Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood

“Yes, sir. My comrade, Miguel, is dead.”

Once they had gone, Ezio waited for a few minutes, then made his way north, before veering east, in the direction he knew Viana lay. He left the olive groves and saw that he had passed the field of battle and was now skirting it on its northern side. He wondered what had become of the Spanish soldiers, for there was no sign of any successful outflanking movement. And the battle seemed to be going to the Navarrese.

On his way lay a shattered village. He avoided it, as he could see Spanish snipers concealed behind some of the charred and broken walls, using long-muzzled wheel locks to fire on any Navarrese troops at the edge of the battle.

He came across a soldier, his tunic so bloodstained that Ezio could not tell what side he was on, sitting with his back to a stray olive tree and hugging himself in agony, his whole body shaking, his gun abandoned on the ground.

Reaching the outskirts of the town, among the settlements crouched beneath its bastions, Ezio saw, just ahead of him, his quarry. Cesare was with a Navarrese sergeant and he was clearly assessing the best way of breaching or undermining Viana’s massive walls.

The Spanish who had taken Viana had been confident enough to allow some of their camp followers to settle in the houses here. But they were evidently not now powerful enough to protect them.

Suddenly, a woman came out of one of the cottages and ran toward them, screaming and blocking their path.

“Ayudenme!” she cried. “Help me! My son! My son is wounded!”

The sergeant went up to the woman and, seizing her by the hair, dragged her out of Cesare’s way.

“Ayudenme!” she yelled.

“Shut her up, will you?” said Cesare, surveying her coldly.

The sergeant drew his dagger and slit the woman’s throat.

SIXTY-FIVE

As Ezio shadowed Cesare, he witnessed further scenes of brutality dealt out by the Navarrese troops on the hated Spanish interlopers.

He saw a young woman being roughly manhandled by a Navarrese trooper.

“Leave me in peace!” she cried.

“Be a good girl,” the soldier told her brutally. “I will not hurt you! In fact, you might even enjoy it, you fucking Spanish whore.”

Farther along, a man, a cook by the look of him, stood in despair as two soldiers held him and forced him to watch two others set fire to his house.

Worse, a man—doubtless a wounded Spanish soldier who had had his legs amputated—had been kicked out of his cart by another pair of Navarrese squaddies. They stood there laughing as he desperately tried to drag himself away from them along a footpath.

“Run! Run!” said one.

“Can’t you go any faster?” added his comrade.

The battle had obviously gone to the Navarrese, because Ezio could see them bringing siege towers up to the walls of the city. Somewhere behind him, a Spanish preacher was intoning to a despairing congregation:

“You have brought this on yourselves through sin. This is how the Lord punishes you. Ours is a just God and this is His justice. Praise the Lord! Thank you, God, for teaching us to be humble. To see our punishment for what it is, a call to spirituality. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. So is the Truth written. Amen!”

Ezio saw that several siege towers were now against the walls. Navarrese troops were swarming up them and there was fierce fighting on the battlements already.

If Cesare were anywhere, it would be at the head of his men, for he was as ferocious and fearless as he was cruel.

The only way into the city is up one of the towers, thought Ezio. The one nearest him had just been pushed up to the wall and, running, Ezio joined the men rushing up it, blending in with them, though there was scarcely any need, for amid all the roaring and bellowing of the pumped-up besiegers, who scented victory at last, he would not have been noticed.

But the defenders were in greater readiness now, and they were pouring that mixture of pitch and oil they called Greek fire down onto the enemy below. The screams of burning men came up to those already on the tower, Ezio among them, and the rush upward, away from the flames, which had already taken the base of the tower, became frantic. Around him, Ezio saw men push their fellows out of the way in order to save themselves. Some soldiers fell from the tower, howling, into the flames below.

Ezio knew he had to get to the top before the flames caught up with him. Reaching it, he gave a great Leap of Faith onto the battlements just as the fire, seconds behind him, reached it, too, and the blazing tower collapsed, causing murderous chaos beneath.

There was fierce fighting on the ramparts of the walls, but already hundreds of Navarrese soldiers had got down into the town itself, and the Spanish trumpets were sounding the retreat into the citadel at the center of Viana. The town was as good as retaken for Navarre.

Cesare would be in triumph. His wealthy brother-in-law would reward him richly. No! Ezio would not allow that to happen.

Running along the high wall, ducking and diving among the fighting soldiery, the Navarrese soldiers cutting down the Spanish troops who had been left behind in the retreat to fend for themselves, Ezio located Cesare, cutting his way through enemy troops as a child uses a stick to smash through tall grass. Cesare was impatient to take the citadel as well, and, once clear of the men who had attempted to block his way, he sped down a stairway on the inner wall and through the town, Ezio only seconds behind him.

Ahead of them, the citadel had already opened its doors. All the fight had gone out of the Spanish, and the Count of Lerin was ready to parlay. But Cesare was not a man to parlay.

“Kill them! Kill them all!” he shouted to his troops. With superhuman speed, he ran into the citadel and up the narrow stone staircases within it, cutting down anyone who got in his way.

Ezio still kept pace with him. At last they reached the topmost battlements of the citadel. There was no one there but Cesare, who cut down the flagpole bearing the Spanish flag. Then he turned. There was but one way out, and there stood Ezio, blocking it.

“There is nowhere for you to run, Cesare,” said Ezio. “This is the time to pay your debts.”

“Come on then, Ezio!” snarled Cesare. “You brought down my family. Let’s see how you settleyour debts.”

Such was their impatient fury, they closed with each other immediately, man-to-man, using only their fists as weapons.

Cesare got the first blows in and started to cry out in triumph. “No matter what you do, I will conquer all, but first I will kill you and everyone you hold dear. As for me, I cannot die.Fortuna will not fail me!”

“Your hour is come, Cesare,” Ezio replied, slowly getting the upper hand. He drew his sword.

Cesare loosed his own blade in response—and the two men began to fight in earnest. Ezio swung his blade viciously toward his foe’s head, the blade sweeping a lethal flat arc through the air. Cesare was shocked by the speed of the attack but managed to raise his own blade in a clumsy parry, his arm shuddering with the impact. Ezio’s sword bounced away. Cesare thrust with his own attack—his balance and focus regained. The men circled on the parapet—flicking the tips of their swords in swift bursts of exchanged swordplay. Ezio stepped a quick one, two