Assassin's Creed: Renaissance
Page 7

‘It’s not me that’s going to get a drubbing,’ Vieri shouted back. ‘You’re cornered; but don’t worry – I’ll send a nice wreath for your funeral.’
The Pazzi men were closing in. No doubt Vieri knew of his father’s imprisonment by now. Ezio looked around desperately. The street’s tall houses and walls hemmed him in. Slinging the satchel containing the precious documents securely round his body, he selected the most likely house within his reach and sprang at its wall, gripping the rough-hewn stone with both hands and feet before scaling up to the roof. Once there, he paused a moment to look down at Vieri’s irate face. ‘I haven’t even got time to piss on you,’ he said, and scampered away along the rooftop as fast as he could, dropping to the ground with new-found agility as soon as he was clear of his pursuers.
A few moments later, he was at the doors of the bank. He entered and recognized Boetio, one of Lorenzo’s most trusted servants. Here was a stroke of luck. Ezio hurried up to him.
‘Hey, Ezio! What brings you here in such a hurry?’
‘Boetio, there is no time to waste. I have letters here from my father for Lorenzo.’
Boetio looked serious, and spread his hands. ‘Ahimè, Ezio! You’re too late. He’s gone to Careggi.’
‘Then you must make sure he gets these as soon as possible.’
‘I’m sure he hasn’t gone for more than a day or so. In these times…’
‘I’m beginning to find out about these times! Make sure he gets them, Boetio, and in confidence! As soon as possible!’
When he had returned to his own palazzo, he made his way quickly to his father’s office, ignoring both the amiable backchat from Federico, who was lazing under a tree in the garden, and the attempts of his father’s secretary, Giulio, to prevent him from passing the closed door of Giovanni’s inner sanctum. There, he discovered his father in deep conversation with the Chief Justice of Florence, the Gonfaloniere Uberto Alberti. No surprise there, for the two men were old friends, and Ezio treated Alberti as he would an uncle. But he’d caught expressions of deep seriousness on their faces.
‘Ezio, my boy!’ said Uberto, genially. ‘How are you? Out of breath as usual, I see.’
Ezio looked urgently at his father.
‘I’ve been trying to calm your father down,’ continued Uberto. ‘There’s been a lot of trouble, you know; but ‘ he turned to Giovanni and his tone became more earnest, ‘ the threat is ended.’
‘Have you delivered the documents?’ Giovanni asked, crisply.
‘Yes, father. But Duke Lorenzo had already left.’
Giovanni frowned. ‘I hadn’t anticipated his leaving so soon.’
‘I left them with Boetio,’ said Ezio. ‘He’ll get them to him as soon as possible.’
‘That may not be soon enough,’ said Giovanni, darkly.
Uberto patted him on the back. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘It can only mean a day or two. We have Francesco under lock and key. What could possibly happen in such a short time?’
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.