands of the papal assassins. The most valuable knowledge about Rambaldi and his artifacts was in Antonio's mind, and they knew that Antonio would rather shoot himself than be subject to Cesare's torture. So instead they tried to conquer him with fear, hoping that the panic that the killings had caused throughout the city would bring him down.
And now this change of tactic. Inviting him to dinner, here at the Villa of the Cardinal Adrian Cornatto. What did they mean to do? Certainly they did not seek to bribe him or convince him to join them. That had failed 6 years ago, it would certainly fail now.
"Antonio Rambaldi." The slightly plump middle-aged cardinal greeted the young man with a smile.
"Cardinal Cornatto. Thank-you for graciously inviting me into your home." Antonio greeted his host.
"You are most welcome. Although," he dropped his voice to a whisper, "I am most bewildered by his Holiness' request for your presence here tonight. I did not think he was particularly fond of you, despite his great friendship with your father."
"No, he is not fond of me," Antonio whispered back, "nor do I think he looks particularly favorably upon you, your grace."
"No, I have reason to believe they would benefit if I were no longer on this earth," the cardinal said cautiously.
"Then we must both watch, and be most careful." The Cornatto nodded his assent.
"Are the other guests here?" Antonio asked, in his normal tone.
"They wait for us in the dinning room." The Cardinal led his guest from the foyer and they walked in. Antonio found himself increasingly wary, and carefully watched their path should he need to escape quickly.
As they entered the dinning room all seemed to be at ease, but the Pope looked as if he quickly moved his hand to his chest. It was only the slightest movement, but Antonio wondered at it. Was it at all significant?
They sat down and exchange formal greetings. Alexander seemed genuinely happy to see him, but Cesare barely concealed his hatred.
"Shall we begin?" Cornatto said, hand reaching for his wine. And then Antonio found the explanation to his little mystery. Hung from the Pope's neck was the carefully crafted rosary he had shaped from the plastikos all those years before. The beautiful crucifix with its hallow cavity for anointing oil. Or any other liquid that might be dispended in a drop or two.
"Antonio? Do you agree that we should begin?" Cornatto's voice startled him from his thoughts.
"Actually," he covered quickly "I was thinking that I have not seen your chapel since it was finished. And since it was based on my father's designs."
"Of course, we shall see it, and then serve the food." Cornatto rose and led the party out to the chapel, pointing out the elegant architecture Rambaldi had incorporated. As he pointed out a lovely icon set into the wall, Antonio bent over to look and whispered in his ear.
"Our wine is poisoned."
"You are certain?" Antonio nodded.
"I will see to it," the Cardinal murmured as he stood and walked over to a servant.
When they returned to the dinning room nothing looked different, but Cornatto drank his wine without hesitation, so Antonio followed suit. Conversation seemed a little stifled. Every time Antonio opened his mouth Cesare looked like he was about to kill him, so he decided silence was the best plea. This left the Pope and the Cardinal to talk about Church business, a subject upon which they could never agree. All parties involved were relieved when it was over.
"Antonio, Antonio, open the door!"
A very sleepy looking Antonio opened the door a few minutes later. "What is it, Luigi? What can possibly have happened at five in the morning?"
"He is dead, Antonio, dead!"
"Who?"
"The Pope. He caught sick last night, and the world throughout the streets is that he is dead. The conclave has gone into seclusion so the rumors must be true."
"And what of Cesare?"
"He is ill, with the same sickness, but they say he may recover after a long time."
"But by the time he is well, there will be a new Pope in the Vatican. Cesare's power came from his father."
"So we are saved, Antonio, saved!"
"Yes, we have overcome this power, but there will be others." He added softly to himself, while Luigi assembled the remainder of the order to celebrate. "But," he added, thinking of the papers he'd deciphered last night, of how he hadn't aged a day since he took his father's liquid, "I have time, plenty of time to face them all and bring my father's works into being."