This prison meant to hold him for however long they desired. Torturous devices, barbaric ways to make a man speak. Explaining himself would do no good. They sought a particular answer. One failed at being right in a place as this because one was wrong upon arrest. How then could he explain his reasons, his intentions? To a man as this. And there, walking down the steps, appeared a man without a shadow whose eyes had seen more devastation than any man alive. Without a shadow meant without a soul. Ade glanced at the ground the other stood on. At least the darkness followed this one.
“There is darkness before the light,” he replied, looking up at him. How long had he been chained here? It felt like hours, sitting in place for so long without food or drink. Yet it unfazed him without much surprise. A true testament to his strength. After what he’d endured, this was but a walk in a quaint park. Ade feared no device of torture and, like those followed by shadows of men, feared no death.
Yes, he made a bold move by demanding an audience with the Pope. A mere man, but an entire populace bent the knee to him. This man who wore hats instead of crowns, who required assistance in and out of his robes. Ade would bow to no man. Ade would fear not the repercussions of his actions. If the Pope meant to insult him by sending this fool in his stead, it didn’t work. The message Ade had would be sent. A heavy burden to carry, but he’d carried far heavier on his back when slaving for white men and their profits. This was his cry. This was his reclamation.
“In the corners of your city are men who swear no allegiance but to their own code of morals. We are not an uprising. We are here for only one thing.” Now, he sits back as if there were no shackles on his wrists, his eye ever keen when looking at him, never faltering in stare or spirit.
Hearing him speak those simple words nearly would inspire him to do something other than what he does. Were he the kind of man that believed in freedom and the like. How could one such as him believe in the freedom that he never had? Freedom was something touched and never grasped. Freedom was nothing but a dream that so many had but never once managed to capture. But this man spoke of it as if it were something attainable. As though his pretty and honorable words could unearth it.
So Cesare, in spite of being possibly disrespectful, scoffs in turn to his words. It matters little to him whether it’s true what he says. “ There are always men with their own morals. “ he states. “ Most men do not follow the church or our Holy Father - they follow still however. Most of it is simply because it’s habitual and the other? The other is knowing that whatever it is you’re meaning to say - it does not work. “
He’s speaking of the Assassin Order. Of course he’s heard of this sect of men that carried out what they felt was right. The type of men to kill for the second that they could be heard. At least that was how they could be - Cesare was only heard when he was doing what his father requested.
“ And where do you think I would find this freedom you speak of? For I find it nowhere near you nor do I find it on the streets of Rome. Perhaps you have been deluding yourself all along? “ he suggests with a small shrug of his shoulders. “ Perhaps you should just leave and find it in Florence. “
