the race of ancient Adepts who had left the world in trust to humanity, to make or break it, as their will elected.
He closed the lid and locked the box.
Ezio summoned a meeting of the Brotherhood on Tiber Island that night.
“My friends,” he started, “I know how hard we have striven, and I believe that victory may be in sight, but there is still work to do.”
The others, all except Machiavelli, looked at each other in surprise.
“But Cesare is muzzled!” cried La Volpe. “For good!”
“And we have a new Pope who has always been an enemy of the Borgia,” added Claudia.
“And the French are driven back!” put in Bartolomeo. “The countryside is secure. And the Romagna is back in papal hands!”
Ezio held out a hand to quiet them. “We all know that a victory is not a victory until it is absolute.”
“And Cesare may indeed be muzzled, but he lives,” said Machiavelli quietly. “And Micheletto—”
“Exactly!” Ezio said. “And as long as there are pockets of Borgia diehards, both here and in the Papal States, there is still seed from which a Borgia revival may grow.”
“You are too cautious, Ezio! We have won!” cried Bartolomeo.
“Barto, you know as well as I do that a handful of city-states in the Romagna remain loyal to Cesare. They are strongly fortified.”
“Then I’ll go and sort them out!”
“They will keep. Caterina Sforza’s army is not strong enough to attack them from Forli, but I have sent messengers requesting her to keep a close watch on them. I have a more pressing job for you.”
“Which is…?”
“I want you to take a force to Ostia and keep a sharp eye on the port. I want to know about any suspicious ships coming into, and, especially, leaving the harbor. I want you to have messengers on horseback ready to bring news to me here the instant you have anything to report.”
Bartolomeo snorted. “Sentry duty! Hardly the sort of work for a man of action like me!”
“You will get as much action as you need when the time is ripe to move against the rebel city-states I’ve mentioned. In the meantime, they live in hope, waiting for a signal. Let them live in hope; it’ll keep them quiet. Our job is to snuff that hope out! Forever! Then, if they don’t listen to reason, they still won’t put up half the fight they would now.”
Machiavelli smiled. “I agree with Ezio,” he said.
“Well, all right. If you insist,” Bartolomeo replied grumpily.
“Pantasilea will enjoy the sea air, after her ordeal.”
Bartolomeo brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that!”
“Good.” Ezio turned to his sister. “Claudia. I imagine the change of regime hasn’t affected business at the Rosa in Fiore too badly, has it?”
Claudia grinned. “It’s funny how even princes of the Church find it so hard to keep the devil between their loins in abeyance. However many cold baths they say they take!”
“Tell your girls to keep their ears to the ground. Julius has the College of Cardinals firmly under his control, but he still has plenty of enemies with ambitions of their own, and some of them might just be mad enough to think that if they could set Cesare at liberty again, they could use him as a means of furthering their own ends. And keep an eye on Johann Burchard.”
“What—Rodrigo’s master of ceremonies? Surely he’s harmless enough. He hated having to organize all those orgies! Isn’t he just a functionary?”
“Nevertheless—anything you hear—especially if it leads to diehard factions still at large here—let me know.”
“It’ll be easier, now that we no longer have Borgia guards breathing down our necks every minute of the day.”
Ezio smiled a little absently. “I have another question to ask. I have been too busy to visit, and it troubles me, but—how is Mother?”
Claudia’s face clouded. “She keeps the accounts, but, Ezio, I fear she is failing. She seldom goes out. She speaks more and more often of Father, and of Federico and Petruccio.”
Ezio fell silent for a moment, thinking of his lost father, Giovanni, and his brothers. “I will come when I can,” he said. “Give her my love; ask her to forgive my neglect.”
“She understands the work you have to do. She knows that you do it not only for the good of us all, but for the sake of our departed kinsmen.”
“The destruction of those who killed them shall be their monument,” said Ezio, his voice hard.
“And what of my people?” asked La Volpe.
“Gilberto, your people are vital to me. All my recruits remain loyal, but they see that life returns to normal, and most of them long to return also to the lives they led before we persuaded them to join us in the struggle to throw off the Borgia yoke. They retain their skills, but they are not sworn members of our Brotherhood, and I cannot expect them to bear that other yoke we bear—for it is a yoke that only Death will relieve us of.”
“I understand.”
“I know the men and women under your command are city bred. Some country air will make a change.”
“How do you mean?” asked La Volpe suspiciously.
“Send your best people into the towns and villages around Rome. There will be no need to go further out than Viterbo, Terni, L’Aquila, Avezzano, and Nettuno. I doubt if, beyond the rough circle around Rome that those towns define, we’d find much. There can’t be many diehards left, and those there are will want to be within striking distance of Rome.”
“They’ll be hard to find.”
“You must try. You know yourself how even a small force in the right place can do untold damage.”
“I’ll send out my best thieves. Disguise them as peddlers.”
“Report anything you find back to me—especially news of Micheletto.”
“Do you really think he’s still out there somewhere? Mightn’t he have got back to Spain, or at least the Kingdom of Naples? If he isn’t dead already.”
“I am convinced he is still alive.”
La Volpe shrugged. “That’s good enough for me.”
When the others had gone, Machiavelli turned to Ezio and said, “What about me?”
“You and I will work together.”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure; but before we go into details, I have a question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why not use the Apple?”
Ezio, sighing, explained as best he could.
When he’d finished, Machiavelli looked at him, took out his little black notebook, and wrote in it at length. Then he stood up, crossed the room, and sat down next to Ezio, squeezing his shoulder affectionately as he did so. Any such gesture from Machiavelli was as rare as chickens’ teeth.
“Let’s get down to business,” he said.
“This is what I have in mind,” said Ezio.
“Tell me.”
“There are women in this city who may help us. We must seek them out and talk to them.”
“Well, you picked the right man for the job. I am a diplomat.”
Gaining access to the first woman Ezio had in mind was easy—Pope Julius had seen to that. But getting her to talk wasn’t.
