A Brood of Vipers srs-4

by Paul Doherty

  'I could have told you as much!' Maria spoke up heatedly. 'Giovanni's a treacherous bastard. He's one of those men who like killing. He's no different from the family he serves. The Lord Francesco may have been a bad man but he didn't have the blood lust of the rest.' She lowered her voice, for her exclamations in English had attracted the attention of other travellers. 'They are all violent. They would have laughed if Alessandro had killed you. And Giovanni is a spy.' 'What do you mean?' Benjamin pushed his horse closer.

  'He's a spy! Either for the de Medici or the Master of the Eight, or probably for both. I have seen him slipping out of the house at night when he's not poking the Lady Beatrice.' She gathered the reins of her donkey. 'That will end in blood,' she added darkly. 'Enrico's no fool. If he catches them in flagrante, either he or Giovanni will die.' 'What else do you know?' I asked.

  Maria looked away. 'I have told you what I know.' She looked back across the city, where the great dome of Brunelleschi's cathedral loomed through the haze. 'I hate this place,' she whispered. 'My father died here. And, when I have enough silver and gold, I will leave.' She looked up and her face broke into a smile. 'And it's to England, isn't it, Roger?' I looked at my master, who shrugged. 'It is to England?' she insisted. 'Yes, Maria, it is to England.'

  We continued into the city under a gateway decorated with a number of severed heads. Maria went ahead of us, showing the way through the winding Florentine streets, past the butchers' stalls, stacked high with mutton and veal. I noticed something rather strange. In London you never know what meat you are buying. As I have remarked before in my memoirs, I am an authority on such matters simply because I have eaten both cat and rat meat and so can tell the difference. Others can't. What they regard as succulent hare is often the remains of some alley cat. However, in Florence, according to the decree of the Council, the skins and heads of all animals whose meat is sold must be displayed in front of the butchers' stalls. This may be a wholesome practice, but being stared at by the glassy eyes of sheep, cattle, rabbits and lambs is disconcerting.

  The streets were just as busy and packed as those in London. My ears dinned with the clash of pots and pans, the clinking of money, the cries of the owners of old clothes' stalls, the hawkers of wooden ware, kettles and frying pans. The streets were choked with mules and carts. Now and again we would debouch from some narrow alleyway into one of the beautiful squares or piazzas of the city, open and paved with pleasant fountains in the middle. Crossing one of these, I was disturbed by what appeared to be sombre-clad ghosts carrying a black catafalque. As they passed all heads were uncovered and even the most coarse and ribald carters drew their carts to one side to give more room.

  'They are the brothers of the Misericordia,' Maria explained. She pointed to the leader of these black ghosts. 'Each unit of ten is led by a Capo di Guardia. You can tell him by the leather bag tied round his waist. It contains brandy, cough lozenges and the key of a drawer under the litter. In this there is a drinking cup, a stole, a crucifix and some holy water, in case a sick person should die on the way to hospital.'

  I gazed at the long, black cloaks, the hoods and cowls with holes for the eyes, nose and mouth. 'They look like demons,' I whispered.

  'No, no,' Maria replied. 'The Misericordia are the great glory of Florence. They visit the sick and take them to hospital but, according to the rules of their confraternity, they must remain in disguise so no one will think them virtuous nor can they boast of their good work.' I watched the litter pass. 'But isn't the person dead?'

  'Oh, no. They are hidden to save any embarrassment.' Maria wiped her little mouth on the back of her hand. 'Florence's hospitals are the wonder of the world.' She smiled sourly. 'Mind you, they have to be; there's more poisoning and dagger thrusts in this city than any in Italy, even Rome.' 'They look like the Eight,' Benjamin observed.

  Maria urged her donkey on, looking over her shoulder at my master. if you ever fall into their power,' she called back, 'you'll find there's no mercy from the Eight!' A bell began to sound.

  'Hurry up!' she called and, as we came out of the alleyway, pointed across the square to a huge, rectangular, fortified building.

  'The Piazza de' Medici! The Lord Cardinal awaits you.' She drew in the reins of her mount and came alongside. 'We have a phrase in English – when you sup with the devil '… you carry a long spoon!' I finished for her. 'In this case,' Maria whispered, 'make sure your spoon is very, very long!'

  Chapter 9

  We stabled our horses at a nearby tavern and entered the palace. Now the Medicis are certainly corrupt, as I found to my cost, but they knew how to build and how to live. The palace was extraordinary. We went up some steps into a large courtyard with a fountain in the middle, the water cascading from a bowl held by a beautiful nymph carved in ivory. We crossed this court and entered a garden curiously devised with laurel trees, thickets of bay, closely shaded walks, great ponds of water and statues of every variety, mostly carved out of marble. In one corner, so Maria whispered, was a curious ice-house with a cool cellar under it where the melting ice dropped down upon barrels of wine, thus keeping them fresh.

  Chamberlains met us, arrogant men in their Medici colours with the Medici balls, the family coat-of-arms, emblazoned on their tunics. They took us up through sumptuous galleries where paintings hung on the walls next to hangings of cloth of gold and the purest velvet with all sorts of devices depicted there – birds, trees, flowers and strange landscapes. In every room people worked or lolled. I noticed the number of men, some in half-armour, all wearing swords and daggers, who guarded the galleries, doors and antechambers. Cardinal Giulio had his principal chambers at the centre of this opulent web. He awaited us in a beautiful, high-domed room, the walls painted gold and silver and every inch of the floor covered in pure wool rugs. He sat at a desk near a large window overlooking the square, dictating letters – to princes and prelates all over Europe – to five or six clerks working at desks on either side of his own.

  For a while we just stood watching him. At last the cardinal took notice of us, studying us carefully with those hooded eyes as he fingered the gold tassel of his purple robe. He held up a finger. A curiously contrived clock fashioned out of ivory and gold, which sat on the ledge above a cavernous fireplace, chimed musically and then struck the noon day hour. As the last chime died, the cardinal picked up and rang a silver handbell. He clasped his hands, the clerks disappeared and he waved us forward. We walked towards him in a strange silence, because the woollen floor coverings and the heavy drapes on the walls deadened every sound. We knelt and kissed his purple-gloved hand. The rubies on his fingers could have bought half of England. Once the courtesies were finished, he led us over to a small, velvet-draped alcove and sat us down beneath a beautiful painting of Adam and Eve being tempted by the serpent. I remember it vividly, because the naked woman depicted there was one of the most beautiful and life-like I had ever seen. Cardinal Giulio sat opposite us on a small, throne-like chair, a fixed smile on his smooth, olive face. I felt nervous at the prolonged silence and wished those black mutes outside had not so expertly taken our sword belts from us. I looked across the room at the clock, which Benjamin seemed fascinated by.

  'A present from the Emperor Charles,' the Cardinal said quietly. 'He is fascinated by clocks. Did you know that?'

  (At the time I didn't. I knew little about the square-jawed Hapsburg emperor, Charles V, but in time I got to know him well. He was one of the most curious men I have ever met. He was obsessed with time and surrounded himself with clocks of every contrivance. I went to visit him just after he retired to a monastery to prepare for death. The whole bloody place was ticking with clocks, so many you could even hear them in the courtyard. Ah well, that's time!)

  The cardinal drummed one purple-gloved hand on the arm of the chair. He glanced at the clock, then half-turned to stare at us. 'Everyone,' he murmured, 'sends presents to Florence.' I thought he was asking us if we had brought one. I stared dumbly back.

  'The
present you brought,' he continued, 'is of the most exquisite variety, power.'

  I didn't know what he was talking about and glanced sideways at Benjamin. My master seemed fascinated by the cardinal and was studying him carefully. The cardinal stirred as if shaking himself from a reverie. 'I am sorry, some refreshments?'

  He must have pressed a device or a secret button in the chair, for a door concealed in the far wall opened. The black mute, whom I had seen with the cardinal at the Villa Albrizzi, came out with a tray bearing three tall-stemmed Venetian glasses. A blackamoor pageboy trotted beside him. The cardinal bowed his head imperceptibly. The mute lowered the tray, took a glass, sipped from it, then handed it to the cardinal, who went through the same ceremony before handing a glass to each of us. I raised the glass to my lips. 'No, wait!' the cardinal ordered.

  And so we did, whilst the black mute and the pageboy stood there. A few minutes passed before the cardinal lifted his glass. 'To that noble prince, Henry of England!'

  Benjamin echoed the toast. I mumbled something and, as I sipped from the glass, the mute and the pageboy disappeared through the secret door. The cardinal grinned at my stupefaction.

  'In Florence,' he said, 'one always drinks slowly. If you hold power, you not only make sure others drink before you but wait to see if it has any ill effects.'

  He wrinkled his nose as he sipped the ice-cold, sparkling white wine. 'Some poisons take some time to act. 'And some tasters can hold the wine in their mouth. If dismissed too quickly, they leave and spit it out.' He smiled at me over the glass. 'Life in Florence, gentlemen, is very beautiful but, at times, it can be very, very dangerous.' He stirred, his silken robes rustling and giving off the most fragrant of perfumes. 'You brought a companion – little Maria the jester, in her buckram dress and rose-topped shoes?' He must have caught some alarm in my eyes.

  'She's my guest,' he continued. 'She's outside in the antechamber stuffing her little mouth with sweetmeats and waiting for your return. She so looks forward to travelling back with you to England, particularly after your defence of her against that bully Alessandro. You are a good swordsman, Master Shallot! A clever ploy, changing hands half-way through a duel. It's a pity you nicked him in the shoulder. You should have killed the arrogant, empty-headed bastard!'

  I don't know about my master but I just sat transfixed, staring into those velvet liquid eyes. How in God's name, I wondered, did he know so much and so quickly?

  'So, Preneste is dead?' he went on, 'and not before time. The Inquisition would have liked to have questioned him. But who started the fire? And do you think, Master Daunbey, that the owl was poisoned?' He turned and put his wine glass down on the small, polished table beside him, the top of which was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. 'Very, very clever!' he commented. 'I must remember that.' He folded his hands in his lap.

  Now, if his object had been to frighten me then he had succeeded; here was a prince of the Church who seemed to know things immediately, even though they happened miles away. Benjamin, however, was made of sterner stuff.

  'The trick with the owl was quite common with the ancient Romans,' he said. 'A bird is easily managed, whether it be an eagle flying over the forum or a rook with a rotten liver being opened for sacrifice so the auspices can be read. Dumb animals are much easier to control than men.'

  Lord Giulio chuckled. 'You are a classical scholar, Master Daunbey.' 'More a matter of common sense, Your Grace. As it would be for you to have a spy in the Albrizzi household.' The cardinal's smile widened.

  ‘I wonder who it is?' Benjamin continued, as if talking to himself. 'How do you know so much so quickly? We left the Villa Albrizzi this morning. Maria accompanied us everywhere.' He held up a finger. 'Ah, the good Giovanni! I suspect that he did not return to the villa immediately but slipped into the city, secretly by another route, and came to tell you all that had happened.'

  The cardinal clapped his hands softly. 'You are truly Thomas Wolsey's nephew,' he said. 'Yes, you are right, Master Daunbey. Giovanni is a mercenary in more ways than one. He listens well and tells me everything that happens.'

  'So, why send the Master of the Eight's men there?' Benjamin asked.

  The cardinal's face hardened. One purple-gloved hand went down to the arm of his chair, to the same place where he had pressed that button. Watching a picture on the same wall as the secret door, I saw the eyes of the man in the portrait move. This was a common surveillance device. The cardinal's bodyguard was watching us. Lower down the wall I could see other small, hidden, apertures with more eyeholes above them. If either Benjamin or I posed a danger, I am sure the door would be flung open or, more speedily, a crossbow bolt would be fired straight into our chests. The cardinal was seated so that he was out of the line of fire. He leaned forward. 'Master Daunbey, tell me what you saw?'

  Benjamin told him what had happened, avoiding any mention of the fact that we had been in Preneste's room when it had caught fire. He described how we had gone to the garden and met the hooded figure there. The cardinal got to his feet and walked across the room to the window, as if disturbed by the growing noise from the piazza below. 'Master Daunbey, Master Shallot,' he said. 'Come here!'

  We went across to where he stood and looked down into the square, now thronged with people. They had gathered around a tall, three-branched scaffold that towered up from a large circular platform. A ladder was fixed to either side of the scaffold's post. The platform was ringed by a group of men, garbed completely in black, their heads covered by high, pointed hoods. These awesome figures, armed with sword and dagger, some with shields and lances, kept the crowd back as others, similarly dressed, dragged three unfortunates on to the circular platform. This was to be one of the quietest executions I have ever seen. The crowds murmured, but there were none of the cat-calls or jeers you get in England. The three prisoners had all been severely tortured; each was a mass of bleeding wounds from head to toe. A black-robed figure pushed one up a scaffold-ladder. The executioner climbed the ladder on the other side. Once the prisoner reached the top, the waiting executioner looped a noose around his neck and pushed the unfortunate off. In a matter of minutes the same horrifying fate befell the other two. They hung, choking and kicking. Beneath them the black cowled figures began to heap bundles of faggots. When all were in place they sprinkled gunpowder over them and set them alight.

  The cardinal, arms crossed, watched as the flames roared up to engulf the pathetic figures twitching there. The fire grew higher still; the bodies themselves were now burning. I saw a foot shrivel and break off and I turned away, sickened. I noticed then that Benjamin was not watching the scene in the square. He was studying a portrait on the wall to the left of the window. The cardinal didn't move until all three men completely burned, then he sketched a blessing in the air, closed the window and turned to us.

  'That was the work of the Master of the Eight,' he said sourly. 'Who were they, Your Grace?' Benjamin asked.

  'Apostates, or so the Master of the Eight claims – traitors to Florence, who were caught carrying messages to the French forces in Naples.' The cardinal leaned elegantly against the side of his desk. 'I believe you met Brother Seraphino last night. He is a dangerous man.' He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the window. 'I knew one of the condemned, a beautiful singer. Even my influence could not save him.' He crossed himself. 'God rest him! I did my best, but Brother Seraphino was insistent, the man had to die.'

  Oh, I caught the clever bastard's threat, the subtle hint that, even if we were envoys and enjoyed his friendship, he might not be able to save us from those black-garbed devils below.

  'I wonder,' he murmured, 'what the Eight are so interested in at the Villa Albrizzi?'

  I could see from Benjamin's drawn face that he was tired of being taunted. 'Oh, surely, Your Grace,' he said, 'Alessandro Albrizzi is well-known for his love of the new learning from Germany.'

  The cardinal pursed his lips and nodded, staring down at his gold pectoral cross. He caught Benjamin's
gaze and pointed at the portrait. 'You were admiring it?' 'Yes, Your Grace.' 'It's of me.'

  The painting was of an angelic, almost effeminate young man. The face was younger, thinner, but the eyes were as clever and their gaze as sneering and arrogant as now.

  'A good likeness, Your Grace,' Benjamin said. 'And we take your hint. The Master of the Eight is all-powerful in Florence, so it's best if we seek your protection. That's why we were invited here, at this hour, is it not?'

  The cardinal laughed and ushered us back to our seats, putting one arm round Benjamin's shoulders.

  'You are clever, but far too blunt, and I apologize for playing games. Yes, you are under my protection.' His face became grave. 'But the Master of the Eight is a law unto himself. Here in Florence we play for high stakes and the game is only beginning. The prize is information, because information is the key to power. Now, repeat what your uncle said before you left England.'

  'If Rome says yes,' Benjamin replied, summarizing the message, 'then England says yes.'

  The Lord Giulio nodded. 'And I have thought of my reply. Tell your Uncle this: "When the time has come, and the moment is ripe, Rome will say yes". Repeat it!'

  Benjamin did so twice. The cardinal extended his hand for us to kiss. We genuflected, kissed that clever bastard's hand, received a small purse of silver each and were ushered out to join a sticky-faced Maria in the antechamber.

  We never exchanged a word until the iron gates of the Medici palace slammed behind us.

  'Master, what was all that about?' I asked. 'We come to Florence and what happens? We are threatened by the Master of the Eight, God knows for what reason.' 'Threatened?' my master queried. 'Well, watched.'

  'What's this all about?' Maria spoke up, jumping up and down, her mouth still sticky from the sweetmeat she had been eating.

  'Oh, shut up!' I snapped, attracting the attention of the crowd.

  We left by a side street on the other side of the Piazza de' Medici from where the execution had taken place. My master wrinkled his nose at the sour, smoky smell wafting from the pyre. He tugged me by the arm into a small alleyway.