Paul Doherty - A Brood of Vipers

'You seem to take all these misfortunes of the Albrizzis very calmly,' he observed. Enrico put his knife down and spread his hands. 'I am a Catalina. These deaths have more to do with some secret feud against the Albrizzis.' 'You have your suspicions?' in Florence, Master Daunbey, nobody trusts anybody else. The Albrizzis have their enemies. You have met His Grace Cardinal Giulio? And Frater Seraphino, Master of the Eight?' 'But surely you are an Albrizzi?' I interposed. 'You are married to the Lady Beatrice. You have taken their name.' Enrico shrugged. 'True. But, as everyone knows, I am a merchant prince in my own right and have been ever since my father's death.' 'How did your father die?'

The young man's eyes clouded over. His hand shook as he picked up a knife to cut a green, lush pear from the fruit bowl. 'My father was a great man. A supporter of Florence. He and his brother Alberto were members of the Signore, the council that rules Florence. Now my mother had died giving birth to me. I was left in the charge of nurses. My father and his brother were often away on their travels on behalf of Florence. One day they were in Rome; they were leaving a church near the Colosseum when the assassin struck. A crossbow bolt hit my father in the neck. Alberto was hit in the chest. My father died immediately. His brother a few days later.' 'And the assassin?' 'No one ever knew. Lord Francesco was my father's friend. He was in Ostia when my father died and immediately hurried to Rome. My father had been buying jewels – diamonds and an exquisite emerald. All were stolen and never recovered. Two criminals were later hanged on suspicion of being involved in my father's death but nothing was really proved.' Enrico looked up and blinked. 'For some years I was looked after by shepherds just in case it was a blood feud. Lord Francesco searched for the killer but discovered nothing. Another mystery, eh, Master Daunbey?' 'But you do have your suspicions?' my master asked. 'My father was no friend of the de' Medici. Perhaps they settled a debt. But be assured, Master Daunbey, that if I ever discover the identity of the murderer, I'll tell you just after I have killed him!'

Benjamin was about to conclude the conversation when Lord Roderigo, followed by a swaggering Alessandro, entered the refectory. Alessandro had lost none of his bombast. Dressed in a tight-fitting jerkin and even tighter hose, daggers thrust into his ornate belt, he looked every bit the swaggering street fighter. Roderigo, usually so self-confident, was now clearly worried – his face was rather pasty and dark shadows ringed his eyes. His hair was greasy and his fingernails still black from the fire the night before. Beside him Alessandro looked the picture of health, his smooth face glowing, his hair neatly coiffured. He dismissed me with an arrogant glance and bit noisily into an apple. His beloved sister, I suspected, must have told him about our conversation the previous evening. 'You slept well, Inglese?' Roderigo asked.

'A most comfortable bed,' Benjamin replied tactfully. 'But scarcely the best introduction to Florence. Poor Preneste's room…?' 'Gutted,' Roderigo replied. 'We are fortunate the fire did not spread. If it had, we might have lost the entire villa.' 'And the cause?' Benjamin queried. Lord Roderigo's eyes slid away. He leaned over and snatched a carafe of watered wine, slopping it into his cup. 'Probably a lazy servant. Perhaps the men who took Preneste's corpse up left a candle burning too near the bed drapes?'

'Did you know the villa is being watched?' Benjamin abruptly asked. I was pleased to see Alessandro almost choke on his apple.

'What?' Lord Roderigo took the goblet from his lips. 'What do you mean?'

Benjamin described what we had seen in the garden after the fire. Roderigo listened intently and spread his hands.

'The Master of the Eight has his spies everywhere,' he said bitterly.

Turning to Alessandro, he spoke quickly in Italian. The young man paled. He answered evasively and the hauteur drained from his face.

'What is the matter?' Benjamin asked sharply. 'Lord Roderigo, I do not wish to be obtrusive, but we are guests in your house and we, too, may be in danger. Why should Florence's secret police be watching this villa?'

'Because,' Roderigo replied slowly, 'there are some in this family who cannot be trusted. They have shown what I can only term an undue interest in the new learning from Germany – Master Luther has made his presence felt even here. The Eight, and the Inquisition, are busily ferreting out any who have leanings in that direction?'

Alessandro's pallor face assured me that Roderigo was talking about him.

'But you can ask His Eminence the same question,' Roderigo declared, smiling at Benjamin. 'A messenger came from the Medici Palace. His Grace the Cardinal would like to meet you there at noon. Giovanni will take you.'

'Can I come?' a voice piped up from the doorway. Maria appeared, looking even more doll-like in a ruby-coloured dress decorated at the hem and cuff with white linen and with her auburn tresses down. 'Can I come?' she repeated.

Suddenly three or four oranges appeared in her hand. She began to juggle with these as she walked towards us. I admired her skill, the deft quickness of her hands. She put the oranges on the floor and gracefully cartwheeled towards us. I caught a flurry of white petticoats, glimpsed little black shoes with rose buttons, then she was before me, slightly red-faced and tight-lipped, breathing through her nose to maintain her poise. 'Good morning, Crosspatch,' she said, smiling.

'There's little amusement here,' Alessandro said tartly. 'None of your tricks, Maria. Master Preneste is dead.' He looked darkly at me. 'And I don't care what uncle says, the fire that gutted his room is suspicious.'

'Master Preneste,' Maria replied, 'was a stupid, dirty man who dabbled in the shadows and got his just desserts.' 'Maria!' Roderigo exclaimed.

She shrugged her dainty shoulders and clambered on to the bench, squeezing her little body between me and Benjamin.

'Can I go into Florence? If I am not needed here,' – she glared spitefully at Alessandro – 'then perhaps it's best if I am gone.' 'Half-woman!' Alessandro replied maliciously. 'Better that than no man!' she replied.

Alessandro leaned across the table, hand raised to smack her. I caught his wrist and held it tightly.

(Yes, yes, I am a coward born and bred. I always wear brown hose and, when a fight starts, old Shallot is on his hands and knees crawling for the nearest door, but I can't stand bullies!) 'Let go of my wrist!'

Alessandro's face looked so petulant that I laughed. Before Roderigo could intervene, Alessandro brought his other hand up and slapped me across the face. I let go of his wrist.

'Apologize! Alessandro, apologize!' Roderigo demanded. 'Apologize now!' Alessandro bit the quick of his thumb and spat towards me.

(I later learnt this was the most offensive insult any Italian could bestow. I told Will Shakespeare about it and he used it at the beginning of his play Romeo and Juliet. It started a duel then and it did the same at the Villa Albrizzi.) Lord Roderigo grasped my arm.

'Signor Shallot, Alessandro is hot-headed. Moreover, you are only a servant. There is no need to accept his challenge.' Benjamin murmured his agreement.

'I agree,' I replied, smiling ingratiatingly at Alessandro. 'Signor Alessandro, I forget myself.'

He curled his lip. I was about to eat even more humble pie when I caught the look in little Maria's eyes – not contempt, just surprised hurt, as if Alessandro's insults had stripped her of the little humanity she believed she had.

'Mind you,' – I got to my feet and stretched – 'my old mother always told me to be a gentleman. If you are that, she said, you can always recognize another.' I leaned across the table and glared at Alessandro. 'I do not recognize you. You slap women, so I put this question to you. Were you born so uncouth, or is it a habit you have worked at diligently over the years?'