A Brood of Vipers srs-4 Page 5

  Nevertheless, as I have said, it is always fascinating to study people in the middle of such commotion. You learn more by gestures than by fiery speeches. The three servants, Preneste, Giovanni and the dwarf Maria all remained calm and silent, tacitly conceding that Benjamin's questions had already occurred to them. But what of the family? Roderigo chewed his lip. His right hand was under the table. Was he squeezing the hand of his dead brother's widow? She, between tears and sobs, gazed adoringly at him. Alessandro was undoubtedly acting. Enrico seemed calm enough, whilst his young wife Beatrice, although clinging tearfully to his arm, looked hot-eyed up the table at the hard-faced Giovanni.

  Benjamin, like me, was studying them all and assessing their different emotions. He bowed his head and grinned behind his hand at me. Eventually Agrippa, who sat hunched as if bored to tears, got to his feet.

  'Signor Roderigo,' he said, 'Master Daunbey's question is perfectly reasonable. If he cannot obtain such statements then he is wasting your time and you are refusing the king's generous offer.' He emphasized the last phrase. Agrippa's short declaration brought silence. 'And my question still stands,' Benjamin insisted.

  'I will answer for everyone,' Roderigo said. 'The day Lord Francesco went into Cheapside, I and everyone here stayed at Eltham.' He smiled and spread his hands. 'Though, of course, I cannot prove that. Anything else?' Benjamin shook his head.

  'In which case,' – Roderigo got to his feet – 'I understand His Grace and the excellent cardinal are out hunting, a pastime I would like to share.' He smiled falsely. Though, of course, Master Daunbey had to be welcomed.'

  The rest of the household also rose, pushing back chairs. Roderigo sketched a bow in Benjamin's direction.

  'Master Daunbey, excuse me. I am sure we will meet later in the day. We look forward to you joining us on our journey back to Florence.'

  Lord Roderigo sauntered from the room whilst his companions, apparently forgetting us, chattered amongst themselves and followed suit. Agrippa walked down the hall. He firmly closed the door behind them and crept, spider-like, back towards us. 'What do you think?' he whispered.

  'Arrogant as peacocks!' I snarled. 'Do you know, Agrippa, there are pools in Norfolk which are calm on the surface but, deep down, violent currents and oozing mud lurk. The Albrizzis are like that. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could spit. Why can't they be kept in England?' I wailed. 'Why must we trot off to Italy behind them!' Agrippa sat down next to me, his hand on my shoulder.

  'Because, dear Roger, the king has other tasks for you. And, secondly, we have no power to retain them. Thirdly, what can the king do? If he refuses to offer any assistance, it may seem that he doesn't care.' 'What other tasks does he have for us?' I snapped.

  Agrippa tapped me on the shoulder and got to his feet. 'Let him tell you himself,' he cackled, and sauntered off.

  I looked at Benjamin, who sat with his chin cupped in his hand. 'Well, Master?'

  'Well, Roger, although Lord Francesco is dead, I fear few mourn him. Roderigo has taken to being head of the family like a duck to water. Alessandro is full of sound and fury signifying nothing. Enrico is a cold fish. The Lady Bianca is hardly the grieving widow, whilst Lady Beatrice seems besotted by a family soldier.' 'And Preneste?' I asked. 'A priest, an accomplished clerk. He hides his emotions well.' 'And Maria?'

  Benjamin turned, grinning from ear to ear. 'She's the weak link in the Albrizzi chain. A dwarf, an interesting phenomenon. She's sharp, nimble-minded. She's English and I don't think she's too fond of her patrons.' 'And the murderer?' I asked.

  'Oh, it could be any one of them. Or, indeed, it could be all of them.' He paused as a bray from silver trumpets echoed through the palace. 'But come, Roger, let's wash and change so as to be ready for "dearest uncle".'

  We went back to our little garret, climbing wearily up the winding wooden stairs. 'Almost as high as Jacob's ladder,' I murmured. Benjamin was about to reply when a voice hissed. 'Master Crosspatch Onion!1 I stared around. 'Master Crosspatch Onion!' I saw a very small recess in the wall. I stepped forward.

  'Don't be stupid!' the voice hissed. 'Go up to your room but, when the bells chime, you and your master come downstairs to the boxwood garden. It's a small pleasance. Well, go on, go on!'

  Benjamin looked at me and shrugged to show that he was willing to do as she said. We returned to our narrow little closet and finished the wine and bread I had stolen. Benjamin was like a child, almost hugging himself with pleasure.

  'I told you, Roger, Maria is the weak link in the Albrizzi chain.'

  I sat, silently wondering why the little woman should make her approach so quickly. At last the bells chimed and Benjamin and I went downstairs. A servant, after I had threatened to boot him up the backside (he was smaller than me), agreed to show us where the boxwood garden was. It was a small pleasance overgrown with grass, a perfect square hedged with boxwood and with a stone bench on each side. The flower beds had long disappeared, giving way to Michaelmas daisies, buttercups and a few straggly rose bushes. 'Over here!' a voice whispered.

  We crossed to one of the benches and sat down. Maria was apparently hidden in some small cavity within the boxwood behind us. 'It is Maria?' I asked. 'No, it's Richard III, Crosspatch!' she hissed back. 'Are your wits as crooked as your eyes?' 'What do you want?' I demanded.

  'Oh, for God's sake!' Maria hissed. 'Look as if you are talking to each other, not to me! Sweet Lord, what a precious pair of turtle doves! You'll not survive in Florence. Baby chicks in a brood of vipers!' 'What do you want?' Benjamin asked authoritatively. "The truth.' 'And what is the truth?' 'Nothing is what it seems to be.' 'We have gathered that,' I replied sardonically. 'Shut up, Crosspatch, and listen! Beware of Giovanni the condottiero. He likes killing and he dislikes you. The Lady Bianca is a whore. She was playing the two-backed beast with her husband's brother.' 'Why was that?' 'The Lord Francesco was impotent.' 'How do you know that?'

  'Because, on a number of occasions, he asked me to service him.' I snorted with laughter.

  'With my hand. And I used to creep into their bedroom and watch him thrashing about. He was about as limp as you are.'

  Benjamin's eyes widened at the dwarf-woman's crude bluntness. I gestured to him to keep silent. 'Why are you telling us this?' I asked.

  'My loyalty was to the Lord Francesco. He could be a bully and a thug but he was kind to me. My parents were travelling players. When they died of the plague outside Florence, Lord Francesco took me into his household.' 'And the rest of the family?' I asked.

  'The son, Alessandro, is all bombast, but still very dangerous. He has ambitions of making the Albrizzi as great as the Medici in Florence.' 'And Enrico?'

  'A silent one, but still waters run deep. He is not an Albrizzi but a member of the powerful Catalina family. His mother died from the great plague just before Savonarola appeared in Florence. His father and elder brother were mysteriously murdered. Lord Francesco took Enrico into his own house.1

  'And Enrico's marriage to Francesco's daughter Beatrice united their fortunes.* 'Oh, well done, Onion-Eater!' 'And did Enrico welcome the alliance?' 'He does sometimes resent the Albrizzi shadow, but he holds his own. He has won the favour of Giulio de' Medici, Cardinal Prince of Florence.' 'Does he love the Lady Beatrice?' 'He's infatuated. She is as hot as a bitch on heat. I have seen her bedsport. She'd please any man.' 'You seem to see everything,' I murmured. 'There are advantages to being small, Onion-Skinner!' 'And Preneste?' 'Cunning and sly. He has a finger in every man's pie.' 'Which leaves the Lord Roderigo,' Benjamin said.

  'A cruel, ambitious man,' came the reply. 'A bounding ambition with the talent to match. If he had his way, the Medici would be driven out of Florence and the republic restored under Lord Roderigo Albrizzi.'

  We ceased talking as a servant clattered by, her wooden clogs crunching on the gravel path on the other side of the boxwood. 'But why the murder?' I asked.

  'God knows,' Maria replied. 'It could be the work of any or all of them. Handguns – arquebuse
s of the German sort – were ordered by the Lord Roderigo from gunsmiths in London. Before you ask, Onion-Smeller, yes, one of them could have been used in the destruction of Lord Francesco.' 'But why?' I asked.

  'Oh, Onion-Cruncher. Giovanni is Lord Roderigo's creature. Alessandro? Well, there was bad blood between him and his father. Beatrice resented her father's constant lectures about her morals, but probably cares about nothing as long as she is happy in bed. Preneste will support whoever holds power. Enrico may have found out about his wife!' Maria chuckled. 'But, if you are a gambling man, Shallot, I'd bet that the Lord Roderigo's ambition lies at the root of this evil.' 'And what about you, Maria?' I retorted. There was a scuffling in the hedge. I repeated my question. 'She's gone,' Benjamin said. 'And we too must go.'

  We walked out of the pleasance, following the winding path around the palace. We passed the kitchens, where the air was sweet and cloying with the smell of meat pies, chickens, capons and pullets being baked for the evening's banquet. I was going to speak, but Benjamin put his finger to his lips. We went through the stables, busy with farriers and grooms cleaning the horses after the recent hunt, and into a small grazing paddock. Benjamin led me through this, down to a little brook. He stopped and looked carefully along the bank. We were alone – it was late afternoon, the king had returned and everyone was busy preparing for his next round of pleasure.

  'So you were right,' Benjamin said. 'The Albrizzis are a brood of vipers.' 'But what if Maria is a liar?' I asked.

  'She could well be. I am still not sure what is the shadow and what is the substance in this matter.'

  Benjamin sat down on the grass. He plucked a small cowslip and studied it carefully.

  'So much beauty in something so small,' he murmured. 'Is Maria like that? Or is she a liar, someone sent to lure us to our deaths?'

  I sat down next to him. 'What concerns me, Master, is the puzzle behind these deaths. We go to collect Throckle and he has committed suicide for no apparent reason. Then we are brought to London to investigate the assassination of a Florentine nobleman.'

  'Throckle's death may be connected,' Benjamin replied guardedly. 'But it's the manner of Lord Francesco's dying which puzzles me. In such assassinations, the murderer and the victim are always close.' He looked at me. 'Roger, have you ever loaded an arquebus? Or had anything to do with any handgun?'

  'No, they frighten me. All that powder and priming. I'd always be frightened that they might blow up in my face. Do you think then,' I asked, 'that Roderigo might have used one of those handguns he bought?'

  Benjamin shook his head. 'No, Agrippa told me they had been checked.' 'So how did this assassin strike?'

  'Well,' Benjamin replied. 'We have seen where Lord Francesco died. He was shot in the head facing the alleyway where his assassin lurked. Now an arquebus, whether a matchlock or the more sophisticated wheel-lock type from Italy, is heavy and cumbersome. It stands at least as high as your chest. How could anyone carry such a weapon through the middle of London and not be seen? And I find it difficult to accept that the assassin stood in an alleyway and coolly loaded his gun. It takes time to ready an arquebus for firing. Think what the assassin would have to do. He must carry a powder flask or horn. Keeping the gun upright, the butt firmly against the ground, he pours the powder down the barrel, covers it with a wad of paper and rams it firmly home. Then he rams the ball on top of the powder and wad. Now he must prime the gun – add a little powder to the pan. To fire it, he must ignite the powder in the pan with a slow match. He must raise the gun, load it and fire.’ Benjamin shook his head. 'I can't believe no one saw that. And, even if they didn't, how could an assassin run away carrying such a heavy weapon and not be seen?' 'But the bang was heard,' I reminded him. 'And the ball hit Lord Francesco's head." 'So?'

  'So, perhaps the assassin wasn't in the alleyway. Perhaps he was somewhere else?'

  'Impossible,' Benjamin replied. 'I stood where Agrippa said Lord Francesco's body fell, directly facing the alleyway. On either side of this stand shops and houses. No assassin could hide in one of these and go unnoticed. Moreover, if Agrippa is to be believed, the bang was heard from the alleyway.' Benjamin clambered to his feet, it's a mystery, a puzzle, an enigma. But come on, Roger, "dearest uncle" is awaiting us!'

  Now I can't exactly describe what happened next – the details are vague. Benjamin clasped my hand to help me up. I half-rose, my boots slipped on the mud. I fell back, pulling Benjamin towards me. Thank God I did. I saved his life. I heard a bang and the whistle of the ball flying through the air where Benjamin's head had been. 'What?' my master shouted.

  I pulled him down. 'Master!' I hissed, 'someone is trying to kill us!'

  (God bless him, Benjamin Daunbey could be the most innocent of men!)

  We lay sprawled on the grass. My stomach was churning and I just thanked God my breeches were brown. 'Roger, are you crying?' my master whispered. 'No, that's just sweat.'

  I pressed my face against the cool grass and remembered how long it took to load a handgun. This prompted my heroism. I sprang to my feet, drew my dagger and, ignoring my master's protests, ran across that paddock like one of Arthur’s knights, shouting and screaming. The few sheep grazing there, being fattened for the kitchens, lifted their heads, gazed glassy-eyed and went back to their browsing. At last I reached the fence. The assassin must have stood here to fire his weapon, yet I found nothing – no footprints, no powder marks, not even the whiff of gunshot in the clear spring air. A smell of burning perhaps, but nothing else.

  'Come on, Master!' I shouted, now standing legs apart like a Hector. 'I've driven the varlet off!'

  Benjamin crossed the field in his long-strided walk. He, too, had unsheathed his dagger. My fear returned when I saw how pale his face was. 'Master,' I assured him-and myself, 'the bastard has gone.'

  He may have just changed position,' Benjamin said nervously.

  I immediately flung myself down. Benjamin went through the gates and stared at the row of trees on either side of the track leading back to the stables and the main palace buildings. 'I think we are safe, Roger.'

  I clambered to my feet. My hands were trembling so much as I realized how stupid I'd been that I could not sheathe my dagger. After all the assassin may have had two handguns, both loaded and primed. Or, supposing there had been two assassins? My legs felt like jelly, so I crouched down again. I snatched a clump of grass and held it against my hot cheeks. 'Roger, are you all right?' I got to my feet. 'Master, who could the bastard be?' 'Someone who is trying either to frighten us or kill us.' Benjamin smiled and clasped my hand. 'But, Roger, you are a brave man. Tell no one what happened.' He grasped me by the elbow and hurried me back to the palace.

  Now, once fear has gripped old Roger, there's no shaking it off. I have been shot at, stabbed, hacked, fed poison, despatched to the gallows, knelt to receive the headsman's blow and, on four occasions, nearly drowned. Each time I have escaped. Agrippa says I either have the devil's own luck or God's special protection. I say this to show I am not a coward. I just have this deep urge for self-preservation. Greater, perhaps, than that of any man on the face of this earth.

  I was still shaking when we returned to our chamber. Benjamin had forgotten the incident. He began wondering when Uncle would send for us. I was more fearful, or more cunning. Whenever I leave a room, I always throw something on the bed, a napkin or an item of clothing. This time what I had left had been disturbed. I grabbed Benjamin's arm. 'Master, wait!'

  I went across to my cot bed and pulled back the blankets. I almost swooned as I saw the great, ugly dagger blade which someone had pushed up under the mattress at the very point where, half-drunk or too tired to care, I would have flung myself down.

  Chapter 4

  I can honestly declare that most chamberlains are arrogant jackanapes. But there was never a more welcome sight than the one who knocked on our door, carrying a flagon of wine and two cups as a gift from Cardinal Wolsey to his dearest nephew. I grabbed the jug, filled a goblet t
o the brim and gulped the wine down. I refilled my cup and huddled in a corner from where I glared at my master.

  The bastards!' I whispered. 'We haven't even left for Florence yet and some turd in taffeta is trying to kill us! Shot at! Daggers in the mattress!'

  Benjamin ignored me. He pulled out the dagger blade and carefully searched the rest of the room. All the time I sat cursing and gulping the wine. I could do nothing else. I was terrified. Benjamin, at last, calmed me down.

  'Think, Roger,' he whispered, crouching next to me. 'Think carefully. If the assassin wanted to kill us, he could have done so. I suspect we are being warned off and, surely, no one warns off Shallot?'

  I thought differently. Benjamin was to be killed near the brook. I was to come back, distraught, perhaps drunk, and throw myself down on my bed. I was certain of one thing: somebody amongst the Albrizzis wanted us dead. I kept growling but at last the logic of Benjamin's words did calm my fears. I reluctantly stripped, washed, shaved and donned my best raiment (the chamberlain had informed us that the cardinal had insisted on this). We heard trumpet blasts from the great garden below, a sign that the sun was setting and the banquet was about to begin. Benjamin and I joined the other revellers streaming through the palace out into the royal garden on the other side of the great hall.

  Once again Henry the great killer, the fat bastard, was indulging his love of masques and revels. The prince of unbounding stomach had ordered the garden, which stretched down to the lake, to be ringed by cresset torches. On the brow of a small hill was a summer house as massive as any hall. The exterior was concealed by interwoven bowers, branches and clusters of white hazel nuts. The interior was hung with cloths, its ceiling decorated with ivy leaves, the floor ankle-deep in fresh, green rushes sprinkled with herbs. This magnificent chamber was lit by capped cresset torches and row upon row of beeswax candles on tables which had been arranged in the shape of a horseshoe. Chamberlains with their white wands of office carefully studied their scrolls and the order of seating. Naturally, Benjamin and I were placed at the bottom. Other courtiers and officers grouped round higher tables whilst the table on the gold carpeted dais was reserved for the beast himself, his Satanic Eminence, Wolsey, and the Florentine visitors. At the back of this high table, concealed by a huge banner in red, blue and gold depicting the royal arms of England, was a small door through which cooks, scullions and servants trotted to serve the various dishes to the guests. Men-at-arms, swords drawn, stood in the shadows.