A Brood of Vipers

'Roger, are you crying?' my master whispered. 'No, that's just sweat.'
    I pressed my face against the cool grass and remembered how long it took to load a handgun. This prompted my heroism. I sprang to my feet, drew my dagger and, ignoring my master's protests, ran across that paddock like one of Arthur’s knights, shouting and screaming. The few sheep grazing there, being fattened for the kitchens, lifted their heads, gazed glassy-eyed and went back to their browsing. At last I reached the fence. The assassin must have stood here to fire his weapon, yet I found nothing – no footprints, no powder marks, not even the whiff of gunshot in the clear spring air. A smell of burning perhaps, but nothing else.
    'Come on, Master!' I shouted, now standing legs apart like a Hector. 'I've driven the varlet off!'
    Benjamin crossed the field in his long-strided walk. He, too, had unsheathed his dagger. My fear returned when I saw how pale his face was. 'Master,' I assured him-and myself, 'the bastard has gone.'
    He may have just changed position,' Benjamin said nervously.
    I immediately flung myself down. Benjamin went through the gates and stared at the row of trees on either side of the track leading back to the stables and the main palace buildings. 'I think we are safe, Roger.'
    I clambered to my feet. My hands were trembling so much as I realized how stupid I'd been that I could not sheathe my dagger. After all the assassin may have had two handguns, both loaded and primed. Or, supposing there had been two assassins? My legs felt like jelly, so I crouched down again. I snatched a clump of grass and held it against my hot cheeks. 'Roger, are you all right?' I got to my feet. 'Master, who could the bastard be?' 'Someone who is trying either to frighten us or kill us.' Benjamin smiled and clasped my hand. 'But, Roger, you are a brave man. Tell no one what happened.' He grasped me by the elbow and hurried me back to the palace.
    Now, once fear has gripped old Roger, there's no shaking it off. I have been shot at, stabbed, hacked, fed poison, despatched to the gallows, knelt to receive the headsman's blow and, on four occasions, nearly drowned. Each time I have escaped. Agrippa says I either have the devil's own luck or God's special protection. I say this to show I am not a coward. I just have this deep urge for self-preservation. Greater, perhaps, than that of any man on the face of this earth.
    I was still shaking when we returned to our chamber. Benjamin had forgotten the incident. He began wondering when Uncle would send for us. I was more fearful, or more cunning. Whenever I leave a room, I always throw something on the bed, a napkin or an item of clothing. This time what I had left had been disturbed. I grabbed Benjamin's arm. 'Master, wait!'
    I went across to my cot bed and pulled back the blankets. I almost swooned as I saw the great, ugly dagger blade which someone had pushed up under the mattress at the very point where, half-drunk or too tired to care, I would have flung myself down.

Chapter 4
    I can honestly declare that most chamberlains are arrogant jackanapes. But there was never a more welcome sight than the one who knocked on our door, carrying a flagon of wine and two cups as a gift from Cardinal Wolsey to his dearest nephew. I grabbed the jug, filled a goblet to the brim and gulped the wine down. I refilled my cup and huddled in a corner from where I glared at my master.
    The bastards!' I whispered. 'We haven't even left for Florence yet and some turd in taffeta is trying to kill us! Shot at! Daggers in the mattress!'
    Benjamin ignored me. He pulled out the dagger blade and carefully searched the rest of the room. All the time I sat cursing and gulping the wine. I could do nothing else. I was terrified. Benjamin, at last, calmed me down.
    'Think, Roger,' he whispered, crouching next to me. 'Think carefully. If the assassin wanted to kill us, he could have done so. I suspect we are being warned off and, surely, no one warns off Shallot?'
    I thought differently. Benjamin was to be killed near the brook. I was to come back, distraught, perhaps drunk, and throw myself down on my bed. I was certain of one thing: somebody amongst the Albrizzis wanted us dead. I kept growling but at last the logic of Benjamin's words did calm my fears. I reluctantly stripped, washed, shaved and donned my best raiment (the chamberlain had informed us that the cardinal had insisted on this). We heard trumpet blasts from the great