A Brood of Vipers

died. And, perhaps, justice will never be done. Lord Francesco did not commission that painting, you did!' 'Oh? Why me?' 'Because your so-called brother in Christ, my dear uncle, Cardinal Thomas Wolsey of England, asked you to!' 'And why should he do that?' 'As a favour.' 'For what?'
    'If Rome says yes,' Benjamin mimicked, 'England will say yes. What was the hidden significance of that painting, Your Grace?'
    The cardinal just threw his head back and laughed. He then beat gently on the arms of his chair.
    'Englishman, I don't really know. As I sit in my palace, I tell you, I don't really know.' 'Borelli might have known!' I interrupted. 'Perhaps.' That limb of Satan wiped a tear of merriment from his eyes. 'But, unfortunately, Master Borelli has met with a terrible accident. I believe his corpse is being buried today. Ah, Lord, save us!' The cardinal sighed. 'The violence of these times!' He looked at the clock as it began to 'chime. 'Tempus fugit,' he murmured, 'tempus fugit.' He rose to his feet. 'You are finished here.' He looked at both of us sternly. 'If you have further questions, ask your dear uncle. He'll tell you the answers.' He ushered us gently out. 'You'll find your bags packed, and horses stand ready in the courtyard below. You are to leave Florence now. Within a week you must be on a ship bound for England. You have my reply to your uncle?' Benjamin nodded. 'Then make sure you tell him the truth.' He walked towards the door. 'Master Daunbey!' he called out softly. My master and I turned.
    The cardinal sketched a blessing in the air. 'In a year, come to Rome.'
    And he began to laugh, low and mocking, as Benjamin and I were led along the galleries and out into the sun-washed courtyard.
    A group of burly retainers, wearing the Medici livery, stood waiting for us. We were out of Florence within the hour, pounding along the coast roads under a blazing sun to the nearest port. We dallied there a further day, before the leader of our escort secured passage for us on a Genoese cog bound for the port of London. I fairly skipped aboard and, although my relief was tinged by apprehension as the cog turned and made its way out into the open sea, we experienced little hardship. No corsairs or Turkish war galleys appeared. Some heavy weather blew up in the Bay of Biscay but our passage was uneventful. Within three weeks the weather grew cooler, the seas calmer and, when the white cliffs of England came into sight, I went down on my knees and thanked God. I had had enough of the treacherous, silken opulence of Florence. I never thought I would be so keen to slip between the sheets of my bed at Ipswich and sleep peacefully. (Well, at least until the milkmaid arrived!) Benjamin, however, remained taciturn. He was still melancholic over the deaths of the Albrizzis. Only now and again did he seethe openly at Giulio de' Medici's wickedness.
    'Don't you realize, Roger,' he said bitterly on more than one occasion as we leaned over the ship's side and watched the sunlight dancing on the sea. 'Don't you realize that the Albrizzis may have been innocent? The Medicis in Rome, perhaps the cardinal himself, may have been responsible for the murder of Enrico's father? They stood to gain not only the jewels but the weakening of a powerful Florentine family. They then used Enrico to destroy the Albrizzis.' 'But that's only half the picture, isn't it, Master?'
    'Aye, and my dear uncle knows the rest. Borelli was never meant to come to England.' 'So, why were we sent?'
    'To bear messages to Lord Giulio, to convey our master's fury, or supposed fury, at Lord Francesco's death. We are just pawns, Roger. However, in chess, pawns skilfully used may trap a bishop and even a king.'
    We entered the Thames and the ship docked at Dowgate. I ran to the side, drinking in the sights, smells and noises of London. It was a dull, grey, cold morning, but to me it was heaven on earth. Even the dung barges dumping their ordure in the river seemed pleasant enough and, after we disembarked, I surprised my master by going on my knees and kissing the quayside. It wasn't just that I was back in London. I was so pleased to be free from the dagger, the garrotte, the sling and, above all, the scraping clash of steel. I headed straight for the Vintry, into a dark, tangy taproom, whilst my master went further down river to visit Johanna at Syon. I drank three quarts of beer and joined in a sing-song with a group of sailors. I even surprised them with the dirty