‘We need you to fix the new cannon on the battlements.’

‘Not today, chum. First thing.’

‘Are you too drunk to do your job? I don’t think Captain Mario would be very happy if he got wind of that.’

‘No more work today.’

‘But it’s not that late. Do you know what time it is?’

‘No. Don’t care either. Make cannon, not clocks.’

Ezio had squatted down to speak to the man, who in turn had pulled himself into a sitting position and was treating Ezio to a gale of his breath, pungent with garlic and cheap Montalcino, as he belched luxuriously. Ezio drew himself to his feet.

‘We need those cannon ready to be fired and we need them ready now,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to find someone else who’s more capable than you?’

The man scrambled to his feet. ‘Not so fast, friend. No other man’s going to lay a hand on my guns.’ He leaned on Ezio as he got his breath back. ‘You don’t know what it’s like - some of these soldiers, they got no respect for artillery. New-fangled stuff for a lot of ’em, of course, grant you that, but I ask you. They expect a gun to work like magic, just like that! No sense of coaxing a good performance out of ’em.’

‘Can we talk as we walk?’ said Ezio. ‘Time isn’t standing still, you know.’

‘Mind you,’ the master armourer continued, ‘these things we’ve got here, they’re in a class of their own. Nothing but the best for Captain Mario - but they’re still pretty simple. I’ve got hold of a French design for a hand-held gun. They call it a wrought-iron murderer. Very clever. Just think, hand-held cannon. That’s the future, chum.’

By now they were approaching the group surrounding the cannon.

‘You can call off the hunt,’ said Ezio cheerfully. ‘Here he is.’

The master sergeant eyed the armourer narrowly. ‘Up to it, is he?’

‘I may be a little the worse for wear,’ retorted the armourer, ‘but I am a peaceful man at heart. In these times, encouraging the sleeping warrior in my gut is the only way to stay alive. Therefore it is my duty to drink.’ He pushed the sergeant aside. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got here …’