A Brood of Vipers (22 page)

My master hinted at the reasons for his conclusions, but then broke off - Maria, intrigued by our whispering, had reined back her mount to join us.

The Villa Albrizzi was bathed in light and music as we entered. As I said, it was a carnival day and the family was celebrating. They were all seated once more in that beautiful garden, dining on lamb cooked in oil and garnished with herbs. They were well gone in their cups. Alessandro was there, nursing his pin-prick of a wound and glaring at me sulkily. However, I was pleased to see the hero worship in the ladies' eyes, which increased as Maria described my duel in the tavern. On Benjamin's strict instructions she made no reference to the cardinal, to Borelli or to the Master of the Eight. I, of course, forgot my aching head and sore arm and acted the hero. Lord Roderigo was most gracious.

'Come, join us!'

I, sober as a judge, for the wine I had drunk in the taverna had long ceased to have its effect, moodily played the role of Hector returned from the wars. I apologized for my dirty garments. Whilst Benjamin and Maria washed their hands and faces in bowls of rose water, I went to the stables to check on our horses before going back to my own chamber to change. As I stripped I quietly cursed all princes, for since this escapade had begun I had destroyed more good clothes than I had in the whole of the previous year. I was naked as the day I was born when a knock sounded on the door. 'Come in!' I shouted.

Remembering that an assassin was abroad, I scurried across to my saddlebag and threw a towel round the most precious part of my anatomy. When I turned, the Lady Bianca was standing there, eyes glistening, wetting her lips as if she was some heifer and I some prize bullock at Smithfield.

'Oh!' she said in mock pity. 'Master Shallot, you are bruised and cut.'

She came up, swaying slightly from the cups of wine she had downed, pressing her taffeta close against me, her plump pretty face raised, staring up at me with eyes fluttering and lips half-open.

'Shall I dress your wound?' she asked throatily. Then she laughed. 'When you returned, we could smell you before we saw you! But, Master Shallot, you are a man.' Her hand went down and grasped my genitals. 'Oh, yes!'

(Excuse me, my little chaplain's shoulders have gone rigid and he is not writing properly. Oh, I know what he is thinking, the filthy-minded turd! Here goes old Shallot again, bouncing around with anyone in petticoats! Now that didn't happen. 'Ah!' he sighs in disappointment.)

Lady Bianca was becoming excited and so was I, though I was petrified. Two duels in one day was testing fortune. I did not want any enraged Roderigo thirsting for my blood. In the event my virtue was saved by another knock on the door. Lady Bianca stepped backwards. I wrapped the towel round me as Beatrice flounced in.

'Mother, can I help?'

If I had not been so terrified I would have burst out laughing.

Bianca assumed all the airs of an outraged duchess.

'Master Shallot has been wounded, he may need our help.' Beatrice looked at the bulge beneath the towel. 'Yes,' she said drily, ‘I can see that. But the Lord Roderigo awaits.'

She opened the door and her mother stalked out. Beatrice closed it behind her and grinned at me.

'Perhaps tomorrow, Master Shallot? In the evening. The servants will go to the carnival. Perhaps I can help you with your wound?'

I just nodded. She smiled once more and slammed the door behind her. Poor Beatrice! Poor Bianca! Poor Albrizzis! Years later my master confessed that he made a dreadful mistake that night and I am forced to agree. I returned, fully dressed, to the table. Benjamin was seated there, regaling them with fictitious stories about our visit to Florence. Oh, it was a sweet night, well after midnight, the witching hour which brews murder. Benjamin now waited for me to join him as he proceeded to compare Florence with London.

'And how did you find the Lord Cardinal?' Enrico interrupted.

'He was most gracious.'

'And Borelli?' Lord Roderigo asked.

'He has promised that he will consider our offer,' Benjamin lied, it seems likely that he will accompany us back to England.'

I dug my face into the deep-bowled wine goblet, embarrassed and rather flattered by the way Bianca and Beatrice were staring at me.

'And so you will return to England,' Alessandro drawled, 'with my father's murderer still unmasked?'

'Did I say that?' Benjamin said.

I gazed quickly around the table. The lies Benjamin had

told up to then had provoked not so much as a flicker of astonishment or puzzlement, but his comment now came like an icy wind across that warm, perfume-filled garden. Beatrice was staring at him, leaning across the table. She touched his wrist.

'What is it you say?'

Benjamin said deliberately, ‘I think I know who the assassin is.'

'Tell us now!' Giovanni hissed, flailing his hand out and knocking a wine cup across the table. 'Tell us now!'

'I cannot,' Benjamin said. 'We have not yet collected all the evidence.' He picked up his wine cup. 'But I have said enough. No one at this table need fear us.'

Oh, Lord, the folly of youth! What we thought was such a subtle ploy! But, in fairness, who can fathom the mind of a killer? Follow the sinister byways of his heart? Perceive clearly the blackness of his soul? Benjamin had used such a device before to flush out a murderer. But this was different. We were playing chess with human lives and the killer was moving faster than us. God knows, I still blame myself. Yet perhaps the bloody and horrific climax of that Florentine business was fated and may have happened anyway.

The meal became a desultory affair. Benjamin and I withdrew. I was half-dead with fatigue and the wine was making itself felt. We bolted the door and, despite the warm evening, made the window secure. We checked our bedding. I slept like a baby until late the following morning. Benjamin and I spent the rest of that day in our room, even sending away Maria, trying to review all that had happened and to sift the truth from the dross. We had no proof, no tangible evidence, just a logical-seeming solution to the riddle that confronted us.

Late in the afternoon the servants in the villa were dismissed to attend the carnival in the city. Only the old cook and her husband remained. The villa became silent. We heard Enrico leave, shouting in the courtyard that he was going to the city and would not return until the following day. We heard other noises, but the house settled down. Different people went into the refectory to help themselves to the cold meat and fruits that the servants had laid out before leaving.

Benjamin went down and returned with Maria.

'The Albrizzis,' he said, 'use a local apothecary, an old peasant woman in the village. She may be able to help us.'

Maria was fairly dancing with excitement, clapping her hands, her eyes glistening.

'We'll be gone, we'll be gone soon! I know we will!' she cried. 'I'll be out of this brood of vipers and back to England! Can I stay with you? I have money lodged with the bankers.'

I looked at Benjamin, who smiled and nodded.

‘In my manor, Maria, there is room for one as lively as you. But come, this matter must be finished!' He looked warningly at me. 'Go with Maria to the village. Then we will confront the Lord Roderigo.'

I picked up my cloak and sword belt and went down to the stables. Giovanni was there, seated on a bench, playing dice against himself. He watched us from underneath his eyebrows, black hair falling forward, almost concealing his face. He never uttered a word and neither did I. I saddled Maria's donkey and took the loan of a gentle cob. We rode out of the villa and down into the local village. Small, whitewashed houses glistened in the late afternoon sun. Pigs, chickens and dogs foraged in the rutted cobbled paths. Women, dressed only in smocks, stood in the shadows of the doorways and watched us pass. Maria led us through and, in the shadow of the village church, stopped and knocked at a door. The old woman who opened it was small and sprightly, not much taller than Maria. She recognized Maria and was friendly enough, beckoning us in. She was the local wise woman, Maria told me, and her name was Richolda. The house was simple with a beaten-earth floor and lime-washed walls. A long table and stools were the only furniture. Pieces of meat and vegetables hung from the rafters, a pile of ash lay in the hearth. The only difference between it and any other peasant cottage was the sweet, fragrant smell from the many herbs and spices crushed and stored in small jars or heaped on shelves. Richolda sat us down and, with Maria acting as interpreter, I asked her questions about plants and flowers. The old woman, encouraged by the coins I placed on the table, answered pithily, most of the time nodding her head, agreeing with what I said. Maria looked perplexed and, on one occasion, asked what was the point of all these questions.

'You'll see,' I told her. 'In the end, you'll see.'

We perhaps stayed a little longer than we intended. Richolda prepared a herbal drink mixed with orange and lemon juice, cool and refreshing. Then, as darkness fell, we collected our horses and made our way back to the Villa Albrizzi. Maria chattered away, telling me how she could help when she came to England, promising she would never be a nuisance.

(Oh, Lord, I have to stop. The tears prick my eyes. Even now, seventy years later, I can still remember that nightmare. Horror upon horror, as Will Shakespeare put it.)

But I hurry on. Let me take you back to that dusty track as darkness fell. I remember the beautiful blue blackness of Tuscany, the stars above us pricking the heavens with light; the sweet smell from the vineyards; the gentle movement of the cypresses in the warm evening wind; the clop of our horses' hooves; Maria's chatter as we entered the Villa Albrizzi and passed into a nightmare from Hell.

As we dismounted in the cobbled stableyard the hair on my neck curled, a cold shiver ran along my spine, and there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach - all the signs that there was danger around and that I should be on my guard. The silence was ominous, heavy, as if Satan himself was waiting for us in the shadows. I let the reins drop and loosened the sword and dagger in my belt.

Maria's chatter died on her lips as she, too, became uneasy. I hissed at her to stay still, then climbed into the villa through the kitchen window. (I have learnt never to enter any house by the proper entrance when danger threatens but to go in by some narrow place where you are least expected.) The old cook and her husband lay sprawled on the floor. Her throat had been sliced; she lay propped against the table, eyes open. Her husband was lying in the corner, the crossbow bolt that had sent him crashing face down against the wall still embedded between his shoulder blades. Their deaths must have been sudden, quick, silent. The candles still flickered on the tables, even the cat sat curled before the small fire.

I drew my dagger and went out along the galleries and corridors. Alessandro was seated in a chair, the manuscript he had been reading still on his lap. He, too, had died quickly. Someone had pulled his hair back and drawn a dagger across his throat from ear to ear. Now that poor foolish young man sat, half-bent, as if in death he was still surprised by the blood reddening his shirt and hose. Beatrice was on the stairs, her mouth still rounded in an 'O' of agony and pain, those beautiful eyes half-open, one hand slightly towards the dagger plunged into her breast. I felt her cheek and face. A slight tinge of warmth remained. I surmised she must have been killed within the hour.

I stopped on the stains, gazing up into the darkness. Believe me, I wanted to run, fearful of what awaited me, terrified of what might have happened to Benjamin. I removed my boots, tossing them over the balustrade. They hit the floor below with a jingle and clatter which might distract the assassin. I went on. Lord Roderigo was sprawled naked on his bed, a crossbow bolt in his throat. Bianca, equally naked, had apparently tried to run. She lay face down on the floor, a great, dark, bloody patch seeping from the wound in the back of her head.

I hurried on and burst into my master's chamber. I almost laughed with relief - he was lying on the bed fast asleep. I glimpsed the wine cup on the floor and the great stain on the rug. My master's hand lolled, falling down by the side of the bed. I sheathed my dagger, hurried over, took one look at his white face and the lie of his head. He had been drugged, poisoned. I picked up the wine cup and smelled it. I know a little about herbs and potions but there were no tell-tale grains nor marks in the cup. I shook my master. He stirred, eyelids fluttering. I wiped the saliva drooling out of his mouth, took one of the bolsters and tore it open. The goose feathers floated out. I seized two or three, twined them together, forced my master's head back and stuck the feathers down his throat. He gagged, his body twitching. I seized a jug and dashed the water into his face. He began to protest. I took the feathers again and jabbed the back of his throat. He retched and, rolling over, vomited a little of what he had drunk. Not bothering with the feathers this time, I stuck my finger down his throat until he retched so violently he regained consciousness. I made him drink, forcing the water into his throat, smacking his face and shouting his name. At last he opened his eyes, staring hazily up at me.

'Valerian,' he whispered. 'The wine was drugged by valerian.'

'Who?' I shouted.

'Giovanni.'

I shook him by the shoulders. 'Giovanni!' I shouted. 'Giovanni! We were wrong, Master!'

I recalled the mercenary's malignant look as he watched Maria and me leave the stableyard. He must be the murderer. I hadn't seen his body. He must have slipped up to my master's chamber, given him the drugged wine and, whilst the rest of the Albrizzis took their early evening siesta, carried out his bloody revenge. But why?

My master was now recovering - dazed and only semiconscious, but in no real danger. I made him comfortable -and remembered Maria, still waiting in the stableyard below.