panicked them.
Vieri de' Pazzi's furious voice rose above the general tumult. 'Fall back!' he called to his men, his voice broken with exertion and anger. He caught Ezio's eye and snarled some inaudible threat before disappearing into the darkness, back across the Ponte Vecchio, followed by those of his men who could still walk, and hotly pursued by Ezio's now triumphant allies.
Ezio was about to follow suit, but his brother's meaty hand restrained him. 'Just a minute,' he said.
'What do you mean? We've got them on the run!'
'Steady on.' Federico was frowning, gently touching the wound on Ezio's brow.
'It's just a scratch.'
'It's more than that,' his brother decided, a grave expression on his face. 'We'd better get you to a doctor.'
Ezio spat. 'I haven't got time to waste running to doctors. Besides...' He paused ruefully. 'I haven't any money.'
'Hah! Wasted it on women and wine, I suppose.' Federico grinned, and slapped his younger brother warmly on the shoulder.
'Not wasted exactly, I'd say. And look at the example you set me.' Ezio grinned but then hesitated. He suddenly became aware that his head was thumping. 'Still, it wouldn't hurt to get it checked out. I suppose you couldn't see your way to lending me a few fiorini?'
Federico patted his purse. It didn't jingle. 'Fact is, I'm a bit short myself just now,' he said.
Ezio grinned at his brother's sheepishness. 'And what have you wasted yours on? Masses and Indulgences, I suppose?'
Federico laughed. 'All right. I take your point.' He looked around. In the end, only three or four of their own people had been hurt badly enough to remain on the field of battle, and they were sitting up, groaning a bit, but grinning too. It had been a tough set-to, but no one had broken any bones. On the other hand, a good half-dozen Pazzi henchmen lay completely out for the count, and one or two of them at least were expensively dressed.
'Let's see if our fallen enemies have any riches to share,' Federico suggested. 'After all, our need is greater than theirs, and I'll bet you can't lighten their load without waking them up!'
'We'll see about that,' said Ezio, and set about it with some success. Before a few minutes had elapsed, he'd harvested enough gold coins to fill both their own purses. Ezio looked over to his brother triumphantly and jingled his newly claimed wealth to emphasize the point.
'Enough!' cried Federico. 'Better leave them a bit to limp home on. After all, we're not thieves - this is just the spoils of war. And I still don't like the look of that wound. We must get it seen to double quick.'
Ezio nodded, and turned to survey the field of the Auditore victory one last time. Losing patience, Federico rested a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. 'Come on,' he said, and without more ado he set off at such a pace that the battle-weary Ezio found it hard to keep up, though when he fell too far behind, or took a wrong turn down an alley, Federico would hold up, or hurry back to put him right. 'I'm sorry, Ezio. I just want us to get to the medico as soon as we can.'
And indeed it wasn't far, but Ezio was tiring by the minute. Finally they reached the shadowy room, festooned with mysterious instruments and phials of brass and glass, ranged along dark oak tables and hanging from the ceiling along with clusters of dried herbs, where their family doctor had his surgery. It was all Ezio could do to remain on his feet.
Dottore Ceresa was not best pleased at being roused in the middle of the night, but his manner changed to one of concern as soon as he had brought a candle close enough to inspect Ezio's wound in detail. 'Hmmn,' he said gravely. 'You've made quite a mess of yourself this time, young man. Can't you people think of anything better to do than go around beating each other up?'
'It was a question of honour, good doctor,' put in Federico.
'I see,' said the doctor, evenly.
'It's really nothing,' said Ezio, though he felt faint.
Federico, as usual hiding concern behind humour, said, 'Do patch him up as best you can, friend. That pretty little face of his is his only asset.'
'Hey, fottiti!' Ezio hit back, giving his brother the finger.
The doctor ignored them, washed his hands, probed the wound gently, and poured some clear fluid from one of his many bottles on to a piece of linen. He dabbed the wound with this and it stung so much that Ezio almost sprang from his chair, his face screwed up with the pain. Then, satisfied that the wound was clean, the doctor took a needle and threaded it with fine catgut.
'Now,' he said. 'This really will hurt, a little.'
Once the stitches were in and the wound bandaged so that Ezio looked like a turbaned Turk, the doctor smiled encouragement. 'That'll be three fiorini, for now. I'll come to your palazzo in a few days and remove the stitches. That'll be
another three fiorini to pay then. You'll have a terrible headache, but it'll pass. Just try to rest - if it's in your nature! And don't worry: the wound looks worse than it is, and there's even a bonus: there shouldn't be much of a scar, so you won't be disappointing the ladies too greatly in future!'
Once they were back in the street, Federico put his arm round his younger brother. He pulled out a flask and offered it to Ezio. 'Don't worry,' he said, noticing the expression on Ezio's face. 'It's our father's best grappa. Better than mother's milk for a man in your condition.'
They both drank, feeling the fiery liquid warm them. 'Quite a night,' said Federico.
'Indeed. I only wish they were all as much fun as -' but Ezio interrupted himself as he saw that his brother was beginning to grin from ear to ear. 'Oh, wait!' he corrected himself, laughing: 'They are!'
'Even so, I think a little food and drink wouldn't be a bad thing to set you up before we go home,' said Federico. 'It's late, I know, but there's a taverna nearby where they don't close until breakfast time and -'
'- you and the oste are amici intimi?'
'How did you guess?'
An hour or so later, after a meal of ribollita and bistecca washed down with a bottle of Brunello, Ezio felt as if he'd never been wounded at all. He was young and fit, and felt that all his lost energy had flowed back into him. The adrenaline of the victory over the Pazzi mob certainly contributed to the swiftness of his recovery.
'Time to go home, little brother,' said Federico. 'Father's sure to be wondering where we are, and you're the one he looks to to help him with the bank. Luckily for me, I've no head for figures, which is why I suppose he can't wait to get me into politics!'
'Politics or the circus - the way you carry on.'
'What's the difference?'
Ezio knew that Federico bore him no ill will over the fact that their father confided more of the family business in him than in his elder brother. Federico would die of boredom if confronted by a life in banking. The problem was, Ezio had a feeling that he might be the same. But for the moment, the day when he donned the black velvet suit and the gold chain of a Florentine banker was still some way off, and he was determined to enjoy his days of freedom and irresponsibility to the full. Little did he realize just how short-lived those days would be.
'We'd better hurry, too,' Federico was saying, 'if we want to avoid a bollocking.'
'He may be worried.'
'No - he knows we can take care of ourselves.' Federico was looking at Ezio speculatively. 'But we had better get a move on.' He paused. 'You don't feel up to a little wager at all, do you? A race perhaps?'
'Where to?'
'Let's say,' Federico looked across the moonlit city towards a tower not far away. 'The roof of Santa Trinita. If it's not going to take too much out of you - and it's not far from home. But there's just one thing more.'
'Yes?'
'We're not racing along the streets, but across the rooftops.'
Ezio took a deep breath. 'OK. Try me,' he said.
'All right, little tartaruga - go!'
Without another word, Federico was off, scaling a nearby roughcast wall as easily as a lizard would. He paused at the top, seeming almost to teeter among the rounded red tiles, laughed, and was off again. By the time
