'What?'
'Would Preneste still have that information somewhere?'
We walked back into the house. Benjamin stopped a sleepy-eyed servant and asked for a fresh cup of wine. He also took the opportunity of using the little Italian he knew to discover the whereabouts of Preneste's chambers, on the other side of the courtyard. We slipped up darkened stairways and along a gallery. As we passed a chamber door, we paused. In the poor light Benjamin smiled as he gestured to me to listen. I did so and, from the room beyond, heard the gasps and passionate cries of the Lady Bianca.
'A merry widow if there ever was one,' Benjamin whispered.
We crept on, now and again pausing as a floorboard creaked. We turned a corner and the hair on the back of my neck curled as I stared along the passageway. I was sure I had seen someone moving, but then dismissed it as the effect of too much wine.
At last we reached Preneste's chamber. The door was closed but not locked. We pushed it open and crept in. The room was dark, the shutters of the window firmly closed. I wrinkled my nose at the sour smell which the cloying fragrance from the garden could not hide. The four-poster bed in the centre of the room had its drapes pulled close. Benjamin moved over. I heard him mutter and curse. He struck a tinder, lit the candles, picked one of these up and moved across to the bed. He pulled the curtain back, pushed the candle forward and, in the pool of light, Preneste's pallid face gazed sightlessly up at us. He looked even more eerie in the candlelight, the small hole in the side of the head an ugly black-red patch. I stared at it curiously. It stirred a memory, but I could not place it. Benjamin was now whispering at me to search the room. I did so. Thankfully, the chests and coffers had not been locked, except one at the foot of the bed. One clasp was open, I had to use my dagger to prise the other loose.
Now, I have met strange priests but Preneste was one of the strangest. Never once did I come across a breviary or crucifix, rosary or medal. The man hadn't just dabbled in the black arts but steeped himself in them. I recoiled in disgust as I handled the dry corpse of a toad, the yellowing skull of a monkey and a book of spells. Benjamin searched amongst the other coffers and chests, but found nothing. He tiptoed across to me.
'Where would a man like Preneste hide something secret?'
I picked up the candles and stared around. There were no pictures or hangings on the wall. I rapped the floorboards, but this was no English manor with joists and beams. I gazed at the bed. I remembered the head-board, with its small wooden panels. I pulled back the drapes, climbed on to the bed and, with Preneste staring ghoulishly up at me, began to tap at these panels. One sounded hollow. I grinned at Benjamin.
'God knows why, Master, but people always think their beds are the safest places.'
The wood was thin. I punched a small hole with my dagger, then paused, wondering whether the slight noise would arouse attention. However, apart from the thudding of my own heart, J heard nothing except the cries of the night birds from the garden and Benjamin's heavy breathing behind me. I broke the wood away.
'They'll ask questions in the morning, Master,' I grunted.
'Then they'll have to accuse each other!' Benjamin hissed. 'I doubt if this family would care very much.'
I snapped away the wood. Somewhere there must be a secret mechanism or lever. Inside I felt a metal spring and, putting my hand deeper down, I drew out a small leather pouch. I handed this to Benjamin, who cut the cord at its neck and took out the manuscripts it contained. He sat on the bed as if he and Preneste were old friends and studied the manuscripts. Two were spells. One was a letter from the Lady Bianca addressed to a 'Bellissimo'. Even with my limited knowledge of the tongue I could, following Benjamin's finger, see that it was a love letter, which Preneste must have intercepted for the purpose of blackmail.
'What if these murders are quite distinct?' I asked.
'You mean the Lord Francesco was killed for one reason and Matteo and Preneste for another?' He shook his head. 'But the means are always the same. I wonder if the Lady Bianca would stoop to murder to hide her infidelities?'
He put the letter on the bed and undid another. Written in Latin, it was from no less a person than the Prince Giulio de Medici. The parchment was of high quality, though yellowing with age. Dated years earlier, the letter was 'To my good friend and ally, Gregorio Preneste'. Prince Giulio thanked Preneste for his services and promised that he would use all his power to ensure that Preneste received advancement in the household of Lord Francesco Albrizzi.
'So simple and so obvious,' Benjamin murmured. 'So why hide it away?'
I was about to reply when I heard a floorboard creak in the gallery outside. We both froze, not even daring to breathe, but heard no further sound. We went back to the letter. At one moment I heard a click, but thought it was one of the night sounds of the house. Benjamin insisted on examining the cavity in the bedhead himself. I, still alarmed by what I had heard, got up and walked towards the door. I slipped and had to steady myself. I looked down and saw a glassy, watery substance on the floor. At first I thought it was one of the dead magician's potions but, bending down carefully, I dipped my finger and smelt it.