A Brood of Vipers

and met the hooded figure there. The cardinal got to his feet and walked across the room to the window, as if disturbed by the growing noise from the piazza below. 'Master Daunbey, Master Shallot,' he said. 'Come here!'
    We went across to where he stood and looked down into the square, now thronged with people. They had gathered around a tall, three-branched scaffold that towered up from a large circular platform. A ladder was fixed to either side of the scaffold's post. The platform was ringed by a group of men, garbed completely in black, their heads covered by high, pointed hoods. These awesome figures, armed with sword and dagger, some with shields and lances, kept the crowd back as others, similarly dressed, dragged three unfortunates on to the circular platform. This was to be one of the quietest executions I have ever seen. The crowds murmured, but there were none of the cat-calls or jeers you get in England. The three prisoners had all been severely tortured; each was a mass of bleeding wounds from head to toe. A black-robed figure pushed one up a scaffold-ladder. The executioner climbed the ladder on the other side. Once the prisoner reached the top, the waiting executioner looped a noose around his neck and pushed the unfortunate off. In a matter of minutes the same horrifying fate befell the other two. They hung, choking and kicking. Beneath them the black cowled figures began to heap bundles of faggots. When all were in place they sprinkled gunpowder over them and set them alight.
    The cardinal, arms crossed, watched as the flames roared up to engulf the pathetic figures twitching there. The fire grew higher still; the bodies themselves were now burning. I saw a foot shrivel and break off and I turned away, sickened. I noticed then that Benjamin was not watching the scene in the square. He was studying a portrait on the wall to the left of the window. The cardinal didn't move until all three men completely burned, then he sketched a blessing in the air, closed the window and turned to us.
    'That was the work of the Master of the Eight,' he said sourly. 'Who were they, Your Grace?' Benjamin asked.
    'Apostates, or so the Master of the Eight claims – traitors to Florence, who were caught carrying messages to the French forces in Naples.' The cardinal leaned elegantly against the side of his desk. 'I believe you met Brother Seraphino last night. He is a dangerous man.' He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the window. 'I knew one of the condemned, a beautiful singer. Even my influence could not save him.' He crossed himself. 'God rest him! I did my best, but Brother Seraphino was insistent, the man had to die.'
    Oh, I caught the clever bastard's threat, the subtle hint that, even if we were envoys and enjoyed his friendship, he might not be able to save us from those black-garbed devils below.
    'I wonder,' he murmured, 'what the Eight are so interested in at the Villa Albrizzi?'
    I could see from Benjamin's drawn face that he was tired of being taunted. 'Oh, surely, Your Grace,' he said, 'Alessandro Albrizzi is well-known for his love of the new learning from Germany.'
    The cardinal pursed his lips and nodded, staring down at his gold pectoral cross. He caught Benjamin's gaze and pointed at the portrait. 'You were admiring it?' 'Yes, Your Grace.' 'It's of me.'
    The painting was of an angelic, almost effeminate young man. The face was younger, thinner, but the eyes were as clever and their gaze as sneering and arrogant as now.
    'A good likeness, Your Grace,' Benjamin said. 'And we take your hint. The Master of the Eight is all-powerful in Florence, so it's best if we seek your protection. That's why we were invited here, at this hour, is it not?'
    The cardinal laughed and ushered us back to our seats, putting one arm round Benjamin's shoulders.
    'You are clever, but far too blunt, and I apologize for playing games. Yes, you are under my protection.' His face became grave. 'But the Master of the Eight is a law unto himself. Here in Florence we play for high stakes and the game is only beginning. The prize is information, because information is the key to power. Now, repeat what your uncle said before you left England.'
    'If Rome says yes,' Benjamin replied, summarizing the message, 'then England says yes.'
    The Lord Giulio nodded. 'And I have thought of my reply. Tell your Uncle this: "When the time has come, and the moment is ripe, Rome will say yes". Repeat it!'
    Benjamin did so twice. The