by Paul Doherty
I undressed, washed and climbed into bed. I stared up at the rafters, wondering what would happen next, and quietly cursed both Henry and Wolsey. Benjamin poured a goblet of wine. He brought across a cup. I drank it gingerly before drifting into the most restful sleep.
When my master shook me awake hours later, darkness was beginning to fall. The room was cooler and thick with the fragrance of the roses from the garden below.
'Roger,' my master whispered. 'We must go down. Lord Roderigo has prepared a banquet.' He smiled at me. 'It's not in our honour but his guest, the Cardinal Prince Giulio de Medici, will now be arriving.'
We dressed carefully. A servant came to take us down to the garden where, on a raised patio which gave a good view of the whole garden, a large table had been prepared under a silk-fringed canopy. For a while we just stood on the lawn. Benjamin and I felt awkward. The rest of the household, except for Maria, ignored us, and she kept up an inane chatter as if to prove to us, and everyone else, that all we had in common was our Englishness. Suddenly a chamberlain came out of the door of the house and tapped his silver-edged wand on the pavement.
'The Lord Roderigo,' he announced, 'and His Eminence, Cardinal Giulio, Prince of the Church and Master of Florence!'
A few other dozen titles were added. Benjamin and I, like the rest, bowed as the bastard offspring of the great de' Medici swept into the garden, resplendent in purple robes edged with gold silk.
Giulio was a tall, striking man, swarthy-faced and hollow-eyed; he looked dangerous and haughty. Were it not for the petulant cast of his lips he would have been very good-looking. He came into the candle-lit garden, fingering his gold pectoral cross and sketching the most cursory benediction in the air. Two strange creatures trailed behind him. One was a blackamoor. He wore a turban round his head and one gold earring. His fingers never strayed far from the hilt of the scimitar pushed into his belt. This was the cardinal's bodyguard. The other, small, smiling, bald-pated and cherubic, was dressed like a monk in a black robe edged with lambswool. The cardinal and his party were immediately greeted by the Lord Roderigo and pleasantries were exchanged, though they were cool and distant.
'There's no love lost between those two,' I whispered.
'What do you expect?' Benjamin asked. 'Roderigo is for the restoration of the Republic while the cardinal is a Medici amongst Medicis!'
The cardinal greeted the rest of the household; momentarily his sombre eyes shifted to study Benjamin and myself. A chamberlain blew on a silver horn as a sign for the meal to begin, and we moved up on to the great dais. Now it wasn't like in England, where we'd sit around stuffing our faces until we could hardly move. With the Italians you choose from an array of dishes laid out on the table, carry your meal on a silver platter, and sit and eat it wherever you wish. After years of eating beside people who have the manners of drunken pigs - bishops who pick their noses, clean their teeth and offer you fruit after they have taken a bite out of it and nobles who don't know one end of a knife from another and who hawk, spit and lick their fingers -1 strongly recommend this arrangement.
Benjamin and I took our places in the line, choosing from boiled and roast meat, dishes of fresh vegetables, wafer marzipan, sugared almonds, pine seeds and pots of sweetmeats. Naturally, we scuttled away to sit by ourselves on a small garden seat. Everyone else ignored us. We watched the cardinal intently.
'He claimed he was just passing,' a merry voice piped up behind us. 'Oh, don't turn round!'
The lady of the boxwood had returned.
'Must you always hide in bushes?' I snarled. 'For God's sake, come out!'
'Sod off, Crosspatch!'
'Roger is right,' Benjamin said quietly. 'Too much subterfuge, and suspicions will be aroused.'
We heard a scuffling in the bushes. I thought the little minx had fled but she suddenly appeared before us, dipping her fingers into my bowl of fruit. She stood in her purple, gold-fringed little dress staring up at us, her head cocked to one side like a merry sparrow.
'The cardinal claims he was just passing,' she repeated. 'For in Florence you only call in on your friends.'
'So, Lord Roderigo is the cardinal's enemy?' I asked.
Maria bubbled with laughter and licked her fingers.
'Watch him, Crosspatch.'
I stared across the lighted garden and noticed how the cardinal refused to eat or drink anything until the blackamoor had tasted it.
'Well,' Maria jibed. 'What do you think, Crosspatch?' Her grin widened. 'Dinner parties in Florence are very dangerous occasions.'
'Who is the Lord Giulio?' I asked. 'I mean, what are his origins?'
Maria paused to clear her mouth. 'He's the bastard son of Lorenzo the Magnificent's brother. One day Lorenzo and his brother were attending Mass in the cathedral when assassins struck. Lorenzo escaped with a neck wound, but his brother was killed. Lorenzo later discovered that his dead brother had sired a bastard child.' Maria's voice fell to a whisper. That bastard child is now a Cardinal Prince of the Church and ruler of Florence. He trusts no one! Not a crumb, not a drop of wine passes his lips which has not been tasted by others.'
'And who's the monk with him?' Benjamin asked.
Maria popped a sugared almond into her mouth.
'If I told you that,' she muttered, 'they'd know I'd been talking to you about more than the weather or the customs of Florence.'
And, spinning on her heel, the Lady of the Boxwood trotted away.
Benjamin and I shrank deeper into our flowered portico. Maria's words had slightly upset my digestion.
'You think it's safe, Master?' I murmured, pointing to the food.
'Oh, yes,' Benjamin replied. 'Why do you think we eat like this, Roger?' His face creased into a smile. 'No one knows which piece of meat you are going to pick up and you watch as they pour the wine.'
Benjamin paused as musicians at the far corner of the garden, hidden by a privet hedge, struck up a lilting romantic tune which tugged at the heart-strings and provoked whispering dreams.
'Paradise,' Benjamin whispered. 'Yet there are more demons here than angels. What do we have so far, eh, Roger? A man shot in a London street. Another killed on board ship and sent into a watery grave by an assassin who resents our interference.' He swilled the wine round in his cup and stared around at the brilliantly dressed members of the household. 'They all have cause for murder. It's time we closed with them. If the Lord Roderigo wants the truth, then we will have to stand on people's toes.'
I was about to reply when the cardinal suddenly broke off chatting to the Lady Bianca. He placed his wine cup on a small garden table and swept across to meet us. His two strange companions flitted, shadow-like, behind him. Benjamin and I shoved our plates aside.
'Kneel!' my master hissed.
We did so. I smelt fragrant perfume and saw the fringe of a purple robe above the cream, gold-edged boots of the cardinal.
'No, no, rise.' The voice was soft, the English perfect.
Benjamin and I clambered to our feet.
The cardinal extended one long, cool hand. First my master, then I, kissed his ring. Close to, the cardinal looked more friendly, less haughty.
'Signors, welcome to Florence.' He studied Benjamin carefully. 'You are the Lord Cardinal Wolsey's nephew. I see the likeness.'
(I never did but, there again, I tried not to see Wolsey in anything, unless I had to!)
He asked questions about our journey and drew closer, still smiling.
'Do not change the expressions on your faces,' he whispered. He glanced sideways at me. 'Keep that ingratiating smile upon you. We are in the presence of assassins. The Lord Francesco was my friend. I regret that I cannot bestow such a title on the Lord Roderigo, his brother. Have you any idea who murdered him?'
I was mesmerized by that smile, and by the soft words pouring out of those sensuous lips.
'Just yes or no,' he added.
'No, your Grace,' Benjamin replied.
The cardinal breathed in deeply. 'Any susp
icions?'
'Everyone in this garden has a motive, Your Grace.'
'Be careful!' the cardinal murmured. 'As I leave you, I'll extend my hand and you will kiss it. Take the medallion concealed there. If you ever need my services, just show it, that will be enough.' He stepped back. 'And what message have you from my brother of England?'
'England will say yes,' Benjamin murmured, 'if, when England asks, Rome says yes.' The cardinal's smile widened. 'Then our answer is yes,' he said enigmatically and, raising his hand, allowed Benjamin to kiss it.
I saw the glint of silver as the medallion was passed between them.
After that the cardinal left the banquet, bestowing benedictions and good wishes on all present - behaving in fact more like a family chaplain than an inveterate enemy of the entire Albrizzi clan.
'What do you make of that, Roger?' Benjamin whispered.
'Just another viper,' I said crossly, 'and a very dangerous one.'
'Who were his companions? They kept so much in the shadows I couldn't even make out their faces.'
'One is his bodyguard,' Maria piped up from behind us. 'The other is Frater Seraphino. No, don't turn round! If the cardinal's dangerous so is Seraphino. He is Master of the Eight, the secret police. Oh, and before I leave, drink deeply Crosspatch - the Albrizzis have their own ways of detecting murderers.'
I didn't know what she meant but, once the cardinal had departed, the atmosphere became more relaxed. Lady Beatrice came sauntering across the garden, hips swaying, clasping a cup to her ample bosom. She stood before us, moving suggestively. I could tell she was in her cups and was intent on taunting us. My master, however, refused to be drawn.
'Good evening, my lady,' he began, keeping to the pleasantries, 'How long have you been married to Lord Enrico?'
'Oh, four years.'
'And you are happy?'
Beatrice giggled. 'Can any man make any woman happy?'
'Did your father make you happy?' Benjamin asked softly.
The girl's eyes hardened. 'God gave us our relatives, Master Daunbey. Thank God, we can choose our friends! Father was harsh. Of course I mourn his passing and pray for his soul, but death is a part of life.'
I just gazed at this hard-hearted hussy, soft and spoilt as a lap dog. She noticed my gaze.
'What are you staring at, varlet?'
I bowed slightly. 'My lady, I am not too sure.'
It took the bitch a few seconds to perceive the insult. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared.
'You forget yourself,' she hissed.
I could see by the poise of her body that she intended to call on her menfolk for assistance.
'My Lady,' I purred, 'I meant no insult. Certainly not here, in such a beautiful garden. I meant to come down here as soon as we arrived,' I continued, 'but I saw Master Giovanni busily digging so I decided it was best not to.'
My master looked nonplussed but the sultry bitch understood my intent and caught her lower lip between her teeth.
'You are not as stupid as you look, Inglese!'
'Never judge a book by its cover,' I replied cheerfully. 'My Lady,' I added, 'on the day your father died, you were looking at English fabrics?'
'Yes.'
The minx had no choice but to reply. After all, blackmail in Florence is the same as in England.
'And you saw nothing untoward?'
'I have answered that question already.'
'Who else knew your father would be shopping in Cheapside?'
'We've answered that already. Everybody did.'
By then I didn't give a damn - in for a penny in for a pound is the old Shallot.
'And where were you on board ship when Matteo was murdered?'
'Murdered!' Her eyes widened. 'Who said he was murdered, Master Shallot? He slipped and fell overboard. I was sleeping between my mother and her maid.'
'Did you resent your father giving you in marriage to the Lord Enrico?'
'No, men are all the same in the dark, Master Shallot.'
She came a little closer. I must say she looked resplendent in the torchlight, which emphasized her glittering eyes and gave her skin a golden hue.
'And, before you ask, you base-born, tail-wearing Inglese, I have used a fowling piece.' She tapped me gently on the arm. 'You should be careful. You are in Florence now, not the filthy midden you call London.'
And, before I could think of a suitable insult in reply, she turned and flounced away.
‘I don't like her,' Benjamin said. 'She's a dangerous woman, empty-headed but cunning. She has the face and body of a beauty but her mind is as empty as a beggar's purse.'
'Master Daunbey!' Roderigo called us over.
We walked across the garden to where he sat on a turf seat, with the Lady Bianca at his feet staring adoringly up at him. Now even then I was a hardened rogue, yet I had to punch myself at the cold-bloodedness of this family. Roderigo had lost a brother, she had lost a husband and their trollop of a daughter had lost her father. I have seen people weep more bitterly over a favourite dog. Oh, well, that's the way with power and wealth. It shrivels the soul and turns the emotions into silver pieces to be thriftily collected and miserly doled out.
'My Lord Cardinal seemed pleased to see you.'
'We are the envoys of an English king,' Benjamin replied. 'Not to mention His Eminence the Cardinal.'
'How long do you intend to stay in Florence?'
I felt like asking him to be more honest - what he was really asking was how long were we going to poke our noses into his affairs. Benjamin touched my elbow to keep silent.
'Lord Roderigo,' my master replied. 'We have business here, people to see, messages to deliver.'
Benjamin waited for Lord Roderigo to question him further, but the wily nobleman refused to be drawn.
'We also must,' Benjamin added, 'discover the reason for your brother's murder and unmask the assassin.'
'There's really no need of that,' Lady Bianca simpered, blinking furiously as if trying to control her tears. 'Lord Roderigo has already informed the Master of the Eight.'
'Lady Bianca is correct,' Roderigo intervened smoothly. 'We appreciate your king and dear uncle's concern, yet these are delicate matters, best handled by the Florentine authorities.'
'Your brother was also an accredited envoy to England. Our king's peace was violated. He, too, wants answers and justice done,' Benjamin replied.
Roderigo shrugged delicately, as if there was no answer to that.
'Then there's the artist,' I said. 'King Henry would like to offer him an appointment at the English court.' 'Ah yes, signor Borelli.' 'You know him?' I asked.
'Of course, my brother and I collected the painting from him. He lives in a street just behind the Piazza del Signor. One of my servants will take you there in the morning.' Roderigo smirked. 'Provided you offer Borelli enough gold and tell him as little as possible about the climate or the food, he will jump at the chance. Florence has a surfeit of artists.' He got to his feet. 'As for the murder of my brother, we have other ways of uncovering the truth! Florentine ways!' He snapped his fingers and called across to Giovanni, who had been standing in the shadows of the doorway leading to the house. 'The Lord Cardinal has truly gone?' 'Yes, my lord.'
'Then tell Master Preneste we are ready.'
Chapter 7
Now, you have got to believe old Shallot. You know I am not a liar, I have danced with the devil on many a night under the silvery moon. I have met the Lord Lucifer in all his guises. I have watched the great witch burnings in Germany across the Rhine. I have been hunted through the wet woods of Saxony by warlocks. Whenever you are up in London, visit the Globe Theatre, watch Will Shakespeare's Macbeth, especially those three hags. I gave him the idea. I did the same for Kit Marlowe and his marvellous play Doctor Faustus. Perhaps Faustus is nearer the truth - there are a legion of cranks who claim that they can call Satan up from Hell but whether he comes or not is another matter. However, that night in the Villa Albrizzi I met a man who did have th
at power.
Lord Roderigo's party drew quickly to an end. After making his cryptic remarks he wandered away, Lady Bianca leaning heavily on his arm.
'What's Preneste got to do with it?' I muttered. 'I haven't seen him all evening.'
A short while later I discovered the reason. Lord Roderigo dismissed the servants. He ordered the candles to be doused and gathered us together on the broad, green lawn at the centre of the garden. He stared around, studying each of our faces carefully. Giovanni began to douse the sconce torches
fixed into the soil until only one, in the centre of the lawn, remained burning.
'Lord Francesco is dead,' Lord Roderigo began. 'We welcome our English visitors. However, as I have informed them already, there are many paths to the truth.' He looked over his shoulder towards the house. 'Is Preneste ... ?'
'He is coming now, Master.'
'I am here already,' a voice declared beyond the pool of light thrown by the torch.
Preneste walked forward. Gone were the sober robes of the clerk. Now Preneste was dressed in a white alb, with a red belt round his waist and on his head a helmet of garlands with extraordinarily lifelike artificial snakes. His feet were bare. He carried a chest, which he placed in the pool of light and opened. I craned over my master's shoulder. I knew enough about the black-magic lords to recognize its contents -philtres, magic letters, the eyes of cats, a bowl of froth from a mad dog, a dead man's bones wrapped in yellowing skin, a noose from a scaffold, daggers rusty with human blood, and plants and flowers gathered under a hunter's moon.
