A Brood of Vipers

had killed you. And Giovanni is a spy.' 'What do you mean?' Benjamin pushed his horse closer.
    'He's a spy! Either for the de Medici or the Master of the Eight, or probably for both. I have seen him slipping out of the house at night when he's not poking the Lady Beatrice.' She gathered the reins of her donkey. 'That will end in blood,' she added darkly. 'Enrico's no fool. If he catches them in flagrante, either he or Giovanni will die.' 'What else do you know?' I asked.
    Maria looked away. 'I have told you what I know.' She looked back across the city, where the great dome of Brunelleschi's cathedral loomed through the haze. 'I hate this place,' she whispered. 'My father died here. And, when I have enough silver and gold, I will leave.' She looked up and her face broke into a smile. 'And it's to England, isn't it, Roger?' I looked at my master, who shrugged. 'It is to England?' she insisted. 'Yes, Maria, it is to England.'
    We continued into the city under a gateway decorated with a number of severed heads. Maria went ahead of us, showing the way through the winding Florentine streets, past the butchers' stalls, stacked high with mutton and veal. I noticed something rather strange. In London you never know what meat you are buying. As I have remarked before in my memoirs, I am an authority on such matters simply because I have eaten both cat and rat meat and so can tell the difference. Others can't. What they regard as succulent hare is often the remains of some alley cat. However, in Florence, according to the decree of the Council, the skins and heads of all animals whose meat is sold must be displayed in front of the butchers' stalls. This may be a wholesome practice, but being stared at by the glassy eyes of sheep, cattle, rabbits and lambs is disconcerting.
    The streets were just as busy and packed as those in London. My ears dinned with the clash of pots and pans, the clinking of money, the cries of the owners of old clothes' stalls, the hawkers of wooden ware, kettles and frying pans. The streets were choked with mules and carts. Now and again we would debouch from some narrow alleyway into one of the beautiful squares or piazzas of the city, open and paved with pleasant fountains in the middle. Crossing one of these, I was disturbed by what appeared to be sombre-clad ghosts carrying a black catafalque. As they passed all heads were uncovered and even the most coarse and ribald carters drew their carts to one side to give more room.
    'They are the brothers of the Misericordia,' Maria explained. She pointed to the leader of these black ghosts. 'Each unit of ten is led by a Capo di Guardia. You can tell him by the leather bag tied round his waist. It contains brandy, cough lozenges and the key of a drawer under the litter. In this there is a drinking cup, a stole, a crucifix and some holy water, in case a sick person should die on the way to hospital.'
    I gazed at the long, black cloaks, the hoods and cowls with holes for the eyes, nose and mouth. 'They look like demons,' I whispered.
    'No, no,' Maria replied. 'The Misericordia are the great glory of Florence. They visit the sick and take them to hospital but, according to the rules of their confraternity, they must remain in disguise so no one will think them virtuous nor can they boast of their good work.' I watched the litter pass. 'But isn't the person dead?'
    'Oh, no. They are hidden to save any embarrassment.' Maria wiped her little mouth on the back of her hand. 'Florence's hospitals are the wonder of the world.' She smiled sourly. 'Mind you, they have to be; there's more poisoning and dagger thrusts in this city than any in Italy, even Rome.' 'They look like the Eight,' Benjamin observed.
    Maria urged her donkey on, looking over her shoulder at my master. if you ever fall into their power,' she called back, 'you'll find there's no mercy from the Eight!' A bell began to sound.
    'Hurry up!' she called and, as we came out of the alleyway, pointed across the square to a huge, rectangular, fortified building.
    'The Piazza de' Medici! The Lord Cardinal awaits you.' She drew in the reins of her mount and came alongside. 'We have a phrase in English – when you sup with the devil '… you carry a long spoon!' I finished for her. 'In this case,' Maria whispered, 'make sure your spoon is very, very long!'

Chapter 9
    We stabled our horses at a nearby tavern and entered the palace. Now the Medicis are certainly corrupt, as I found to my cost, but they knew how to