Paul Doherty: A Brood of Vipers

Agrippa pulled back the curtains of the bed and sat on the gold and silver taffeta eiderdown.

'How do we know it was the invitation?' he asked, rubbing his fingers against his knee.

'Why else?' I muttered, and glanced at Benjamin. 'How long would you say he has been dead, Master?' Benjamin crouched and touched the man's flesh.

'Cold, rather waxen-looking,' he murmured thoughtfully. 'We left Ipswich yesterday morning. You arrived, Doctor Agrippa, the day before?'

'And the day before that,' Agrippa said, 'I came here with Wolsey's letter.'

'I think he died the day you arrived in Ipswich,' Benjamin said. He looked up at Agrippa, who stared innocently back, and went on, 'Roger is correct. It must have been that invitation.' He got to his feet. 'Now come, Doctor, none of us have any illusions about our king. Was there some hidden message? What did this doctor fear?' Agrippa gazed owlishly back and raised his left hand.

‘I swear, Master Benjamin, the letter was simple. It was even unsealed. Wolsey sent his good wishes and said that the king himself invited "his dear and beloved physician, Sir Edward Throckle", to join him at Eltham in the company of his loyal subjects Benjamin Daunbey and Roger Shallot.' Agrippa closed his eyes and continued. 'He said that the king missed him and asked him to bring some of his famous medicinals.' 'Such as what?' 'Dried moss, crushed camomile powder, root of the fennel, et cetera.' Agrippa shook his head. 'Nothing extraordinary.' 'And when you came here?' Benjamin asked. 'The physician was hale and hearty.' 'And you gave him the letter?'

'Yes, we sat downstairs in the kitchen sharing a flagon of wine.' 'And Throckle read the letter?'

Agrippa got to his feet. 'He read the letter, smiled and said he would be delighted to come. I tell you this, Master Daunbey, no change of mood, no subtle shift of the eye, no tremor of fear or flicker of anxiety. I'd swear to that!'

Agrippa was a good actor, yet I sensed he was telling the truth. 'And when you left?' I asked.

'He was babbling like a brook. Very excited. Said he would be glad to return to court and that he would soon soothe away the king's pains.'

'It doesn't make sense,' Benjamin said flatly. He went and stared down at the corpse. 'Let us accept the hypothesis that our good friend Throckle had something to fear from the king. But if he had, if this was true, knowing what we do about our beloved king, Throckle would have died years ago. He'd not be allowed to live in honourable and very opulent retirement. The conclusion? Throckle had nothing to fear. So let's move on to a second hypothesis. Was there something in the invitation that Throckle saw as a threat? But, if there was, that would contradict our first. Ergo,' – Benjamin glanced at me – 'perhaps, when our good Doctor Agrippa left, someone else came. Someone who did not want our good physician at court. Threats were made, Throckle brooded and decided suicide was his only choice.'

'There is another explanation,' I interrupted. 'Throckle was a physician, yes? And an apothecary? Is it possible, Master, that someone came here,' – I tried not to look at Agrippa – 'drugged his wine, had the bath filled with hot water and cut the poor bastard's wrists?'

'Don't say it!' Agrippa called mockingly. 'Don't accuse me, Roger! I was barely here an hour. You can ask my rogues downstairs. They were stamping around in the garden cursing and muttering because I had promised suitable refreshment at the nearest ale-house.'

'With all due respect, my good Doctor Agrippa,' I mocked back, 'your rogues would use their mother's knucklebones as dice!'

Agrippa sighed and tapped his broad-brimmed hat against his side. 'Whatever you think, I swear I did not kill Throckle! I had no hand in his death nor do I know why he should commit suicide.'

'I don't think it was murder.' Benjamin spoke up. 'I have very little evidence, but' – he stared around the room -'everything is tidy.' He pointed to the writing desk in the far corner, covered with pieces of parchment. Above this were shelves full of calfskin-bound books.

'None of that is disturbed,' he continued. 'But certain papers and parchments were burnt. Look at the grate. Do you notice how tidy it is? As if Throckle burnt what he had to, before carefully preparing for his own death.'

Agrippa walked across to the writing desk. I heard a tinder spark and a candle flared into life.

'You are right!' he cried, picking up a scroll. 'This is the last will and testament of one Sir Edward Throckle, physician, signed and sealed two days ago. Throckle committed suicide,' Agrippa declared triumphantly, coming back and thrusting the scroll at Benjamin. 'But why?' His smile broadened. 'Ah well. That's the mystery!'

Benjamin snatched the scroll and unrolled it, reading carefully.

'I, Edward Throckle,' he began, 'being of sound mind…' He read it through quickly, lips moving, and looked up in astonishment.

'It says nothing; it's as if Throckle was drawing up a will and intended to live for another three-score years and ten! No hint of any worry, anxiety or malady. In fact, he leaves this house and all his goods to the king.' Benjamin threw the scroll down on the table. 'Come on,' he urged. 'Let's see what other papers we have missed!'

In the end there was very little – manuscripts, bills of sale, letters from friends; the rest were possessions gathered in a lifetime of royal service. Benjamin sighed and declared it was all a mystery. He covered the cadaver with a sheet from the bed whilst Agrippa went outside to send one of his men for a local justice. Once the local notable had arrived we continued our journey, but I felt the old familiar tingle of fear in the pit of my stomach. Something was rotten here. Demons were gathering in the darkness, preparing to rise and attack us. Benjamin was also uneasy. Later that afternoon we stopped at an ale-house just before the Mile End Road. Once we were ensconced in a garden bower behind the tavern, well out of earshot of Wolsey's retainers and the other customers, Benjamin leaned over and grasped Agrippa's wrist.

'Concedo, my good doctor,' he murmured, 'that Master Throckle's death is a mystery, but now tell us, why are we going to London?'

Agrippa cradled his wine cup. He sat opposite us, like some benevolent cherub. Despite the warm afternoon sun he still wore his black broad-brimmed hat and that voluminous cloak was wrapped around him as if it was a winter's day. Yet his smooth face was unmarred by dust, grime or even a drop of sweat. 'My good doctor,' I snarled. 'We await with bated breath.' Agrippa placed his wine cup down on the ground.

'Very well. First, I had no hand in Throckle's death nor do I know why he committed suicide. I suspect the coroner will rule that he had a fit of melancholy and took his own life. I delivered Cardinal Wolsey's letter. I left Throckle in hale spirits. I could see nothing in that invitation which would tip a man's mind into a murderous madness to kill himself.' 'And the business in London?' Benjamin asked.

'Ah, now that is murder!' Agrippa beckoned us closer. 'Ten days ago the powerful Albrizzi family, merchant princes of Florence, arrived at the English court. They are here to act as envoys for that very powerful city state, which buys so much English wool with the finest minted gold. They bore letters and greetings from Giulio de Medici, Cardinal and ruler of Florence, to the king and to Giulio's "sweet brother in Christ". Thomas Wolsey. Now the Albrizzis are a powerful family. They are as follows, or' – Agrippa added sourly – 'were as follows: Francesco, head of the family, a man in his late fifties; his wife Bianca – now a widow as I will explain; Francesco's brother, slightly younger, Roderigo; Francesco's first and only son, Alessandro, a young man in his early thirties; Francesco's daughter, Beatrice; and her husband Enrico, the scion of a powerful family of which he is the only survivor. Enrico's real surname is Catalina, but he has taken the Albrizzi family name. They have with them also their physician, secretarius and chaplain, a papal notary called Gregorio Preneste, and a bodyguard, a mercenary called Giovanni.' Agrippa shrugged. 'There are other members of the household. Nobody really noteworthy, except Maria.' Agrippa grinned. 'A dwarf of a woman who is the family jester or entertainer. A curious creature,' he added softly. 'I have met her sort before; a perfect woman in every way except that she is only just over a yard in height.' Agrippa picked up his goblet and sipped carefully. 'Well,' he continued, 'this delightful group were lodged in apartments at Eltham Palace. Their visit was to be cordial. The Albrizzis enjoy a warm relationship with the English monarchy dating back to the present king's father's reign. Their reason for coming to England was to seal trade treaties as well as to explore Henry and Wolsey's position if the ruler of Florence, his Eminence Giulio de Medici, threw his cardinal's hat into the ring as the next pope.'