A Brood of Vipers

almost laughed with relief – he was lying on the bed fast asleep. I glimpsed the wine cup on the floor and the great stain on the rug. My master's hand lolled, falling down by the side of the bed. I sheathed my dagger, hurried over, took one look at his white face and the lie of his head. He had been drugged, poisoned. I picked up the wine cup and smelled it. I know a little about herbs and potions but there were no tell-tale grains nor marks in the cup. I shook my master. He stirred, eyelids fluttering. I wiped the saliva drooling out of his mouth, took one of the bolsters and tore it open. The goose feathers floated out. I seized two or three, twined them together, forced my master's head back and stuck the feathers down his throat. He gagged, his body twitching. I seized a jug and dashed the water into his face. He began to protest. I took the feathers again and jabbed the back of his throat. He retched and, rolling over, vomited a little of what he had drunk. Not bothering with the feathers this time, I stuck my finger down his throat until he retched so violently he regained consciousness. I made him drink, forcing the water into his throat, smacking his face and shouting his name. At last he opened his eyes, staring hazily up at me.
    'Valerian,' he whispered. 'The wine was drugged by valerian.' 'Who?' I shouted. 'Giovanni.'
    I shook him by the shoulders. 'Giovanni!' I shouted. 'Giovanni! We were wrong, Master!'
    I recalled the mercenary's malignant look as he watched Maria and me leave the stableyard. He must be the murderer. I hadn't seen his body. He must have slipped up to my master's chamber, given him the drugged wine and, whilst the rest of the Albrizzis took their early evening siesta, carried out his bloody revenge. But why?
    My master was now recovering – dazed and only semiconscious, but in no real danger. I made him comfortable -and remembered Maria, still waiting in the stableyard below.
    I ran downstairs, kicking my boots aside, back through the blood-stained kitchen and out into the yard. 'Maria!' I screamed. 'Maria!'
    I peered through the darkness. Our two horses stood there, tied to the post. They were nervous and skittish. I crouched down to ease my panic and saw a flicker of white against the stable door. I crawled silently over in my stockinged feet and stopped. 'Oh, no!' I moaned. 'Oh, for sweet pity's sake!'
    Maria lay against the door like some little doll, arms hanging down, those tiny rose-topped shoes peeping out from beneath her dress. Her face was turned away, but I could see a trickle of blood seeping from her mouth. The white ruff of her dress was stained scarlet. Then I thought her hand moved. I crawled closer. I touched that pale little face, turning it towards me. God be my witness, those eyes, once so impish and full of mischief, flickered open. She forced a smile.
    'Roger, Roger! I should have gone in with you. He came and…' – she coughed, the blood bubbling through her lips -'he came… drove my head against the wall.' She coughed again. ‘I feel so cold. So cold, I want to sleep.' Her head slipped down. She was gone.
    For a while I just knelt there, the tears streaming down my face. 'God, I'll kill him!' I murmured. 'Giovanni, you bastard!'
    I noticed Maria's little hand stretched out on the cobbles pointing towards something. I followed its direction and glimpsed a white cuff, a leather jerkin sleeve, cheap rings on dead fingers. Giovanni's corpse lay just inside one of the stables. I heard a sound behind me. Rolling my tongue in my mouth, I curbed the rage that throbbed within me. I stood up quickly, drawing sword and dagger. I stared across the cobbled yard at the cowled, hooded figure standing there. The folds of his cloak swirled and, in the faint light from the kitchen, I caught the glimpse of steel. 'Come closer!' I shouted.
    The man walked forward, pushing back his hood. I stared into Enrico's face: smooth, open, his eyes were no longer crinkled up against the light. He stood like the Angel of Death. 'Your bloody work!' I snarled. He came closer, eyebrows raised in astonishment. 'Master Shallot, what nonsense is this?' 'Haven't you been in the villa?' I cried. He nodded. 'Oh, yes, I have. They are all dead. Master Shallot. Giovanni killed them.' 'Giovanni!' I exclaimed.
    'Yes,' he murmured, cocking his head to one side. 'I came back from Florence unexpectedly. Giovanni had completed his bloody work. I saw the cook, poor Alessandro, Bianca on the stairs. I