Assassins creed - Understanding

Chapter 8 - Truth be told

So much had happened in such little time. And I was sure it was not the end of it all. I had not yet heard all that was to be heard.

Duccio came back a day early, stating that his work was completed early. He told me about Rome. How before it was a mess, how there were death tolling the streets. He told me the story of how the Templars helped repair Rome. He told me of the food, the people and the music. I longed to go to Rome, I had never been anywhere other than Venice. But it would not matter where I went, as long as Duccio came with me, I would not mind.

‘One day, I will take you.’ He told me, with a gleam in his eyes. We are sitting in the courtyard, on a wooden bench behind the farmhouse. My head was rested on his shoulder, and his head on mine. His arm was twisted around my waist. Usually I would not allow this closeness from anyone. But being this close to Duccio physically, I felt close to him mentally and emotionally as well. It was nice.

I wasn’t sure if he knew about the attack or not. I had not gone inside since I had come back; he just led me to the bench. I knew I had to tell him the story again, from my part. I was careful to leave out the parts about Sandro and the other assassins.

‘The day you left, when you left at the Black Pearl, there was an attack.’

He nodded. No doubt he had heard the story before, but I had to get it of my mind.

‘I didn’t go home, after you left. I wasn’t home when it happened. I was out on the streets... running.’

Duccio pulled me closer to him. He smelled like lemon soap and tea leaves. Not like Sandro. Sandro smelt like pine wood, and fresh grass… Why was I thinking about this now? Why was I even thinking  it?

‘When I got home, I knew there was something wrong. I looked around for Gustav, for Flavia, Rodero, Petricco… There was nobody there. I went outside, and- and..’

I felt tears drop down my face, burning my cheek. My hand curled into fists. My head was pounding. Duccio put his other arm around me, hugging me sideways, hushing me softly. He wiped at my face, and stroked my hair… The sort of thing one does when another was upset.

‘Flavia was dead.’

Anger seeped through me, along with frustration, sadness, emptiness and loneliness. I never lose myself like this. I never let my emotions get the better of me.  But keeping them in for so long, it is not healthy.

No matter how much Sandro, Ezio and Poalo told me about my past they could not make me believe that they had nothing to do with it. With her.

‘I know who killed her.’  I said against Duccio. I felt him stiffen, his bones going ridged. He must know as well.  ‘The assassins.’

Duccio unclenched and became soft. I leaned against him, needing him to say something, anything.

‘Yes, I guess it was them.’

We stayed silent for a short while. I was happy that Duccio was back. I couldn’t get rid of the flutters in my stomach when I was near him. I had known him for three years, since he had found me by the edge of the water, after the attack.

He saw that I was shaking, and she saw how sad I looked. He sat down next to me, I still remember him being that fourteen year old who found me, with his comforting smile and warming eyes. Then he told me about Templars and Assassins. He told me that he was a Templar, and that he had a den. The farm.  He told me about his step father, who was a templar. He owned the den. Duccio never said a word about his real father. I still don’t know his name.  He told me that his mother left his birth father after he was born and married his step father. Duccio told me he had a brother, but I had forgotten his name. Duccio’s step father, Richard had taken care of Duccio. And then his mother died. His step father died in battle that was when he took over the den and just eighteen. So, Duccio was an orphan now, as was I. He said if his birth father was alive, and his brother, he would kill them.  I wanted to know why he hated them, but I never asked. I had told Duccio my story, about the murder of my parents and Mr.Bicco. Duccio asked me to come with him, and I did because I had nowhere else to go. He told me my parents were killed by an assassin.  And I swore I would never join the assassins, never be a part of them. It was since then I began training with other students. Sword fighting, running, thinking. It was since then I had been a templar. There was no going back.