A Brood of Vipers

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 that 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,