His body bent double, he was steadying himself with his hands and feet, but they were supported again - he had made it, within inches of the edge, but he had made it on to the church roof!

But where was Federico? He clambered up to the base of the tower and turned to look back the way he had come, just in time to see his brother flying through the air himself. Federico landed firmly, but his weight sent one or two of the red clay tiles slithering out of place and he almost lost his footing as the tiles slid down the roof and off the edge, shattering a few seconds later on the hard cobbles far below. But Federico had found his balance again, and he stood up, panting for sure, but with a broad, proud smile on his face.

'Not such a tartaruga after all,' he said, as he came up and clapped Ezio on the shoulder. 'You went past me like greased lightning.'

'I didn't even know that I had,' said Ezio briefly, trying to catch his breath.

'Well, you won't beat me up to the top of the tower,' retorted Federico, pushing Ezio to the side, and he started to clamber up the squat tower which the city fathers were thinking of replacing with something of a more modern design. This time Federico made it first, and even had to give a hand up to his wounded brother, who was beginning to feel that bed would be no bad thing. They were both out of breath, and stood while they recovered to look out over their city, serene and silent in the oyster-light of dawn.

'It is a good life we lead, brother,' said Federico with uncharacteristic solemnity.

'The best,' Ezio agreed. 'And may it never change.'

They both paused - neither wishing to break the perfection of the moment - but after a while Federico quietly spoke. 'May it never change us either, fratellino. Come, we must get back. There is the roof of our palazzo. Pray God Father hasn't stayed up all night, or we really will be for it. Let's go.'