Oliver Bowden - Assassin's Creed - Renaissance

Ezio, enraged at the treachery, stepped forward and punched his former friend full in the face. 'Duccio, you should be ashamed of yourself! You insult my sister, parading around with this. this puttana!'

'Who are you calling a puttana?' the girl snarled, but she got to her feet and backed off.

'I should have thought even a girl like you could do better than this arsehole,' Ezio told her. 'Do you really think he's going to make you into a lady?'

'Don't you talk to her like that,' Duccio hissed. 'At least she's more generous with her favours than your tight-assed little sister. But I guess she's got a hole as dry as a nun's. Pity, I could have taught her a thing or two. But there again -'

Ezio interrupted him coldly. 'You've broken her heart, Duccio -'

'Have I? What a shame.'

'- Which is why I am going to break your arm.'

The girl screamed at this, and fled. Ezio seized the whining Duccio and forced the young gallant's right arm over the edge of the stone bench on which he'd been sitting with a hard-on only moments before. He pushed the forearm against the stone until Duccio's whining turned to tears.

'Stop it, Ezio! I beg you! I'm my father's only son!'

Ezio looked at him with contempt, and released him. Duccio fell to the ground and rolled over, nursing his bruised arm and whimpering, his fine clothes torn and besmirched.

'You're not worth the effort,' Ezio told him. 'But if you don't want me to change my mind about that arm of yours, stay away from Claudia. And stay away from me.'

After the incident, Ezio walked a long way home, wandering along the riverbank until he'd almost reached the fields. When he turned back, the shadows were lengthening, but his mind was calmer. It would never become him as a man, he told himself, to allow his anger ever fully to rule him.

Close to his house, he caught sight of his younger brother, whom he hadn't seen since the morning of the previous day. He greeted the lad warmly. 'Ciao, Petruccio. What are you up to? Have you given your tutor the slip? And anyway, isn't it past your bedtime?'

'Don't be silly. I'm practically grown-up. In a few years' time, I'll be able to knock the stuffing out of you!' The brothers grinned at each other. Petruccio was holding a carved pearwood box close to his chest. It was open, and Ezio noticed a handful of white and brown feathers in it. 'They're eagle's feathers,' explained the boy. He pointed to the top of the tower of a nearby building. 'There's an old nest up there. The young must have fledged and gone. I can see plenty more feathers caught in the stonework.' Petruccio looked at his brother pleadingly. 'Ezio, would you mind getting a few more for me?'

'Well, what do you want them for?' Petruccio looked down. 'It's a secret,' he said. 'If I get them for you, will you go in? It's late.' 'Yes.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

'All right, then.' Ezio thought, well, I've done Claudia a favour today, no reason why I shouldn't do one for Petruccio as well. Climbing the tower was tricky, as its stone was smooth and he had to concentrate to find grips and toeholds in the joints between its stones. Higher up, ornamental mouldings helped as well. In the end, it took him half an hour, but he managed to gather fifteen more feathers - all that he could see - and brought them back to Petruccio. 'You missed one,' said Petruccio, pointing up. 'Bed!' growled his brother. Petruccio fled.

Ezio hoped their mother would be pleased with the gift. It didn't take much to fathom Petruccio's secrets. He smiled as he entered the house himself.

The following morning Ezio woke late, but found to his relief that his father had no immediate business for him to see to. He wandered into the garden, where he found his mother overseeing work on her cherry trees, from which the blossom was just beginning to fade. She smiled when she saw him, and beckoned him over. Maria Auditore was a tall, dignified woman in her early forties, her long black hair braided under a pure white muslin cap edged with the black and gold colours of the family.

'Ezio! Buon' giorno.'

'Madre.'

'How are you? Better, I hope.' Gently, she touched the wound on his head.

'I'm fine.'

'Your father said you should rest as long as you could.'

'I have no need of rest, Mamma!'

'Well, at any rate there will be no excitement for you this morning. Your father has asked that I take care of you. I know what you've been up to.'

'I don't know what you mean.'

'Don't play games with me, Ezio. I know about your fight with Vieri.'

'He has been spreading foul stories about our family. I could not let that go unpunished.'

'Vieri's under pressure, the more so since his father was arrested.' She paused thoughtfully. 'Francesco de' Pazzi may be many things, but I never would have imagined him capable of joining a plot to murder a duke.'

'What will happen to him?'

'There'll be a trial. I imagine your father may be a key witness, when our own Duke Lorenzo returns.'

Ezio looked restless.

'Don't worry, you've nothing to fear. And I'm not going to ask you to do anything you wouldn't like - in fact, I want you to accompany me on an errand I have to run. It won't take long, and I think you may even find it enjoyable.'

'I'll be happy to help you, Mamma.'

'Come, then. It's not far.'

They left the palazzo on foot together, arm in arm, and walked in the direction of the cathedral, to the small quarter near it where many of the artists of Florence had their workshops and studios. Some, like those of Verrocchio and the rising star Alessandro di Moriano Filipepi, who'd already acquired the nickname Botticelli, were large, busy places, where assistants and apprentices were busy grinding colours and mixing pigments, others, humbler. It was at the door of one of these that Maria halted and knocked. It was opened immediately by a handsome, well- dressed young man, almost dandified but athletic-looking, with a shock of dark brown hair and a luxuriant beard. He might have been six or seven years older than Ezio.

'Madonna Auditore! Welcome! I've been expecting you.'

'Leonardo, buon' giorno.' The two exchanged formal kisses. This artist must be well in with my mother, thought Ezio, but already he liked the look of the man. 'This is my son, Ezio,' continued Maria.

The artist bowed. 'Leonardo da Vinci,' he said. 'Molto onorato, signore.'

'Maestro.'

'Not quite that - yet,' smiled Leonardo. 'But what am I thinking of? Come in, come in! Wait here, I'll see if my assistant can find some wine for you while I go and get your paintings.'

The studio was not large, but the clutter in it made it look even smaller than it was. Tables were heaped with the skeletons of birds and small mammals, while jars filled with colourless fluid contained organic objects of one kind or another, though Ezio was hard put to it to recognize any of them. A broad workbench at the back held some curious structures painstakingly crafted in wood, and two easels bore unfinished paintings whose tones were darker than usual, and whose outlines were less clearly defined. Ezio and Maria made themselves comfortable, and, emerging from an inner room, a handsome youth appeared with a tray bearing wine and small cakes. He served them, smiled shyly, and withdrew.

'Leonardo's very talented.'

'If you say so, Madre. I know little of art.' Ezio thought that his life would consist of following in his father's footsteps, even though, deep within him, there was a rebellious and adventurous streak which he knew would sit ill in the character of a Florentine banker. In any case, like his older brother, he saw himself as a man of action, not as an artist or a connoisseur.

'You know, self-expression is a vital part of understanding life, and enjoying it to the full.' She looked at him. 'You should find an outlet yourself, my dear.'