What happened after that?
Citizen I: The treasure hunters must have opened the secret chamber and found the Compliners' relics, right?
Book Merchant: Well, there was no treasure inside. Just a few letters and a painter's address.
Citizen II: That's it? Wh-What about all those symbols? Don't tell me you made it all up!
Book Merchant: Easy, easy, allow me to continue ... Long after the poor painters and artisans scattered to the wind.
Book Merchant: Each of them received a special pigment from Uccello. They used it on other projects they worked on, leaving their "signatures"âthese symbols behind to mark their work.
Book Merchant: And so concludes our Firenze fresco mystery! To celebrate this touching story, I've hired a team of talented artists to reproduce their paintings in a new book, and I gave it a wonderful title:
Book Merchant: "La Primavera di Firenze!" (The Spring in Florence!)
The crowd lets out a chorus of dissatisfaction.
Citizen I: What a disappointment ...
Citizen II: And a lousy title.
Book Merchant: Oh, umm, I-I've got something even better here! A map straight from the Spanish court with a direct route to India! Think of the opportunities that await you!
Hidden relics, missing artists ... No matter the season, you'll hear all kinds of legends in Florence just minutes after you arrive.
Perhaps everyone who has ever lived here is destined to become a legend themselves.
In the midst of the bustle, the Tuscan sun has quietly begun to sink below the horizon.
Leonardo: Achoo!
Leonardo: I have a serious question: what is there in India that is worth all this fuss? If Marco Polo is to be believed, not even there can one escape the troublesome rumors of merchants and courtiers.
APPLe: Unfortunately, humanity's thirst for gossip knows neither geographical nor temporal boundaries.
APPLe: But this APPLe still finds it so strange that all the rumors about these Compliners turned out to be false, from top to bottom. Seems like, no matter the era, lies always travel faster than the truth ...
Ezio: Well, I wouldn't say that. In fact, the rumors didn't really hold much weight until you arrived.
APPLe: Huh?
The Assassin gazes out at the distant crimson clouds.
Ezio: The Compliner's relics weren't the most important thing we were searching for; in fact we were looking for an apple, one very much like you.
Ezio: So when you turned up, looking like the very apple we had lost, it was only natural for usâand the Templarsâto keep an eye on you.
Ezio: Of course, it turns out you weren't the apple we were looking for.
APPLe: And you're only telling me this NOW? I thought we were friends.
Ezio: It's only because I consider you friends that I had to keep this from you.
Ezio: That apple brings bloodshed and war wherever it appears.
APPLe: Hmm. Well, then it does sound like quite the troublesome thing.
The Assassin smiles.
Ezio: You've caused quite a stir in Firenze yourselfâno need to be modest.
Leonardo: Correct! You are an amazing apple in your own right! My only regret is that I never got the chance to dissect you and study your inner workings.
APPLe: I hope you don't mind, but I think you may have to keep that regret foreverâahh!
APPLe: Ms. Sotheby, why did you sneak up on me like that?!
Sotheby: I did not! I just wanted to tell you that Vertin and I met an old gentleman down there who was kind enough to give us directions! Well, he said if we keep heading northwest along the Arno River, and then ... umm ...
Sotheby: Anyway, we'd end up in Pratovecchio eventually!
APPLe: I do believe you may have skipped someâif not allâof the necessary information.
Leonardo: Ezio knows the way. All we need to do now is deliver the letter to Mr. Uccello.
Leonardo: I suppose we must say goodbye to our dear Firenze for now.
Sotheby: That red is so vibrant! Like an endless field of poppies!
It carries the brilliance and hope of the renaissance.
The red flows across the sky in a rosy stream, passing through the window flower boxes hanging over Florentine streets until it pours into the winding Arno River.
Leonardo: What did I say? This place has the best view!
Vertin: It is positively gorgeous. I see why you insisted we all come up here together.
Leonardo: A place of beauty like this is a fitting place for farewells ...
Before saying goodbye, the soft whispers between friends fade into the coming night's breeze, melting with the golden glow of the setting sun.
Leonardo: By the way, I had a discussion with some of my fellow painters. We discovered that Pratovecchio is rich in a special mineralâ
Leonardo: One need only grind and heat it properly ... then presto!
Leonardo: You have yourself some invisible pigment!
APPLe: So that's the source of the pigment used in the fresco?
Vertin: Uccello was born in Pratovecchio. It's safe to assume he brought some from his hometown to Florence.
Leonardo: Just a hint of this powder and you are able to create a vast array of remarkable colors.
Leonardo: Among them, the most famous is a color some call "Firenze Red."
Ezio: "Firenze Red" ...
A red that isn't too glaring or gaudy.
You see it on the rooftops of the houses, the reflections on the rivers at dusk, and even on the signs of street-side shops ...
It's no wonder many praise Florence and its magnificent red.
Ezio: It's a good name.
One week later
The bumpy journey has finally come to an end.
Sotheby: Phew, finally. That darling little house up ahead must be Mr. Uccello's home!
A small farmhouse stands beneath the thick shade of olive trees ahead, the stone walls glowing white in the afternoon sun.
The young lady takes a few excited strides ahead, then pauses.
Sotheby: weep
Sotheby: I just realized something. When he learns from us that his friend Bianca has been dead for years, he might be very sad!
Ezio: Mr. Uccello, if he's even still alive, will be an old man by now.
Ezio: A man of his age grows familiar with death and farewells.
The Assassin gently pats Sotheby.
Ezio: Let's go.
He steps forward, pushing open the vine-covered gate.
Strange Woman: Oh! Who are you? Where did you pop up from?!
The small courtyard is vibrant with life, and a woman with paint stains covering her dress stands alone in the sunlight.
Ezio: Apologies for the intrusion, miss. My name is Ezio Auditore from Firenze.
Ezio: We're here looking for Paolo Uccello. We have a letter here addressed to him from one of his friends.
Strange Woman: Friends ...? I'm not sure my father would agree he had any friends.
Ezio: Is that so? Well, the letter is signed "Bianca."
Strange Woman: Bianca! You should have said so earlier! Please, put the letter down; it's meant for me.
APPLe: Hmm? The letter mentions a particular piece of stained glass and details of the fresco in the Florence Cathedral; we assumed it must have been meant for Mr. Uccello.
The woman looks wistfully in the direction they came, then laughs as if recalling a joyful memory.
Strange Woman: Pfff. It appears I've deceived you as well.
Antonia: Allow me to introduce myself. I am Antonia Uccello.
Antonia: And perhaps the "Uccello" you friendly strangers are looking for.
Antonia: I see ... So Bianca has passed away, too.
Her paint-covered hands grip the yellowed papers tightly.
Antonia: That fresco was the last work we did together.
Antonia: Father passed away soon after, leaving behind my sick mother and a pile of debts.
Antonia: I used to follow Father wherever he went, whatever job he tookâsculpture, masonry, painting frescoes ... everything. I learned all I could from him and, after he died, hoped to accept commissions independently. But as a woman, it was almost impossible.
Antonia: But once I left Firenze and began using Father's name to make a living some of his old patrons were kind enough to keep sending work my way, provided I concealed my true identity.
Leonardo: Oh, so you're the imposter!
Antonia gives the impertinent artist a glare.
Antonia: I admit, I tried to imitate Father's style in my earlier works, but I'm much more than just an imposter now.
Leonardo: No, no, no ... a painter's mind should be a mirrorâcapturing and reflecting the truth and beauty of nature.
Leonardo: To simply copy the works of another? No, miss, it seems you still have much to learn.
Antonia: Hah!
Antonia: Is that what you think? Well, I've heard it all before!
Antonia: "Minds as a mirror"? Ridiculous. Let me tell you: a painter's mind should be like a sheet of transparent glass.
Antonia: It refracts and transforms the external world, then reconstructs its image inside the painter's brain, rather than simply copying the natural world around us.
Leonardo: Oh, hmm, that is an intriguing theory ... odd perhaps but not without merit ...
Antonia: You just wait here. I'll show you with one of my recent works.
She springs up and begins rummaging through a nearby stack of sheets.
Vertin: She seems so full of life.
Ezio: She reminds me of my sister. Women like her have seen much pain, but they never let it defeat them.
Leonardo: sigh If only her understanding of painting were a bit more profound. I believe we might become good friends.
Sun rays pour through the patterned window, and the light spots dance merrily on the old wooden floor.
The pot on the stove gurgles as the fresh scent of herbs fills the room.
War, plague, poverty; the loss of loved onesâpainful memories of the older generation now linger in the cracks of the walls and beneath the leaves of the trees.
Antonia has lived in this quiet refuge for a long time.
Antonia: Pardon me, may I ask ... what was your name again?
Antonia has returned, holding a yellowed sketch in her hands.
She looks closely at Ezio, studying his face.
Antonia: You said you are an Auditore, right?
Ezio: Yes. You know about my family?
Antonia: I thought so; you look so familiar ...
Antonia: I'm sure you know your mother, Maria Auditore, funded my father for a time?
Antonia: Father conducted a lot of his research on perspective and lighting. He passed that knowledge on to me.
Ezio: I see ... And you applied that knowledge to your frescoes, huh?
The artist winks playfully.
Antonia: What goes around comes around, right?
APPLe: Architects, sponsors, painters, artisans, assassins, outsiders ... Our identities may differ, but our actions are all deeply interconnected!
APPLe: Ah, this APPLe has never felt so moved by the warmth and power of community.
Antonia: I heard a lot about your family from Father. He was always very grateful to you.
Ezio: I'm sorry, if Mother hadn't cut your funding, perhaps you wouldn't have had to ...
Antonia shakes her head calmly.
Antonia: Your family helped us more than we could have ever asked for.
Antonia: Your mother once commissioned my father to paint a family portrait. Do you remember?
Ezio: Family portrait ...? No, I had no idea.
Antonia: It was many years ago, and the painting was never finished ... because of what happened to your family.
She moves slowly then purposefully toward Ezio and hands him the sketch.
Antonia: This is the only draft left. But I believe it should be returned to you.
Ezio: ?
Antonia: Consider it a token of thanks for delivering this letter all the way from Firenze!
Ezio: Thank you.
Ezio takes the sketch, gently unfolding it in his hands.
Ezio: This is ...
On the yellowed sketch paper, a roughly drawn portrait captures all the members of the Auditore family.
Ezio: Father, Mother, Federico, Claudia, Petruccio ...
Leonardo: This draft captures the younger version of you perfectlyâI can vouch for that!
The young Ezio in the painting stands off to the side with a casual stance.
Without a care in the world, the 17-year-old boy with an errant heart eager to explore and venture without restraints.
The rest of the family didn't seem to mind him. They stood against the clear Tuscan sky, their faces glowing with dignified poise.
APPLe: Ah, what a lovely family portrait; even the weather looks lovely. The painter did a great job capturing a wonderful moment.
Almost imperceptibly, Ezio's hands tremble, overwhelmed by a flood of long-held back emotions.
Ezio: One of the sweetest of my life.
From somewhere or perhaps nowhere, he hears familiar laughter in the distance.
As light as the breeze, sweeping across the red rooftops, traveling over the river of time, and finally slipping out from the yellowed sketch.
It is a good life we lead, brother.
The best. May it never change.
...
And may it never change us.
The brothers talked about something else afterward. Was it about grappa or the bank? Or was it about the beautiful Cristina?
The gentle and warm memory scatters with the wind, eventually melting in the afternoon sunlight.
The young Auditore still remembers how they used to laugh and cry like innocent children; the entire world was waiting for them to explore.
A Moment of Peace for the Auditore.
