AC Brotherhood Novelization

by Mirror and Image

Desmond continues his journey to being an Assassin and slowly going insane while reliving his ancestor Ezio as Ezio's worlds crumbles under his feet. Rated for Desmond's language, overall violence, and of course a certain amorous encounter at the beginning of the game.

11. Death of a Frenchman

Part Eleven: Death of a Frenchman

That evening when the others had left and Ezio was still making notes on his never ending list of things to do, his bankers came in with Sozzi. The novice turned to leave but the master assassin beckoned him to stay. "You have the best head for numbers," he said by way of explanation, "and it's time someone else knew how this worked."

He turned to his bankers. "Did you get my latest deposit?" he asked.

"Si, Maestro," Matteo said. "Quite substantial. What do you want us to do with it?"

Ezio gave a feral grin: "Buy Roma."

All three men blinked. Romeo offered a strangled, "Ser Ezio...?"

"Messeri," Ezio said, "I want to expand. Currently, we have almost every business on Isola Tiberina, and a few in central Roma and by the Tevere Port on the west bank. Between them and our... other... sources of income, and now with this generous donation, we have enough liquid capital to invest in more. I want to become a silent partner in at least a dozen other businesses spread out in the city. I have contacts getting me possible lists as we speak, and as they do I want you to approach them with a proposal of investment, find out what they need, and then check back with me. We've done this enough times now that you know how to do this."

"But... so many at once..." Matteo said, eyes still double in size. "Won't that draw attention?"

"Not if it's done in the following way:" And Ezio walked them through how to capitalize on the windfall that Bartolomeo had thrown at him. He also reserved a small portion of the money for personal investment, and the next day he was chatting with Etienne and his son before putting in an order for a dozen sets of leather and metal armor, and commissioning three hidden blades, and adding a maintenance order for the weapons he already had in stock.

"Monsieur!" Etienne cooed with delight, "That will keep me eating for the next two seasons! Here, I'll give you a discount."

The master assassin lifted a hand. "That's hardly necess-"

"Oh, but it is! Any merchant worth his salt treats his well-paying customers well, n'est-ce pas? Tres bien..."

Most of the work was nowhere near ready by January first, but the leather armor was, and Ezio felt a little better with his novices better equipped. Volpe, Bartolomeo, and Claudia each staged the planned assaults on the towers, playing to their various strengths, and providing a good lesson to his brotherhood in the manners of different thinking. He spent his night tensely on the roof, his mind open to his eagle, as he surveyed the city, waiting. The master assassin mused that the last time he had felt this much nervous energy and impatience, he had broken his leg and nearly died because of a series of rash decisions. In this, he felt, he was much better prepared. A month of planning had gone into this assault, and his recruits had almost two years training under their belts, and the support of the best of his brotherhood. All that was left to do was wait, and while it was not Ezio's favorite thing to do, after forty-three years he had learned its necessity.

That didn't stop him from pacing.

At midnight, he sensed more than saw the first fire, his eagle bidding him to look north, into the heart of the city, and there he saw the pillar of smoke under the waning crescent, and the bright orange of fire. And that was how it started. Slowly, one by one, each of the Borgia towers were brought to their knees, smoke filling the chill night air and bright beacons of light and fire looked like candles with their far off distances. The streets stayed mostly quiet where he was, but the master assassin knew down to his core that city guards were in a panic, running hither and yon willy nilly, unable to determine their next course of action with their captains dead and their towers on fire. Ezio kept his eyes locked on the Castel Sant'Angelo, directing all his intensity to the withering old man inside. Now, he thought, now let's see how much power you think you have.

The heralds were awash with information the following morning, as Ezio helped his novices and apprentices and assassins back to the hideout, checking for wounds and summoning Dante and hearing reports and understanding how much of a success the night was. He immediately promoted Candida and Sozzi to apprentices for their quick thinking under pressure and clever solutions to problems as they had arisen over the course of the night. Vecellio and Enu had performed admirably, as expected for experienced assassins, and the mute Alighiero and his first recruit Vittoria had outdone themselves in their work, and Ezio could feel confidence swelling through all of them with such a complex victory at their feet.

That evening Ezio joined his sister at the Rosa in Fiore to celebrate their victory, her birthday, and the anniversary of the fall of Monteriggioni. "I hope my gift was adequate," he said softly.

"I doubt it was the only reason you planned this assault," she said quietly.

"No, but it was the reason I made it New Year's."

She turned to look at him. "Do you really mean that?"

"Si," he said. "Your birthday should have good memories."

Her eyes narrowed, her face becoming guarded. "Brother, if this is about protecting me..."

"No, Claudia, it isn't. Your birthday has always been very important for me. You know how I get at the end of the year," He saw a faint smile from her, "but your birthday brings me out of that depression; it has ever since they died, it reminds me that good things still happen, and that I should celebrate them whenever I can."

"Even if you lose track of time?" she asked carefully, thinking of last year.

Ezio grinned slightly, sadly, and shook his head. "Especially when I lose track of time."

Not a week later Ezio received intelligence from Antonio and Teodora in Venice that their city-state and the Ottomans were close to reaching a peace agreement. That meant a free trade agreement, and Ezio and Machiavelli both agreed that the papacy would never allow that, much more inclined to controlling the trade himself so that he could siphon a percentage for himself. Ezio sent Vecellio and Enu, and the recently returned Varzi, to the Tevere Port to make sure the Borgia didn't do anything while he took a report from Taddeo and Elda on the details of their trip to France. Not only had the team saved the reformist, but the French had decided to induct him as an Assassin after Desiderius Erasmus informed them of a captured brother that lead to not only key names in the French court, but also a direct nugget of information about Italia: be wary of the Orsini.

Before they even had time to settle back, several ships at the port caught fire: courtesy of Vecellio and his team to prevent a Borgia team for sailing to Constantinople, and on the last day of January, Venice and the Ottomans reached their peace agreement. Everyone Ezio knew in the floating city breathed a sigh of relief.

Once things had died down, Vecellio approached Ezio, asking for a private audience, and soon the two were riding through the northern farms and hills, passing ruined columns and colonnades. "What is on your mind?" the master assassin asked gently.

"Maestro, I must first ask how much you know of my old mentor, the man training me before you."

Ezio shook his head. "Not much. Why?"

"... Perotto Calderon. He was like a father to me," the young assassin said, his voice soft with memory. "He worked as a Borgia courier; most of it was between Rodrigo and Cesare, but he also delivered letters for Lucrezia Borgia." His face twisted into something ugly, something Ezio saw often whenever anyone mentioned the papal daughter. "I watched from a distance, she plied her craft very well, pressing the idea that she was being married off like property, constructing herself as a lonely angel without love from her family. She was an artist, I'll give her that, and Perotto fell for it head over heels."

"Merda," Ezio said in sympathy. His recent conversation with Claudia made him unsure how much of Lucrezia's lure was true, but then, the best lies were based on truth, and seeing that made him loathe her almost as much as Claudia and Caterina had. She was perhaps even more dangerous than Cesare, because she manipulated a man's emotions as well as his loins, and that made the trap even more deadly and the betrayal even deeper. "How long did the affair last?"

"Long enough to bear the 'Child of Roma.' "

Ezio blinked. "Wait, that child..."

"I don't know for certain," Vecellio said, gripping the reins of his horse tightly. "She was bedding Cesare at the time, so it might be his, and nobody really knows if Rodrigo had her or not, but Perotto believed it. He even tried to kidnap the child. It... didn't end well."

And suddenly Ezio understood exactly why Vecellio was such an angry young man, and remembered his own temper as a child.

"It was painful to share something like this," the master assassin said, "Thank you for choosing me to tell. Is there something you want to ask of me?"

"Si, Maestro, Giovanni Borgia... Perotto thought him a son, and by extension of that thought I've come to see him as my brother. I cannot stand the thought of him living under that family's thumb. He's five now, there's still time to..."

"You want to recruit the child."

"Si, Maestro," Vecellio said. "I was raised in the Brotherhood, I think it's the safest place for him. Not only will we keep him safe, but our teachings will prevent him from ever, ever, turning into that side of his family."

"I understand," Ezio said, pulling his horse to a stop. "Let us head back into the city. We'll need access to Il Vaticano, and right now that is one of our highest priorities. I'll leave you in charge of the mission, to be organized and planned out when you aren't doing things for me, and you will strike when you see your chance. After that, we'll decide how to best handle him. Our first stop is to my sister; she would be the best one to decide where to raise a child."

That night Machiavelli arrived. "Your message seems to have been received," he said with a hint of Florentine irony. "If you are still interested in being offensive to more than just me, I have a series of tasks for you."

"What is it?" Ezio asked, motioning for Vecellio to assemble the brotherhood for possible assignment.

"The Borgia are reacting on two fronts: First, he is bringing back one of Cesare's chief tacticians and several of his veteran trainers. He plans on hiring untrained men to bolster his forces – for Cesare's armies or for more local intentions, I don't yet know. They should be eliminated before they pose a threat. He has also brought in some of those new gunmen in the hopes of shooting at us – or any other dissenter they can find. He has also hired two notoriously cruel guards to set loose upon the city, and a contingent of men to press against the farmers; posthumously to feed his armies but more likely to try and starve us out."

"That is quite a list."

"You were the one who wanted to go on the offensive, Ezio. I've been waiting for you to finally wake up for several years now."

Any good mood Ezio felt dimmed, but he pushed aside the dour man's attitude. Ignoring the jibe, Ezio moved into the armory, where almost everyone was gathered, and doled out the assignments. Enu and Sozzi, the best archers in the hideout, were paired with Candida and Sancia to track down and tactician and trainers. Everyone held their collective breath that the clumsy Sancia was going out into the field again, but she had proven capable (mostly) at the Borgia tower assault, and Ezio needed to put her faith in her. The gunmen were given to Varzi, Vittoria, and Elda with the idea that poisoning would not be obvious. To the overpowering tax collector, he assigned the thief Filippo and the scribe Gaspare to plant documents on them to make them vulnerable to the public mobs. That left Taddeo, Abate, and Alighiero, and of course Vecellio in house if there was an extra problem that cropped up.

The next morning, Ezio took his assassin across the roofs to the Rosa in Fiore, informally racing each other and Ezio proud that he still won but worried that he had to put more effort into it than he should have and was winded when they arrived. A sign of age? Perish the thought!

The girls knew their faces, and the two were quickly ushered – not to Claudia's office as normal but to a private salle. That did not bode well, and the two waited tensely for over two hours before Lucia finally appeared.

"Maestro," she said quickly. "There's someone you need to meet."

Vecellio was left in the salle and Ezio was ushered to Claudia's office. His sister was there alone, and she immediately walked around her desk to speak to him. "I'm glad you're here," she said softly, her voice low. "I was going to send a pigeon or one of the girls, but you need meet someone. She arrived late last night, I've been talking with her ever since. Her name is Fiora Cavazza."

"And?" Ezio asked, intent.

"She used to be a woman here, before she was taken under the wing of Cesare Borgia."

Ezio's eyes widened of their own volition. "How did she get here?"

"She defected."

"... What?"

"I know," Claudia said, nodding, "I was suspicious, too. I've been working on her all night, but in the end I think she's genuine. Ezio, she was one of Cesare's closest lieutenants. She can give us names, faces, plans and strategy. She was with him up until last year. She knew it was safe to come out when the towers caught fire, and she's been looking for us ever since."

For the next two hours, Ezio grilled the former courtesan. She was cool, self-contained, and however intelligent she appeared to be, the master assassin could tell she was hiding her true abilities. The one thing she did not fake, however, was her sincerity. "It all started with Malfatto," she said, talking about a twisted doctor who killed whores for fun and, upon Cesare's insistence that the man be recruited to the Templar Order, had utterly broke her trust in the man who had rescued her from the brothel. "I knew an assassin had killed him two years ago," she said slowly, her voice shaky with emotion whenever Malfatto's name came up. "But I also knew Ezio Auditore was dead, and that you all had been dealt a serious blow before. I had to be sure you could kill these men I was forced to hire. When I saw the Borgia towers burning, I knew it was time."

Ezio inclined his head. "As you wish. I will send word to the Maestro, and he can decide how to handle you."

He left the room, hoping Cavazza bought the fact that he was merely an assassin, and not Ezio Auditore himself. He grabbed Vecellio and took him to the roof of the brothel and explained the situation.

"This is a stroke of luck," he said softly against the frigid breeze. "She has more access to Cesare's inner workings than any of Machiavelli's or Volpe's spies, and she is determined to see her list of names eliminated. I'm putting you in charge of it."

"Maestro?"

"You are the best assassin I have," Ezio said, watching the young man's face bloom with surprise and humility. "You are the one best suited for this assignment and it gives you the access you need to Il Vaticano to look for your little brother. She thinks I'm an assassin like you, do not hint that I am who I am, or that Claudia is who she is. She has her secrets, we have ours, but we share the same goal. Wait for a few hours and then arrive and ask if she is your assignment. Let her tell you the details in her own way, and see what you can glean from her as she no doubt tries to glean things from you. Do you understand?"

"Si, Maestro, I'll do my very best."

"Bene. Buona fortuna. May fortune favor your blade."

Ezio disappeared, and hoped he had done the right thing.

---

As if things hadn't moved fast enough, Pantasilea sent word via carrier pigeon requesting his presence. Bartolomeo, contrary to Machiavelli's skepticism, had a possible backer and wanted Ezio's help in sealing the arrangement. Ezio had to chuckle at that. Bartolomeo was so direct and crass that one might think him a mere brawler and not an astute field commander. It was no wonder why Pantasilea would want Ezio there to smooth any ruffled feathers.

And, Ezio realized sadly, the backer wouldn't listen to Pantasilea's own honest assessment of things simply because she was a woman.

Ezio brought Gaspare, Sozzi, and Alighiero with him. They could blend in with Bartolomeo's troops just in case, and Filippo and Abate were already there to help refine their fighting techniques. Salvatore, as always, provided good horses for them as they rode out. In the countryside, Ezio had to admit, the peasants and farmers were doing better. They were focused more on their fields and small stands of commerce instead of looking around for wolf-skinned robbers. Ezio's hard work over the past few years was paying off.

It was raining when they arrived at Bartolomeo's barracks. The cold rain left the four of them chilled and one of the mercenaries quickly brought them in, setting their cloaks by a fire to dry and bringing Ezio to Bartolomeo. The Assassins dispersed into the mercenaries as Ezio had instructed.

"Ah! Ezio!" Bartolomeo greeted. "I'm so glad you're here! I can't understand a word of this Spaniard."

"Only because you don't listen," the other man in the room grumbled. "I'm speaking properly."

Frankly, the man's accent was thick, and Bartolomeo had never truly bothered to learn any other languages, so Ezio could see immediately why Pantasilea wanted him here.

"Buenas tardes, como estas?" Ezio greeted in his best charm.

"At last," the man replied in Spanish. "A man who understands language!"

Ezio merely nodded, continuing in Spanish. "I am often called on to act as translator for Bartolomeo. His brilliance as a fighter does not translate to language very well."

"So I see," the man replied, rubbing his beard. "I am Esteban. I am here to see if we can have some aid against the French."

Ezio nodded. "Neither Bartolomeo, nor I, have much love for the French right now."

"Can you two at least speak a proper tongue I can understand?" Bartolomeo asked gruffly. "That I may be sure neither of you is insulting me when I'm right here?"

Knowing Bartolomeo, Ezio had no problem laughing. No doubt the mercenary was trying to make a joke that wasn't crude and was floundering badly.

"I'll stick to Spanish, if you'll play translator," Esteban replied. "I'm tired of trying to work out what he's saying."

"A Venetian accent to a Florentine," Ezio replied. "Many will always prefer the Florentine."

Bartolomeo growled.

Esteban continued. "We have a battle going on in Ruvo," he said. "While Aragon can win, no doubt, we thought some local help might make this less bloody."

Ezio translated and then replied, "And since we've been keeping the French from Roma, we might be of some assistance."

"That was our hope."

Ezio settled himself into the role of translator, massaging various turns of phrases into something more diplomatic, once Esteban realized that Ezio would. Esteban had a sarcastic wit about him that would have been a fine counter to Bartolomeo's crassness if the two could properly understand each other. Instead, Ezio held back several chuckles as they talked about strengths and capabilities.

It was night and they were sharing dinner with Bartolomeo's men when a guardsman from the front of the barracks came running forward.

"The French are approaching!"

"Are they mad?" Bartolomeo laughed, hooking Bianca to his side. "They know they can't take me on my own ground."

"You are not worried?" Esteban asked.

"Cesare persuaded King Louis to lend him an entire army to defeat me," Bartolomeo puffed in pride. "I'm flattered. Close the gates!" he bellowed.

All around them gates slammed shut.

Down the hill was a troupe of blue French, their armor glittering in the rising moon and stars, carrying French banners. In front of them was a Frenchman on horseback. His dark hair was damp from the earlier rain, and his crown was sliding down the back of his head. He appeared ugly, potmarked and twisted, but at this distance it was hard to say for certain.

"Bonjour, général d'Alviano," Octavian de Valois called. "Êtes-vous prêt à vous rendre?"

Bartolomeo and Esteban both glanced to Ezio. "He says hello, and are you ready to surrender."

Bartolomeo barked a laugh before bellowing, "Why don't you come closer and say that?"

The nobleman scoffed, switching to Italian. Ezio kept translating quietly to Esteban. "You must learn how to speak French," he said condescendingly. "It would mask your barbaric sensibilities."

Ezio's old friend laughed. "Perhaps you could teach me," he shouted back, "and I would instruct you in fighting, since you seem to do so little of it!"

"As amusing as this parley has been, I'd like your unconditional surrender before sunrise."

"Hah!" Bartolomeo unsheathed his massive broadsword. "My lady Bianca will whisper it in your ear!"

"I believe another lady might object to that," Octavian replied snidely. He gestured and indeed a lady was brought into the light of the torches. A woman who held herself with grace and dignity, despite being clearly pregnant.

"Pantasilea," Bartolomeo hissed.

Standing tall and proud, Pantasilea only smiled coldly at Octavian. "My husband is going to murder all of you," she proclaimed clearly and honestly.

Bartolomeo wasn't nearly so composed. "I'll kill you, fottuto francese!"

Ezio kept translating for Esteban, explaining who Pantasilea was. Esteban swore vehemently in Spanish.

"Calm down," Octavian said arrogantly, "for your wife's sake. You know my terms. Enter my camp unarmed at dawn." He turned his horse and his men turned and started to march off with Pantasilea.

"And practice your French," Octavian threw over his shoulder. "Soon, all of Italie will be speaking it."

"I will get you, pezzo di merda figlio di puttana!" Bartolomeo bellowed back, "you steal a man's wife and then go hide inside a fortress?" He motioned between his legs. "Nothing hangs between your thighs. In fact, there is a hole there so deep, it reaches into the maledetto inferno!"

Ezio grabbed his friend's arms and dragged him back into the barracks. Bartolomeo kept swearing in earnest, and Esteban looked just as angry, though more removed from the situation.

"Do you know where he is taking her?" Ezio asked.

"The Castra Praetoria," Bartolomeo growled.

Ezio frowned. The Castra Praetoria had been built in 23 AD by a praetorian protector under the Roman emperor Tiberius to consolidate guards and was later incorporated into the Aurelian Wall that surrounded Rome to this day. It had housed the guard for three centuries until Constantine I had disbanded them for doing their jobs and defending Maxentius. It was a solid structure that had been around practically since the birth of Christ, and was still standing tall.

"We will fight through the gates," Ezio offered, "as we did at the Arsenale." The Arsenale of Venice also had strong walls and when Ezio needed to get in, he and Bartolomeo had stormed in.

But Bartolomeo rejected the idea. "The entrance is thicker with Frenchmen than the streets of Paris. It's why I haven't been rid of him sooner."

"So we will climb the battlements."

"They can't be scaled!" Bartolomeo hissed back.

Esteban frowned, his brows pinching together and Ezio realized that this was not going well. He turned to the Spaniard, saying, "Un momento, por favor."

"I understand."

Ezio gestured discreetly and Filippo stepped in to guide Esteban away.

With the Aragonese gone, Ezio tried to break through Bartolomeo's vulgar language.

"Pantasilea would know what to do!" Bartolomeo finally collapsed into his chair and rubbed his face. "Maybe this is the end. I enter at dawn bearing gifts and hope that coward spares her life."

Gifts?

Ezio's mind immediately went to all the reading he'd been catching up on as he filled his library for his novices to practice reading. "Why didn't I think of it before!" he exclaimed.

The gruff mercenary blinked. "What did I say?"

Ezio smiled. "Once inside, your men can overpower the camp's patrols, correct?"

"Yes, but..."

"Especially if the patrols are taken completely by surprise?"

"Of course."

"Then we need to liberate several suits of French armor. At dawn, we are going to walk right in."

Bartolomeo stared at him a moment before breaking out in to large guffaw. "Hah! Ezio Auditore, you are truly a man after my own heart. Magnifico!"

"My men and I will get the armor," Ezio nodded. "We can do it faster and quieter."

"Yes," Bartolomeo saying, sketching out a map. "And we will depart from the north, so as not to arouse suspicion. We'll meet here," he pointed. "And Ezio. Make sure to kill them without a fight. The armor has to stay clean."

Ezio only smiled.

Ezio made sure that he spoke to Esteban, explaining the plan and giving all the credit to Bartolomeo now that he was calmer. The man from Aragon only raised his eyebrows, looking impressed. From there, the Florentine suggested that he get some rest as tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Frankly, Ezio would have liked to do the same, but he went out with his fellow Assassins to one of the smaller camps Octavian had set up because it was convenient to try and oust Bartolomeo from his own fortress.

Alighiero and Filippo did well, as expected as apprentices. Sozzi and his crossbow did very well in silent kills, and Gaspare and Abate did decently. Ezio had to admit that both had greatly improved since he had first recruited them. But it took them almost the entire night. The kills were swift, but getting off the armor and clothes, getting a cart for the materials, and hiding all the various bodies so that a courier coming in wouldn't realize the problems and send word back to Octavian before Ezio and Bartolomeo was ready, was not.

Ezio was tired and it looked like sleep wasn't coming any time soon as he and his fellow Assassins rode up to the meeting point.

"Maestro," Gaspare said quietly, "rest in the cart. We'll be there in another hour."

To say that Ezio did not like what the suggestion said about him was one thing. The fact that he quietly nodded and settled into the cart seemingly against his will was also disliked was an understatement. Still, lying down in the cart prevented the cold wind from cutting through him and all of the cloaks and clothes made it at least somewhat soft to lie on and cover himself.

But the short nap helped, and Ezio hated to admit that. Gaspare woke him just as the sky was starting to lighten and Ezio stayed in the cart long enough to loosen up stiff muscles and then mounted. As they passed a farmhouse, Abate rode in and paid for some bread that they all munched on as they meet up with Bartolomeo.

The sun was just peaking over the horizon and the sky was promising another cloudy and cold February day. Bartolomeo was in front of his men, shouting out orders and explaining the bare bones of the plan Ezio had laid out the night before. Esteban was there as well, sitting off to the side and just listening.

Once Ezio and his men rode in, Bartolomeo barked out names to start pulling out and handing out the clothes and armor, and the mercenaries formed a line to get their material. The sun had risen, not that anyone could tell with all the clouds, by the time everything had been distributed and Ezio and Bartolomeo walked among the mercenaries to make sure everything was perfect. Under the dark hair and beards, none could tell that these men weren't French, and Esteban was nodding. The biggest help in the disguises was actually the weather. The cold February morning had everyone wearing heavy cloaks to keep warm that hid the rips and tears of clothes that didn't fit right. Ezio smiled. This would work.

Bartolomeo was getting excited as he saw how his men became French. While worry still kept his shoulders stiff and tense, there was no denying the bounce in his step as he saw a plan coming together. The Venetian loved battle and had fun in every fight he was in and it showed.

"That man is a good commander," Esteban said, walking up to Ezio. "He bounces like a child, but the enthusiasm is overflowing."

Ezio nodded.

"Ezio!" Bartolomeo shouted. "Get some of that perverted armor on! You'll be signaling our men once we get inside. We need to get moving."

Esteban gave a light chuckle. "Blunt, isn't he?"

"His best and worst feature."

They set off in short order and Esteban let out a soft whistle of being impressed as Bartolomeo's men marched in perfect form without a single whisper to show that they weren't French. They moved quickly, but it would still be a long march to the Castra Praetoria. Bartolomeo was looking to the sky, trying to approximate where the sun was behind the clouds and gauging their time as Esteban and Ezio were behind him, holding the ropes that "bound" the mercenary.

"I don't like this," Bartolomeo whispered. "Maybe we should cut through a field, shave some time off so that we'll arrive while it's still morning."

It was Esteban who shook his head. "We must follow the patrol route. If we deviate, the Baron's men will know something is wrong."

Ezio translated.

Bartolomeo simply nodded and they continued.

A small French patrol came over the hill and blinked. Ezio quickly called out to them imperiously. "Vous! Dites le baron que nous venons avec le prisonnier!"

"Quoi?"

"Allez! Ou faites face à la colère du baron!"

"Ahh, biens! Nous allons, nous allons!"

Esteban chuckled. "You know how to scare idiots," he said dryly in Spanish.

"Of course," Ezio replied. "Invoke the wrath of a possibly angry baron and they comply quickly."

Bartolomeo's shoulders tensed. "You know French?" he asked. Apparently Ezio's translation of the Baron last night hadn't gotten through the Venetian's worry over his wife.

Ezio shrugged. "There were a couple of French girls in Firenze."

Esteban burst out laughing.

"It also prevents the Baron from getting anxious. He knows that you are coming, but not what is coming with you."

Bartolomeo gave a quiet scoff. "The Baron thinks Cesare will allow the French to rule Italy. He's so blinded by the trickle of royalty in his blood, that lazy inbred can't see the battlefield. Whatever the French may think, Cesare intends to be king."

Ezio nodded solemnly. "This we know. All of Cesare's maneuvering has made it clear that he wants to be our despot. As if his father hasn't been bad enough."

Esteban gave a small frown. "You italianos are strange to me," he offered in his accented Italian. "You break yourselves into small republics and duchies, you vote for rulers, yet scoff at nobility. But even Greece and the ancient Romans elected their emperors, did they not? You keep a society that allows for some random person to become your leader. I'm not saying Cesare is a good choice, but why not have a king to stabilize everything?"

Clearly, this Aragon didn't know his history. Ezio rolled his eyes under his helmet. "Yes, we have republics and duchies," Bartolomeo growled back, "and yes we have plenty of our own little wars with ourselves to keep us all in shape. But to say that we just put random people in office is showing how much of a dumb backwards idiota you are. Ezio, you were in Spain for a year, explain to this stupido why nobility isn't just how you're born."

Ezio translated Bartolomeo's words with a fair bit more diplomacy.

"You were in Spain?" Esteban looked surprised.

"A friend called for aid and I went," Ezio replied. "And I do question if 'nobility' is a trait passed down from parent to child. All I saw in Spain was the Inquisition where hundreds were slaughtered for simply being different. All that death because one person who was 'noble' called for it."

Esteban looked away. "I have lost family to this Inquisition," he said quietly. "I had not thought about the nobility's role so much as the Church's. It is why I am here. To stomp Cesare along with getting Napoli."

Ezio looked at Esteban for a long moment. A man who listened to reasoning was a man who might be able to open his eyes. "Perhaps, when this is over, you might look in on my friend in Spain?" Ezio would send word and maybe this sarcastic man could join the Brotherhood there. At least he could have his eyes opened.

"First we must see how this little war goes," Esteban replied, then changed subject.

Forty-five minutes later, Bartolomeo offered a growl. "Checkpoint ahead."

This would be the outer picket lines of the French stronghold, and it was easy to avoid. Ezio turned, gave a small whistle, and gesture, and Filippo and Alighiero slipped easily out of the ranks and into the fields. "A moment to slow down," Ezio said.

There were only two Frenchmen ahead, and Ezio's apprentices both appeared behind them, almost as one, stabbing them in the backs and then hustling them out of sight. Ezio made note of that and wondered if they should be paired together more often. It wasn't always easy to find a partner to be so harmonious with.

Bartolomeo lead them down the road without incident.

"The plan is brillante," the Venetian whispered, "but I don't like using this kind of trick. I believe in fair fighting, may the best man win." He shook his head. "Get hired, fight another band of mercenaries, get paid, relax. This is so... uncivilized."

Esteban actually laughed. "I just might like your sense of civilization."

"Cesare and the Baron seem to have a different style," Ezio commented.

Bartolomeo scoffed. "There will come a day in which men no longer cheat each other," he said softly. "And on that day we will see what mankind is truly capable of."

"An interesting thought," Esteban commented.

Ezio, however, was digging through cobwebbed memories. "I've heard that before..." No, he'd read that before. But when...

"It is something your father once wrote."

Ezio blinked, the memory finally coming up. He'd been maybe thirteen and had snuck into his father's office to hide from Federico over something or other. Bored, he'd started reading what was laying on the desk. It had been an odd phrase that stuck with him, and Giovanni had never explained it, only shooing him out so that he could get some work done. All of his fathers old documents... lost. The Auditore Villa had been kept for years by Lorenzo de' Medici, but he was now dead and his successors exiled. Ezio doubted his family home was still locked up and awaiting his arrival. Monteriggioni was lost, shelled by the Borgia who had probably gone through everything they could find, assuming Mario hadn't had documents destroyed before leading the losing battle outside.

So much lost.

He let out a silent sigh.

"He sounds like an interesting man, your padre," Esteban said, not knowing Ezio's old pain. "I would love to meet him."

"He has been dead for twenty-six years now," Ezio replied quietly.

"My condolences."

The next checkpoint was almost an hour away, and Ezio looked with his Eagle, noting that there were too many to simply kill and be on their way. It was time to truly see how good his French was.

He walked ahead, with Gaspare and Abate at his side from another hand signal.

"Gaspare," Ezio whispered. "I'll talk to you in French and send you off. You need to get a permit to pass. Do you know what to look for?"

"Si," the former scrivener replied. "Official documents hardly vary."

"Bene. Just be fast."

"Of course, Maestro."

"Abate, simply stay silent. If anyone tries to get you to speak, simply turn to me and ask 'Capitaine ?' and I'll handle it."

"Yes, Capitaine."

"Good."

The local captain of the checkpoint stepped forward to meet Ezio, his own aides by his side.

"Un héros s'approche!" he called. "We welcome the hero who caught this chien italien."

Ezio shrugged, doing his best French accent. "We caught him trying to slip away, the coward." He turned to Gaspare. "Go and get make a request for refitting. And make sure you fill out the forms properly this time!"

The novice nodded and dashed away, as Bartolomeo and his men kept marching closer.

The captain blinked. "What part of France are you from?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

Merda. "Montréal," Ezio replied. "It is a tiny village in the Alps between France and Italie. No one has ever heard of it." He shrugged and offered his usual charismatic smile. "It's why I left."

"Bien!" the captain chuckled. "Moi aussi. But my village was down near L'Espagne. I've managed to forget about it."

Ezio gave his own well-natured chuckle. "Has the Baron de Valois been informed of our approach?"

"Oui, your little messenger raced through here earlier. He's probably gotten word by now."

"Bien. Maybe we can all go home after this. There is this flower girl I know..."

Ezio kept conversation light as Bartolomeo and his men marched by and Gaspare arrived with a slight nod.

"Nous devons aller, maintenant," Ezio murmured.

"Say hello to that little dove of yours for me!" the other captain nodded.

Ezio walked back to the head of the column and let out a soft breath.

Once past the checkpoint, Gaspare handed over the documents and Ezio scanned them. They had been written in Latin, for which he was grateful, because he could speak French far better than he could write it. It was an identifying document that listed them under a certain general, who was present, etc. Perfect for what they needed.

"Almost there," Bartolomeo grunted, his entire frame taught with tension.

Ahead was the massive gate of the Castra Praetoria, blocked with solid wood and with many Frenchmen past it, as Bartolomeo had predicted.

The gatekeeper looked over his wall and called down, "Que venez-vous faire ici?"

"My soldiers are taking the Italian captain to His Excellency the Baron. He wants to surrender."

The gatekeeper looked at someone Ezio couldn't see and called down, "We need your papers."

Ezio nodded to Gaspare, who passed them through the gates.

They all waited tensely. Esteban loosened Bartolomeo's restraints, standing taught, and the mercenaries all held attention with precision.

After what seemed an eternity, the gatekeeper called out, "Open the gates!"

They passed through the outer courtyard and passed another gate to the inner complex that once held several divisions of guards millennium past. The buildings were in varying states of repair, but most were sturdy and habitable. Ezio kept a firm grip on Bartolomeo as they walked amongst all the French who laughed and threw insults.

"Chien italien!"

"Regardez-le, il a honte de ce qu'ilest!"

"Une bête admet son betters!"

"Pourquoi font intervenir un cochon ici? Le fait de puer est horrible!"

The gauntlet was rude, but no more than Bartolomeo could be and Ezio was the only one who could understand them. No one realized a thing in the cold morning, and they were all brought to a set of stairs where Octavian came forward, Pantasilea bound by his side and standing more regal than the Frenchman. Behind him were, Ezio noted with disgust, Papal guards. Fabio Orsini had mentioned that the Papal guards he served were no longer his own, that Cesare was using them indiscriminately and this was further proof. Ezio would need to check with Machiavelli and see how Fabio was doing. He didn't want to face Papal guards that might be allies one day or under Fabio and only acting on orders. But for now, the ones before him would have to die. The Papal guards were known for being the best in all of Italy, and Ezio couldn't let them get to Esteban, Bartolomeo, or Bartolomeo's men. He made a slight gesture, staring hard at the Papal guards so that his own men knew what their focus was.

"Général d'Alviano. It seems that you have seen the light," Octavian said with his usual sneer.

"Enough of your crap," Bartolomeo hissed back. "Release my wife."

The Baron scoffed. "Such entitlement from a man born with nothing to his name. No family name, no holdings, no power."

Bartolomeo spat at him. "My name is worth its currency. Unlike yours, which is counterfeit. You have no nobility! You know nothing of the word 'noble'! You're just an ass."

Octavian narrowed his eyes. "How dare you?"

"You think that commanding an army grants you nobility?" Bartolomeo countered. "Nobility comes from fighting besides your soldiers, not kidnapping a woman to cheat your way out of battle. Why don't you grow a pair of actual testicles, lengthen that charcoal you call a penis, and release my wife!"

"You savages never learn," Octavian hissed, putting his wheel-lock pistol to Pantasilea's head.

Ezio raised his arm and fired his hidden gun into the sky.

The French were silent and staring, having not expected anything, but that lasted for barely a second as Bartolomeo's men surged forward, screaming their fury and attacking the actual Frenchman. Esteban gave Bartolomeo his giant broadsword Bianca and unsheathed his own Aragon steel and started cutting down footmen around him and staying near Bartolomeo's side as the Venetian bellowed orders.

In complete disarray, the French quickly fell and as reinforcements arrived, they all paused, not knowing who in the blue uniforms was friend or foe. The chaos all worked to Bartolomeo's benefit and any French that actually got to him, the only recognizable enemy in the fray, Esteban, Sozzi, and Alighiero were there to watch his back.

But with so many French focused on Bartolomeo, he couldn't go after Octavian who was dragging a screaming and squirming Pantasilea behind him.

"Filippo! Abate! Sozzi!" Ezio called, surging forward to the Papal guards who blocked the stairs. Filippo threw a smoke bomb, sending the heavily armored guards coughing and lifting their faceplates to try and reach their watering eyes and smoked noses. It was a distraction Ezio needed as his hidden blade dove through one man's hand and into his face, catching briefly on bone before he could pull the blade free in a spray of blood and brain. Filippo was just as fast with his dagger, driving it through an exposed armpit into a lung. Abate's target was further from the radius of the bomb, and was able to deflect the first blow, coughing loudly, but Abate was able to kick his legs out and then drove his sword through the downed man's head.

"Come on!"

The three of them quickly took to the roofs. Since this was a French camp, there were no guards patrolling the roofs, but Ezio did spy riflemen trying to ascend to get a better sense of the chaos going on. "Sozzi, take care of them!" he ordered, knowing that Sozzi and his crossbow would handle anyone who tried to take advantage of the situation.

The roofs providing a clear path, Ezio, Filippo, and Abate followed after the direction Octavian went. Unfortunately, the maze of old and new buildings did not provide what would be a clear path for determining which alley or street Octavian went down. So Ezio switched to his Eagle and followed the golden trail instead.

"Cazzo," Abate swore. "He's heading for the keep."

The most fortified part of any fort. Perfect.

"Then we'll just have to get there first," Ezio replied. Knowing his destination, he flew across the roofs, his apprentice and novice hard pressed to keep up as instinct and experience guided Ezio with every hand hold, every leap, and every footfall.

As they swiftly got closer, Ezio noted the guards along the roofs of the keep and patrolling the front. Filippo was sent to clear the roofs, the better climber of the two, and Ezio and Abate dropped to street level.

Octavian heard Abate's landing, which was less than grateful and turned.

"Bâtards sans race!" the French nobleman cursed, firing his wheel-lock at them. Abate grunted, tumbling forward and Ezio skidded to a halt and went back to his novice.

"Abate!"

"It's nothing, Maestro," he said, cradling his arm. "I'll live, just go!"

Ezio nodded, taking off down an alley and glancing at the keep. Filippo was on the roof already, silently taking down the guards, and most of the Frenchman were heading to the ruckus Bartolomeo was causing. Abate stayed behind, ripping his heavy winter cloak to start wrapping his arm. Taking a small breath to contain the energy that was surging through him, Ezio glanced around a building to analyze the keep. Octavian had entered, and would likely try to barricade himself in one of the rooms, one with an exit. What sort of room would that be, the kitchens?

Pantasilea gave a shout and Ezio realized from the echo that there must have been some sort of courtyard in back. So he raced around the building to find a good wall to scale.

He found a small low-roof nestled between the keep and the fort's wall, likely an attachment for servant housing from a few centuries ago. Ezio swiftly scaled it and crawled to the edge to get a better look. Filippo was still patrolling the roofs, looking like a French soldier and giving Octavian a false sense of security. But the way the French nobleman was fiddling with his pistol, Ezio knew that Octavian was trying to play his gambit of Pantasilea as a shield to the very end.

So Ezio decided he wouldn't give the man any time to finish reloading.

In one graceful arc, he leapt from his low rooftop and drove his hidden blade deep into the soft flesh of the neck joint, down into the lungs.

Octavian stiffened and went limp in Ezio's arms. The Assassin gently brought him to the ground and held him steady, Pantasilea shoved to the ground.

"I... only wanted respect," Octavian whispered in French.

"Respect is earned," Ezio replied softly. "Not inherited or purchased."

"Perhaps, you are right..." Octavian gasped. "I need more time... Let me..." but he let out his death sigh.

Ezio offered his own words in Italian: "May you be equal in death. Requiescat in pace." He gently closed Octavian's eyes and stood.

Pantasilea was still where she had been shoved down, tears marring her face, but she was composing herself, looking regal and graceful once more as best she could. Ezio walked over and looked at the ropes that held her. A swipe of his hidden blade and she was free.

"Grazie, Ezio," she whispered, rubbing her wrists.

Filippo dropped down to them but Ezio did not give him time to rest. "Filippo, go and get Bartolomeo, let him know his wife is well. Help finish the battle."

"Of course, Maestro," the former thief said, heading off.

"Madonna," Ezio gave a gentlemanly bow. "I need to see to one of my men. I'll be back momentarily."

Pantasilea looked nervous for a moment before composing herself again. She'd been through an ordeal, but Ezio didn't know how to best help her. She wiped her eyes and shook herself. "I take it one of your men is injured. I will go with you."

Ezio knew Claudia and Federica both well enough to recognize the set to the jaw.

"Stay in the doors. If the French see you free, they may want to start asking questions."

Pantasilea frowned at this, but retained her dignity despite her unkempt appearance, and followed Ezio through the keep to the main door.

Still dressed in blues, none of the few remaining French questioned Ezio as he helped Abate up and back to the courtyard. They tended to Abate, Ezio pulling out a needle and thread he always kept with him just in case after having his own leg stitched then restitched once, many years ago. They were able to boil the thread in the kitchens and Ezio was still sewing when Bartolomeo came barreling into the courtyard, his lieutenants and Esteban close behind.

"Pantasilea!"

She quickly dropped what she was doing and raced into Bartolomeo's arms, where he picked her up and spun her before pulling her into a bone-crushing hug, despite the fact that she was clearly pregnant. Ezio hoped that the baby wasn't crushed.

"Don't ever disappear again!" Bartolomeo harshly whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I was lost without you."

One glance at Esteban and then Ezio, and Pantasilea pulled out of the embrace enough to look artfully confused. "Really?" she asked, surprised. "But you rescued me."

"Ezio came up with a brilliant plan," Bartolomeo replied.

"I did not," Ezio said firmly, not glancing at Esteban. "It was all your husband's idea. He's just too modest with your lovely face before him."

Pantasilea wiped her eyes before crushing her lips to her husband's. Ezio blinked, not expecting it, and Esteban gave a polite cough before the two of them turned. Abate raised his eyebrows and watched.

"You are my prince," she fervently said.

"Now I better earn that title," Bartolomeo softly said, looking up and trying to blink away tears.

"You will," she replied.

Ezio and Esteban gave them a moment, Ezio returning to Abate's stitches.

"So the French have been driven back?" Ezio asked Esteban.

"Yes," the Aragon said, glad to leave the couple to themselves. "They are retreating as we speak. I'm fairly certain we'll be hiring Capitán General for help in our little war. He is indeed an excellent field commander."

"He is," Ezio nodded. "Now we need to finish this battle."

---

Bartolomeo and his men stayed at the Castra Praetorian, intending to make it an extension from Bartolomeo's own barracks and to ensure that the French did not retake it. It also provided a gate to the city that was not directly under the Pope's control and with Bartolomeo manning it, he could provide good information for Ezio.

Ezio and his men stayed for two days, giving Abate some time to get some strength back and help Bartolomeo establish himself there. Then was the long ride back to central Roma and having Dante check in on Abate and checking in with everything.

To Ezio's surprise, it seemed Vecellio had been busy. He'd taken all of the recruits Ezio didn't have with him and fought a mercenary named Rocco Tiepolo who kept his men employed by Cesare. They were currently being held in reserve in Roma and Vecellio had stormed the place, based on the word of the courtesan who had betrayed Cesare, Fiora Cavazza. Ezio thinned his lips at this. It was butchery. Slaughter. But Ezio himself had led such attacks. It was not a preferred option, but that did not mean one had to like it.

Ezio did tell all his recruits that they were not to take any more action for one month. It would provide enough time for the shock of the slaughter to fade from memories and keep them more anonymous. It would also give them some time to process what they had done.

Once all of that was dealt with, Ezio sent word to Machiavelli that he needed to speak with him.

It took the Florentine diplomat a week to arrive, much to Ezio's annoyance.

"It's nice to see you've finally arrived," Ezio greeted when Machiavelli finally arrived.

Machiavelli shrugged, sitting down by the fire in an attempt to get warm. "Florence keeps calling me back, making spying on the Borgia difficult."

Ezio only nodded, understanding that Machiavelli's ability to go from one politician to another had to do with him being a public figure. And even if it was inconvenient at times, it gave him access. Sipping his wine, Ezio sat back and outlined the demise of the Octavian de Valois.

"My biggest concern is that the Papal guards were there. Is there any way Fabio Orsini can let us know where his men are stationed so that we don't have to kill them?"

Machiavelli blinked. "I thought you knew."

Ezio frowned. "Knew what?"

Machiavelli turned to the fire. "Fabio Orsini didn't care for Cesare having his father Paolo killed. Fabio fought Micheletto's army and lost. Our dear friend Rodrigo stripped him of his power and cast him out. I believe Fabio is currently a brigand in the countryside."

Ezio blinked.

"... And you never saw fit to tell me that our source in the Papal guards has been so efficiently removed?" he shouted, anger boiling. No wonder Gilberto didn't trust Machiavelli. This was ridiculous! They would all fall unless they kept each other informed.

Machiavelli shrugged. "He's not our only source. I'll see what I can do about where the Papal guards are assigned-"

"You have missed the point," Ezio reprimanded. "We are all brothers here, and brothers don't keep such secrets from each other."

"And what," Machiavelli scoffed, "would you do if one of us was interrogated by the Borgia? Everything would be lost."

"Telling me Fabio had been removed is not the same as plans for the future of the Brotherhood," Ezio growled back.

"You're acting like a fool."

"No, Machiavelli, you are the fool, for not trusting anybody, even other assassins. Even me! What have any of us ever done to make you hold back so much that you trust no one with your own thoughts? With your plans? With critical information? We could have helped him, secreted him away somewhere, or defended him discretely; but no, instead you left another ally to fend for himself. And why? Because it wasn't 'convenient'? Or 'practical'? Or simply because his name wasn't Borgia?"

Machiavelli's eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. "I am not so narrow-minded, Ezio," he said in a low voice, "but I at least focus on our goals. You have no idea what I've been doing these last three years while you've been resting on your laurels, spouting rhetoric about the people, and too afraid to confront our greatest enemy."

This again. "We are confronting him now, aren't we?" Ezio asked. "What did you think January was? Or the mission with Bartolomeo? Was any of that 'resting on my laurels'?"

"No, taking down the Baron de Valois was an opportunity, and those you take very well – even when it serves you no good, like with that mess with Copernico. The Borgia towers were a nice gesture, but it was flattery, floral finery to appease me and give you an excuse to delay further. If you wanted to kill the pope, really wanted to kill him, he would already be dead by now. Dear God, Ezio, even Savonarola did not take this long!"

"And how did Savonarola die?" Ezio countered. "Did I just sweep into his compound and strike from above? No, we took out his lieutenants, the men under the control of the Apple and enslaved to oppress the people. What I'm doing here is no different! We let the people of Firenze feel empowered and through that they took the ownership of taking down a dictator who even possessed the power of the Apple; the same thing will happen here!"

Machiavelli scoffed. "You'd have the people arrest Borgia and burn him at the stake? Cesare would return in less than a week and burn the city to the ground in retaliation. Is that what you're planning? And you talk to me about the Creed."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Machiavelli!"

The argument was long and loud from there on.

After retreating to their separate corners and letting tempers cool, Machiavelli offered a small peace offering before heading back to Florence. It seemed that an exceptional Ottoman cartographer, Piri Reis, was compiling detailed maps of the newly discovered territories that idiot Corombo had discovered. Ezio sent one of his Assassins with Gaspare. They would likely be gone for a year, but accurate maps were a rare commodity and having a set would be useful. Even if they couldn't steal them, Gaspare's work as a scrivener would at least allow them to copy.

March remained uneventful, with Ezio having grounded so many of his recruits, and it gave him time to teach tactics with exercises of small groups against each other. Ezio also took Claudia and Federica to a show at the Colosseo in an attempt to relax. Afterwards, he bought more books. Several of his recruits, now that they had learned the joys of reading, were demanding more in his library.

April finally brought the scent of warmer weather coming, and proved to be a busy month, if not directly in Roma. Machiavelli was appointed head of the Florentine militia and city defense, and was clearly looking forward to setting things his way. Not that he lasted long before he was sent to see Pandolfo Petrucci, ruler of Siena on a diplomatic mission. Spain collected victories against the French over Napoli, with the Colonna cousins Ezio had saved a few years back, playing an integral role.

Vecellio, it seemed, had taken to walking with the courtesan Fiora, attempting to pull information from her. Thankfully he had Enu and Varzi with him when they apparently came across a pair of Cesare's killers, a harlequin and a hellequin, it seemed. A brother and sister pair from France that put up quite a fight before finally being taken down, the hellequin cradling the harlequin.

The money coming in from buying up Roma was starting to show, and with the surplus, Ezio started to send funds to struggling Brotherhoods across Europe.

The first week of May brought a letter from Machiavelli with a list of assignments: with the Assassin string of successes both in Rome and abroad, the Borgia forces were becoming more guarded. Couriers were now escorted by armored mercenaries, slowing the messages in an attempt to ensure their security. Interrogators had also been hired to try and find the Brotherhood by brutalizing the people of Rome, and bribing merchants with "protection" and trading of favors to try and reassert their control over the people. There was also a Frenchman, Marquis Charles de la Motte, a confirmed Templar and a possible secondary support for Cesare Borgia now that Octavian de Valois was dead. Pleased that Machiavelli had decided to share some information after their latest row, Ezio divvied up his recruits and apprentices sent them out on their assignments, some locally and some abroad. He also sent people out to at last deal with Leonardo's incomplete war machines. The one in Naples had been dealt with quickly, given the dispute over the city, but the others had been delayed because of the small numbers of well-trained men Ezio had at the time. Now that he was on the offensive, it was time he saved his friend.

No sooner had he sent them out than an assassin he had sent out some six months ago to Russia on assignment returned. Originally, the Russian Assassins had asked for help in learning the truth of the deaths of Pietro Antonio Solari and Ridolfo Fioravant. His assassin explained that the one was dead and the other decidedly not, Fioravant was alive and well and blindfolded outside. After Ezio got over his initial shock and yelled at the idiot for bringing the man straight to the hideout, he brought in the formerly dead assassin and demanded answers. Fioravant was in awe of being in the presence of the great Ezio Auditore, and capitulated to every question the master assassin demanded. Apparently: Tsar Ivan III had known that both men were spies of some faction and had ordered their deaths, causing Fioravant to fake his own and go into hiding to continue his work – the assassin was close to uncovering a conspiracy, of what scale he did not yet know, not without risking contact with the Russian assassins or letting his premature death be countered. The sheer absurdity of it all struck Ezio, and he mulled it over for several days before sending Fioravant and his assassin back to Russia with instructions to give Ivan a different conspiracy to follow – and next time don't waste his time with idiocy.

As the days continued to warm, Ezio's days were full of things to do. With so much of his brotherhood off on assignment he was left to do much of the work in Rome himself, and that included tracking down the final lairs of the Followers of Romulus – in that, at least, he had significantly more information. Vecellio's work over the last three years showed that the men dressed as wolves were prone to underground hideouts, sewers and old ruins mostly; similarly, their entrances were marked with symbols, often on grates that could be kicked open or picked with a hidden blade. Ezio restocked his equipment with Etienne and took the underground out to the countryside, exiting in northern Campagna and began his own search.

The tunnels themselves were becoming quite useful, it seemed like this year the city had been flooded with minstrels, and Ezio could hardly find a back alley – let alone a main thoroughfare – that didn't have one accosting him with poorly written music. Worse, the music was often about him, the mysterious "campione" or the fall of the Borgia or the deeds of the Assassins.

Even here in the countryside, as soon as he came to a small square with a smithy and bank, a tiny man with a feathered cap and gaudy doublet came up to him, plucking his instrument.

"Sing for joy our lord is here/blessing us with his good cheer/let us now show our respect/come amici genuflect!" The master assassin tried to be subtle, angling his walk away from the damned man, but if anything that made the minstrel more insistent, changing his tact and singing even louder. "Wasteful prince or politician!" he sang, so loud his voice cracked and turning many heads. "Twisted words and blind ambition/meet their match in his defiance/truth and justice his alliance!/Quel Diavolo, they will say-"

Ezio sighed and gave the man a snubbing shoulder, startling the minstrel from his song and adding just enough force to put the damned instrument to the ground.

"But... but I love you Signore!"

Ezio leveled a dark golden gaze. "Love someone else," he growled.

The minstrel's eyes widened, color draining from his face as he seemed to recognize Ezio, and as he dashed away the master assassin realized he had another problem: invisibility. Machiavelli was right, in one sense, his opening salvo of burning all the Borgia towers, or his saving of Copernico, had been bold but had not done him any favors, either. Public acts like that sent a message to the pope, yes, but the withered old Spaniard didn't live on an island unto himself; the people had seen his deeds, too. Ezio had planned that, had wanted the people to feel empowered, to feel like they had a chance against the dictator that ruled over them, but he had not expected the other side of the coin: that they would notice the Assassins. So much for cloak and dagger...

He passed by a bench, glancing at it and wondering if he should be still after the spectacle of the minstrel when his eyes widened, seeing a hand pointing drawn hastily in chalk on the stone. Resisting the instincts to look around immediately he rolled his shoulders and stretched, looking for the world like he was tired, and took a seat. Under his hood his eyes flicked this way and that, his eagle helping him scan the crowds for any sign of the artist behind that hand. The bright blue of an ally rounded a corner, and Ezio saw the compass swinging from a belt, the absurdly colored cape and noticeably longer beard. The man was rubbing his neck and looking exhausted, his eyes dark with circles before he sat down unceremoniously, stretching his feet out before him.

Leonardo had arrived.

There was a good twenty minutes of waiting, playing at being strangers and watching the people walk buy. Ezio sat perfectly still, but Leonardo was not so good an actor. The older man was practically vibrating with the need to talk to his dear friend, constantly recrossing his legs or playing with his arms or tugging at his beard.

Finally, the master assassin dipped his head down to hide a grin, rubbing his own beard and whispering, "Just start talking, Leonardo. We are safe."

That was all the prompting the painter needed. "Ezio," he said his light tenor bright with wonder and enthusiasm. "The French are pulling out of Roma! The Baron de Valois was found murdered in his own camp!"

Ezio shrugged his shoulders, leaning back against the fence wall and putting on airs. "Could it have been an assassin?" he asked, not quite coyly.

Leonardo gave a bright, knowing smile. "There are rumors that favor such a theory."

Ezio nodded sagely. "Never listen to gossip, Leonardo. It will only get you in trouble."

The painter was already nodding in turn. "Good advice," he said. The two of them were grinning just a little too much. Leonardo's grin faded slightly, after a beat, as he added, "There are other rumors, too, not to be listened to but worth sharing. There is one, for example, of another Frenchman, coming in to take over for the deceased baron."

Ezio waved a hand at his friends worry. "I hear such, too; a marquis, wasn't it? I wouldn't put much stock in such things. I heard that the man will have a very sour relationship with his Borgia allies."

The grin Leonardo gave in response was positively vindictive, an indicator of how much he hated his new employer.

"I also heard of a tragedy in Napoli, and that it might well be repeated in three other places," the master assassin added. "The coming weeks will be very depressing, I'm sure."

The painter blinked, realizing Ezio was talking about the war machines, and his vindictive grin turned to relieved, and he leaned back with a heavy sigh, recrossing his legs again. "A tragedy indeed," he muttered, looking up to the skies. The ruse could not be held, however, and the blond turned to the master assassin. "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear that, Ezio."

"I am," the master assassin replied. "I'm sorry it took so long to set up the missions. I should get word back in the next month, and I'll send you word when I do."

"That's not safe—"

"Yes it will be," Ezio pressed. "I know exactly how closely you're watched, Leonardo, and if you don't believe anything else, believe me when I tell you that I won't be caught."

"Oh, how I've missed you," Leonardo said. "Your letters, your determination, your very presence. I should do a portrait of you, to keep me company while Salai is off gambling again or when the Borgia guards are 'paying a visit.' The inspiration it would give me..."

"No, it's better that I'm never committed to canvas," Ezio said slowly. "You can deny ever knowing me if it comes down to it. And besides, assassins are better left to the shadows we live in. Our work isn't meant to be immortalized." And after all the killing he had done, the slaughter on the Ponte Sant'Angelo, Ezio above any other assassin had no right to be immortalized. It was a dark thought he didn't have time for, however, and so instead he changed subjects. "Tell me about Salai," he said. "I've only ever heard of him in your letters. How old is he now? What projects are you doing? Are you still trying to fly?"

And Ezio listened to his friend's always exciting and blessedly normal life.

---

With another string of successes under Vecellio's belt – including ruining Marquis de la Motte – he added another victory to his belt: he saved the former courtesan Fiora Cavazza from one of their targets, Baltasar de Silva. The woman's thick shell had at last broken, Vecellio reported, having not at all expected the Assassins to do anything but use her. "She is a good person," Vecellio said slowly. "Her life... what she's hinted at has been very hard, and I know there is more that she isn't saying, but I think we've impressed her. She's said everyone on her list is dead now; but I think there are people on her list she doesn't want us to know about."

Ezio nodded, expecting as much.

"Should we continue to tail her? Learn about the rest of her list?"

Mulling that over, Ezio finally said, "... Her demons are her own. We cannot assume that everyone on her list directly affects us, just as we can't assume that it doesn't. In the end, she came to us, and we shouldn't take that to mean we have complete control of her. If we've impressed her, as you say, if she decides she wants to join us, then it will have to be on her terms. You've been taking walks with her, yes? Keep doing that, for now, and see what comes of it."

"Si, Maestro."

Two weeks later, Vecellio came back to the hideout with the strangest look on his face. "I think something's about to happen," he said slowly. "Fiora... Cesare's courtesan... she gave me instructions on how to take Giovanni, my little brother, if she didn't return for the next meeting. I think... I think she's going to try and take him for me."

Blinking in surprise, the master assassin replied, "That's very dangerous. You must have made more of an impression on her than you thought."

And for a very tense week, Vecellio waited, pacing back and forth, consumed with nervous energy while Ezio quietly sent a letter to his sister that their latest recruit may prove to be very young indeed. Claudia and Federica both arrived and followed Vecellio to the meeting place, the young assassin walking about the piazza over and over, trying to find his contact. The wait lasted until well after dark, and at last they had to admit the hard truth.

"She died trying to save my brother," Vecellio said, awestruck, numb, uncertain what to do or how to feel. "She..."

Claudia placed an arm on the young assassin. "She was astoundingly brave, and strong enough to try. Think of her fondly, and do not let her last act be meaningless."

Vecellio was still speechless.

The Auditore took the young assassin to the Rosa in Fiore, drowning his shock in wine and letting him sleep it off. Federica surprised them both by volunteering to put him to bed, but Claudia eventually figured it out and explained to Ezio. "Vecellio impressed her," she said, "because he accepted this Fiora's act for what it was, instead of punishing her for her 'foolishness.' That and he's noticeably handsome and she wants to do something constructive."

"She's too young for him."

"There will always be an excuse Ezio, just remember that it was never your decision."

The master assassin nodded, and the next morning Ezio offered to stand guard as Vecellio sent a pigeon and went back to the meeting place, this time sitting near a fountain. The five-year-old in question arrived, circling the fountain with a tight, worried look on his face mixed with childlike curiosity. The boy's eyes became resolutely intense, looking around, and Ezio wondered if his own gaze took on such a quality when he was asking the eagle in his mind for help. The child's eyes doubled in size on seeing Ezio, and the master assassin shook his head slightly. No, he tried to project, look for someone else. The boy kept looking. Talent like that was irrefutable, and Ezio watched with intense calculation as the child found Vecellio, and the assassin slowly led the boy on a mock chase away from the fountain. The master assassin stayed where he was, not wanting to interrupt on what he could only label as bonding time between the two brothers, and over an hour later Vecellio returned with the five year old Giovanni Borgia in his arms. The boy's eyes grew again, pressing his face into Vecellio's.

"Bright like Papa," he mumbled. "Don't like it."

The two assassins looked to each other, uncertain what that meant. Vecellio took his little brother to Rosa in Fiore and Claudia, while Ezio went back to the hideout, leaving them more time to get to know each other.

That night Claudia arrived and gave a brief overview of what she knew. "That boy's been exposed to the Apple," she said, getting right to the point. "After Cesare removed the Apple from Leonardo's care, apparently he kept it to himself. The boy thought it was a toy, and has quite a few stories about how it speaks to him."

"Like it spoke to me..." Ezio said, his mind filling with the fight with the pope four years ago, before the fall of Monteriggioni, the remarkable crypt below, the goddess Minerva, and Desmond. Another prophet? "Should I question him, see what the Apple has told him?"

Claudia's face was grim. "If we do, it won't be until after he's come to realize you aren't going to beat him like Cesare did. That boy was beaten, shown murders, taught how to be cruel in the worst sense by Cesare and his private cutthroat Micheletto; he was punished whenever he did something wrong, severely, and is terrified of everyone but Vecellio. He says you are 'bright like Papa.' I don't know what that means."

"He has the vision of an eagle," Ezio said, rubbing his beard in thought. "Like I do, like Vecellio does. Cesare has a very strong presence to the eagle, I see him as a terrifyingly bright red. I can't even guess what color I would be."

"He didn't say," Claudia said slowly, her face frowning. "Only that you were 'bright.' I want him to stay with us for a time. It would give Federica something to do outside of her training and with all the recruits out on assignment, it will be safer. Besides, that child needs time away from the world of men. It will do him good."

Ezio nodded. "As you wish, Vecellio can stay there with you; there's no sense frightening the boy otherwise, and he'll be in easy reach if I need him."

"Agreed."

Of course, preparing the hideout for a new recruit – one only five years old – was a project in itself, one he happily delegated to a stupefied Vecellio. Varzi and Candida, recently returned from assignment, laughed in his face and openly criticized every decision he made until the pair finally took pity on him. Taddeo and Elda soon returned as well. Letters arrived from Spain begging assistance: the Inquisition was still going on and after Luis de Santángel's death in '98 (and Ezio mourned the fact that he had not known before, Luis was a good man) they had yet to get another man that deep into the Spanish court. Taddeo and Elda were off again, paired with Sozzi, to attend the Spanish court as emissaries and see what they could dig up. Sozzi the former merchant smiled at the thought, and the three set off.

No sooner had they left, however, that word arrived of the disgraced marquis from France. Their plan to ruin his relations with Cesare had backfired. Bartolomeo sent word that Cesare had invited the man into the city, and that the figlio di puttana was terrorizing the citizenry unscrupulously as he made his way to the city proper. Vecellio was the best man on hand, and he sent him with Varzi and Enu to see if they could counterman the advance.

Vittoria returned from her mission, as did Alighiero and Sancia, and with an almost full house again, Ezio considered his next plan of attack. Bartolomeo was off on another assignment for Aragon, Volpe had his hands full reestablishing himself and his thieves among the citizenry to heal the damage done by the now defunct Cento Occhi, and Claudia was narrowing down the names of the mysterious Banker that dealt with Cesare's funds. Machiavelli had not sent word in a while, and Ezio was beginning to wonder if he should start infiltrating the Senate. It had been at best a half-baked plan before, when he was just one still recuperating man with a handful of half-trained apprentices, but now he could make a more precision strike. He sent Vittoria and Alighiero, the brightest minds he had on hand, to scout the Campidoglio and see if there were people he could begin associations with. He also sent Filippo, the fastest, as courier to la Volpe to see if he couldn't produce a list of possible names. Candida was sent to deal with the latest string of couriers, paired with Abate. With them gone, he was alone again, but now he pulled out his maps of Il Vaticano and looked over his old notes and sketches, constructing a new, clean copy and debating how he could sneak in.

Machiavelli would no doubt be proud.

---

It was a week later, sitting on the roof of the hideout and staring at the castello, that he saw a ruckus coming over the bridge. A half dozen people were dragging a body over Ponte Cestio and shouting for help. Dante was quick to arrive, and after glancing at the body he looked straight up to the hideout roof.

Ezio swept down to street level, his cape fluttering in the midday heat like wings as he all but appeared with the crowd. "Who is it?" he demanded.

"Vecellio," Dante grunted.

"Your place is better equipped," Ezio said at the doctor's silent plea, and quickly grabbed at his assassin's arms, nose assaulted with the smell of smoke and burned skin. He winced at the very thought and looked to the man opposite him. "What happened?" he demanded.

"We don't know, Messere," the peasant said. "There was a fire last night, a giant explosion, they're still digging out bodies. Borgia guards were everywhere, sneering at the damage, bastardi. This man," he added, pointing to a thin young teen, "said to bring him to Isola Tiberina. He seems to be right, if you know who this man is."

Ezio locked eyes with the man, barely that, silently ordering him to stick around, as they arrived at Dante's shop and the doctor quickly started giving orders. "On the table over here. I need water and wine; Maestro, get my stitching kit, you know where it is. No! Not like that! What if a bone is broken? Heat some candles, I'll have to sew this together, pour the wine here. I need turpentine, get to Salvatore, he'll know where to find some; hold him down, he's coming to!"

Vecellio's eyes snapped open, he woke up screaming, arms flailing and trying to fend off the hands holding him down.

"Silenzio, Vecellio," Ezio bellowed, his rich baritone echoing over the tiny room and vibrating over the other voices. The burned and battered assassin's body stilled, glassy eyes taking in the master assassin.

"Maestro..." he moaned, eyes filling with tears. "Mi dispiace, Maestro... I've failed you... Enu... Varzi..."

"Where are they, Vecellio?" Ezio demanded, though he was slowly filling with dread as he guessed the answer.

"Mi dispiace... mi dispiace... Maestro..."

That was all the confirmation he needed, and his face twisted with the loss of two such brilliant assassins. Merda! How could Mario do this day in and day out? He growled, focusing on following Dante's orders. Vecellio's injuries were myriad, a leg was broken and there was a horrible slash in his torso – from snapping wood, Dante muttered as he sewed the injury shut after pulling out an unfathomable amount of splinters, to say nothing of the burns covering the man's arms and hands, feet and legs. It would take months to recover, to say nothing of the mental shock of losing two assassins that Vecellio had been so close to. Ezio growled again, and when the surgery was done he immediately questioned everyone who had brought his man in.

They cowered at the blood covered master assassin, giving what little details they had, and as the trap slowly came to light, Ezio's mood could only darken. By the time he got to the mysterious man who had known to get Vecellio to Tiber, he was ready to commit murder.

"What is your name?" he asked slowly.

"Concetto, Maestro," the boy, barely sixteen, said. He was still gangly, his muscles only just filling out and his frame taking its final form.

"You saved this man's life," Ezio said slowly, his rich baritone low, solemn. "How did you know to bring him here?"

The teen hesitated, uncertain how to answer, before pulling up to his full height. "My parents were slaughtered by the Followers of Romulus. That man and his friends, they heard my story, and they killed the figlio di puttana that did it. I had followed them, watched them do their work. They talked about the Isola Tiberina. Last night, I saw Borgia guards surrounding the inn. It was no accident; I knew they would kill any survivors. This was the only place I knew where to take him."

Ezio blinked slowly, taking in the teen. "And what will you do now?"

"Keep hunting the Followers of Romulus," the teen said in a flat, dead tone, "and take my revenge."

"... Then you have come to the right place, Concetto," Ezio said softly, the gravity in his voice making the boy look up. "I will teach you how to survive, and I will teach you how to kill, and I will teach you how to go after the men responsible for creating the Followers of Romulus. The liberation of Roma has begun: If you choose to flee, do so now, but if you choose to fight, stand with me."

The boy blinked, his eyes widening. "You... you're the assassino..." The realization shook his entire body, color draining in his face before his mind caught up with the offer Ezio had just given him. His young face hardened into something dark, a rage Ezio knew all too well; had seen on himself, had seen on Vecellio, had seen on Vittoria. "I will fight with you," he said simply.

"Bene," the master assassin said. "Go outside and wait for me."

An hour later, Dante finally declared himself done, wrapping the last of the bandages and stepping out of the room in exhaustion. "He woke up again," he said softly, "He's asking for you."

Ezio stepped into the cramped room and the stiff cot, leaning over and inspecting Vecellio. His torso would heal well enough, as would the burns. The broken leg would take him out of the field until almost the end of the year, however, and Ezio knew firsthand what it was like to sit on one's hands recovering after a dismal failure. "Francesco," he whispered softly.

His assassin looked up, eyes bright and still glassy. "Mi dispiace, Maestro," he moaned, shaking his head slightly. "I fell right into the trap... because of me..."

"Shh," the master assassin said softly, placing a cool hand on a burning forehead. "You are not the first to lose comrades because of mistakes, nor will you be the last. It is something all of us bear. This will make you stronger, more careful, more clever."

"But.. Tessa... Enu..."

Ezio let the man have his emotions, waiting patiently, almost painfully, until they had subsided enough to listen. "You should know," he said softly, "The boy who saved your life: his name is Concetto; he is sixteen and you avenged his parents when you were hunting the Followers of Romulus."

"... What?"

"That boy watched you, and he was so inspired that he has promised himself to avenge his family and kill the Followers. Your good deeds have repaid you; so that even at the height of disaster some of you were able to be spared."

"But... Maestro."

"Yes," he said softly. "They should have lived, too. That is the cruelty of the world. Rest now."

Dante watched him depart. "You were not gentle," the doctor said softly, his plague mask hanging by his neck.

"We cannot afford to be," Ezio answered. "He will come to terms with it, or it will consume him; just as it almost did me. There is no one thing to say to this... How long before he can come back?"

Dante nodded, acknowledging but not agreeing, and pulled at his gloves, ridding himself of the signs of surgery. "A month," he answered. "Give or take." Outside, Concetto was sitting by the door with his knees drawn up. The boy stood immediately, smoke smeared and obviously tired, and Ezio took him immediately to his blacksmith. Etienne was happy to see a new order, and took some rough measurements of the boy for leather armor before Ezio dragged him across the bridge to a convent. "Do you know any tailors?" he asked offhand.

"Si, Maestro. My cousin Massimo was able to apprentice at a tailor's. I think he's a journeyman now."

"Good. Can he read? We'll send him a letter offering him an opportunity here."

Concetto blinked, shocked at the offer, which quickly turned to confusion when they entered the convent and met with Arianna, seeing the boy and immediately measuring him. "I am stronger than I have been since the attack," she said slowly, even as her eyes brimmed with fresh tears. "I can talk about it and not break down, a little, and the work you have given me has made me feel almost whole again."

"And how would being in a shop sound?" Ezio asked gently.

"Oh, Ser Ezio...!"

He took her hand, holding it gently. "It will be a time, yet, but this boy's cousin will likely be joining us, and he can finish his training under you."

Arianna tearfully nodded, clasping her hands together in gratitude. They left understanding that the new clothes would be ready in a week, and Ezio slowly made his way around the island, introducing his latest apprentice to the people.

"Messere, I hope you do a good job with him!"

"You'll be a good example of him, I'm sure, Messere."

"It's good to see you being successful! It gives a man hope for the future!"

At last, Ezio finished his circuitous route to the hideout, satisfied Concetto was utterly lost and leading him inside. Vittoria and Alighiero were there, and he quietly told them to summon the others while he found quarters for his latest novice. That night he announced the loss of their brother and sister. Vittoria and Sancia both wept, and Filippo's eyes were noticeably misty. They all gathered, even the young Concetto, to the roof that night and burned their hoods. Elda was not there to serenade them with her angelic voice, but Candida filled her role adequately, singing of heaven and angels and bright souls. Ezio stayed awake the entire night in front of a stretched canvas, sketching out Varzi and Enu, pulling details in their faces until he was satisfied, and he spent the entire month of July locked away painting. Most of the day to day of the order needed little prompting, and those that did where handled in his studio with his eyes locked on the canvas. He wanted to be done before Vecellio was released from the doctor, and that was a tight timeline. Claudia visited, as did Gilberto, and they watched him paint or did minor work in his studio, keeping him company as he grieved in his own way.

There were many sleepless nights working, but Ezio finished and had the painting set up in Vecellio's room. The assassin stared at the essence of his two close friends and gave a lost look to the master assassin.

"Now," Ezio said softly, "they will watch over you during your recovery, and they will guide you through their loss."

Vecellio broke down after that, and Ezio left the man to his emotions.

---

Author's Notes: A day late; we both got called in as substitute teachers, and we had NOT TIME to get it up. Anyway, another full chapter.

Aficionados will note that the Baron de Valois died a lot sooner than he did in the game. The two of us banged our heads incessantly over that, simply because Ezio has from Aug 1, when the Banker dies, to Aug 12, when Borgia is poisoned. There is just no physical way he can pull all of that off in under twelve days, and the Bartolomeo of history joins Aragon in February to fight the French - he probably wasn't even in Roma when the events of the game occurred, and so we opted to put the Baron's death in Feb and dovetail it with Bartolomeo's recruitment. It just made more sense that way, and it will pay off with showing just how clueless Cesare is with his strength in Rome.

The assassination itself was pretty by the book; Estaban added a new voice to bounce back and forth, the recruits are sort of everywhere now that they're (mostly) established, and we learned that even though we took six years of French in middle/high school, we've forgotten a lot of it; we had to use google translate, and so we're sure that people out there who DO remember their French will critique us. We're sorry!

And we're now killing time until the death of a banker. More contracts are covered, Vecellio gets some character development (and certain Project Legacy people are probably squealing at most of this chapter), and Ezio got a new recruit to replace his losses. We never got around to it - the fic is busy enough as it is - but Concetto is around Federica's age. We had plans... Ah, well; and Federica is in no place to think about men right now anyway, she's too busy learning about herself. This chapter is probably the biggest Vecellio chapter we have, circumstances put both his recruitment of Fiora Cavazza AND getting his little brother AND the fire at the inn all in one go. We didn't plan it that way but meh. Aficionados will also point out that Fiora died getting the Apple, not Giovanni Borgia, but the assassins have no way of knowing that and Vecellio can and does draw his own conclusions.

And Arianna is finally taken care of! It took us how long...?

Next chapter: Death of a Cardinal. How will Ezio react to that particular party?