Nightfall

Florence, spring, 1475

Ezio Auditore di Firenze leisurely strolled down the line of stalls and booths selling wares, taking in the scenery of jostling people and merchants bartering with citizens, as he gazed through the crowd he spied a young woman that caught his eye. She was selling brightly colored wildflowers, bent over picking up shards of a broken clay vase. He paused leaning down to help her.

“Many thanks, Signor…?”

“Auditore. But you mia bellezza, can call me Ezio.”

He said charmingly, cupping one of her hands in his own and kissing it gently. This seemed to surprise her and a most attractive blush lit her cheeks, she hastily jerked hand away saying something about how she thought it best for him to leave now. Just then a guard who looked to be in his early thirties strode over and accosted them.

“Rosa? Who is this boy?”

“N-Nobody...”

The guard scrutinized the Ezio as if trying to discern some almost unperceivable detail about the young man who bristled at being called a “boy”. Ezio bit back a retort, trying to maintain his temper. The guard continued scrutinizing the teen despite pleading from the girl.

“I’ve seen you before, weren’t you the one that—“

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of; I really must be leaving now, buongiorno to you both.”

The older man made a protesting statement, but Ezio had already turned and walked hastily away. “Guards, Guards get him!” The teen broke into a jog, then a run as he shoved his way through the crowd. The chase is on. He thought as he climbed up a wall to escape. It was almost laughable how the guards thought a wall meant a sure dead end.

He dashed from roof to roof seemingly flying like his name sake, the eagle, over the streets and alleyways of Florence. Running over the roofs exulting in the rush of adrenaline, they would never catch the great signore Auditore. Landing on a lower rooftop he rolled to dissipate the fall, sprinting across a rooftop he leapt down onto the top of a wooden awning, the wood was old, and it groaned under his weight and with a loud crack the timber broke, splintering as the teen plummeted to the street below. Landing awkwardly, he cursed as pain shot up his right leg, he staggered to a nearby wall, gratefully accepting the support it gave, after a moment he experimentally put weight back on his injured leg. “Merda!”  He gasped, taking deep breaths, trying to focus on his breathing and not on the flaring pain in his leg; he wondered belatedly if it was broken, Leonardo would know. He shouldn’t have been so careless about where he was putting his feet, should’ve seen it coming.

The raised voices of his pursuers could still be heard, he hoped they had seen where he had seen where he had fallen, as he could have no chance if they did find him and it came to open combat with his limited mobility caused by the injury to his leg. Ezio’s mind fantasized that the voices sounded almost like the braying of blood-thirsty hounds on a hunt. He had better get back to the villa soon as the sun was already hanging low in the sky. Setting his jaw and hardening his resolve, he set off limping severely, his leg dragging slightly; he stopped every few feet to lean against a wall for a moment’s rest before continuing on. At this accursedly slow pace he was never going to make it back home before nightfall, Leonardo’s workshop was closer. Ezio eventually came to another of the city’s many open squares, drawing breath and letting out a piercing whistle. Moments went past and then he was beginning to doubt whether or not the call had worked when he heard the clatter of hoof beats on stone approaching and an answering whinny as a bay stallion cantered over the square to him.

“What took you so long?”

The bay horse shoved the teen with his head as if to say I’m here now, aren’t I?

“Ooof!—I’m sorry I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Ezio apologized, giving the stallion’s head a loving stroke and brushing aside the bay’s long black forelock, exposing the white marking that lay beneath. The bay stared back at Ezio with one dark, intelligent eye, the other obscured by a dense forelock, seemingly drinking in the teen’s every word. The teen with difficulty swung up into the saddle, putting his heels to the horse’s sides and the stallion set off with at a brisk trot, and then a canter; every stride jarring him and sending shockwaves of pain up his leg, making him grind his teeth. Just when he was beginning to think he had lost his pursuers their exclaimations of “There he is! Get him!” came to his ears, cursing again he spurred his horse, Silvano, forward, swerving between buildings and trying to take a more circuitous route to the river, wishing that Silvano‘s hooves didn’t make quite such a resounding sound on the smooth paving stones of the road. As they neared the bridge at the far end of the city Ezio slowed Silvano and dismounted gingerly, his right leg aching, he lead the bay into the rapidly flowing water. At first the stallion balked, ears back and head up, but after being urged continued on in, icy water rushing around their legs.  The water was freezing cold with fresh melted snow and ice from the recent thaw; he waded deeper into the river, his left foot meeting with a slime-covered rock, and with a splash he fell into the water. The icy water hit him, feeling like a million tiny daggers stabbing at his skin, beating against his already straining lungs, he would’ve in all certainty been swept away had it not been for his vice-like grip on the reins of Silvano‘s bridle. He broke the surface, gasping in great lung fulls of air; he wrapped his arms wearily around the bay’s strong neck, practically sobbing with relief. After regaining his footing he limped carefully deeper into the river, under the bridge, meaning to hide. Again angered shouts rang in Ezio’s ears, closer almost upon them. He could hear the thud of boots overhead, the men disputed where Ezio had escaped to, and some said there must’ve been witchcraft involved. The teen’s clothes were soaking wet and hung heavy and cold on his lean body, chilling him even further. Silvano’s nostrils flared as if the stallion was about to let loose a whinny, Ezio roughly yanked on the reins, jerking the bit, effectively silencing something that would’ve exposed their position. The bay’s eyes showed white around the edges and his ears snapped back against his scull. Once Ezio was sure the men had left, he led the bay back out of the river onto dry land, and he tried to re-mount but found it was easier said than done. Silvano, sensing what the teen was trying to do the stallion knelt; amazed and relieved at the same time he mounted, and made a mental note in his head to double the stallion’s rations, praising the bay.

By the time they reached Leonardo’s workshop Ezio was shivering, chilled to the bone, the pain in his right leg having condensed into a dull excruciating ache. The day had not been very warm to start, and with the sun’s warm rays long since passed beneath the far horizon, the night had become cool again, mother earth seemingly unwilling to relinquish her wintry hold on the world. Leonardo met them with a lantern in hand, a puzzled look upon his face. The Ezio slid off Silvano, his breath catching in his throat as his legs hit the ground, and he tried not to scream. The older man helped him untack and care for the stallion, as they made to leave the small stable Leonardo noticed Ezio’s pronounced limp and worriedly asked him what was wrong.

“My god, Ezio are you hurt?”

“I-It’s nothing—“

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing! I’ve known you far too long Auditore, and I’ll be damned before I let you go on with an untreated injury. Now, tell what is wrong.”



“My leg…”

Da Vinci glanced briefly down at the teen’s legs before helping for Ezio hobble out of the small stable and into his house. Leonardo left the teen leaning against the doorframe while he rushed in to clear off the drawings and notes that were strewn about everywhere so Ezio could have a place to lie down. Leonardo again assisted Ezio in moving across the room to his bed. The teen sank gratefully down into the mattress, he looked so tired in had been a long day.

“Now before you get too at ease, I need to take a look at that leg of yours.”

He heard the older man say knelt by the Ezio and began to tug off his boot. The teen’s eye twitched and he set his jaw, seemingly determined not to admit that he felt the pain in his leg.

“It seems your leg has swelled and is preventing the removal of your boot, it will be a lot less painful if I cut it and be done with it.”

“No signore, erano un regalo dal mio padre.” Ezio said switching to quick spoken Italian, paling as a sweat beaded on his forehead.

“Come voi desiderate, mio amico.”

The older man answered, giving the stubborn boot one last hard yank and it came free with a small squelching noise, water dribbling out. Ezio grimaced; the chords in his neck were taunt with stress. Leonardo squeezed the injured teen’s leg feeling for the break before speaking again, reverting to English.

“I have to reset the bone, it might hurt a little.”

Ezio nodded grimly.

“The weather was nice today, very fine I thought…“

“What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about the god da—Aaghhhh!”

Ezio’s scream rang out into the night so loudly a flock of birds nesting in a nearby took flight in a cacophony of flapping wings and frightened squawking. After a pause the teen shouted at the older man.

“Dio nel cielo, Leo! voi chiamata quello un poco dolore?!”




“Be serious Ezio.”

Leonardo said in a scolding tone at Ezio, expertly improvising a splint made out of wood and sturdy strips of leather, it went from around the teen’s ankle to his knee.

“Ugh, my leg feels all stiff and heavy.”

“Well, would you rather the bone set wrong and you have ended up with a debilitating limp for the rest of your life?”

“No…Leo, it’s just that the day has been long and I more than tired…My equanimity escapes me. You have my thanks.”

“Ah, Ezio. This I know.”

Warm and as comfortable as he could be in his current state Ezio was lulled to sleep by the heat of the dancing light of the fire in the hearth, wearing borrowed clothes on a soft mattress and covered in blankets he drifted off into a fitful slumber.