Renaissance

3

The following morning Ezio woke late, but found to his relief that his father had no immediate business for him to see to. He wandered into the garden, where he found his mother overseeing work on her cherry trees, from which the blossom was just beginning to fade. She smiled when she saw him, and beckoned him over. Maria Auditore was a tall, dignified woman in her early forties, her long black hair braided under a pure white muslin cap edged with the black and gold colours of the family.

'Ezio! Buon' giorno.'

'Madre.'

'How are you? Better, I hope.' Gently, she touched the wound on his head.

'I'm fine.'

'Your father said you should rest as long as you could.'

'I have no need of rest, Mamma!'

'Well, at any rate there will be no excitement for you this morning. Your father has asked that I take care of you. I know what you've been up to.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Don't play games with me, Ezio. I know about your fight with Vieri.'

'He has been spreading foul stories about our family. I could not let that go unpunished.'

'Vieri's under pressure, the more so since his father was arrested.' She paused thoughtfully. 'Francesco de' Pazzi may be many things, but I never would have imagined him capable of joining a plot to murder a duke.'

'What will happen to him?'

'There'll be a trial. I imagine your father may be a key witness, when our own Duke Lorenzo returns.'

Ezio looked restless.

'Don't worry, you've nothing to fear. And I'm not going to ask you to do anything you wouldn't like - in fact, I want you to accompany me on an errand I have to run. It won't take long, and I think you may even find it enjoyable.'

'I'll be happy to help you, Mamma.'

'Come, then. It's not far.'

They left the palazzo on foot together, arm in arm, and walked in the direction of the cathedral, to the small quarter near it where many of the artists of Florence had their workshops and studios. Some, like those of Verrocchio and the rising star Alessandro di Moriano Filipepi, who'd already acquired the nickname Botticelli, were large, busy places, where assistants and apprentices were busy grinding colours and mixing pigments, others, humbler. It was at the door of one of these that Maria halted and knocked. It was opened immediately by a handsome, well- dressed young man, almost dandified but athletic-looking, with a shock of dark brown hair and a luxuriant beard. He might have been six or seven years older than Ezio.

'Madonna Auditore! Welcome! I've been expecting you.'

'Leonardo, buon' giorno.' The two exchanged formal kisses. This artist must be well in with my mother, thought Ezio, but already he liked the look of the man. 'This is my son, Ezio,' continued Maria.

The artist bowed. 'Leonardo da Vinci,' he said. 'Molto onorato, signore.'

'Maestro.'

'Not quite that - yet,' smiled Leonardo. 'But what am I thinking of? Come in, come in! Wait here, I'll see if my assistant can find some wine for you while I go and get your paintings.'

The studio was not large, but the clutter in it made it look even smaller than it was. Tables were heaped with the skeletons of birds and small mammals, while jars filled with colourless fluid contained organic objects of one kind or another, though Ezio was hard put to it to recognize any of them. A broad workbench at the back held some curious structures painstakingly crafted in wood, and two easels bore unfinished paintings whose tones were darker than usual, and whose outlines were less clearly defined. Ezio and Maria made themselves comfortable, and, emerging from an inner room, a handsome youth appeared with a tray bearing wine and small cakes. He served them, smiled shyly, and withdrew.

'Leonardo's very talented.'

'If you say so, Madre. I know little of art.' Ezio thought that his life would consist of following in his father's footsteps, even though, deep within him, there was a rebellious and adventurous streak which he knew would sit ill in the character of a Florentine banker. In any case, like his older brother, he saw himself as a man of action, not as an artist or a connoisseur.

'You know, self-expression is a vital part of understanding life, and enjoying it to the full.' She looked at him. 'You should find an outlet yourself, my dear.'

Ezio was piqued. 'I have plenty of outlets.

'I meant apart from tarts,' retorted his mother matter-of-factly.

'Mother!' But Maria's only answer to that was a shrug and a pursing of her lips. 'It would be good if you could cultivate a man like Leonardo as a friend. I think he has a promising future ahead of him.'

'From the look of this place, I'm inclined to disagree with you.'

'Don't be cheeky!'

They were interrupted by Leonardo's return from his inner room, carrying two boxes. He set one down on the ground. 'Do you mind carrying that one?' he asked Ezio. 'I'd ask Agniolo, but he has to stay and guard the shop. Also, I don't think he's strong enough for this kind of work, poor dear.'

Ezio stooped to pick up the box, and was surprised at how heavy it was. He almost dropped it.

'Careful!' warned Leonardo. 'The paintings in there are delicate, and your mother's just paid me good money for them!'

'Shall we go?' said Maria. 'I can't wait to hang them. I've selected places which I hope you'll approve of,' she added to Leonardo. Ezio baulked at this a little: was a fledgling artist really worth such deference?

As they walked, Leonardo chatted amiably, and Ezio found that despite himself he was won over by the other man's charm. And yet there was something about him that he instinctively found disquieting, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. A coolness? A sense of detachment from his fellow beings? Perhaps it was just that he had his head in the clouds, like so many other artists, or so Ezio was told. But Ezio felt an instant, instinctive respect for the man.

'So, Ezio, what do you do?' Leonardo asked him.

'He works for his father,' Maria replied.

'Ah. A financier! Well, you were born in the right city for that!'

'It's a good city for artists too,' said Ezio. 'All those rich patrons.'

'There are so many of us, though,' grumbled Leonardo. 'It's hard to attract attention. That's why I am so indebted to your mother. Mind you, she has a very discerning eye!'

'Do you concentrate on painting?' asked Ezio, thinking of the diversity he'd seen in the studio.

Leonardo looked thoughtful. 'That's a hard question. To tell the truth, I'm finding it difficult to settle down to anything, now I'm on my own. I adore painting, and I know I can do it, but. somehow I can see the end before I get there, and that makes it hard to finish things sometimes. I have to be pushed! But that's not all. I often feel that my work lacks. I don't know. purpose. Does that make any sense?'

'You should have more faith in yourself, Leonardo,' said Maria.

'Thank you, but there are moments when I think I'd rather do more practical work, work that has a direct bearing on life. I want to understand life - how it works, how everything works.'

'Then you'd have to be one hundred men in one,' said Ezio.

'If only I could be! I know what I want to explore: architecture, anatomy, engineering even. I don't want to capture the world with my brush, I want to change it!'

He was so impassioned that Ezio was more impressed than irritated - the man clearly wasn't boasting; if anything, he seemed almost tormented by the ideas that simmered within him. Next thing, thought Ezio, is that he'll tell us he's involved with music and poetry as well!

'Do you want to put that down and rest for a moment, Ezio?' Leonardo asked. 'It might be a bit too heavy for you.'

Ezio gritted his teeth. 'No, grazie. Anyway, we're almost there.'

When they arrived at the Palazzo Auditore, he carried his box into the entrance hall and set it down as slowly and as carefully as his aching muscles would let him, and he was more relieved than he'd ever admit, even to himself.

'Thank you, Ezio,' said his mother. 'I think we can manage very well without you now, though of course if you wish to come and help with the hanging of the pictures -'

'Thank you, Mother - I think that's a job best left to the two of you.'

Leonardo held out his hand. 'It was very good to meet you, Ezio. I hope our paths cross again soon.'

'Anch'io.'

'You might just call one of the servants to give Leonardo a hand,' Maria told him.

'No,' said Leonardo. 'I prefer to take care of this myself. Imagine if someone dropped one of the boxes!' And bending his knees, he hoisted the box Ezio had put down into the crook of his arm. 'Shall we?' he said to Maria.

'This way,' said Maria. "Goodbye, Ezio, I'll see you at dinner this evening. Come, Leonardo.'

Ezio watched as they left the hall. This Leonardo was obviously one to respect.

After lunch, late in the afternoon, Giulio came hurrying (as he always did) to tell him that his father required his presence in the office. Ezio hastened to follow the secretary down the long oak-lined corridor that led to the back of the mansion.

'Ah, Ezio! Come in, my boy.' Giovanni's tone was serious and businesslike. He stood up behind his desk, on which two bulky letters lay, wrapped in vellum and sealed.

'They say Duke Lorenzo will return tomorrow or the day after at the latest,' said Ezio.

'I know. But there is no time to waste. I want you to deliver these to certain associates of mine, here in the city.' He pushed the letters across the desk.

'Yes, Father.'

'I also need you to retrieve a message which a carrier pigeon should have brought to the coop in the piazza at the end of the street. Try to make sure no one sees you fetch it.'

'I'll see to it.'

'Good. Come back here immediately you've finished. I have some important things I need to discuss with you.'

'Sir.'

'So, this time, behave. No scrapping this time.'

Ezio decided to tackle the pigeon coop first. Dusk was approaching, and he knew there'd be few people out at that time - a little later the square would be thronged with Florentines making their passeggiata. When he reached his goal he noticed some graffiti on the wall behind and above the coop. He was puzzled: was it recent or had he just never been aware of it before? Carefully inscribed was a line he recognized from the Book of Ecclesiastes: HE THAT INCREASETH KNOWLEDGE INCREASETH SORROW. A little below this, someone had added in a ruder script: WHERE IS THE PROPHET?

But his mind soon returned to his task. He recognized the pigeon he was after instantly - it was the only one with a note attached to its leg. He detached it quickly and gently placed the bird back on its ledge, then he hesitated. Should he read the note? It wasn't sealed. Quickly he unrolled the little scroll and found it contained nothing but a name - that of Francesco de' Pazzi. Ezio shrugged. He supposed that would mean something more to his father than it did to him. Why the name of Vieri's father and one of the possible conspirators in a plot to topple the Duke of Milan - facts already known to Giovanni - should be of further significance was beyond him. Unless it signified some kind of confirmation.

But he had to hurry on with his work. Stashing the note in his belt-pouch, he made his way to the address on the first envelope. Its location surprised him, for it was in the red-light district. He'd been there often with Federico - before he had met Cristina, that is - but he had never felt comfortable there. He placed a hand on his dagger-hilt to reassure himself as he approached the dingy alley his father had indicated. The address turned out to be a low tavern, ill-lit and serving cheap Chianti in clay beakers.

At a loss about what to do next, for there seemed to be no one about, he was surprised by a voice at his side.

'You Giovanni's boy?'

He turned to confront a rough-looking man whose breath smelled of onions. He was accompanied by a woman who might once have been pretty, but it looked as if ten years on her back had rubbed most of any loveliness away. If it was left anywhere, it was in her clear, intelligent eyes.

'No, you idiot,' she said to the man. 'He just happens to look exactly like his dad.'

'You got something for us,' said the man, ignoring her. 'Give it here.'

Ezio hesitated. He checked the address. It was the right one.

'Hand it over, friend,' said the man, leaning closer. Ezio got a full blast of his breath. Did the man live on onions and garlic?

He placed the letter in the man's open hand, which closed round it immediately and transferred it to a leather pouch at his side.

'Good boy,' he said, and then smiled. Ezio was surprised to see that the smile gave his face a certain - surprising - nobility. But not his words. 'And don't worry,' he added. 'We ain't contagious.' He paused to glance at the woman. 'At least, I ain't!'

The woman laughed and punched his arm. Then they were gone.

Ezio made his way out of the alley with relief. The address on the second letter directed him to a street just west of the Baptistry. A much better district, but a quiet one at this time of day. He hastened across town.

Waiting for him under an arch which spanned the street was a burly man who looked like a soldier. He was dressed in what looked like leather country clothes, but he smelled clean and fresh, and he was cleanshaven.

'Over here,' he beckoned.

'I have something for you,' said Ezio. 'From -'

'- Giovanni Auditore?' The man spoke little above a whisper.

'Si.'

The man glanced around, up and down the street. Only a lamplighter was visible, some distance away. 'Were you followed?'

'No - why should I have been?'

'Never mind. Give me the letter. Quickly.'

Ezio handed it over.

'Things are hotting up,' said the man. 'Tell your father they're making a move tonight. He should make plans to get to safety.'

Ezio was taken aback. 'What? What are you talking about?'

'I've already said too much. Hurry home.' And the man melted into the shadows.

'Wait!' Ezio called after him. 'What do you mean? Come back!'

But the man had gone.

Ezio walked quickly up the street to the lamplighter. 'What time is it?' he asked. The man screwed up his eyes and looked at the sky. 'Must be an hour since I came on duty,' he said. 'Makes it about the twentieth hour.'

Ezio made a quick calculation. He must have left his palazzo two hours earlier, and it would take him perhaps twenty minutes to reach home again. He took off at a run. Some awful premonition caught at his soul.

As soon as he came within sight of the Auditore mansion, he knew something was wrong. There were no lights anywhere, and the great front doors stood open. He quickened his pace, calling as he ran: 'Father! Federico!'

The great hall of the palazzo stood dark and empty, but there was enough light for Ezio to see tables overturned, chairs smashed, broken crockery and glassware. Someone had torn Leonardo's paintings from the walls and slashed them with a knife. From the darkness beyond, he could hear the sound of sobbing - a woman sobbing: his mother!

He started to make his way towards the sound when a shadow moved behind him, something raised above its head. Ezio twisted round and seized a heavy silver candlestick which someone was bringing down on his head. He gave a savage wrench and his attacker let go of the candlestick with a cry of alarm. He tossed the candlestick away, out of reach, grabbed the arm of his assailant, and pulled the person towards what light there was. There was murder in his heart, and already his dagger was out.

'Oh! Ser Ezio! It's you! Thank God!'

Ezio recognized the voice, and now the face, of the family housekeeper, Annetta, a feisty countrywoman who'd been with the family for years.

'What has happened?' he asked Annetta, taking both her wrists in his hands and almost shaking her in his anguish and panic.

'They came - the city guards. They've arrested your father and Federico - they even took little Petruccio, they tore him from your mother's arms!'

'Where is my mother? Where is Claudia?'

'Here we are,' came a shaky voice from the shadows. Claudia emerged, her mother leaning on her arm. Ezio righted a chair for his mother to sit on. In the dim light, he could see that Claudia was bleeding, her clothes dirty and torn. Maria did not acknowledge him. She sat on the chair, keening and rocking. In her hands she clutched the little pearwood box of feathers Petruccio had given her not two days - a lifetime - before.

'My God, Claudia! Are you all right?' He looked at her and anger flooded through him. 'Did they - ?'

'No - I'm all right. They roughed me up a little because they thought I could tell them where you were. But Mother. Oh, Ezio, they've taken Father and Federico and Petruccio to the Palazzo Vecchio!'

'Your mother's in shock,' said Annetta. 'When she resisted them, they -' She broke off. 'Bastardi!'

Ezio thought quickly. 'It's not safe here. Is there somewhere you can take them, Annetta?'

'Yes, yes. to my sister's. They'll be safe there.' Annetta barely managed to get the words out, the fear and anguish choking her voice.

'We must move fast. The guards will almost certainly come back for me. Claudia, Mother - there's no time to waste. Don't take anything, just go with Annetta. Now! Claudia, let Mamma lean on you.'

He escorted them out of their stricken home, still in shock himself, and helped them on their way before leaving them in the capable hands of the loyal Annetta, who had begun to regain her composure. Ezio's mind raced with all the implications, his world rocked by the terrible turn of events. Desperately, he tried to assess all that had happened, and just what he must do now, what he must do to save his father and brothers. Straight away, he knew that he had to find some way of seeing his father, finding out what had brought on this attack, this outrage to his family. But the Palazzo Vecchio! They'd have put his kinsmen in the two small cells in the tower, of that he was sure. Maybe there'd be a chance. But the place was fortified like a castle keep; and there'd be a redoubtable guard placed on it, tonight of all nights.

Forcing himself to be calm and to think clearly, he slipped through the streets to the Piazza della Signoria, hugging its walls, and looking up. Torches burned from the battlements and from the top of the tower, illuminating the giant red fleur-de-lys that was the city's emblem, and the great clock at the tower's base. Higher up, squinting to see more clearly, Ezio thought he could discern the dim light of a taper in the small barred window near the top. There were guards posted outside the palazzo's great double doors, and more on the battlements. But there were none that Ezio could see at the top of the tower, whose battlements anyway were above the window he needed to reach.

He skirted the square away from the palazzo and found his way to the narrow street which led off the piazza, along the palazzo's north side. Fortunately, there were still a reasonable number of people about, strolling and enjoying the evening air. It seemed to Ezio that he suddenly existed in another world from theirs, that he had been cut off from the society he had swum in like a fish until only three or four short hours ago. He bristled at the thought that life could still continue in its even routine for all these people, while that of his own family had been shattered. Again, he felt his heart swell with an almost overwhelming rush of anger and fear. But then he turned his mind firmly back to the work in hand, and a look of steel crossed his face.

The wall rising above him was sheer and giddyingly high, but it was in darkness and that would be to his advantage. Moreover, the stones of which the palazzo was constructed were rough-hewn, so he would have plenty of handholds and footholds to aid him in his ascent. One problem would be any guards posted on the north-side battlements, but he'd have to deal with that when he came to it. He hoped that most would be grouped along the west-facing main facade of the building.

Taking a breath and glancing round - there was no one else in this dark street - he gave a leap, took a firm hold of the wall, gripped with his toes in their soft leather boots, and began to scale upwards.

Once he'd reached the battlements he dropped to a crouch, the tendons in his calves straining with tension. There were two guards here, but they had their backs to him, looking towards the lighted square beneath. Ezio stayed motionless for a moment, until it became clear that any sound he'd made had not alerted them to his presence. Staying low, he darted towards them and then struck, drawing them back, one hand around each of their necks, using their own weight and the element of surprise to bring them down on their backs. In barely a heartbeat, he had their helmets off and smashed their heads together violently - they were unconscious before they could register any surprise on their faces. If that hadn't worked, Ezio knew he would have cut their throats without a second's hesitation.

He paused again, breathing hard. Now for the tower. This was of more smoothly trimmed stone, and the going was hard. What's more, he had to climb round from the north to the west side of it, where the cell window was. He prayed that no one in the square or on the battlements would look up. He didn't fancy being brought down by a crossbow bolt after having got so far.

The corner where the north and west walls met was hard and unpromising, and for a moment Ezio clung there, frozen, looking for a handhold that didn't seem to exist. He looked down, and saw far beneath him one of the guards on the battlements looking up. He could see the pale face clearly. He could see the man's eyes. He pressed himself to the wall. In his dark clothing he'd be as conspicuous as a cockroach on a white tablecloth. But, inexplicably, the man lowered his gaze and continued his patrol. Had he seen him? Had he not been able to believe what he'd seen? Ezio's throat thumped with the strain. Only able to relax after a long minute had passed, he breathed once more.

After a monumental effort he arrived at his goal, grateful for the narrow ledge on which he could just perch as he peered into the narrow cell beyond the window. God is merciful, he thought, as he recognized the figure of his father, his back turned towards him, apparently reading by the thin light of a taper.

'Father!' he called softly.

Giovanni spun round. 'Ezio! In God's name, how did you -'

'Never mind, Father.' As Giovanni approached, Ezio could see that his hands were bloody and bruised, and his face pale and drawn. 'My God, Father, what have they done to you?'

'I took a bit of a beating, but I'm all right. More importantly, what of your mother and sister?'

'Safe now.'

'With Annetta?'

'Yes.'

'God be praised.'

'What happened, Father? Were you expecting this?'

'Not as quickly as this. They arrested Federico and Petruccio too - I think they're in the cell behind this one. If Lorenzo had been here things would have been different. I should have taken precautions.'

'What are you talking about?'

'There's no time for that now!' Giovanni almost shouted. 'Now, listen to me: you must get back to our house. There's a hidden door in my office. There's a chest concealed in a chamber beyond it. Take everything you find inside it. Do you hear? Everything! Much of it will seem strange to you, but all of it is important.'

'Yes, Father.' Ezio shifted his weight slightly, still clinging for dear life to the bars that crossed the window. He didn't dare look down now, and he didn't know how much longer he could remain motionless.

'Among the contents you'll find a letter and with it some documents. You must take them without delay - tonight! - to Messer Alberti -'

'The Gonfalionere?'

'Exactly. Now, go!'

'But, Father.' Ezio struggled to get the words out, and, wishing that he could do more than just ferry documents, he stammered, 'Are the Pazzi behind this? I read the note from the carrier pigeon. It said -'

But then Giovanni hushed him. Ezio could hear the key turning in the lock of the cell door.

'They're taking me for interrogation,' said Giovanni grimly. 'Get away before they discover you. My God, you're a brave boy. You'll be worthy of your destiny. Now, for the last time - go!'

Ezio edged himself off the ledge and clung to the wall out of sight as he heard his father being led away. He almost couldn't bear to listen. Then he steeled himself for the climb down. He knew that descents are almost always harder than ascents, but even in the last forty-eight hours he'd gained plenty of experience of scaling up and down buildings. And now he clambered

down the tower, slipping once or twice, but regaining his hold, until he had reached the battlements again, where the two guardsmen still lay where he had left them. Another stroke of luck! He'd knocked their heads together as hard as he could, but if they'd chanced to regain consciousness while he was up on the tower and raised the alarm. well, the consequences didn't bear thinking about.

Indeed, there was no time to think of such things. He swung himself over the battlements and peered down. Time was of the essence. If he could see something down below which might break his fall, he might dare to leap. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw the awning of a deserted stall attached to the wall, far below. Should he risk it? If he succeeded, he'd gain a few precious minutes. If he failed, a broken leg would be the least of his problems. He would have to have faith in himself.

He took a deep breath and dived into the darkness.

From such a height the awning collapsed under his weight, but it had been firmly secured and gave just enough resistance to break his fall. He was winded, and he'd have a few bruised ribs in the morning, but he was down! And no alarm had been raised.

He shook himself and sped off in the direction of what only hours ago had been his home. When he reached it, he realized that in his haste his father had neglected to tell him how to locate the secret door. Giulio would know, but where was Giulio now?

Luckily there had been no guards lurking in the vicinity of the house, and he'd been able to gain access unchallenged. He had stopped for a minute, outside the house, almost unable to propel himself in through the darkness of the doorway - it seemed that the house had changed, its sanctity defiled. Again, Ezio had to collect his thoughts, knowing that his actions were critical. His family depended on him now. He pressed on into his family home, into the dark. Shortly afterwards he stood in the centre of the office, eerily lit by a single candle, and looked about him.

The place had been turned over by the guards, who had clearly confiscated a large number of bank documents, and the general chaos of fallen bookcases, overturned chairs, drawers cast to the ground and scattered papers and books everywhere didn't make Ezio's task any easier. But he knew the office, his eyesight was keen, and he used his wits. The walls were thick, any could have a chamber concealed within them, but he made for the wall into which the large fireplace was set and started his search there, where the walls would be thickest, to contain the chimneypiece. Holding the candle close, and looking searchingly, while keeping an ear cocked for any sound of returning guards, finally, on the left-hand side of the great moulded mantel he thought he could discern the faint outline of a door set into the panelling. There had to be a means of opening it nearby. He looked carefully at the carved colossi which held the marble mantelpiece on their shoulders. The nose of the one on the left-hand side looked as if it had once been broken, and repaired, for there was a fine crack around its base. He touched the nose and found it to be slightly loose. Heart in mouth, he moved it gently, and the door swung inwards on silent spring-mounted hinges, revealing a stone-floored corridor which led to the left.

As he entered, his right foot encountered a flagstone which moved beneath it, and as it did so, oil-lamps set into the passageway's walls suddenly flared into life. It ran a short way, sloping slightly downwards, and termin ated in a circular chamber decorated more in the style of Syria than Italy. Ezio's mind flashed on a picture which hung in his father's private study of the castle of Masyaf, once the seat of the ancient Order of Assassins. But he had no time to ponder whether or not this curious decor could be of any special significance. The room was unfurnished, and in its centre stood a large, iron-bound chest, securely sealed with two heavy locks. He looked around the room to see if a key might be anywhere, but aside from its ornamentation it was bare. Ezio was wondering if he'd have to return to the office, or make his way to his father's study, to search for one there, and if he'd have time to do so, when by chance his hand brushed against one of the locks, and at that, it sprang open. The other one opened as easily. Had his father given him some power he did not know of? Were the locks in some way programmed to respond to a certain person's touch? Mystery was piling on mystery, but there was no time to dwell on them now.

He opened the chest and saw that it contained a white hood, evidently old, and made of some perhaps woollen material which he didn't recognize. Something compelled him to put it on, and at once a strange power surged through him. He lowered the hood, but did not take it off.

The chest contained a leather bracer, a cracked dagger blade connected, instead of to a hilt, to a strange mechanism whose workings were beyond him, a sword, a page of vellum covered with symbols and letters and what looked like part of a plan, and the letter and documents his father had told him to take to Uberto Alberti. He gathered them all up, closed the chest, and retreated to his father's office, closing the secret door carefully behind him. In the office, he found a discarded document pouch of Giulio's and stashed the contents of the chest in it, slinging the pouch across his chest. He buckled on the sword. Not knowing what to make of this strange collection of objects, and not having time to reflect on why his father would keep such things in a secret chamber, he made his way cautiously back towards the main doors of the palazzo.

But, just as he entered the fore-courtyard, he saw two city guards on their way in. It was too late to hide. They had seen him.

'Halt!' one of them cried, and they both began advancing quickly towards him. There was no retreat. Ezio saw that they had already drawn their swords.

'What are you here for? To arrest me?'

'No,' said the one who had spoken first. 'Our orders are to kill you.' At that, the second guard rushed him.

Ezio drew his own sword as they closed in on him. It was a weapon he was unfamiliar with, but it felt light and capable in his hand, and it was as if he had used it all his life. He parried the first thrusts, right and left, both guards lunging at him at the same time. Sparks flew from all three swords, but Ezio felt his new blade hold firm, the edge biting and keen. Just as the second guard was bringing his sword down to sever Ezio's arm from his shoulder, Ezio feinted right, under the incoming blade. He shifted his balance from back to front foot, and lunged. The guard was caught off balance as his sword arm thudded harmlessly against Ezio's shoulder. Ezio used his own momentum to thrust his new sword up, piercing the man directly through the heart. Standing tall, Ezio rocked on the balls of his feet, raised his left foot and pushed the dead guard off his blade in time to swivel round to confront his companion. The other guard came forward with a roar, wielding a heavy sword. 'Prepare to die, traditore!'

'I am no traitor, nor is any member of my family.'

The guard swung at him, tearing at his left sleeve and drawing blood. Ezio winced, but only for a second. The guard pressed forward, seeing an advantage, and Ezio allowed him to lunge once more, then, stepping back, tripped him, swinging his own

sword unflinchingly and very hard at the man's neck as he fell, and severing his head from his shoulders before he hit the ground.

For a moment Ezio stood trembling in the sudden silence that followed the melee, breathing hard. These were the first killings of his life - or were they? - for he felt another, older life within him, a life which seemed to have years of experience in death-dealing.

The sensation frightened him. This night had seen him age far beyond his years - but this new sensation seemed to be the awakening of some darker force deep within him. It was something more than simply the effects of the harrowing experiences of the last few hours. His shoulders sagged as he made his way through the darkened streets to Alberti's mansion, starting at every sound, and looking behind him frequently. At last, on the edge of exhaustion but able somehow to bear up, he arrived at the Gonfaloniere's home. He looked up at the facade, and saw a dim light in one of the front windows. He knocked hard on the door with the pommel of his sword.

Receiving no answer, nervous and impatient, he knocked again, harder and louder. Still nothing.

But, at the third time of trying, a hatch in the door opened briefly, then closed. The door swung open almost immediately thereafter, and a suspicious armed servant admitted him. He blurted out his business and was conducted to a first-floor room where Alberti sat at a desk covered with papers. Beyond him, half-turned away and sitting in a chair by a dying fire, Ezio thought he could see another man, tall and powerful, but only part of his profile was visible, and that indistinctly.

'Ezio?' Alberti stood up, surprised. 'What are you doing here at this hour?'

'I. I don't.'

Alberti approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Wait, child. Take a breath. Collect your thoughts.'

Ezio nodded. Now he felt safer, he also felt more vulnerable. The events of the evening and night since he had set out to deliver Giovanni's letters were catching up with him. From the brass pedestal clock on the desk he could see that it was close to midnight. Could it really only be twelve hours since Ezio the boy had gone with his mother to collect paintings from an artist's studio? Despite himself he felt close to tears. But he collected himself, and it was Ezio the man who spoke. 'My father and brothers have been imprisoned - I do not know on whose authority - my mother and sister are in hiding and our family seat is ransacked. My father enjoined me to deliver this letter and these papers to you.' Ezio drew the documents from his pouch.

'Thank you.' Alberti put on a pair of eyeglasses and took Giovanni's letter to the light of the candle burning on his desk. There was no sound in the room apart from the ticking of the clock and the occasional soft crash as the embers of the fire collapsed on themselves. If there was another presence in the room, Ezio had forgotten it.

Alberti now turned his attention to the documents. He took some time over them, and finally placed one of them discreetly inside his black doublet. The others he put carefully to one side, apart from the other papers on his desk.

'There's been a terrible misunderstanding, my dear Ezio,' he said, taking off his spectacles. 'It's true that allegations were laid - serious allegations - and that a trial has been scheduled for tomorrow morning. But it seems that someone may have been, perhaps for reasons of their own, overly zealous. But don't worry. I'll clear everything up.'

Ezio hardly dared to believe him. 'How?'

'The documents you've given me contain evidence of a conspiracy against your father and against the city. I'll present these papers at the hearing in the morning, and Giovanni and your brothers will be released. I guarantee it.'

Relief flooded through the young man. He clasped the Gonfaloniere's hand. 'How can I thank you?'

'The administration of justice is my job, Ezio. I take it very seriously, and -' for a fraction of a second he hesitated, '- your father is one of my dearest friends.' Alberti smiled. 'But where are my manners? I haven't even offered you a glass of wine.' He paused. 'And where will you spend the night? I still have some urgent business to attend to, but my servants will see that you have food and drink and a warm bed.'

At the time, Ezio didn't know why he refused so kind an offer.

It was well after midnight by the time he left the Gonfaloniere's mansion. Pulling up his hood again, he prowled through the streets trying to arrange his thoughts. Presently, he knew where his feet were taking him.

Once there, he climbed to the balcony with greater ease than he'd imagined possible - perhaps urgency lent strength to his muscles - and knocked gently on her shutters, calling quietly, 'Cristina! Amore! Wake up! It's me.' He waited, silent as a cat, and listened. He could hear her stirring, rising. And then her voice, scared, on the other side of the shutters.

'Who is it?'

'Ezio.'

She opened the shutters swiftly. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'Let me come in. Please.'

Sitting on her bed, he told her the whole story.

'I knew something was amiss,' she said. 'My father seemed troubled this evening. But it does sound as if all will be well.'

'I need you to let me stay here tonight - don't worry, I'll be gone long before dawn - and I need to leave something with you for safekeeping.' He unslung his pouch and placed it between them. 'I must trust you.' 'Oh, Ezio, of course you can.' He fell into a troubled sleep, in her arms.