I pull the hood of my robe tighter around me, concealing my face as I pass through the throngs of people. I move as a wraith through the crowd, unseen and unobserved by the people around me. My gate is marked with a subtle, yet defining, purpose. A singular objective. Yet none observe, their attention far too drawn to the spectacle unfolding in the public square to notice a figure like me.
My mind is haunted by old ghosts - the memories. Times of celebration, happiness and joy - morphed into feelings of deep loneliness and utter despair. Like night and day, two sides of a florin - a family strong... and a family broken. I was not here, I had not witnessed it, but that doesn't stop me from seeing their faces, hearing their voices - being here, seeing this place, burns like salt in an open wound.
The Piazza della Signoria.
More specifically the execution platform before it, where three more people were being prepared for the gallows. Today is execution day in Firenze, where everyone who's anyone comes to the public square to witness the ghoulish event. Men, women, children... they come from all over, all hoping for a glimpse of death, cheering the spectacle, anticipating the begging cries for mercy and the sound of broken necks.
I conceal a snarl of disgust as I move closer, carefully weaving between the cheering citizens. I come upon a slight clearing in the crowd and see the platform ahead. My eyes linger for a moment on the three victims - currently being read their last rites as the soldiers tighten the nooses around their necks.
Murder? Adultery? I forget the crimes they are accused of. I don't even see their faces, instead I see them - the ghosts of a lifetime past; hands bound, nooses around neck, resigned to their fate in the gallows. I clench my eyes shut for a moment, then I open them again - the ghosts are gone, and there he is.
Acilio Moretti. A ranking member of the Florentine Borgia guards, and the handpicked executioner of Firenze. He was the one the Templars used to do their dirty work here, to eliminate dissidents and political enemies under the false pretense of justice. A mere lackey in the Templar chain, executing on order from his Templar masters; yet justice - and the ghosts of the past - demanded his blood.
Uberto Alberti had given the order... Moretti had pulled the lever. It was an oversight I intended to correct.
"People of Firenze!" The brute yells out to the crowd, "Today these three men stand accused of crimes against the public welfare. They have stolen property of the city, committed murder on the innocent, whored their bodies in devilish ways, and conspired against the good people of our city!"
The crowd breaks out in angered jeers at the three men. They flinch at his words as if stricken, repulsed by the very thought of committing such deeds. Their faces show anger at the allegations, tinged with the obvious fear at their plight. They are no more than twenty years of age. I shake my head and step closer to the stage, the ghosts of the past threatening to return.
I had traveled much distance, spent much time seeking him. He had not proven too difficult to find, given his status as a public figure and the attention his executions brought from the public. I could have reached him quietly in his living quarters, but this wasn't about stealth - it was about sending a message.
"In light of the evidence we have gathered, and none who will speak in your defense, I am bound to pronounce you guilty as charged!"
I tense my wrist in preparation, noting the positions of the guards around the stage, and their proximity to him.
"As penalty for these crimes - I sentence you to DEATH!"
The Shadow of Tuscany (Chp 1/???)
My mind is haunted by old ghosts - the memories. Times of celebration, happiness and joy - morphed into feelings of deep loneliness and utter despair. Like night and day, two sides of a florin - a family strong... and a family broken. I was not here, I had not witnessed it, but that doesn't stop me from seeing their faces, hearing their voices - being here, seeing this place, burns like salt in an open wound.
The Piazza della Signoria.
More specifically the execution platform before it, where three more people were being prepared for the gallows. Today is execution day in Firenze, where everyone who's anyone comes to the public square to witness the ghoulish event. Men, women, children... they come from all over, all hoping for a glimpse of death, cheering the spectacle, anticipating the begging cries for mercy and the sound of broken necks.
I conceal a snarl of disgust as I move closer, carefully weaving between the cheering citizens. I come upon a slight clearing in the crowd and see the platform ahead. My eyes linger for a moment on the three victims - currently being read their last rites as the soldiers tighten the nooses around their necks.
Murder? Adultery? I forget the crimes they are accused of. I don't even see their faces, instead I see them - the ghosts of a lifetime past; hands bound, nooses around neck, resigned to their fate in the gallows. I clench my eyes shut for a moment, then I open them again - the ghosts are gone, and there he is.
Acilio Moretti. A ranking member of the Florentine Borgia guards, and the handpicked executioner of Firenze. He was the one the Templars used to do their dirty work here, to eliminate dissidents and political enemies under the false pretense of justice. A mere lackey in the Templar chain, executing on order from his Templar masters; yet justice - and the ghosts of the past - demanded his blood.
Uberto Alberti had given the order... Moretti had pulled the lever. It was an oversight I intended to correct.
"People of Firenze!" The brute yells out to the crowd, "Today these three men stand accused of crimes against the public welfare. They have stolen property of the city, committed murder on the innocent, whored their bodies in devilish ways, and conspired against the good people of our city!"
The crowd breaks out in angered jeers at the three men. They flinch at his words as if stricken, repulsed by the very thought of committing such deeds. Their faces show anger at the allegations, tinged with the obvious fear at their plight. They are no more than twenty years of age. I shake my head and step closer to the stage, the ghosts of the past threatening to return.
I had traveled much distance, spent much time seeking him. He had not proven too difficult to find, given his status as a public figure and the attention his executions brought from the public. I could have reached him quietly in his living quarters, but this wasn't about stealth - it was about sending a message.
"In light of the evidence we have gathered, and none who will speak in your defense, I am bound to pronounce you guilty as charged!"
I tense my wrist in preparation, noting the positions of the guards around the stage, and their proximity to him.
"As penalty for these crimes - I sentence you to DEATH!"