A Brood of Vipers

talking about the creatures I met in the dungeon!' Maria smiled and stroked my hand.
    'You are not a rogue, Shallot. You are just a man who has lost his soul.'
    (I looked at her curiously. What did she mean? Years later a young priest I was hiding said the same, or something similar. Not that I had lost my soul but that I had misplaced it. God knows what that means!)
    Anyway, in that sweet-smelling tavern which, after the horrors of the Stinche, seemed like paradise on earth, I just stared at the dwarf woman, belched softly and turned back to Benjamin. 'Master, what is happening? When can we go home?' Benjamin looked away.
    'You know we've been told lies!' I snarled. 'Everything's a lie, Master. Nothing is what it appears to be. Why didn't the good cardinal question us more closely about the deaths amongst the Albrizzis?' Benjamin glanced at Maria.
    'Oh, I trust her,' I said, smiling. 'She's too weak to have fired that arquebus, if that's what was used.' 'What do you mean?' Benjamin asked.
    'Master,' I cried in exasperation. 'What are we doing here in Florence trying to persuade an artist who has long disappeared to come to England? That wasn't Borelli we met.' I explained the conclusions I had reached in the prison. Benjamin cupped his face in his hands.
    'Let's go back to the beginning,' he said. 'We have a physician who commits suicide because he has been invited to court. The letter's not threatening, yet poor old Throckle fills a hot bath and opens his veins. We have a Florentine lord shot through the head in Cheapside, a steward who disappears on board ship and a priest-magician killed whilst we all look on.' He glanced across at Maria. 'We bring messages to a powerful cardinal, pure gibberish to us but meaning something to him. He gives us an equally nonsensical reply. We have the Master of the Eight, who senses that some juicy morsel of information lies behind these mysteries so he tries to torture it out of Roger. However, you can't tell him, for the simple reason you don't know yourself.' He paused. 'What else, Roger?' 'The artist?'
    'Oh yes, Signor Borelli. He executed a painting based on an idea given by Lord Francesco. Henry now wants to invite him to England, but we find that he has disappeared and an imposter has taken his place. Why?' He smiled bleakly, ‘I have also discovered something, Roger.' He leaned across the table and whispered in my ear. I drew back and gazed at him in astonishment. 'The jewel!' 'Well, something similar. Do you remember that the king showed us an emerald, a gift from the Albrizzis?' 'Yes, I remember.' 'Well, I am sure I saw a similar stone around the neck of Giulio de Medici in that painting.' I stared at Maria, who looked puzzled. 'Where did Lord Francesco get that gift for our king?'
    She shrugged. 'I don't know, but I was at court when he presented the emerald to King Henry. I am sure Lord Francesco said it was a family treasure. However, if I understand what you gentle signors are saying, the gift was not from the Albrizzis but from the Lord Cardinal?' Benjamin drummed his slender fingers on the table top.
    'Why should Giulio de Medici, if our reasoning is correct, give a gift to Lord Francesco to pass on to our noble Henry and why should Francesco claim it was from him?'
    'The same could apply to the painting. How do we know that the picture was a gift from the Lord Francesco? What if that also was given by the cardinal?'
    'But this is stupid!' Maria edged closer. 'Lord Francesco was a very wealthy man. He was also an envoy. He would never lie about the source of a gift from so powerful a man as the ruler of Florence.'
    'Let us say, for the sake of argument,' said Benjamin, 'that both the emerald and the painting were given to Lord Francesco by the cardinal with the express instruction that they be handed over the English king as gifts from the Albrizzis.' 'But why?' I exclaimed.
    Benjamin pulled a face. 'Let's put it another way, Roger. You have a precious chalice made out of pure gold, encrusted with diamonds and full of the richest wine – but it contains a poison. Might you not give it to someone else to hand to your intended victim?'
    'But how can a diamond and a painting be a poisoned chalice?' I asked.
    'I don't know, Roger, but only after Lord Francesco had handed those gifts over did the murders amongst the Albrizzis begin. Somebody saw that painting and emerald as a sign. So, what is their real significance? And whom did they provoke into murder?' I stared