Cesare hobbled to the fire, his gait halting but strong, as if a healthy man were struggling to disguise his limitations. He sat slowly, lowering himself carefully into a chair. Ezio joined him, still sober enough to feel confident that he could pin the man’s ears back with throwing knives if the occasion warranted it. But Cesare simply stared at the hearth and the small fire crackling within.
“How did you find me?” Ezio asked, sincerely curious.
“I knew you would have to pass through Campos. This is the only decent inn.”
Ezio nodded, unable or unwilling to let his guard down. This was the man, after all, that had killed his uncle and terrorized his friends and countrymen for years. And yet Ezio was not so single-minded that he missed the defeated tilt to Cesare’s shoulders, the glassy stare that made him look hollow, lifeless.
“I’m told we are enemies,” Cesare said softly. “For whatever pain I caused you and your family, I apologize.”
He might have said more, begged, groveled, but the straightforward, simple apology appealed to Ezio’s sense of honor. No matter what atrocities a man committed, it was never becoming to abandon dignity. Ezio nodded, not certain whether he was accepting the apology or merely acknowledging it. He sat back and observed Cesare, taking in his longer hair, the new scars on his chin and hands, the homespun clothing so unlike the flashy, daring Borgia scarlet of old.
“Somehow I knew it would come to this.” Ezio stretched out his long legs, paused, then crooked one knee over the other.
“What? That you would toss me to my doom only to see me survive? That I would then lose all memory of my past and my crimes? That I would overcome the injuries that might have easily killed a weaker man only to fall in love with the woman you sent to kill me? Or that I would refuse to run? Which of these did you miraculously foresee?”
Ezio twitched, grunting softly.
“I meant only that we would confront each other again,” Ezio replied, miffed. He still had a regrettably cunning way with words. They cut, deeply. “You are the damndest weed in the garden, Cesare,” he continued. “No matter what I do you just refuse to die.”
“That’s all over now,” Cesare replied stiffly. He finally met Ezio’s eye, but only for a fleeting instant. “If you wish to kill me I will not put up a fight. I came here because too many innocent souls risked their safety to protect me. I do not deserve such consideration and it would be better to die and spare them the shame of suffering in my name.”
“Is this some sort of trick?” Ezio asked, squinting. He studied Cesare, hard, but detected no deception in his words or his expression. Quite frankly he looked relaxed, prepared, as if he expected Ezio to dispatch him at any moment and that the thought of such an end did not perturb him in the least.
“No trick,” Cesare replied. “Your friend, Leonardo, offered to help Lena and I escape from you and your assassins.” He paused, his hand and voice trembling as he continued, “I am sick with love for her, but not foolish enough to think you will permit us to marry. And Michelangelo, he is complicit also. Lena, obviously, is the worst offender of all. She saved me, cured me, brought me back from the brink and her reward is this…” Cesare gestured to himself and then to Ezio. “The heart of a murderer and the contempt of her brothers.”
“You… love her?” Ezio was still caught on the first bit of Cesare’s confession. Ice coated his veins, his knuckles aching as he noticed he had been clenching his fists in fury. Betrayed. Lena… Michelangelo… Leonardo… That stung the worst. He shook his head, trying to knock some sense back into his brain. “I cannot… This is… I trusted her.”
In Name Alone 107/?
“How did you find me?” Ezio asked, sincerely curious.
“I knew you would have to pass through Campos. This is the only decent inn.”
Ezio nodded, unable or unwilling to let his guard down. This was the man, after all, that had killed his uncle and terrorized his friends and countrymen for years. And yet Ezio was not so single-minded that he missed the defeated tilt to Cesare’s shoulders, the glassy stare that made him look hollow, lifeless.
“I’m told we are enemies,” Cesare said softly. “For whatever pain I caused you and your family, I apologize.”
He might have said more, begged, groveled, but the straightforward, simple apology appealed to Ezio’s sense of honor. No matter what atrocities a man committed, it was never becoming to abandon dignity. Ezio nodded, not certain whether he was accepting the apology or merely acknowledging it. He sat back and observed Cesare, taking in his longer hair, the new scars on his chin and hands, the homespun clothing so unlike the flashy, daring Borgia scarlet of old.
“Somehow I knew it would come to this.” Ezio stretched out his long legs, paused, then crooked one knee over the other.
“What? That you would toss me to my doom only to see me survive? That I would then lose all memory of my past and my crimes? That I would overcome the injuries that might have easily killed a weaker man only to fall in love with the woman you sent to kill me? Or that I would refuse to run? Which of these did you miraculously foresee?”
Ezio twitched, grunting softly.
“I meant only that we would confront each other again,” Ezio replied, miffed. He still had a regrettably cunning way with words. They cut, deeply. “You are the damndest weed in the garden, Cesare,” he continued. “No matter what I do you just refuse to die.”
“That’s all over now,” Cesare replied stiffly. He finally met Ezio’s eye, but only for a fleeting instant. “If you wish to kill me I will not put up a fight. I came here because too many innocent souls risked their safety to protect me. I do not deserve such consideration and it would be better to die and spare them the shame of suffering in my name.”
“Is this some sort of trick?” Ezio asked, squinting. He studied Cesare, hard, but detected no deception in his words or his expression. Quite frankly he looked relaxed, prepared, as if he expected Ezio to dispatch him at any moment and that the thought of such an end did not perturb him in the least.
“No trick,” Cesare replied. “Your friend, Leonardo, offered to help Lena and I escape from you and your assassins.” He paused, his hand and voice trembling as he continued, “I am sick with love for her, but not foolish enough to think you will permit us to marry. And Michelangelo, he is complicit also. Lena, obviously, is the worst offender of all. She saved me, cured me, brought me back from the brink and her reward is this…” Cesare gestured to himself and then to Ezio. “The heart of a murderer and the contempt of her brothers.”
“You… love her?” Ezio was still caught on the first bit of Cesare’s confession. Ice coated his veins, his knuckles aching as he noticed he had been clenching his fists in fury. Betrayed. Lena… Michelangelo… Leonardo… That stung the worst. He shook his head, trying to knock some sense back into his brain. “I cannot… This is… I trusted her.”