Assassin's Creed: Renaissance (4 page)

Giovanni seemed partially reassured, but it was clear that the two men had more to discuss, and that Ezio’s presence wasn’t desired.

‘Go and find your mother and your sister,’ said Giovanni. ‘You should spend time with some of the rest of the family other than Federico, you know! And rest that head of yours – I’ll have need of you again later.’ And with a wave of his father’s hand, Ezio was dismissed.

He wandered through the house, nodding greetings to one or two of the family’s servants, and to Giulio, who was hurrying back to the bank office from somewhere, a sheaf of papers in his hand and looking, as usual, haunted by all the business he carried in his head. Ezio waved to his brother, still lounging in the garden, but felt no desire to join him. Besides, he’d been told to keep his mother and sister company, and he knew better than to disobey his father, especially after their discussion earlier in the day.

He found his sister sitting alone in the loggia, a neglected book of Petrarch in her hands. That figured. He knew she was in love.

‘
Ciao
, Claudia,’ he said.

‘
Ciao
, Ezio. Where
have
you been?’

Ezio spread his hands. ‘I’ve been running a business errand for Father.’

‘That’s not all, I hear,’ she retorted, but her smile was faint and automatic.

‘Where’s Mother?’

Claudia sighed. ‘She’s gone to see that young painter they’re all talking about. You know, the one who’s just finished his apprenticeship with Verrocchio.’

‘Really?’

‘Don’t you pay attention to anything that goes on in this house? She’s commissioned some paintings from him. She believes that they’ll be a good investment in time.’

‘That’s our mother for you!’

But Claudia didn’t respond, and for the first time Ezio became fully aware of the sadness in her face. It made her look much older than her sixteen years.

‘What’s the matter,
sorellina
?’ he asked, sitting on the stone bench beside her.

She sighed, and looked at him with a rueful smile. ‘It’s Duccio,’ she said at last.

‘What about him?’

Her eyes filled with tears. ‘I’ve found out that he’s being unfaithful to me.’

Ezio frowned. Duccio was practically engaged to Claudia, and even though there hadn’t yet been any formal announcement…

‘Who told you that?’ he asked, putting an arm round her.

‘The other girls.’ She wiped her eyes and looked at him. ‘I thought they were my friends, but I think they enjoyed telling me.’

Ezio stood up angrily. ‘Then they’re little better than harpies! You’re better off without them.’

‘But I loved him!’

Ezio took a moment before replying. ‘Are you sure? Maybe you only thought you did. How do you feel now?’

Claudia’s eyes were dry. ‘I’d like to see him suffer, even if only a little. He’s really hurt me, Ezio.’

Ezio looked at his sister, looked at the sadness in her eyes, a sadness suffused with not a little flare of anger. His heart steeled.

‘I think I’ll pay him a visit.’

Duccio Dovizi wasn’t at home, but the housekeeper told Ezio where to find him. Ezio made his way across the Ponte Vecchio and westward along the south bank of the Arno to the church of San Jacopo Soprano. There were some secluded gardens nearby, where lovers occasionally kept their trysts. Ezio, whose blood was boiling on behalf of his sister, yet needed more proof of Duccio’s infidelity than hearsay, began to think that he was about to get it.

Sure enough, he soon caught sight of the blond young man, dressed to kill, sitting on a bench overlooking the river, his arm round a dark-haired girl he didn’t recognize. He made his way forward cautiously.

‘Darling, it’s beautiful,’ the girl was saying, holding out her hand. Ezio saw the flash of a diamond ring.

‘Nothing but the best for you,
amore
,’ Duccio purred, pulling her towards him for a kiss.

But the girl pulled back. ‘Not so fast. You can’t just buy me. We haven’t been seeing each other that long, and I’ve heard you’ve been promised to Claudia Auditore.’

Duccio spat. ‘It’s over. Anyway, Father says I can do better than an Auditore.’ He clamped her bottom in his hand. ‘You, for example!’

‘
Birbante!
Let’s walk a bit.’

‘I can think of something that’d be much more fun,’ said Duccio, putting his hand between her legs.

That was enough for Ezio. ‘Hey,
lurido porco
,’ he snapped.

Duccio was taken completely by surprise, and spun round, releasing his hold on the girl. ‘Hey, Ezio, my friend,’ he cried, but there was nervousness in his voice. How much had Ezio seen? ‘I don’t think you’ve met my… cousin?’

Ezio, enraged at the treachery, stepped forward and punched his former friend full in the face. ‘Duccio, you should be ashamed of yourself! You insult my sister, parading around with this… this
puttana
!’

‘Who are you calling a
puttana
?’ the girl snarled, but she got to her feet and backed off.

‘I should have thought even a girl like you could do better than this arsehole,’ Ezio told her. ‘Do you really think he’s going to make you into a lady?’

‘Don’t you talk to her like that,’ Duccio hissed. ‘At least she’s more generous with her favours than your tight-assed little sister. But I guess she’s got a hole as dry as a nun’s. Pity, I could have taught her a thing or two. But there again -‘

Ezio interrupted him coldly. ‘You’ve broken her heart, Duccio -‘

‘Have I? What a shame.’

‘- Which is why I am going to break your arm.’

The girl screamed at this, and fled. Ezio seized the whining Duccio and forced the young gallant’s right arm over the edge of the stone bench on which he’d been sitting with a hard-on only moments before. He pushed the forearm against the stone until Duccio’s whining turned to tears.

‘Stop it, Ezio! I beg you! I’m my father’s only son!’

Ezio looked at him with contempt, and released him. Duccio fell to the ground and rolled over, nursing his bruised arm and whimpering, his fine clothes torn and besmirched.

‘You’re not worth the effort,’ Ezio told him. ‘But if you don’t want me to change my mind about that arm of yours, stay away from Claudia. And stay away from me.’

After the incident, Ezio walked a long way home, wandering along the riverbank until he’d almost reached the fields. When he turned back, the shadows were lengthening, but his mind was calmer. It would never become him as a man, he told himself, to allow his anger ever fully to rule him.

Close to his house, he caught sight of his younger brother, whom he hadn’t seen since the morning of the previous day. He greeted the lad warmly. ‘
Ciao
, Petruccio. What are you up to? Have you given your tutor the slip? And anyway, isn’t it past your bedtime?’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m practically grown-up. In a few years’ time, I’ll be able to knock the stuffing out of you!’ The brothers grinned at each other. Petruccio was holding a carved pearwood box close to his chest. It was open, and Ezio noticed a handful of white and brown feathers in it. ‘They’re eagle’s feathers,’ explained the boy. He pointed to the top of the tower of a nearby building. ‘There’s an old nest up there. The young must have fledged and gone. I can see plenty more feathers caught in the stonework.’ Petruccio looked at his brother pleadingly. ‘Ezio, would you mind getting a few more for me?’

‘Well, what do you want them for?’

Petruccio looked down. ‘It’s a secret,’ he said.

‘If I get them for you, will you go in? It’s late.’

‘Yes.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘All right, then.’ Ezio thought, well, I’ve done Claudia a favour today, no reason why I shouldn’t do one for Petruccio as well.

Climbing the tower was tricky, as its stone was smooth and he had to concentrate to find grips and toeholds in the joints between its stones. Higher up, ornamental mouldings helped as well. In the end, it took him half an hour, but he managed to gather fifteen more feathers – all that he could see – and brought them back to Petruccio.

‘You missed one,’ said Petruccio, pointing up.

‘Bed!’ growled his brother.

Petruccio fled.

Ezio hoped their mother would be pleased with the gift. It didn’t take much to fathom Petruccio’s secrets.

He smiled as he entered the house himself.

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.