A Brood of Vipers

root of this evil.' 'And what about you, Maria?' I retorted. There was a scuffling in the hedge. I repeated my question. 'She's gone,' Benjamin said. 'And we too must go.'
    We walked out of the pleasance, following the winding path around the palace. We passed the kitchens, where the air was sweet and cloying with the smell of meat pies, chickens, capons and pullets being baked for the evening's banquet. I was going to speak, but Benjamin put his finger to his lips. We went through the stables, busy with farriers and grooms cleaning the horses after the recent hunt, and into a small grazing paddock. Benjamin led me through this, down to a little brook. He stopped and looked carefully along the bank. We were alone – it was late afternoon, the king had returned and everyone was busy preparing for his next round of pleasure.
    'So you were right,' Benjamin said. 'The Albrizzis are a brood of vipers.' 'But what if Maria is a liar?' I asked.
    'She could well be. I am still not sure what is the shadow and what is the substance in this matter.'
    Benjamin sat down on the grass. He plucked a small cowslip and studied it carefully.
    'So much beauty in something so small,' he murmured. 'Is Maria like that? Or is she a liar, someone sent to lure us to our deaths?'
    I sat down next to him. 'What concerns me, Master, is the puzzle behind these deaths. We go to collect Throckle and he has committed suicide for no apparent reason. Then we are brought to London to investigate the assassination of a Florentine nobleman.'
    'Throckle's death may be connected,' Benjamin replied guardedly. 'But it's the manner of Lord Francesco's dying which puzzles me. In such assassinations, the murderer and the victim are always close.' He looked at me. 'Roger, have you ever loaded an arquebus? Or had anything to do with any handgun?'
    'No, they frighten me. All that powder and priming. I'd always be frightened that they might blow up in my face. Do you think then,' I asked, 'that Roderigo might have used one of those handguns he bought?'
    Benjamin shook his head. 'No, Agrippa told me they had been checked.' 'So how did this assassin strike?'
    'Well,' Benjamin replied. 'We have seen where Lord Francesco died. He was shot in the head facing the alleyway where his assassin lurked. Now an arquebus, whether a matchlock or the more sophisticated wheel-lock type from Italy, is heavy and cumbersome. It stands at least as high as your chest. How could anyone carry such a weapon through the middle of London and not be seen? And I find it difficult to accept that the assassin stood in an alleyway and coolly loaded his gun. It takes time to ready an arquebus for firing. Think what the assassin would have to do. He must carry a powder flask or horn. Keeping the gun upright, the butt firmly against the ground, he pours the powder down the barrel, covers it with a wad of paper and rams it firmly home. Then he rams the ball on top of the powder and wad. Now he must prime the gun – add a little powder to the pan. To fire it, he must ignite the powder in the pan with a slow match. He must raise the gun, load it and fire.’ Benjamin shook his head. 'I can't believe no one saw that. And, even if they didn't, how could an assassin run away carrying such a heavy weapon and not be seen?' 'But the bang was heard,' I reminded him. 'And the ball hit Lord Francesco's head." 'So?'
    'So, perhaps the assassin wasn't in the alleyway. Perhaps he was somewhere else?'
    'Impossible,' Benjamin replied. 'I stood where Agrippa said Lord Francesco's body fell, directly facing the alleyway. On either side of this stand shops and houses. No assassin could hide in one of these and go unnoticed. Moreover, if Agrippa is to be believed, the bang was heard from the alleyway.' Benjamin clambered to his feet, it's a mystery, a puzzle, an enigma. But come on, Roger, "dearest uncle" is awaiting us!'
    Now I can't exactly describe what happened next – the details are vague. Benjamin clasped my hand to help me up. I half-rose, my boots slipped on the mud. I fell back, pulling Benjamin towards me. Thank God I did. I saved his life. I heard a bang and the whistle of the ball flying through the air where Benjamin's head had been. 'What?' my master shouted.
    I pulled him down. 'Master!' I hissed, 'someone is trying to kill us!'
    (God bless him, Benjamin Daunbey could be the most innocent of men!)
    We lay sprawled on the grass. My stomach was churning and I just thanked God my breeches were brown.