A Brood of Vipers

rabbit in a fox's lair, I thought. I was all set to continue the dalliance when, suddenly, the ship lurched. I grabbed the side and peered anxiously about. So engrossed had I been with the Lady Beatrice that I had hardly realized that the plank had been raised and orders for departure issued. Sailors released the ropes that held us to the quay and ship's boys scampered up the rigging as quick and lithe as cats up a tree. The Florentines moved away. I watched the gap between the quay-side and the ship grow and gazed despairingly into the darkness. Again the ship lurched. I thanked God Beatrice had gone, leaned over the side and vomited my breakfast.
    (Mind you, whenever I think of ships, I remember the Mary Rose, Henry VIII's great warship, built at Greenwich. On its first voyage, the Mary Rose set sail, fired one cannonade and turned full-tilt in the water. Hundreds of good men died. The fat bastard Henry went purple with rage and commissioned me to seek out the murderer. Oh yes, don't listen to anyone else, old Shallot knows the truth. The sinking of the Mary Rose was no accident. Those sailors were drowned, and that great ship destroyed, by a soul as black as midnight.)
    My voyage on the Bonaventure was a living hell. The sailors were pleased – they welcomed the winds that swept us out of the Channel and into the Bay of Biscay. I didn't. I remember some of the details of the voyage – the great white sails billowing in the winds, snapping and cracking; men shrieking; the patter of feet on decks; blue sky and racing waves; strange fish leaping up beside the ship – but it was all like a dream. I was sick in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening and during the night. At first I thought it would end eventually, but my stomach kept wringing itself like a wet rag and I was unable to keep any food down. I fell into a fever which lasted days.
    I remember Preneste bending over me, my master's white, anxious face and, I am sure, little Maria mopping my brow and forcing some evil-tasting black substance between my lips. And then one morning I woke up. I felt light-headed and weak, but my stomach was calm. I didn't even retch at the stench of the fetid slops that had accumulated between decks and made the ship smell like a midden at the height of summer. My master bent over me. 'What day is it?' I croaked. 'The feast of St Ethelburga, the 25th of May.' 'Good Lord!' I replied. 'Twelve days gone!' Benjamin nodded. 'We have reached the tip of Spain.'
    All around me I could hear the ship creak and groan. I noticed how hot and sour the air was. 'For God's sake, Master,' I groaned. 'Get me out of here!'
    As my master helped me to my feet I saw how stained and dirty my clothing was. When we reached the deck I was at first nearly blinded by the light, for the sun shone hot and fierce. Then I saw a group including the captain and Roderigo watching some sailors dancing while a thin-faced boy played a flute. On the deck near the sterncastle some Florentines, Giovanni and Alessandro among them, exercised with wooden swords. When they saw me they called out and came over. The sweat coursing down their faces from matted hair, they looked like happy boys engaged in a game. I felt a stab of envy at their bronzed good looks.
    'Your sea legs at last!' Giovanni teased. 'It's good to see you in the land of the living again, Master Shallot.'
    Alessandro poked his wooden sword at me. 'Time for exercise. A short melde could banish the evil humours.'
    Maria appeared, grasped my arm and, with my master, helped me to the ship's side. 'They mean well,' she murmured, 'but the Florentines, dear Onion Patch, have great experience of travel. They are used to much worse seas than those we have travelled through.'
    (I can well believe it! That old pirate Drake told me that in mid-Atlantic there are waves higher than Hampton Court. But you know Drake – if he wasn't a sailor he would have made a fortune as a teller of tales!)
    Maria and Benjamin propped me against the rail. I sucked in the sultry breeze, but had to keep closing my eyes to shut out the sunlight dancing dazzlingly on the water.
    'Don't look at the waves,' Maria said quietly. 'Choose some point on the horizon and watch that. Then the giddiness will pass.' I heard the soft rustle of her skirts and caught the fragrance of a light perfume. I smiled down at her. 'Thank you,' I said, meaning it. 'For what? I can't have old Onion Crosspatch die on us!'
    In a low-cut dress, the sleeves