by Paul Doherty
Benjamin and I went back to our chamber. Believe me, I checked everything - the bed, the chairs. I even kept the window shutters open despite the cold breeze, just in case I had to leave quicker than I thought. Benjamin, God bless him, wanted to discuss this and that, stating the obvious, that someone had tried to kill us.
'Or,' he said pensively, sitting on the edge of the bed, 'did they know we were in the room? Were they just trying to destroy any evidence that might be there?'
I groaned, rolled the woollen blanket around me and stared at the white-washed wall. I sucked the tip of my thumb, a gesture I always make when terrified. I wanted to go home. I promised every saint I knew that, if I was brought safely out of this, I'd light a thousand candles, go to church every day, never steal. Yes, I even proposed to take a vow of chastity! You can see how desperate I had become! No, perhaps you can't. Ever since I had entered that bloody doctor's house in Wodforde, I felt as if I had slid into some dark maze where a demented killer was hunting me. And who had been that hooded bastard in the garden? I listened to my master's voice murmuring on. Benjamin was applying logic. Logic! In my view we were confronting a killer with a blind blood lust to wipe out the Albrizzis and anyone connected with them. I drifted into an uneasy sleep and woke late the next morning, quite refreshed and wondering how passionate the Lady Bianca was in bed.
Benjamin was already up. I stripped, washed and shaved. After which, as I remarked to Benjamin, I was ready to take on the Sultan and all his harem. (Oh, by the way, some years later I had to, but that's another story!) We walked down the gallery and glanced at the damage done to Preneste's room; the place was a shell, the timbers charred, blackened with smoke. My nightmares of the previous evening returned and I felt like indulging in my litany of woes but Benjamin's face was hard set. He was very rarely like that, but when he was I kept my thoughts to myself and my mouth shut.
'Let's break our fast, Roger,' he murmured.
'Master,' I whispered as we went downstairs. 'Who was that hooded figure in the garden?'
'Making a wild surmise,' Benjamin answered quietly, 'I suspect it was one of the Eight, the de' Medici secret police, keeping a watch on the house.'
'Couldn't he have been the assassin?'
'Possibly. But remember, Roger, we have been attacked twice. Never once did that man lift a hand to hurt or hinder us.'
We entered the sun-filled refectory - a beautiful whitewashed room with hanging baskets of flowers along the walls. The wooden floor gleamed and the air was fragrant with the savoury meats and fresh bread baking in the kitchen beyond. The tables were ranged along the side and, on a dais at the top, only one figure sat. Enrico, wearing his eye-glasses, was poring over a manuscript. He looked up as we approached and smiled at us to join him.
'A great deal of excitement!' he exclaimed as we took our seats. 'Preneste's murdered and even then he's not allowed to rest in peace.'
'What was the cause of the fire?' Benjamin asked innocently.
'Well, Lord Roderigo believes it to be a negligent servant.' I stifled my anger - even a child would have smelt the oil. Benjamin, however, was studying the young man intently. 'Your eyesight is poor?'
Enrico shook his head and took his eye-glasses off.
'Only close up. I have always suffered from eye-strain when reading a manuscript or book.' He chuckled softly. 'I thank God I am not a priest.'
'You mean like Preneste?'
Enrico shrugged. 'Look at Italy, Master Daunbey, full of corrupt priests and proud prelates. Can you really believe in the God they worship? If Preneste wished to dabble in dark mysteries that was his concern.'
(Now, I suppose the fellow was correct, but since then there have been many good priests in Italy eager for reform-men like the great Loyola, a fanatic but a great saint. The popes have also changed. Sixtus V cleansed Rome with both sword and water. A cunning old fox, Sixtus had a deep admiration for our great Elizabeth. Do you know he once told me that if he and Elizabeth had married their children would have ruled the world. Elizabeth just laughed when I told her; what Sixtus didn't know was that the queen and I have a child, a lovely lad. He might not rule the world, but he'll certainly steal anything in it!)
Anyway, I digress. Benjamin and Enrico became involved in a short debate on the state of the Church when my master abruptly changed tack.
'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!'
Chapter 8
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 A
lessandro 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?'
I shook off my master's warning hand. Alessandro, I am sure, did not understand the word 'uncouth'. Nevertheless he sprang to his feet, face red, eyes blazing.
'In the garden!' he shrieked. 'In the garden!' And stormed out of the room.
Roderigo glared at me. 'You shouldn't have said that, Shallot,' he said softly. 'Alessandro is a good swordsman. He will kill you!'
By now my first flush of courage was beginning to cool. I glanced around the table. Enrico sat there cradling his chin in his hand, looking up at me, smiling encouragingly. Maria was fluttering her eyelids like some lady from one of those stupid romantic stories the troubadours like to recite. Benjamin sat, head down. I did not know whether he was angry or amused. The Lady Beatrice came in. Lord Enrico rose to his feet, pulled her down on the chair next to him and whispered what had happened. She smirked maliciously, clapping her hands.
'Alessandro will be the victor,' she declared. 'Husband dear, why are we still here when my brother waits in the garden?'
Ah well, I had no choice. Benjamin and I left the refectory and went back to our room. I took off my jerkin, strapped my sword belt around me and, trying to hide my fear, walked towards the door. My master gripped my arm.
'Roger!'
'No sermons now, Master! He's an arrogant bastard!' I looked into Benjamin's eyes and glimpsed the admiration there.
'Oh, no, I am proud of you, Roger. I know you abhor violence. It was brave of you to defend Maria. If you didn't, I would have done!'
(Lord save us, my master was such an innocent! Abhor violence! Too bloody right he was! I can't stand the sight of blood, particularly my own!)
Anyway, I acted the brave Hector, gulped and just prayed my hands wouldn't become too sweaty to hold a sword. Benjamin tapped my sword belt.
'He will probably use a rapier. Don't forget what the Portuguese taught you.'
We went down to the garden. All the household had gathered. I studied their faces; apart from Enrico and Roderigo, they all saw the impending duel as some sort of show put on for their benefit. Even the servants, standing further off, had brought out fruits and cups of wine so they could watch the tail-bearing Inglese be wounded and probably killed. Maria was looking at me sorrowfully as if she'd realized what she had caused. Little lips half-parted, she ran across the grass and grabbed my arm.
'There was no need, Crosspatch,' she whispered. 'He's always hit me. Never very hard.'
I shook my head. 'I want to run!' I hissed. 'But where can I go?' I plucked one of the little velvet gloves she had stuffed into her belt and pushed it inside my shirt. 'I'll wear that as my gauge of battle.'
The little creature blushed and caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'I am sorry I called you Crosspatch.'
'Are you ready, Inglese?'
I stared across the dew-wet grass. Alessandro stood elegantly, rapier and stiletto in his hands. He was waving them from side to side, twisting them about so that the sun caught the edges of the blades, dazzling in their sharpness. My stomach lurched. I prayed that I wouldn't close my eyes, something I always did when I duelled. I can't explain why, it's just a childish reaction. Or, worse still, vomit or swoon.
'You are ready, Roger?' my master asked. 'As ready as I ever will be.'
I sheathed my sword and dagger and strode across the grass. I wished I hadn't - the sole of my boot was slippery. I stumbled and fell to my knees, blushing in embarrassment at the chorus of laughter this provoked.
'Are you nervous, Inglese?' Alessandro called. 'Bianca, bring your smelling salts!'
<
br /> I got to my feet, stuck sword and dagger into the soil and sat down.
'You'll wet your pants!' Alessandro called. Ignoring him, I pulled off my boots and the linen stockings underneath.
(Now you young men who read this, remember old Shallot's advice. On a slippery surface, bare feet are best. That is, if you really can't run away!)
I got to my feet and, armed with sword and dagger, walked nonchalantly across, hoping my stomach wouldn't betray me. Roderigo came in between us, the saturnine Giovanni beside him.
'Lord Alessandro,' he said quietly. 'You need not fight this man. He's not your equal.'
'Yes, uncle, he's from the gutter but he has to be taught his manners.'
Roderigo looked at me sadly and shrugged.
'Then fight!' he exclaimed. 'Until the first blood's drawn!'
My heart leapt with joy, but then I glanced at Giovanni's sly face and knew the first blood could be the wound through my heart. He and Roderigo stood back. The hubbub of conversation died. Alessandro languidly took his position, turned slightly sideways, sword raised. I edged nervously forward, acting the ignoramus, and copied his stance. Our swords touched. Alessandro sprang back then forward, lunging low. I blocked his sword, stepping back. He came on. Then, to a chorus of cheers and shouts of 'Alessandro!' he closed, sword against sword, dagger against stiletto. He was probing, testing my weakness and I acted the nervous neophyte, but carefully so. I recognized Alessandro's type, a treacherous bastard. He would show no mercy if he saw an opening, wanting a quick kill. He came at me furiously, sword jabbing the air, and I quickly realized he was a better dagger man than he was a duellist. It was not his rapier I had to watch but the stiletto. He would suddenly bring this up, lunging at my exposed body and, on one occasion, he nearly had me in the groin. Now that was enough for me. A man without balls is a man with no future. I stepped hurriedly back and changed my rapier to my left hand, enjoying the look of astonishment in Alessandro's eyes. And then I began. I am not bragging but after that it wasn't much of a duel. Alessandro had simply no experience in facing a left-handed swordsman. The very change disconcerted him. He became clumsy, parried a dagger thrust, stepped back too slowly and I nicked him in the shoulder. The blood welled out, staining his linen shirt, making it look much worse than it was. Lady Bianca began to scream.
