A Brood of Vipers

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!'
    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