A Brood of Vipers srs-4

by Paul Doherty

  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,

  'Only come home,' the beast hissed, 'only dare to come home when your task is done!'

  Chapter 5

  I was frightened by Fat Henry. However, I just stood there with my face set like flint, though my bowels threatened to turn to water. Wolsey tapped Henry gently on the arm.

  'Your Majesty,' he purred, 'Master Shallot will succeed. Aided, of course, by my illustrious nephew.'

  'They didn't bring Throckle,' the fat bugger mumbled, glaring at me with those piggy eyes.

  (Strange, isn't it? Years later, when Fat Henry was a rotting bag of syphilis, he would not let me out of his sight. I used to remind him of his dislike of me in earlier years. He would turn with those blubbering, red lips, tears welling in his eyes, and grasp my wrist in his paw.

  'We are too close, Roger,' he'd murmur. 'Too close. Too alike in heart and soul.'

  That's the worst insult I've ever received! If I really thought that was true, I'd put weights round my neck and go for a swim in the duck pond.)

  Beside me in that opulent chamber Benjamin stirred, clearing his throat.

  'Your G-grace,' he said, stammering deliberately so as to give an impression of nervousness.
/>   (At times a fine actor, old Benjamin. He could give Burbage a few lessons.) 'Your Grace,' Benjamin repeated haltingly, 'Master Throckle committed suicide.' 'Silly old fart!' the king rasped.

  'Why should he do that?' my master continued, glaring at his uncle.

  Wolsey shrugged and did something very suspicious. He sifted amongst the manuscripts on his table and proffered a copy of the letter from Wolsey that Agrippa had taken to Throckle.

  Benjamin and I studied it carefully. It invited Master Throckle to court and asked him to bring certain herbs to ease the king's discomfort. Benjamin handed it back and shook his head. 'Why should he kill himself, eh, Uncle?' Wolsey pulled a face. I watched those devilish eyes. 'More importantly,' I interrupted, 'why invite him to court?' Wolsey pulled back the silken sleeves of his gown.

  'Master Throckle had applied for a licence to go abroad to study at the Sorbonne. I, of course, granted it.' Wolsey passed other documents across, copies of writs from the Chancery permitting Throckle 'free and safe passage through Dover'. 'But,' Wolsey continued, ‘I wanted him to visit here.'

  'He was a good physician,' the king growled. 'Better than some of the silly noddles we have here.'

  (Do you know, that's the only thing the great killer and I agreed on – doctors! Most of them can't tell their head from their arse, and they include some of the biggest liars I have ever met. Remember old Shallot's advice – if you want to stay healthy, keep as far away from doctors as possible! When the silly old bastard who calls himself my physician tries to call on me I always take pot shots at him from my bedroom window. He just ducks, saying he means well. I loose my dogs on him and bawl, 'So do they!' You should see the bastard run!)

  Ah well, back to Fat Henry. He squatted in that opulent room, his red-rimmed eyes never leaving my face. I felt like farting again, but felt that that would be pushing my luck too far, so I just smiled back. "Throckle's dead,' Benjamin murmured.

  'Yes, yes, he is, dear nephew. Now you are off to Florence. You have our message for Cardinal de Medici?' 'What does it mean?' Benjamin asked. 'That does not concern you.' 'Does His Excellency know we are coming?'

  Wolsey smiled unctuously, clasped his hands and leaned across the table. 'Last autumn, dearest nephew, as you may remember, I travelled with His Majesty the King to Boulogne. I met Cardinal Giulio de Medici there. We were working on a fresh alliance which would unite England, the Empire, Spain, the Italian states and the Papacy against the French.' Wolsey pursed his lips. 'We discussed this and that. The Albrizzis came here as envoys to, how shall I say, confirm the bonds of friendship formed between the cardinal and ourselves at Boulogne. Now, you will go back with our secret message and, if possible, discover Lord Francesco's assassin.'

  'What happens if he's English?' I protested. 'What is the use of going to Florence?'

  Wolsey gazed at me bleakly. 'Don't be stupid! Who in England would want to murder the Lord Francesco? Look at the facts, you poltroon, you thick, addle-pated varlet!' He drew back. 'God knows what my nephew sees in you. Surely it's obvious that only someone in the Albrizzi household could plan such a murder?'

  Actually it wasn't, but even then I knew when to keep my mouth shut. Moreover, Benjamin was kicking me on the ankle.

  'You will go,' the king snapped, 'you will go to Florence, do you hear?'

  Well, as they say, a nudge is as good as a wink to a blind man. Up we jumped like rabbits, bowing and scraping, out of the chamber and into the long gallery. Agrippa joined us outside, all friendly and solicitous. 'The king's temper is not as good as it should be.' 'What makes you say that?' I asked sarcastically.

  Agrippa gave a smile, though it was more like a sneer, for it started and died at his lips.

  'Are you coming to Florence?' I asked, staring into those colourless eyes.

  'No, I can't go to Italy,' Agrippa said. 'And I shall not see you again before you leave.' He held up a finger. 'But be careful. As I have said on many occasions, with regard to our noble king and my master the cardinal, nothing is what it appears to be!' And, spinning on his heel, he walked back towards the king's chamber.

  We had little time to mull over Agrippa's warning. The next morning we were roused early, long before dawn, by a burly sergeant-at-arms, who kicked our beds and warned us that the Albrizzis were leaving on the morning tide. I climbed out of my bed and looked through a small, arrow-slit window. In the courtyard below torches were lit and horses were being saddled. Servants lined up outside the kitchen door for bowls of hot oatmeal mixed with milk and honey. I glimpsed the Albrizzis and, rubbing my arms, I glared at my master. 'Why weren't we told that we would be leaving so soon?’ Benjamin shrugged. 'God knows!' He smiled thinly. 'Perhaps "dear uncle" thought we might try and flee.'

  '"Dear uncle" is more bloody correct than he thinks!' I snarled. I would have continued my moaning, but there was a knock on the door and little Maria came tripping in as fresh as a daisy. She clapped her hands and giggled at me in my nightshirt. it was only last night that we decided to leave,' she told us. 'Lord Roderigo received news that a Pisan ship, the Bonaventure, is sailing from Dowgate on the morning tide.' She clapped her hands again. 'You'd better hurry up!' She smiled at me. i am glad you are coming, Onion, I like you.'

  'Oh, that's bloody marvellous!' I snarled back. 'And I love you too! And when we get to Florence I'll sodding well marry you!'

  Maria, giggling with laughter, skipped out of the room. Benjamin and I washed, changed and packed our saddlebags. When we had finished I stood looking out at the mist swirling across the courtyard. I felt homesick. I thought of Ipswich, with its cobbled market-place and its church spires clear against the blue sky. I even missed Benjamin's school for snotty-nosed urchins. i don't want to go to Florence,' I moaned, i don't want to see the bloody glories of Italy!'

  'Come on, Roger.' Benjamin shook my shoulder, it's time we were gone.*

  We travelled into London and down to the quayside at Dowgate. The Bonaventure was already far ahead with its preparations for sea. All the provisions had been loaded on board; empty carts and unsaddled horses were being led away. The Albrizzis had already arrived. We followed them up the water-soaked plank and on to the deck.

  Now I am no sailor – ships terrify me, and none more than the Bonaventure. It was a three-masted man-of-war, armed to the teeth with cannons and culverins. Benjamin and I were allocated a space between decks beside one of the cannons and, looking around through the smelly darkness, my heart sank – this would be no pleasure jaunt down the Thames. We threw down our saddlebags, sword belts and other items and went back on deck. Roderigo, Alessandro and Bianca were standing with the chaplain and some of the ship's officers near the great mainmast. Dressed in their sombre cloaks, and with the mist rolling in from the river, they looked like a collection of ghosts. Roderigo saw us and waved us over.

  'Master Daunbey, your uncle bids us good voyage.' He pointed to the barrels being brought on board. 'And sends us wine as a token of his appreciation.'

  A little brown-cowled man, olive-faced with bright button-eyes, scuttled up on deck. He was chewing the end of a quill and studying a roll of parchment. He mumbled to himself, stared around and rushed hither and thither checking the stores and household goods of the Albrizzis. 'Matteo!' Roderigo called. 'Come here!'

  The man shuffled sheepishly across. He looked a merry soul, more like a friar than a steward. He couldn't understand a word of English. Roderigo introduced him as Matteo, the Lord Francesco's principal steward.

  'A man to be trusted,' Roderigo declared, clapping Matteo on the shoulder. 'My brother always said he would trust his life to him.'

  Matteo caught the gist of his words, his face became lugubrious and tears pricked his eyes. He shook his head mournfully.

  'He will mourn for ever,' Roderigo said softly. 'He loved my brother. Only by staying busy will Matteo keep his sanity.' Again he patted the fellow's shoulder. 'Matteo obtained this ship. He wishes to leave England as soon as possible.'

  Roderigo said s
omething in Italian. Matteo listened intently, smiled benignly at us then chattered in a torrent of Italian. 'What did he say?' Benjamin asked.

  'I told him that you would obtain vengeance for my brother's blood,' Roderigo answered. 'And what was his reply?" I asked curiously. 'Matteo says he will give you every help.*

  We both thanked him. Roderigo turned away. Benjamin and I walked towards the ship's side and leaned against the bulwarks, staring out over the empty dark quayside.

  'Don't worry, Roger,' Benjamin murmured. 'We will return. I have a feeling in my blood. We will not meet our deaths in Italy.'

  'Oh, thank you very much,' I replied bitterly. 'I still hate bloody ships!'

  I stared up at the great mainmast, where the reefed canvas sails snapped in the early morning breeze as if they wished to break free. Sailors, naked except for a pair of breeches, padded around the deck, apparently oblivious to the cold, clinging mist – strange, lean, hard men, with their hardened feet and salt-soaked skins and bodies, and agile as monkeys. They scampered around us, mouthing abuse. I was too despondent to reply in kind. I heard some of the sailors whistle and looked round. Across the deck a small door to a cabin had opened and two figures emerged. One was Beatrice. Even in the half-tight I could see that she was beautiful. Unabashed by the sailors' comments and salacious whispers, she carried herself like a queen. I nudged Benjamin as she and her companion walked across the deck, past the group of sailors and came towards us. Benjamin turned to greet her. 'Good evening, signors!'

  Beatrice's voice was musical and her English good, though tinged with a slight accent. Beside her, Giovanni threw back his hood, revealing his strange, harsh womanish face. I noticed how clean and well-kept his fingers and nails were. He gave a slight bow.