THIRTY-ONE
Ezio followed the senator through another maze of streets, though these, leading closer to the Tiber, were also more familiar to him, and he passed monuments, squares, and fountains familiar to him, as well as building works—for the Borgia spent lavishly on
Ezio took up a position by a cedar tree and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Minutes after Egidio’s arrival, a tall man dressed in a livery he did not recognize came up to him. A badge on his shoulder showed, on one half of the crest, a red bull in a golden field, and on the other, broad black and gold horizontal stripes. Ezio was none the wiser for this.
“Good evening, Egidio,” the newcomer said. “It seems that you are ready to die like a gentleman!”
“That’s hardly friendly of you,
The man raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, that makes all the difference. The Banker will be most pleased. You came alone, I trust?”
“Do you see anyone else here?”
“Just follow me,
They moved off, retracing their steps eastward, and crossed the Tiber. Ezio followed them at a discreet distance, but staying within earshot.
“Is there any news of my brother,
“I can only tell you that Duke Cesare wishes very much to interview him. As soon as he returns from the Romagna, that is.”
“He’s all right, I hope.”
“If he has nothing to hide, he has nothing to fear.”
They continued in silence, and at the Church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva, turned north, in the direction of the Pantheon.
“What’ll happen to my money?” said Egidio. Ezio realized that he was pumping the captain for Ezio’s benefit. Clever man.
“
“It is.”
“It had better be.”
“Well?”
“The Banker likes to be generous to his friends. He treats them well. He can afford to.”
“Treat you well, does he?”
“I like to think so.”
“How generous he is,” observed Egidio, with such heavy sarcasm that even the captain caught it.
“What did you say?” he asked threateningly, breaking his stride.
“Oh—nothing.”
“Come on—we’re there.”
The great bulk of the Pantheon rose out of the gloom in its cramped piazza. The tall Corinthian portico of the fifteen-hundred-year-old building, constructed as a temple to all the Roman gods but long since consecrated as a church, towered above them. In its shadow three men were waiting. Two were dressed similarly to the captain. The third was in civilian dress, a tall but dry and withered-looking man, whose fine robes sat ill on him. They greeted the captain, and the civilian nodded coldly at Egidio.
“Luigi! Luigi Torcelli!” said Egidio loudly, for Ezio’s benefit. “It’s good to see you again. Still the Banker’s agent, I see. Thought you’d have been promoted by now. Desk job and all that.”
“Shut up,” said the withered man.
“He’s got the money,” said the captain.
Torcelli’s eyes glittered. “Well, well! That
Egidio clearly hated to comply, but the two underling guards leveled their halberds at him and he handed the bags over.
“Shut up,” snapped the agent once again. To the guards he said, “Hold him here until I get back.”
With that, he disappeared inside the cavernous, deserted church, closing its mighty, heavy doors firmly behind him.
Ezio needed to follow him, but there was no way he’d get through those doors, and anyway, first he had to get past the guards undetected. But Egidio must have guessed this, for he started up a line of banter with the uniforms, irritating them, but, above all, distracting them.
“Well, why not release me? I’ve paid up,” he said indignantly.
“What if you’ve sold us short?” replied the captain. “The money has to be counted first. You must see that.”
“What? Ten thousand ducats? It’ll take all night!”
“It has to be done.”
“If Luigi’s late, he’ll get the stick. I can imagine the kind of man the Banker must be!”
“Shut
“You people certainly have a very limited vocabulary. Look, think of poor old Torcelli—if he doesn’t show up with the money soon, the Banker probably won’t let him join in the fun.
The captain cuffed the senator impatiently on the head, and Egidio fell silent, still grinning. He’d seen Ezio slip past and begin to climb the facade of the building in the direction of the dome behind it.
Once on the roof of the circular edifice, which the classical frontage partially concealed, Ezio made his way toward the round opening—the oculus—he knew was at its center. It would be a test of all his climbing skills, but once inside, he would find the agent and put the next phase of the plan, which was rapidly forming in his mind, into operation. The agent was about his size, though far less muscular, and his flowing robes would hide Ezio’s physique—if all went well.
The trickiest part would be lowering himself through the aperture at the dome’s apex and then finding some way of descending from there. But he’d been to the church before and knew that censers, hanging far below, were suspended by chains from this very roof. If he could reach one of them…if it would take his weight…
Well, there was no other way. Ezio knew full well that even he couldn’t climb, flylike, across the inner curve of a dome, coffered though it was, 140 feet above the cold grey flagstones of the floor.
He hung over the edge of the oculus and peered into the gloom beneath. A pinpoint of light far below showed where the agent was, seated on a bench that ran around the edge of the wall. He’d have the money next to him and be counting it by candlelight. Next, Ezio looked around for the chains. None was within reach, but if he could just…
He changed his position and lowered his legs over the edge of the circular opening, gripping it with both hands. It was a huge risk, but the chains looked solid and old, and far heavier than he’d thought. He looked at their fixtures in the ceiling, and as far as he could see they were set fast in the solid stone.
Well, there was nothing for it. Pushing hard with his hands, he threw himself forward and sideways into the void.
