A Brood of Vipers

pestering Benjamin to tell her what he knew. But eventually she gave up and, regaining her good humour, rode ahead of us on her little donkey. I leaned over and asked my master the name of the killer. Benjamin whispered a reply. I looked startled.
    (Excuse me, there goes my little chaplain again, squirming his little bum, throwing his quill down on the table – he wants to know immediately! A good hard rap across his knuckles brings him back into line. If I have told him once I have told him a thousand times whilst dictating these memoirs, I will not hurry! I will not reveal what is yet to come. He was the same when I took him to see Will Shakespeare's Richard III year or so ago. Sure enough, between the acts he keeps asking questions – 'What happens next, Master? What happens next?' – disturbing the philosophical conversation I was having with a young beauty who was escorting me for the day. He's a bloody nuisance! Mind you, I got my revenge. At the end of the play, when everyone else was pelting poor Burbage, being the villain of the piece, with rotten fruit, I threw everything I had at my chaplain!)
    My master hinted at the reasons for his conclusions, but then broke off – Maria, intrigued by our whispering, had reined back her mount to join us.
    The Villa Albrizzi was bathed in light and music as we entered. As I said, it was a carnival day and the family was celebrating. They were all seated once more in that beautiful garden, dining on lamb cooked in oil and garnished with herbs. They were well gone in their cups. Alessandro was there, nursing his pin-prick of a wound and glaring at me sulkily. However, I was pleased to see the hero worship in the ladies' eyes, which increased as Maria described my duel in the tavern. On Benjamin's strict instructions she made no reference to the cardinal, to Borelli or to the Master of the Eight. I, of course, forgot my aching head and sore arm and acted the hero. Lord Roderigo was most gracious. 'Come, join us!'
    I, sober as a judge, for the wine I had drunk in the taverna had long ceased to have its effect, moodily played the role of Hector returned from the wars. I apologized for my dirty garments. Whilst Benjamin and Maria washed their hands and faces in bowls of rose water, I went to the stables to check on our horses before going back to my own chamber to change. As I stripped I quietly cursed all princes, for since this escapade had begun I had destroyed more good clothes than I had in the whole of the previous year. I was naked as the day I was born when a knock sounded on the door. 'Come in!' I shouted.
    Remembering that an assassin was abroad, I scurried across to my saddlebag and threw a towel round the most precious part of my anatomy. When I turned, the Lady Bianca was standing there, eyes glistening, wetting her lips as if she was some heifer and I some prize bullock at Smithfield.
    'Oh!' she said in mock pity. 'Master Shallot, you are bruised and cut.'
    She came up, swaying slightly from the cups of wine she had downed, pressing her taffeta close against me, her plump pretty face raised, staring up at me with eyes fluttering and lips half-open.
    'Shall I dress your wound?' she asked throatily. Then she laughed. 'When you returned, we could smell you before we saw you! But, Master Shallot, you are a man.' Her hand went down and grasped my genitals. 'Oh, yes!'
    (Excuse me, my little chaplain's shoulders have gone rigid and he is not writing properly. Oh, I know what he is thinking, the filthy-minded turd! Here goes old Shallot again, bouncing around with anyone in petticoats! Now that didn't happen. 'Ah!' he sighs in disappointment.)
    Lady Bianca was becoming excited and so was I, though I was petrified. Two duels in one day was testing fortune. I did not want any enraged Roderigo thirsting for my blood. In the event my virtue was saved by another knock on the door. Lady Bianca stepped backwards. I wrapped the towel round me as Beatrice flounced in. 'Mother, can I help?'
    If I had not been so terrified I would have burst out laughing. Bianca assumed all the airs of an outraged duchess. 'Master Shallot has been wounded, he may need our help.' Beatrice looked at the bulge beneath the towel. 'Yes,' she said drily, ‘I can see that. But the Lord Roderigo awaits.'
    She opened the door and her mother stalked out. Beatrice closed it behind her and grinned at me.
    'Perhaps tomorrow, Master Shallot? In the evening. The servants will go to the carnival. Perhaps I