guard pressed forward, seeing an advantage, and Ezio allowed him to lunge once more, then, stepping back, tripped him, swinging his own
sword unflinchingly and very hard at the man's neck as he fell, and severing his head from his shoulders before he hit the ground.
For a moment Ezio stood trembling in the sudden silence that followed the melee, breathing hard. These were the first killings of his life - or were they? - for he felt another, older life within him, a life which seemed to have years of experience in death-dealing.
The sensation frightened him. This night had seen him age far beyond his years - but this new sensation seemed to be the awakening of some darker force deep within him. It was something more than simply the effects of the harrowing experiences of the last few hours. His shoulders sagged as he made his way through the darkened streets to Alberti's mansion, starting at every sound, and looking behind him frequently. At last, on the edge of exhaustion but able somehow to bear up, he arrived at the Gonfaloniere's home. He looked up at the facade, and saw a dim light in one of the front windows. He knocked hard on the door with the pommel of his sword.
Receiving no answer, nervous and impatient, he knocked again, harder and louder. Still nothing.
But, at the third time of trying, a hatch in the door opened briefly, then closed. The door swung open almost immediately thereafter, and a suspicious armed servant admitted him. He blurted out his business and was conducted to a first-floor room where Alberti sat at a desk covered with papers. Beyond him, half-turned away and sitting in a chair by a dying fire, Ezio thought he could see another man, tall and powerful, but only part of his profile was visible, and that indistinctly.
'Ezio?' Alberti stood up, surprised. 'What are you doing here at this hour?'
'I. I don't.'
Alberti approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Wait, child. Take a breath. Collect your thoughts.'
Ezio nodded. Now he felt safer, he also felt more vulnerable. The events of the evening and night since he had set out to deliver Giovanni's letters were catching up with him. From the brass pedestal clock on the desk he could see that it was close to midnight. Could it really only be twelve hours since Ezio the boy had gone with his mother to collect paintings from an artist's studio? Despite himself he felt close to tears. But he collected himself, and it was Ezio the man who spoke. 'My father and brothers have been imprisoned - I do not know on whose authority - my mother and sister are in hiding and our family seat is ransacked. My father enjoined me to deliver this letter and these papers to you.' Ezio drew the documents from his pouch.
'Thank you.' Alberti put on a pair of eyeglasses and took Giovanni's letter to the light of the candle burning on his desk. There was no sound in the room apart from the ticking of the clock and the occasional soft crash as the embers of the fire collapsed on themselves. If there was another presence in the room, Ezio had forgotten it.
Alberti now turned his attention to the documents. He took some time over them, and finally placed one of them discreetly inside his black doublet. The others he put carefully to one side, apart from the other papers on his desk.
'There's been a terrible misunderstanding, my dear Ezio,' he said, taking off his spectacles. 'It's true that allegations were laid - serious allegations - and that a trial has been scheduled for tomorrow morning. But it seems that someone may have been, perhaps for reasons of their own, overly zealous. But don't worry. I'll clear everything up.'
Ezio hardly dared to believe him. 'How?'
'The documents you've given me contain evidence of a conspiracy against your father and against the city. I'll present these papers at the hearing in the morning, and Giovanni and your brothers will be released. I guarantee it.'
Relief flooded through the young man. He clasped the Gonfaloniere's hand. 'How can I thank you?'
'The administration of justice is my job, Ezio. I take it very seriously, and -' for a fraction of a second he hesitated, '- your father is one of my dearest friends.' Alberti smiled. 'But where are my manners? I haven't even offered you a glass of wine.' He paused. 'And where will you spend the night? I still have some urgent business to attend to, but my servants will see that you have food and drink and a warm bed.'
At the time, Ezio didn't know why he refused so kind an offer.
It was well after midnight by the time he left the Gonfaloniere's mansion. Pulling up his hood again, he prowled through the streets trying to arrange his thoughts. Presently, he knew where his feet were taking him.
Once there, he climbed to the balcony with greater ease than he'd imagined possible - perhaps urgency lent strength to his muscles - and knocked gently on her shutters, calling quietly, 'Cristina! Amore! Wake up! It's me.' He waited, silent as a cat, and listened. He could hear her stirring, rising. And then her voice, scared, on the other side of the shutters.
'Who is it?'
'Ezio.'
She opened the shutters swiftly. 'What is it? What's wrong?'
'Let me come in. Please.'
Sitting on her bed, he told her the whole story.
'I knew something was amiss,' she said. 'My father seemed troubled this evening. But it does sound as if all will be well.'
'I need you to let me stay here tonight - don't worry, I'll be gone long before dawn - and I need to leave something with you for safekeeping.' He unslung his pouch and placed it between them. 'I must trust you.' 'Oh, Ezio, of course you can.' He fell into a troubled sleep, in her arms.
4
It was a grey and overcast morning - and the city felt oppressed with the muggy heat that was trapped by the overhanging cloud. Ezio arrived at the Piazza della Signoria and saw, to his intense surprise, that a dense crowd had gathered already. A platform had been erected, and on it was placed a table covered with a heavy brocade cloth bearing the arms of the city. Standing behind it were Uberto Alberti and a tall, powerfully built man with a beaky nose and careful, calculating eyes, dressed in robes of rich crimson - a stranger to Ezio, at least. But his attention was caught by the sight of the other occupants of the platform - his father, and his brothers, all in chains; and just beyond them stood a tall construction with a heavy crossbeam from which three nooses were suspended.
Ezio had arrived at the piazza in a mood of anxious optimism - had not the Gonfaloniere told him that all would be resolved this day? Now his feelings changed. Something was wrong - badly wrong. He tried to push his way forward, but could not press through the mob - he felt the claustrophobia threaten to overwhelm him. Desperately trying to calm down, to rationalise his actions, he paused, drew his hood close over his head, and adjusted the sword at his belt. Surely Alberti would not let him down? And all the time he noticed that the tall man, a Spaniard by his dress, his face and his complexion, was ranging the mass of people with those piercing eyes. Who was he? Why did he stir something in Ezio's memory? Had he seen him somewhere before?
The Gonfaloniere, resplendent in his robes of office, raised his arms to quieten the people, and instantly a hush fell over them.
'Giovanni Auditore,' said Alberti in a commanding tone which failed, to Ezio's acute ear, to conceal a note of fear. 'You and your accomplices stand accused of the crime of treason. Have you any evidence to counter this charge?'
Giovanni looked at once surprised and uneasy. 'Yes, you have it all in the documents that were delivered to you last night.'
But Alberti said, 'I know of no such documents, Auditore.'
Ezio saw at once that this was a show-trial, but he couldn't understand what looked like deep treachery on Alberti's part. He shouted, 'It's a lie!' But his voice was drowned by the roar of the crowd. He struggled to get closer, shoving angry citizens aside, but there were too many of them, and he was trapped in their midst.
