A Brood of Vipers (25 page)

(Never mind the sniggers of my chaplain. Unless a man is truly evil and his soul has died, when you finish any duel your body trembles with a variety of emotions. You retch and vomit, run to the nearest jakes, get drunk! Or lie on a bed, your arms folded, till the terrors go away.)

Of course, I was not so fortunate as to lie long in peace. I must have lain for only a few minutes, watching the candle flame dance in the breeze coming through the open window, when I heard the sounds of horses and voices from the courtyard below. I just lay there. Whoever had come, well they were welcome to the nightmare I had been through. I heard fresh shouts and exclamations as the visitors discovered one corpse after another. Then there was the sound of feet pounding on the stairs, the door was flung open and Seraphino, the Master of the Eight, with his black-hooded police, swept into the room like some vision from hell. I groaned and swung my legs off the bed. The Master of the Eight waddled across. His soft face was wreathed in an air of concern, like some genial uncle who has discovered a favourite nephew in distress. He stood over me, hands deep in the voluminous sleeves of his gown.

'Inglese, what have you done? The corpses below! Signor Enrico awash with his own blood!'

I glared up at him.

'Piss off, you evil bastard!' I hissed.

He struck me across the face.

'Piss off!' I repeated.

I got to my feet. He withdrew his hands from his sleeves and I felt the point of his thin stiletto prick my neck just below the chin. Frater Serpahino smiled benignly at me, though his eyes were two black, soulless holes.

'I could kill you on the spot!' he whispered.

'Do that,' I replied, 'and you really will have to answer to our king. I killed no one.'

'No one?'

'Except Master Enrico. He's responsible for all these deaths.' 'I don't think so.'

'I don't give a damn what you think!' I retorted. 'Enrico's the assassin, settling a blood feud which has been curdling for years. He drugged my master and tried to kill me. However, I am sure you know that. You've had this villa constantly guarded. You saw Enrico return and you watched my arrival. You could have intervened,' I continued, ignoring the prick of steel under my chin, 'but you chose not to. Why?'

'I don't really know. All I know, Englishman, is that some deadly game has been played out and I have one thought and one thought only. Will this game injure Florence? Will the city suffer?'

‘I think you should ask Cardinal Giulio de Medici that?' I replied.

Seraphino pursed his lips. 'You could be my guest again, Englishman. Those rats have not forgotten you.'

'Oh yes, how are your brothers?' I asked.

The Master of the Eight smiled thinly.

'Amusing as ever, eh, Shallot?' He smacked his lips, blinked, and the dagger disappeared up his sleeve. 'Well, there are some unanswered questions and some gaps remain, but I can surmise, speculate, and one day a true picture will emerge.'

He looked down at my master and then back over his shoulder, speaking quickly to one of his companions. I don't know what was said, but my master was given something to drink, gently picked up and carried downstairs. A cart with horses already in the traces stood waiting. My master was laid comfortably in it, his back protected by a mattress filched from one of the chambers. I was told to collect our saddlebags. I did so, hurriedly following the Master of the Eight's instructions to take everything that was ours.

'You will not be returning here!' he snapped. 'The sooner you are gone from Florence, Englishman, the better.'

At last I was finished. I took my saddlebags downstairs. The Master of the Eight had made no attempt to move any of the corpses. He just ignored them as if they were rubbish, though I saw his followers indulging in some petty pilfering.

'You have everything, Inglese? Your master's outside, as comfortable as he can be. My soldiers will guard the villa. We must be gone!'

'Wait for a while!' I replied.

I went back up to our chamber and knelt beside Maria's corpse. I took her little cold hand in mine and stared at her waxen face. Then I kissed those little fingers and, leaning over, brushed her brow with my lips before covering her face and going back downstairs.

Chapter 13

The Master of the Eight took us down to Florence. The sky was beginning to redden. All around thronged Frater Seraphino's dark riders, silent except for the clop of their horses' hooves. He and his two bodyguards rode in front. I rode beside the creaking cart, keeping an eye on my master. He was asleep, his face pale. I was still worried because certain poisons and sleeping draughts play strange tricks upon the mind, so it never comes out of its darkness. I was concerned that he be seen by some skilful physician. I wondered if I could reason with the Master of the Eight until I remembered his black heart and realized that begging would avail me nothing.

We entered Florence by a postern gate and, to my surprise, instead of going to the Stinche, the Master of the Eight took us to the Misericordia and into the care of its brothers. Benjamin was carried gently and carefully along darkened passageways into a white-washed room. Frater Seraphino came with us. Then he did the most surprising thing - he gripped me by the hand and shook it!

'Goodbye, Master Shallot.' He laughed gently at my surprise. 'You feared the worst, Englishman? You were in no danger. Besides, you have powerful patrons.' He stuck his thumbs into his girdle and cocked his head sideways.

'You are a strange one, Shallot. I'd put you down for a coward.'

‘I am,' I replied. 'And I swear this, I have done more battling in Florence than I have in my entire life!'

Frater Seraphino chuckled and turned away. At the door he turned and grinned impishly at me.

'Master Shallot, if you ever return, you really must be our guest again!'

I stuck up the middle finger of my right hand, but the door was already closing. The brothers were gathered around my master's bed, chattering and talking. They felt the pulse in his neck, lifted his eyelids, sniffed his mouth and felt the pulse in his wrist. God be my witness, they were good men - some of the most skilful practitioners of physic I've ever met. One of them tapped me gently on the wrist and smiled.

'Worry don't,' he said.

'You mean, don't worry?'

'Si, and that as well.'

They brought some concoction which smelt like horse-piss and forced it down my master's throat. Then they stood back, one of them holding up a bowl. My master stirred and abruptly turned sideways. He vomited as violently as I did after I'd drunk too much ale at the Gallows tavern just outside Ipswich. I was alarmed, but the brothers were very pleased. They stared into the bowl as if it held a collection of rubies and diamonds. More of the potion was forced down Benjamin's throat. Again he vomited. The room began to smell vile but the brothers were fairly hopping from one foot to another with excitement, pleased that his stomach was purged. One more time and my master was struggling awake. They let him rest for a while, then brought a fresh goblet. I could smell wine spiced with something else. They forced this between his lips. My master drank and fell back, snoring as if he was in the healthiest sleep. One of the brothers, merry-eyed and bald-headed, looked up at me. The goblet was refilled and I drank. Next minute I was fast asleep.

I was roused the next morning by Benjamin standing over me. He looked heavy-eyed but healthy.

'Must you sleep, Roger?' he joked. 'For God's sake, man, tell me what's happened!'

I struggled awake, clambered to my feet and stared at him.

'You've fully recovered, Master?'

'Aye, thanks to you. But tell me.'

Further conversation was impossible, though. The good brothers came back to congratulate themselves and us. We were taken down to their refectory and given the most delicious stew, the softest white bread and goblets of white, light wine which the brothers swore, with a smile, contained no potions. Benjamin was ravenous. As he ate I told him what had happened. Now and again he would stop and ask me a question. When I had finished he put his spoon down, placed his elbows on the table and looked at me.

'I don't remember much,' he said. 'Giovanni came into my room. He said a new cask of Falernian had been broached and I was to taste it. I did so. But I didn't drink all of it because it smelled strange. Giovanni was looking at me curiously. I asked what was the matter. He looked alarmed, took one step towards me and said Lord Enrico had returned.' Benjamin shrugged. 'After that I remember nothing. I lay down on my bed. I knew I had made a terrible mistake. I remember you coming up. You were carrying someone?'

'Maria,' I said softly.

Benjamin's eyes grew sad. 'Aye, God rest her! I also remember being picked up and carried downstairs. I glimpsed a woman's corpse, lying there like some dog.' 'Beatrice,' I told him.

'After that,' Benjamin continued, 'nothing. Until I woke up this morning, a little weak, starving, and found the brothers chattering like magpies, pointing at you, their faces and eyes so sad. They shook their heads and clucked their tongues. Oh sweet Lord!' Benjamin put his face in his hands. 'I never dreamt Enrico would do that! I planned to confront him when you returned.' He shook his head, i underestimated that young man's hatred, his thirst for vengeance.' He grasped me by the hand. 'Roger, I shall never forget this. You were very brave!'

'Lucky!' I amended, bitterly. 'Fortunate. So when can we go home?' I stared around the white-washed refectory. 'The brothers are good but...'

'Soon, Roger.' Benjamin said, i regret those deaths, those terrible, terrible deaths!'

(My master never forgot the events at the Villa Albrizzi and never really forgave himself. But hindsight makes wise men of us all. And what could we have done? Enrico had set his mind on murdering everyone in the Albrizzi household. Nevertheless, I shared my master's sorrow. Every spring, just as the weather turns, I pay for a Mass to be offered for the repose of their unfortunate souls. Maria? Ah well, she's different. When she died so did a little of myself!)

'But we were proved right, Master,' I reassured him. 'Enrico was the murderer. Nevertheless he had no hand in Borelli's death. And he knew nothing about the picture.'

'No,' Benjamin said absentmindedly. i don't think he did. We are still in the darkness, Roger, and the game's not yet over.'

I groaned but, of course, my master was right. A few hours later, whilst we were sitting in a shady arbour in the Misericordia garden, that excellent imp of Satan, His Eminence Cardinal Giulio de Medici, Prince of Florence, sent his minions to collect us. He was waiting for us, as before, in his palatial, opulent chambers overlooking the piazza. This time he was not so genial. He sat behind his great desk enthroned in that high, purple-backed chair. He reminded me of some splendid peregrine crouched on its perch, wondering whether or not to attack.

'The captain of my guard,' he began, 'has been to the Albrizzi villa. News of their deaths is all over Florence.'

'Enrico was the assassin,' my master told him.

'Yes, I know,' the cardinal said.

'Enrico believed,' Benjamin went on, 'that Lord Francesco Albrizzi and his brother Roderigo were behind his father's murder. Now, how would be have found that out, Your Grace?'

The cardinal looked at him menacingly.

'What are you saying, Englishman?' he asked softly.

'Well, someone told him,' Benjamin said briskly, 'that the Albrizzis were the assassins and that they had taken an emerald from his father's body which they kept hidden until they handed it as a gift to King Henry.'

The cardinal moved uneasily in his chair.

'But that same emerald, Your Grace,' Benjamin continued, pointing to the painting on the wall, 'is the one you wear in that portrait, finished just a few years, perhaps even months, after the murder of Enrico's father. Now,' Benjamin crossed his arms, 'from the little I know, Enrico's father was in Rome buying a precious emerald from an eastern merchant. You will remember, Your Grace, that at the time Rome was under the governance of your uncle, Pope Leo X. Anyway, Enrico's father was murdered and the jewel was never seen again. I just wonder

The cardinal leaned across the desk, tapping his little finger noisily on the wood.

'Yes, I gave that emerald to Lord Francesco Albrizzi,' he snapped. 'I gave him strict instructions that he was to tell no one where he got it, but say that it was part of his family's treasure.' He spread his hands and leaned back. 'It was the least I could do. Lord Francesco was spending good silver in travelling to England. I could not expect him to purchase the costly gift himself. But,' he held up a finger, 'you have no proof that it was the emerald taken from Enrico's father.'

'Your Grace is correct,' my master smiled. 'I have no proof at all, just a surmise. Nor am I accusing you of having a hand in that dreadful murder in Rome so many years before. Nevertheless, the jewels were never found. It is strange that you donated such a precious stone to Lord Francesco to give to our noble prince. Perhaps it's the merest coincidence that the handing over of this gift sparked off the murders in the Albrizzi household. After all, what other motive did Enrico have for these slayings except revenge?' Benjamin moved in his chair. He was tense with rage at the silk-clad Prince of Satan sitting so serenely opposite us. 'So,' he said, 'I go back to my original question. Who would tell Enrico all this? Surely someone powerful, someone who has access to secrets. Enrico was already very resentful at being made to marry Beatrice. Perhaps he already entertained vague suspicions which were fed and nurtured by this powerful person. But it needed clearer evidence to turn his suspicion to certainty. That evidence, Your Grace, was, I believe, the emerald.'