Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood
Page 95
Back at the battlefield, he encountered more peasants gleaning what they could from the bodies. He passed them, galloping up a hill toward the sound of a renewed fight. As the crest of the hill revealed a level plain below it, Ezio saw that he was now much closer to the town. Battle had been rejoined and it was taking place on the plain, close to the battlemented walls of the town, from where cannon fire issued.
SIXTY-FOUR
Ezio steered his horse to one side of the battle, through some olive groves, but there he encountered a patrol of Navarrese troops. Before he had time to wheel around, they had fired their muskets at him, missing him, but cutting his horse down from under him.
He managed to escape among the trees, and, continuing on foot, taking care to avoid the Spanish troops who seemed to be prowling all around, he suddenly overheard snatches of conversation. Creeping closer, he came to a clearing in which he saw one Spanish soldier lying wounded on the ground while another did his best to comfort him.
“Por favor,” said the wounded man. “My legs. Why won’t the bleeding stop?”
“Compadre, I have done all I can for you. Now you must trust in God.”
“Oh, Pablo, I’m afraid! Mis piernas! Mis piernas!”
“Quiet now, Miguel. Think of all the money we’ll get when we’ve won the battle. And the booty!”
“Who is this old man we are fighting for?”
“Who? El Conde de Lerin?”
“Yes. We are fighting for him, aren’t we?”
“Yes, my friend. He serves our king and queen, and we serve him. So we fight.”
“Pablo, the only thing I think I’m fighting for now is my life.”
A patrol arrived on the other side of the clearing.
“Keep moving,” said its sergeant. “We must outflank them.”
“My friend is wounded,” said Pablo. “He cannot move.”
“Then leave him. Come on.”
“Give me a few more minutes.”
“Very well. We head north. Follow us. And be sure no Navarrese sees you.”
“Will we know when we have outflanked them?”
“There will be gunfire. We’ll cut them down where they least expect it. Use the trees for cover.”
“Just a moment, sir.”
“What is it?”
“I will follow now.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes, sir. My comrade, Miguel, is dead.”
Once they had gone, Ezio waited for a few minutes, then made his way north, before veering east, in the direction he knew Viana lay. He left the olive groves and saw that he had passed the field of battle and was now skirting it on its northern side. He wondered what had become of the Spanish soldiers, for there was no sign of any successful outflanking movement. And the battle seemed to be going to the Navarrese.
On his way lay a shattered village. He avoided it, as he could see Spanish snipers concealed behind some of the charred and broken walls, using long-muzzled wheel locks to fire on any Navarrese troops at the edge of the battle.
He came across a soldier, his tunic so bloodstained that Ezio could not tell what side he was on, sitting with his back to a stray olive tree and hugging himself in agony, his whole body shaking, his gun abandoned on the ground.
Reaching the outskirts of the town, among the settlements crouched beneath its bastions, Ezio saw, just ahead of him, his quarry. Cesare was with a Navarrese sergeant and he was clearly assessing the best way of breaching or undermining Viana’s massive walls.
The Spanish who had taken Viana had been confident enough to allow some of their camp followers to settle in the houses here. But they were evidently not now powerful enough to protect them.
Suddenly, a woman came out of one of the cottages and ran toward them, screaming and blocking their path.
“Ayúdenme!” she cried. “Help me! My son! My son is wounded!”
The sergeant went up to the woman and, seizing her by the hair, dragged her out of Cesare’s way.
“Ayúdenme!” she yelled.
“Shut her up, will you?” said Cesare, surveying her coldly.
The sergeant drew his dagger and slit the woman’s throat.
SIXTY-FIVE
As Ezio shadowed Cesare, he witnessed further scenes of brutality dealt out by the Navarrese troops on the hated Spanish interlopers.
He saw a young woman being roughly manhandled by a Navarrese trooper.
“Leave me in peace!” she cried.
“Be a good girl,” the soldier told her brutally. “I will not hurt you! In fact, you might even enjoy it, you fucking Spanish whore.”
Farther along, a man, a cook by the look of him, stood in despair as two soldiers held him and forced him to watch two others set fire to his house.
Worse, a man—doubtless a wounded Spanish soldier who had had his legs amputated—had been kicked out of his cart by another pair of Navarrese squaddies. They stood there laughing as he desperately tried to drag himself away from them along a footpath.
“Run! Run!” said one.
“Can’t you go any faster?” added his comrade.
The battle had obviously gone to the Navarrese, because Ezio could see them bringing siege towers up to the walls of the city. Somewhere behind him, a Spanish preacher was intoning to a despairing congregation:
“You have brought this on yourselves through sin. This is how the Lord punishes you. Ours is a just God and this is His justice. Praise the Lord! Thank you, God, for teaching us to be humble. To see our punishment for what it is, a call to spirituality. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. So is the Truth written. Amen!”
Ezio saw that several siege towers were now against the walls. Navarrese troops were swarming up them and there was fierce fighting on the battlements already.
If Cesare were anywhere, it would be at the head of his men, for he was as ferocious and fearless as he was cruel.
The only way into the city is up one of the towers, thought Ezio. The one nearest him had just been pushed up to the wall and, running, Ezio joined the men rushing up it, blending in with them, though there was scarcely any need, for amid all the roaring and bellowing of the pumped-up besiegers, who scented victory at last, he would not have been noticed.
But the defenders were in greater readiness now, and they were pouring that mixture of pitch and oil they called Greek fire down onto the enemy below. The screams of burning men came up to those already on the tower, Ezio among them, and the rush upward, away from the flames, which had already taken the base of the tower, became frantic. Around him, Ezio saw men push their fellows out of the way in order to save themselves. Some soldiers fell from the tower, howling, into the flames below.
SIXTY-FOUR
Ezio steered his horse to one side of the battle, through some olive groves, but there he encountered a patrol of Navarrese troops. Before he had time to wheel around, they had fired their muskets at him, missing him, but cutting his horse down from under him.
He managed to escape among the trees, and, continuing on foot, taking care to avoid the Spanish troops who seemed to be prowling all around, he suddenly overheard snatches of conversation. Creeping closer, he came to a clearing in which he saw one Spanish soldier lying wounded on the ground while another did his best to comfort him.
“Por favor,” said the wounded man. “My legs. Why won’t the bleeding stop?”
“Compadre, I have done all I can for you. Now you must trust in God.”
“Oh, Pablo, I’m afraid! Mis piernas! Mis piernas!”
“Quiet now, Miguel. Think of all the money we’ll get when we’ve won the battle. And the booty!”
“Who is this old man we are fighting for?”
“Who? El Conde de Lerin?”
“Yes. We are fighting for him, aren’t we?”
“Yes, my friend. He serves our king and queen, and we serve him. So we fight.”
“Pablo, the only thing I think I’m fighting for now is my life.”
A patrol arrived on the other side of the clearing.
“Keep moving,” said its sergeant. “We must outflank them.”
“My friend is wounded,” said Pablo. “He cannot move.”
“Then leave him. Come on.”
“Give me a few more minutes.”
“Very well. We head north. Follow us. And be sure no Navarrese sees you.”
“Will we know when we have outflanked them?”
“There will be gunfire. We’ll cut them down where they least expect it. Use the trees for cover.”
“Just a moment, sir.”
“What is it?”
“I will follow now.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes, sir. My comrade, Miguel, is dead.”
Once they had gone, Ezio waited for a few minutes, then made his way north, before veering east, in the direction he knew Viana lay. He left the olive groves and saw that he had passed the field of battle and was now skirting it on its northern side. He wondered what had become of the Spanish soldiers, for there was no sign of any successful outflanking movement. And the battle seemed to be going to the Navarrese.
On his way lay a shattered village. He avoided it, as he could see Spanish snipers concealed behind some of the charred and broken walls, using long-muzzled wheel locks to fire on any Navarrese troops at the edge of the battle.
He came across a soldier, his tunic so bloodstained that Ezio could not tell what side he was on, sitting with his back to a stray olive tree and hugging himself in agony, his whole body shaking, his gun abandoned on the ground.
Reaching the outskirts of the town, among the settlements crouched beneath its bastions, Ezio saw, just ahead of him, his quarry. Cesare was with a Navarrese sergeant and he was clearly assessing the best way of breaching or undermining Viana’s massive walls.
The Spanish who had taken Viana had been confident enough to allow some of their camp followers to settle in the houses here. But they were evidently not now powerful enough to protect them.
Suddenly, a woman came out of one of the cottages and ran toward them, screaming and blocking their path.
“Ayúdenme!” she cried. “Help me! My son! My son is wounded!”
The sergeant went up to the woman and, seizing her by the hair, dragged her out of Cesare’s way.
“Ayúdenme!” she yelled.
“Shut her up, will you?” said Cesare, surveying her coldly.
The sergeant drew his dagger and slit the woman’s throat.
SIXTY-FIVE
As Ezio shadowed Cesare, he witnessed further scenes of brutality dealt out by the Navarrese troops on the hated Spanish interlopers.
He saw a young woman being roughly manhandled by a Navarrese trooper.
“Leave me in peace!” she cried.
“Be a good girl,” the soldier told her brutally. “I will not hurt you! In fact, you might even enjoy it, you fucking Spanish whore.”
Farther along, a man, a cook by the look of him, stood in despair as two soldiers held him and forced him to watch two others set fire to his house.
Worse, a man—doubtless a wounded Spanish soldier who had had his legs amputated—had been kicked out of his cart by another pair of Navarrese squaddies. They stood there laughing as he desperately tried to drag himself away from them along a footpath.
“Run! Run!” said one.
“Can’t you go any faster?” added his comrade.
The battle had obviously gone to the Navarrese, because Ezio could see them bringing siege towers up to the walls of the city. Somewhere behind him, a Spanish preacher was intoning to a despairing congregation:
“You have brought this on yourselves through sin. This is how the Lord punishes you. Ours is a just God and this is His justice. Praise the Lord! Thank you, God, for teaching us to be humble. To see our punishment for what it is, a call to spirituality. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. So is the Truth written. Amen!”
Ezio saw that several siege towers were now against the walls. Navarrese troops were swarming up them and there was fierce fighting on the battlements already.
If Cesare were anywhere, it would be at the head of his men, for he was as ferocious and fearless as he was cruel.
The only way into the city is up one of the towers, thought Ezio. The one nearest him had just been pushed up to the wall and, running, Ezio joined the men rushing up it, blending in with them, though there was scarcely any need, for amid all the roaring and bellowing of the pumped-up besiegers, who scented victory at last, he would not have been noticed.
But the defenders were in greater readiness now, and they were pouring that mixture of pitch and oil they called Greek fire down onto the enemy below. The screams of burning men came up to those already on the tower, Ezio among them, and the rush upward, away from the flames, which had already taken the base of the tower, became frantic. Around him, Ezio saw men push their fellows out of the way in order to save themselves. Some soldiers fell from the tower, howling, into the flames below.
