A Brood of Vipers (7 page)

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 - arquebuses 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.