A Brood of Vipers

doing here, Inglese?' 'Minding my own business!' I snarled. 'So hostile!' he murmured.
    'Hostile but not stupid!' I snapped. 'Oh, for God's sake, man, you're wasting your time. You're no relic-seller. Your hands are soft. You have just drunk a goblet of the most fragrant wine. Finally, don't you think it's a coincidence that here I am, an Englishman in a Florentine gaol, and wonder upon wonders, another prisoner joins me who can speak English.' I thrust my face closer. 'You're a sodding informer! A Job's comforter! Now, why don't you piss off and tell Frater Seraphino he'll have to do better!'
    The fellow shrugged and smiled to himself; he got to his feet, walked under the trapdoor and shouted something in Italian.
    A ladder was lowered. The fellow climbed up this but stopped half-way and grinned down at me.
    I don't know what he said, but he pointed to a grille in the far wall. He clambered up, the ladder was withdrawn and the trapdoor slammed shut. At first I sat, quite pleased with my perspicacity, watching the daylight fade through the cracks.
    I began to grow cold and wondered when my master would arrive to save me. My courage, never the best, began to fade. My eyes were drawn to that large grille in the wall. What had the spy meant? Drops of water began to seep through the grille. I heard a scurry and a squeak and glimpsed red, mad eyes glaring at me through the grating. 'Oh, Lord save me!' I muttered.
    An idea formed in my tired mind but I dismissed it as some new, cruel game the Master of the Eight had decided to play. At first I thought the grille was fixed in the wall but, straining my eyes through the gloom, I saw that it was held by wires attached to a chain. I heard a creak. The wires became taut and the grille began to lift. I huddled in a corner and watched the long, black, slimy-tailed rats slip out. No, I don't lie, these weren't your robust little English rats. Believe me, I have seen smaller cats! The leading one was at least two feet from snout to tip of tail; its fur was black, sleek and glossy and its eyes glowed like fragments of fire. In the poor light of the candle (and now I knew why the bastards had given it to me) I glimpsed long snouts and cruel, yellow teeth. These were sewer rats, voraciously hungry. They were probably lured from an underground river and trapped for a while to whet their appetites before being released into that God-forsaken hole.
    The leading rat crawled across the floor, fat-bellied, sliding over the ooze, its snout twitching. It turned and watched me. Another joined it, sliding up beside it, then another. Four, five now dropped into the cell. They stopped, packed together like a group of imps from hell. I stayed still, not from any cunning but from sheer terror. One of the rats edged forward, then came at a scurry towards my leg. I screamed and lashed out. The rat withdrew.
    'Signor!' A voice sang out from above. 'You like your new companions?' I yelled abuse back.
    'There are more, Signor. Surely you would rather talk than dine with them? Or should I say for them?'
    Lord, I could not believe it! Another grille, in the far corner of the cell, hidden by some wet straw, was lifted. More of the slimy bastards emerged. Now my dear little chaplain often gives a sermon about the enemy encamped around us. I know what he's bloody talking about! Most people believe rats are furtive rodents, squirming under a bale of straw, fleeing like shadows at any footfall. But you talk to any rat-catcher, a man who knows his business. He'll tell you about sewer rats. They are fierce and, when hungry, relentless hunters. There must have been at least a dozen in the cell. At first they snouted amongst the straw for bits of food. Then they massed like an enemy for attack. I closed my eyes. If I showed any sign of weakness they would close in. I edged across the cell, took the candle from its holder and began to rip the shirt from my back. I lit this and used it as a torch, flinging it at the rats. They retreated back to the grille, but then the fire died. The smoke made me cough and the rats re-emerged. The candle was beginning to die. I shook my chains, shouted and screamed, but the rats appeared to have become accustomed to this. One edged forward, then another. They began to fan out. I kept my eyes on their grey-muzzled leader. A lean, vicious bastard, he suddenly sprang across the floor and, abruptly changing direction, came at me from the side. The little bastard went straight for my