Paul Doherty - A Brood of Vipers

He gazed fondly at Benjamin. I closed my eyes and cursed. The good cardinal wouldn't know the truth if it jumped up and bit him on his soft, plump nose. Oh, I knew, as the old bishop said to the buxom milkmaid, there was more to this than met the eye.

'But, dearest uncle, must we go back to Florence with them?' Benjamin asked.

'Ah!* Wolsey raised a finger and grinned over his shoulder at Doctor Agrippa, who stood there, holding his broad-brimmed hat, his face impassive as a statue. 'We have other missions for you.' 'Such as, dearest uncle?'

Wolsey ignored the sarcasm in Benjamin's voice. 'First, His Grace would like the Florentine artist who executed that painting to come to England. We want to commission him to do similar paintings of His Majesty's family and court.' Wolsey gnawed on his lip. 'The other matters are more, how can we say, delicate?' (Oh Lord, I prayed, here we go: poor Shallot into the den of lions. Or, as usual, cast head first down the deepest privy).

'Dearest nephew, do you know anything about the politics of Florence?' Benjamin shook his head.

'It is a great city,' Wolsey said, 'built on the Arno, controlling a strip of land right across Italy. It has a banking system, the envy of Europe, which gives it wealth and influence way beyond its actual size and location. Now Florence owes its greatness to the de Medici family, particularly Lorenzo the Magnificent who died thirty years ago. Lorenzo made Florence the jewel in Europe's crown.' Wolsey smiled. 'He had his difficulties, but he overcame them.'

(Old Wolsey was the prince of liars. Difficulties indeed! Lorenzo was beset by conspiracies on every side. The most dangerous was the Pazzi plot, which involved the assassination in Florence cathedral of Lorenzo's beloved brother, Giuliano. Lorenzo crushed the conspiracy. He hanged Archbishop Salviati, one of the principal plotters, from the window of his palace, his purple-stockinged legs dangling below his cassock like the clappers of a bell. Others were slaughtered in the great palazzo outside. It looked like a garish butcher's stall, with the corpses of other conspirators hanging from windows and balconies. The principal conspirator, Jacopo Pazzi, was tortured and hanged. His corpse was dug up by Florentine children, who dragged it around the streets. They would stop at intervals, tie it to a doorpost and call out, 'Open, for Jacopo Pazzi!')

'Now,' Wolsey continued slowly, 'Lorenzo had three sons of whom he said, "One is good, one is shrewd and one is a fool." Piero, the fool, managed to lose Florence and this led to the expulsion of the de Medici. The shrewd one became Pope Leo X.' He smiled at Benjamin. 'May I remind you, dear nephew, of Leo's attitude to Holy Mother Church and his high office. As soon as he was crowned pope he wrote a letter saying, "God has given us the papacy, let us enjoy it."' Wolsey sighed dramatically. 'Now, Leo's gone and the College of Cardinals has elected Adrian of Utrecht, who is intent on reforming Holy Mother Church and cleaning the sewer that is Rome.'

(Now I have remarked on this before: believe me, Rome needed cleansing. There were more sorcerers, whores, wizards and warlocks in Rome at Adrian's accession than there were in France and England combined. The papacy had been dragged through the mire by men like Rodrigo Borgia, better known as Alexander VI. He and his beloved nephew Cesare turned Rome into a cesspit of wickedness. As Alexander entered his death agonies, rumours of supernatural activities made their rounds. Servants swore they overheard the dying pope pleading with an invisible companion for a little more time, and then they remembered the stories of how Alexander had sold his soul to the devil, who had promised. him a pontificate of exactly eleven years and one week. They said that they had seen the devil leaping around the bedroom in the shape of an ape. One of the servants caught the ape, but the dying Alexander cried, 'Let him go! Let him go! He is the devil!' That very night he died. For hours after his death, water boiled in his mouth and steam poured out of every aperture in his body. No one dared come near the corpse. Alexander's face became mauve-coloured and thickly covered with blue-black spots. His nose was swollen, his mouth distorted and his tongue doubled over. The dead man's lips became so puffed out they seemed to cover his entire lower face. Eventually, after the papal apartments were ransacked, a group of porters agreed to stuff the corpse into a coffin, rolling the body in a carpet and pounding it into the casket with pieces of wood. Oh, yes, Rome needed reforming and the new pope Adrian had a Herculean task on his hands. Ah, my little chaplain is jumping up and down. 'Such wickedness!’ he cries. 'Such wickedness! Why do you then still belong to the Roman Church?' I crack the mannikin across the wrists with my ash cane. It's quite simple, a Church that can survive the likes of Alexander must be divinely inspired. However, I admit, I do digress.)

In that velvet chamber many years ago Wolsey was weaving a web which would lead to the removal of one pope, the installation of another and the destruction of Rome and would cause a tumult which would shatter the Europe we knew. I could see that His Satanic Eminence was coming to the nub of the matter when he folded back the purple silk sleeves of his robe and leaned forward. I watched him intently. I dared not stare at fat Harry, who was crouched in his chair, slurping his wine and glaring murderously at me.

Wolsey lowered his voice. 'The Medici have returned to Florence, which is now ruled by Cardinal Giulio de Medici. Cardinal Giulio believes that Adrian is in poor health and will not live long.' Wolsey stared down at the great ring on his finger, a scarlet ruby in which, it was said, he had trapped a powerful demon. 'Cardinal Giulio wishes to know what would happen if Adrian died and the College of Cardinals once again met in conclave?'

'Do you mean, dearest uncle,' Benjamin intervened, 'that Cardinal Giulio de Medici wishes your support if such an eventuality occurred?'

Wolsey leaned back in his chair. 'Dearest nephew, as sharp as ever.' 'And what answer shall we give?' Benjamin asked.

Wolsey shrugged, placing his elbows on the arms of his chair. He steepled his fingers. 'We shall write letters to Cardinal Giulio. But our real answer will be taken by you. You are to say this: England will say yes if, when England asks, Rome says yes.' He smiled at the puzzlement on both our faces. 'Do you know what that means, dearest nephew?' Benjamin shook his head.

'Good!' Wolsey replied. 'You don't have to. But when my brother in Christ asks, and he will ask, that is the reply you must give. Now.' He sifted amongst pieces of parchment on his desk. 'Time is passing. Tomorrow the Albrizzis leave and you go with them. You will be furnished with the necessary letters and monies for your journey. You are to travel to Florence. You are to provide the Lord Roderigo with every assistance in tracking down his brother's assassin. You are to meet the painter of this splendid portrait.' Wolsey lifted his hand to the picture hanging on the wall behind him. 'And you are to deliver our message to the good cardinal and bring back his reply.'

'Which is the most important, dear uncle?' Benjamin asked. 'And what happens if Lord Francesco's murder remains a mystery?'

Wolsey shrugged one shoulder elegantly. 'I cannot say. But Lord Roderigo will demand satisfaction. Florence must see that the arm of English justice is both long and ruthless. The crime was committed on English soil, against an envoy to the English court. In this, His Majesty is most insistent.' Henry slammed his wine cup down on the table. He beckoned me forward. I got to my feet. 'Come! Closer!'

I did so and he grasped my jerkin and emitted a loud, wine-laden belch in my face, those mad piggy eyes glaring at me,