'Looks like I won,' said Ezio.
She frowned. 'Nonsense. Anyway, even by saying that, you show yourself to be no gentleman and certainly no Venetian. But what can one expect of a Florentine?' She paused. 'In any case you are a liar. I won.'
Ezio shrugged and smiled. 'Whatever you say, carissima.'
'Then, to the victor, the spoils,' she said, pulling his head down to hers and kissing him passionately upon the lips. Her body, now, was soft and warm, and infinitely yielding.
16
Emilio Barbarigo may not have been able to make the appointment in the Campo San Stefano himself, but Ezio was certainly not going to miss it. He positioned himself in the already bustling square at dawn on that bright morning late in 1485. The battle for ascendancy over the Templars was hard and long. Ezio began to believe that, as it had been for his father and was for his uncle, it would turn out to be his life's work too.
His hood pulled up over his head, he melted into the crowd but stayed close as he saw the figure of Carlo Grimaldi approaching with another man, ascetic-looking, whose bushy auburn hair and beard were ill-sorted with his bluish, pallid skin, and who wore the red robes of a State Inquisitor. This, Ezio knew, was Silvio Barbarigo, Emilio's cousin, whose soubriquet was 'Il Rosso'. He did not look in a particularly good mood.
'Where is Emilio?' he asked impatiently.
Grimaldi shrugged. 'I told him to be here.'
'You told him yourself? In person?'
'Yes,' Grimaldi snapped back. 'Myself! In person! I'm concerned that you don't trust me.'
'As am I,' muttered Silvio. Grimaldi gritted his teeth at that, but Silvio merely looked around, abstractedly. 'Well, perhaps he'll arrive with the others. Let's walk a while.'
They proceeded to stroll around the large, rectangular campo, past the church of San Vidal and the palaces at the Grand Canal end, up to San Stefano at the other, pausing from time to time to look at the wares the stallholders were setting out at the beginning of the day's trading. Ezio shadowed them, but it was difficult. Grimaldi was on edge, and kept turning round suspiciously. At times it was all Ezio could do to keep his quarry within earshot.
'While we're waiting, you can bring me up to date with how things are at the Doge's Palace,' said Silvio.
Grimaldi spread his hands. 'Well, to be honest with you, it's not easy. Mocenigo keeps his circle close. I have tried to lay the groundwork, as you asked, making suggestions in the interest of our Cause, but of course I am not the only one vying for his attention, and old though he is, he's a canny bugger.'
Silvio picked up a complicated-looking glass figurine from a stall, inspected it, and put it back. 'Then you must work harder, Grimaldi. You must become part of his inner circle.'
'I am already one of his closest and most trusted associates. It has taken me years to establish myself. Years of patient planning, of waiting, of accepting humiliations.'
'Yes, yes,' said Silvio impatiently. 'But what have you to show for it?'
'It's harder than I expected.'
'And why is that?'
Grimaldi made a gesture of frustration. 'I don't know. I do my utmost for the State, I work hard. But the fact is, Mocenigo doesn't like me.'
'I wonder why not,' said Silvio coolly.
Grimaldi was too absorbed in his thoughts to notice the snub. 'It's not my fault! I keep trying to please the bastard! I find out what he most desires and lay it on for him - the finest jams from Sardinia, the latest fashions from Milan -'
'Maybe the Doge just doesn't like sycophants.'
'Do you think that's what I am?'
'Yes. A doormat, flatterer, a bootlicker - need I go on?'
Grimaldi looked at him. 'Don't you insult me, Inquisitore. You haven't a clue what it's like. You don't understand the pressure in the -'
'Oh, I don't understand pressure?'
'No! You have no idea. You may be a state official but I am two steps from the Doge almost every waking hour of the day. You wish you could be in my shoes, because you think you could do better, but -'
'Have you finished?'
'No! Just listen. I am close to the man. I have dedicated my life to establishing myself in this position, and I tell you I am convinced I can recruit Mocenigo to our Cause.' Grimaldi paused. 'I just need a little more time.'
'It seems to me that you've had more than enough time already.' Silvio broke off, and Ezio watched as he raised a hand to attract the attention of an expensively dressed elderly man with a flowing white beard, accompanied by a bodyguard who was the largest person Ezio had ever seen.
'Good morning, Cousin,' the newcomer greeted Silvio. 'Grimaldi.'
'Greetings, Cousin Marco,' replied Silvio. He looked around. 'Where is Emilio? Did he not come with you?'
Marco Barbarigo looked surprised, then grave. 'Ah. Then you have not yet heard the news.'
'What news?'
'Emilio is dead!'
'What?' Silvio, as always, was irritated that his older and more powerful cousin should be better informed than he was. 'How?'
'I can guess,' said Grimaldi, bitterly. 'The Assassino.'
Marco looked at him sharply. 'It is so. They pulled his body out of one of the canals late last night. It must have been in there for - well, for long enough. They say he'd swollen up to twice his usual size. That's why he floated to the surface.'
'Where can the Assassin be hiding?' Grimaldi said. 'We must find him and kill him before he does any more damage.'
'He could be anywhere,' said Marco. 'That is why I take Dante here everywhere with me. I wouldn't feel safe without him.' He broke off. 'Why, he could be here, even now, for all we know.'
'We must act fast,' said Silvio.
'You're right,' said Marco.
'But Marco, I'm so close. I feel it. Just give me a few more days,' Grimaldi pleaded.
'No, Carlo, you've had quite enough time. We no longer have the leisure for subtlety. If Mocenigo will not join us, we must remove him and replace him with one of our own, and we must do it this very week!'
The giant bodyguard, Dante, whose eyes had not ceased to scan the crowd from the moment he and Marco Barbarigo had arrived, now spoke. 'We should keep moving, signori.'
'Yes,' agreed Marco. 'And the Master will be waiting. Come!'
Ezio moved like a shade among the crowds and the stalls, striving to keep the men within earshot as they crossed the square and made off down the street which led in the general direction of Saint Mark's Square.
'Will the Master agree to our new strategy?' asked Silvio.
'He'd be a fool not to.'
'You're right, we have no choice,' Silvio agreed, then looked at Grimaldi. 'Which kind of makes you redundant,' he added unpleasantly.
'That is a matter for the Master to decide,' retorted Grimaldi. 'Just as he will decide whom to place in Mocenigo's shoes -you, or your cousin Marco here. And the best person to advise him on that is me!'
'I wasn't aware that there was a decision to be made,' said Marco. 'Surely the choice is obvious to all.'
'I agree,' said Silvio, edgily. 'The choice should fall on the person who organized the entire operation, the one who came up with the idea of how to save this city!'
Marco was quick to reply. 'I would be the last to undervalue tactical intelligence, my good Silvio; but in the end it is wisdom which one needs in order to rule. Do not think otherwise.'
