Brotherhood

the bolts he could-recalling Leonardo's advice. Stowing the crossbow, he made his way back to Bartolomeo.

'All done?' the big man asked him.

'All done.'

'Valois next,' Bartolomeo vowed. 'I'll make him squeal like a stuck pig.'

The sky was lightening, and dawn, clad in a russet mantle, was walking over the dew on the distant hills to the east.

'We'd better get going,' said Bartolomeo.

'Come on, then,' replied Ezio, clapping manacles on his friend's wrists before he could object. 'Don't worry- they're fakes. Spring-loaded. Just make a sudden tight fist and they'll drop off. But for God's sake, wait for my signal. And by the way, the 'guard' just to your left will stay close to you. He's got Bianca under his cloak. All you have to do is reach across and…' Ezio's voice took on a warning note, 'But at my signal!'

'Aye, aye, sir.' Bartolomeo smiled.

At the head of his men, Bartolomeo two paces behind him with a special escort of four, Ezio marched boldly in the direction of the main gate of the French headquarters. The rising sun glittered on their chain mail and breastplates.

'Halte-la!' ordered a sergeant-commander at the gate. He was backed up by a dozen heavily armed sentries, but his eyes had already taken in the uniforms of his fellow soldiers. 'Declarez-vous!'

'Je suis le Lieutenant Guillemot, et j'emmene le General d'Alviano ici present a Son Excellence le General Duc Monsieur de Valois. Le General d'Alviano s'est rendu, seul et sans armes, selon les exigences de Monsieur le Duc,' said Ezio fluently, causing Bartolomeo behind him to raise an eyebrow.

'Well, Lieutenant Guillemot, the general will be pleased to see General d'Alviano, and that he's come to his senses,' said the captain of the guard, who had hurried up to take charge. 'But there's something-just a trace- about your accent that I cannot place. Tell me, what part of France are you from?'

Ezio drew a breath. 'Montreal,' he replied firmly.

'Open the gates,' the captain of the guard said to his sergeant.

'Open the gates!' shouted the sergeant.

Within seconds, Ezio was leading his men into the heart of the French headquarters. He fell back a step so as to have Bartolomeo, and the 'prisoner's' escort, at his side.

'I'll kill the lot of them,' muttered Bartolomeo. 'And eat their kidneys fried for breakfast. By the way, I didn't know you spoke French.'

'Picked it up in Florence,' Ezio replied casually. 'Couple of girls there I knew.' He was quietly glad his accent had passed muster.

'You rogue! Still, that's where they say the best place is to learn a language.'

'What-Florence?'

'No, you fool-bed!'

'Shut up.'

'You sure these manacles are fakes?'

'Not yet, Barto. Be patient! And shut up!'

'It's taking all my patience. What are they saying?'

'I'll tell you later.'

And it was just as well that Bartolomeo's French was limited to a few words, thought Ezio, as he listened to the jibes being hurled at his friend: 'Chien d'Italien'-Italian dog; 'Prosterne-toi devant tes superieurs'-Bow down before your betters; 'Regarde-le, comme il a honte de ce qu'il est devenu!'-Look at him, how ashamed of himself he is at his own downfall!

But the ordeal was soon over. They had arrived at the foot of the broad stairway that led up to the entrance of the French general's quarters. Valois himself stood at the head of a bunch of officers, his prisoner, Pantasilea, at his side. Her hands were tied behind her back, and she wore loose manacles on her ankles, which would allow her to walk, but only in small steps. At the sight of her, Bartolomeo could not resist an angry growl. Ezio kicked him.

Valois held up his hand. 'No need for violence, Lieutenant, though I do congratulate you on your zeal.' He turned his attention to Bartolomeo. 'My dear general, it seems that you have seen the light.'

'Enough of your crap!' snarled Bartolomeo. 'Release my wife! And get these cuffs off me!'

'Oh, dear,' said Valois. 'Such high-handedness, and from someone born with absolutely nothing to his name.'

Ezio was about to give the signal when Bartolomeo retorted to Valois, raising his voice: 'My name is worth its currency. Unlike yours, which is counterfeit!'

The surrounding troops fell silent.

'How dare you?' said Valois, white with rage.

'You think that commanding an army in itself grants you status-nobility? True nobility of spirit comes from fighting alongside your men, not by kidnapping a woman to cheat your way out of a battle. Why don't you release my wife?!'

'You savages never learn,' said Valois malevolently, and producing a pistol, he cocked it and pointed it at Pantasilea's head.

Ezio knew he had to act fast. He took out a pistol and fired one shot into the air. At the same time, Bartolomeo, who'd been dying for the moment, bunched his fists and the manacles flew off.

Pandemonium followed. The disguised condottieri with Ezio immediately attacked the startled French soldiers, and Bartolomeo, seizing Bianca from the 'guard' still on his left, bounded up the stairway. But Valois was too quick for him. Keeping a tight hold on Pantasilea, he backed into his quarters, slamming the door behind him.

'Ezio!' implored Bartolomeo. 'You have to save my wife! Only you can! That place is built like a strongbox!'

Ezio nodded and tried to give his friend a reassuring smile. He scanned the building from where he stood. It was not large, but it was a massive new structure, built by French military architects and designed to be impregnable. There was nothing for it but to try to gain entry from the rooftops, where no one would be expecting an assault, and where, therefore, the weak points might be. Might be.

Well, there was nothing for it but to try. Ezio leapt up the stairs and, taking advantage of the melee, which was taking up everyone else's attention, he looked for a place where he might best climb. Suddenly, a dozen Frenchmen started after him, keen swords flashing in the early morning sun, but in a flash Bartolomeo was standing between him and them, flourishing Bianca menacingly.

The walls were designed to be unassailable, but there were enough nooks and crannies in them for Ezio to be able to plot a route with his eyes, and within a couple of moments he was on the roof. It was flat and made of wood overlaid with tile. There were five French sentries stationed up there. They challenged him, as he sprang over the parapet, demanding a password. He could not give one, and they ran toward him, halberds lowered. It was lucky they were not armed with muskets or pistols. Ezio shot the first one, then drew his sword and gave battle to the other four, who put up a desperate struggle, surrounding him and jabbing mercilessly with the points of their weapons. One slashed his sleeve open, nicking his elbow and drawing blood, but then the blade slid harmlessly off the metal bracer on his left forearm.

Using the bracer and his sword, he was able to defend himself against the increasingly frenetic blows. Ezio's skill with his blade was offset by having to tackle four opponents at once. But thoughts of Bartolomeo's beloved wife spurred him on-he knew, simply, that he could not fail, he must not fail. The tide of the fight turned in his favor-he ducked under two swords that were slashing toward his head, and engaged another with his bracer- leaving him free to smash aside the fourth man's blade. The maneuver gave him the opening-and a lethal slash across the man's jaw felled him. Three to go. Ezio stepped forward toward the nearest Frenchman, inside his guard-it threw the man, giving him no room to wield his sword. Ezio flicked his hidden-blade forward and into the man's abdomen. Two left-both looking more nervous. It took just a couple of minutes to defeat the two French guards-who no longer had the advantage of numbers. Their swordplay was simply not up to challenging Ezio's mastery of the blade. Breathing heavily and leaning on his sword for a moment, Ezio stood in the midst of another five vanquished foes.

The roof gave way in its center to a large square opening. After reloading his pistol, Ezio approached this