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When darkness drapes herself over the city of Firenze the nightlife stirs awake with eagerness.
From his perch on high Ezio can see golden light pouring from bars and brothels alike. People of all walks of life are milling about, attending to their creature comforts. The air is warm, and pleasant, heralding the first month of summer.
The perfect night for something to go wrong.
He can’t exactly explain the feeling in his gut, but it weighs heavy within him. Ezio stays there, observing with his eagle’s eye, occasionally checking for any guards patrolling the rooftops. To his surprise he spots a familiar face amidst the throng: Leonardo, with nothing but a quill and parchment. Perhaps he was planning to pay with art instead of florins again?
“You old fool,” he mutters, shaking his head.
Ezio slides down the shingled roof, his curiosity spurring him on. He would like to be there in case anything goes wrong, and maybe in case there’s a barmaid that catches his eye.
He pushes his way into the crowded tavern, aptly named Il Vecchio Focolare . It is warm and stuffy, filled with laughter, the clack of dice, and drunken songs. The smell of roasted meat and ale permeates the room. Ezio slinks over to a nearby table, blending in with the crowd. Already he sees trouble brewing between Leonardo and the bartender.
“A drink? Please, Giovanni?” Leonardo pleads, showing the man his sketches, “I may have left my purse at home, but a drawing would suffice as payment, no?”
“I told you already once to leave, Leonardo,” Giovanni seethes, barely disguising his contempt. His face is sanguine with anger, “Are you trying to get my establishment burnt down?!”
“Pardoni? What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean-!” The bartender is cut off by someone slamming the door open. His once red face becomes pallid with fear. The entire tavern goes still. They must’ve attracted a guard with all of the clamor.
“ What is going on here?” The guard booms. He’s an older man, with an intimidating sword at his hip. His armor is polished, and bright plumes of feathers spill from the top of his helmet. Judging by his attire he isn’t just any guard either, but an Ufficiale Della Notte .
There were no guards like them in any other part of Italy, for they were trained specifically rooting out the ‘vice’ that plagued Firenze. In other words this man was looking for sodomites, and right now he was staring daggers at Leonardo.
“Merda...” Ezio curses under his breath. He is glad he trusted his gut enough to investigate.
“Salve, officer!” The bartender squeaks out, “Listen, I was just telling him to leave, but he kept being stubborn,” Giovanni points an accusatory finger at Leonardo.
The officer scrutinizes Leonardo for a moment before recognizing him. “Oh, I believe we’ve met before, no?”
Leonardo’s eyes become trained on the floor as bright red shame suffuses through his face. He swallows before speaking.
“I don’t- that was a long time ago, officer.”
“Really? So the name Jacopo Saltarelli means nothing to you?”
Leonardo continues to make himself as small as possible. He clearly viewed that time of his life with much regret.
“I told you that was years ago. I paid with prison time, or was that not enough?”
“How do I know you’re not a repeat offender, eh? Why are you hanging around this seedy tavern in the first place? I say, you lot are turning the good city of Firenze into another Sodom!”
If Giovanni is offended by the comment about his tavern he doesn’t make it known. The officer continues.
“My job is to uphold the virtue and order of this city, and if that means dragging you back to prison, or Lord forbid the pyre, then I shall do what I must!” The guard leans in closer, scowling.
Ezio stands up suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. He may have broken the tenant of silence, but he couldn’t stand by and watch his friend get berated. Leonardo’s mouth is agape, unable to believe his eyes or ears.
“Enough! Is this what you Officers of the Night call benevolence?”
The guard turns around to face him. “Excuse me?”
“Unless I am mistaken, signore, your role is to guide the people of this city rather than antagonize them! Leave my friend alone.”
“How dare you question my authority! It’s a poor choice, you know, to associate with such filth. Perhaps you both need to be turned in,” He reaches for his sword.
“Hey, hey!” Giovanni cuts in with a cry, “If you two are going to fight like children please go do so outside of my bar!”
Ezio nods in agreement, “Sí, officer, have some decorum! If we are to settle this with violence let us do so properly,” He chides, slipping out the door with a grin, the officer storming right after him. Leonardo, feeling somewhat responsible for causing this mess, follows suit.
The moment Ezio gets outside he’s greeted by the moonlight dancing over the Arno river. He hears the slice of a sword being removed from its sheath cut through the night.
“I hope you enjoy the view from a jail cell as much as you do out here.”
Ezio hears the cacophonous metal boots drawing ever closer. He takes a deep breath of the sweet air, steeling himself before turning around to face his opponent.
He narrowly dodges out of the way of the guard’s blade, feeling it graze against his cheek like a deadly caress. The left side of his face is now wet with blood.
Ezio unsheaths both hidden blades with a click, a terrifying sight for anyone with good sense. He tries to see any weak points or discrepancies in the shiny armor, but can find none. However, the guard’s foot work is sloppy, and he is prone to anger, something that Ezio can use to his advantage.
“Do they not teach you how to fight? You strut around more like a peacock than a guardian of the city!” he snickers, “you even have the feathers to boot!”
“Assassino!” The guard howls, rushing at him like a bull. The blade comes down like an executioner's axe, which Ezio barely deflects with his wrist blades. One of them breaks, sending a flurry of shrapnel skittering across the bridge.
Ezio barely has any time to shout ‘vaffanculo’ among other expletives before there’s another flurry of slashes. He manages to dodge the onslaught with unmatched agility, putting some distance between himself and the guard who circles around him like a shark.
“Come on, Officer! Quit stalling and fight me!” He goads. The officer rushes at him once more, fury smoldering in his eyes.
Ezio steps out of the way just in time. In his blind rage he stumbles over the banister into the Arno river below. Ezio winces as the guard sinks like a stone to the bottom, water gurgling frantically before going still.
“There. I suppose that takes care of that,” he sighs, looking down at the broken blade.
“Merda! Now I must get this repaired,” Ezio laments, wiping the blood off of the side of his face with his sleeve.
He whirls around when he feels a tap on his shoulder, pointing the end of his good blade towards the stranger.
“What do you-! Oh, Leonardo, amico mio! I didn’t see you!” Ezio retracts his blade. Leonardo looks at him sheepishly.
“I wanted to say grazie. You saved my life! Is there any way I can repay you? A portrait, perhaps?”
“No, as much as I would like to have my memory preserved forever in a canvas, I must decline. There is something you can do for me, though,” he shows him the shattered blade, “one of my hidden blades got destroyed. Could you fix it?”
“Hm,” Leonardo takes the weapon in his hand, examining it from all angles, “the mechanism itself seems fine enough, it’s the blade that needs to be replaced. Follow me to my workshop, we can talk more there.”
…
Ezio admires Leonardo as his his deft hands repair the blade with practiced ease.
“There,” he pushes the blade across the table to him, “all fixed!”
“Grazie, Leo,” he slips the blade onto his wrist, testing it a bit. He’s clearly impressed with Leonardo’s work.
“Leonardo, when the Night Officer said he knew you…what did he mean by that? And who’s Jacopo Saltarelli?” He pries.
“Ah, I figured you would ask about that,” he shifts uncomfortably, “well, it happened the year you and I first met, actually. 1476.”
“Oh? And you said nothing of it that whole time? I’m surprised I did not know sooner.”
“How could I! I was so ashamed afterwards. I vowed never to speak of it again. Ah, but I digress,” he fidgets with his hat, unsure of how to continue.
"It was myself and four others, one of those four being Jacopo. I could not tell you much of what happened, all five of us were well inebriated, but I can assure you it was only some harmless fun. Anyway, I suppose afterwards Jacopo sought to clear his name and his mind of what happened that evening. I knew nothing of his betrayal until the Night Officers were knocking at my door.”
“That’s outrageous! Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Leonardo looks around as if something in his workshop would have the answer.
“Perhaps he wanted to save his own skin, or perhaps he wanted to make money off of any convictions. Probably both,” he says bitterly, “It does no good to speculate now. He probably left Firenze long ago. It’s nigh impossible to return from such blemishes on one’s reputation.”
Leonardo lets out a cold laugh. Ezio was not used to the typically joyful painter acting so cynical.
“I was thrown in jail because of him, and it took two months for the courts to decide to throw away the case entirely. Two months of agonizing uncertainty. Two months of not knowing what my fate would be. At best, a fine of twenty-five or so florins, but at worst…” he trails off, the implications leaden on his tongue.
Ezio did not need him to finish his sentence to know what he was going to say. A pyre was customary, but sometimes it was public humiliation, or even castration depending on the nature of the crime.
“I’m sorry, Leo,” he apologizes earnestly.
“What for?”
“For all of this! It isn’t fair how they treated you!”
“Ah, that is the nature of things. It’s funny. For being in the age of progress and enlightenment, we still seem so far behind, so obsessed with our antiquated ways. What I don’t get is why after all this time they decide once again to come after me! And so violent too, normally the people complain they are too lax with their punishments. I wonder what’s changed?”
“You’re right about that, amico mio. Unless…”
“You don’t mean!” Leonardo’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Templars,” he nods solemnly.
“It would certainly make sense, but what do we do about it?”
“I don’t think we need to do anything.”
“How come?” Leonardo looks at him quizzically.
“Ah, from what I’ve heard the government is fed up with them. In a few years time they will be shut down, no doubt. Another failed attempt at control by the templars.”
“Sí, sí, I hope you’re right.”
“Ah, trust me Leo! The night must make way for dawn eventually.”