Soon after his arrival he spotted Stefano, deep in conversation with the abbey's hospitarius, a corpulent monk who looked as if he had taken on the shape of one of the wine barrels he so evidently frequently emptied. Ezio managed to manoeuvre himself close enough to listen without being noticed.
'Let us pray, brother,' said the monk.
'Pray?' said Stefano, whose black garb contrasted with all the sunny colours around him. He looked like a spider on a pancake. 'For what?' he added sardonically.
The monk looked surprised. 'For the Lord's protection!'
'If you think the Lord has any interest in our affairs, Brother Girolamo, you have another think coming! But please, by all means, continue to delude yourself, if it helps you to pass the time.'
Brother Girolamo was shocked. 'What you speak is blasphemy!'
'No. I speak truth.'
'But, to deny His most exalted Presence - !'
'- is the only rational response, when faced with the declaration that there exists some invisible madman in the sky. And believe me, if our precious Bible is anything to go by, He's completely lost His mind.'
'How can you say such things? You are yourself a priest!'
'I am an administrator. I use these clerical robes to bring me closer to the accursed Medici, so that I may chop them off at the knees, in the service of my true Master. But first, there is still the business of this Assassin, Ezio. For too long he has been a thorn in our side, and we must pluck him out.'
'There you speak truth. That unholy demon!'
'Well,' said Stefano with a crooked smile. 'At least we agree on something.'
Girolamo lowered his voice. 'They say the Devil has given him unnatural speed and strength.'
Stefano looked at him. 'The Devil? No, my friend. These are gifts he gave himself, through rigorous training over years.' He paused, his scrawny body bent at a pensive angle. 'You know, Girolamo, I find it disturbing that you are so unwilling to credit people for their own circumstances. I think you'd make victims out of the entire world if you could.'
'I forgive your lack of faith and your forked tongue,' replied Girolamo piously. 'You are still one of God's children.'
'I told you -' Stefano began with some asperity; but then spread his hands and gave it up. 'Oh, what's the use? Enough of this! It's like speaking to the wind!'
'I will pray for you.'
'As you wish. But do so quietly. I must keep watch. Until we have this Assassin dead and buried, no Templar can drop his guard for an instant.'
The monk withdrew with a bow, and Stefano was left alone in the courtyard. The bell for First and Second Qauma had sounded, and all the Community were in the abbey church. Ezio emerged from the shadows like a wraith. The sun shone with the silent heaviness of midday. Stefano, crow-like, stalked up and down by the north wall, restless, impatient, possessed.
When he saw Ezio, he showed no surprise at all.
'I am unarmed,' he said. 'I fight with the mind.'
'To use that, you must remain alive. Can you defend yourself?'
'Would you kill me in cold blood?'
'I will kill you because it is necessary that you die.'
'A good answer! But do you not think I may have secrets that would be useful to you?'
'I can see that you would not bow under any torture.'
Stefano looked at him appraisingly. 'I will take that as a compliment, though I am not so sure myself. However, it is of merely academic significance.' He paused, before continuing in his thin voice. 'You have missed your chance, Ezio. The die is cast. The Assassins' cause is lost. I know you will kill me whatever I do or say, and that I shall be dead before the midday Mass is over; but my death will profit you nothing. The Templars already have you in check, and soon it will be checkmate.'
'You cannot be sure of that.'
'I am about to meet my Maker - if He exists at all. It will be refreshing to find out. In the meantime, why should I lie?'
Ezio released his dagger.
'How clever,' commented Stefano. 'What will they think of next?'
'Redeem yourself,' said Ezio. 'Tell me what you know.'
'What do you wish to know? The whereabouts of my Master, Jacopo?' Stefano smiled. 'That is easy. He meets our confederates soon, at night, in the shadow of the Roman gods.' He paused. 'I hope that makes you happy, for nothing you can do will make me say more. And it is in any case of no significance, for I know in my heart that you are too late. My only regret is that I will not see your own undoing - but who knows? Perhaps there is an Afterlife, and I shall be able to look down on your death. But for the present - let us get this unpleasant business over with.'
The abbey bell was ringing once more. Ezio had little time. 'I think you could teach me much,' he said.
Stefano looked at him sadly. 'Not in this world,' he said. He opened the neck of his gown. 'But do me the favour of sending me quickly into the night.'
Ezio stabbed once, deeply, and with deadly accuracy. 'There are the ruins of a Temple of Mithras to the south-west of San Gimignano,' said Mario thoughtfully when Ezio returned. 'They are the only Roman ruins of any significance for miles around, and you say he spoke of the shadow of the Roman gods?'
'Those were his words.'
'And the Templars are to meet there - soon?'
'Yes.'
'Then we must not delay. We must keep a vigil there from this night on.'
Ezio was despondent. 'Da Bagnone told me it was already too late to stop them.'
Mario grinned. 'Well then, it's up to us to prove him wrong.' It was the third night of the vigil. Mario had returned to his base to continue his schemes against the Templars in San Gimignano, and left Ezio with five trusted men, Gambalto among them, to keep watch concealed in the dense woods which fringed the isolated, desolate ruins of the Temple of Mithras. This was a large set of buildings developed over centuries, whose last occupant had indeed been Mithras, the god the Roman army had adopted, but which contained more ancient chapels, once consecrated to Minerva, Venus and Mercury. There was also a theatre attached to the complex, whose stage was still solid, though faced by a broken semicircle of terraced stone benches, the home now of scorpions and mice, backed by a crumbling wall and flanked by broken columns where owls had made their nests. Everywhere ivy climbed, and tough buddleia shouldered its way through the cracks it had made in the stained and decaying marble. Over all, the moon cast a ghastly light, and, used though they were to tackling mortal foes unafraid, one or two of the men were distinctly nervous.
Ezio had told himself that they would keep watch for a week, but he knew it would be hard for the men to keep their nerve in this place for that long, for the ghosts of the pagan past were a strong presence here. But towards midnight, as the Assassins ached in every limb from lack of activity and keeping still, they heard the faint tinkling of harness. Ezio and his men braced themselves. Soon afterwards there rode through the complex a dozen soldiers bearing torches and headed by three men. They were making for the theatre. Ezio and his condottieri shadowed them there.
The men dismounted and formed a protective circle round their three leaders. Watching, Ezio recognized with triumph the face of the man he had sought so long - Jacopo de' Pazzi, a harassed-looking greybeard of sixty. He was accompanied by one man he did not know and another whom he did - the beak-nosed, crimson-cowled, unmistakable figure of Rodrigo Borgia! Grimly, Ezio attached the poison-blade to the mechanism on his right wrist.
'You know why I have called this meeting,' Rodrigo began. 'I have given you more than enough time, Jacopo. But you have yet to redeem yourself.'
'I am sorry, Commendatore. I have done all that is within my power. The Assassins have outflanked me.'
'You have not regained Florence.'
