The cardinal, arms crossed, watched as the flames roared up to engulf the pathetic figures twitching there. The fire grew higher still; the bodies themselves were now burning. I saw a foot shrivel and break off and I turned away, sickened. I noticed then that Benjamin was not watching the scene in the square. He was studying a portrait on the wall to the left of the window. The cardinal didn't move until all three men completely burned, then he sketched a blessing in the air, closed the window and turned to us.
'That was the work of the Master of the Eight,' he said sourly.
'Who were they, Your Grace?' Benjamin asked.
'Apostates, or so the Master of the Eight claims - traitors to Florence, who were caught carrying messages to the French forces in Naples.' The cardinal leaned elegantly against the side of his desk. 'I believe you met Brother Seraphino last night. He is a dangerous man.' He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the window. 'I knew one of the condemned, a beautiful singer. Even my influence could not save him.' He crossed himself. 'God rest him! I did my best, but Brother Seraphino was insistent, the man had to die.'
Oh, I caught the clever bastard's threat, the subtle hint that, even if we were envoys and enjoyed his friendship, he might not be able to save us from those black-garbed devils below.
'I wonder,' he murmured, 'what the Eight are so interested in at the Villa Albrizzi?'
I could see from Benjamin's drawn face that he was tired of being taunted. 'Oh, surely, Your Grace,' he said, 'Alessandro Albrizzi is well-known for his love of the new learning from Germany.'
The cardinal pursed his lips and nodded, staring down at his gold pectoral cross. He caught Benjamin's gaze and pointed at the portrait.
'You were admiring it?'
'Yes, Your Grace.'
'It's of me.'
The painting was of an angelic, almost effeminate young man. The face was younger, thinner, but the eyes were as clever and their gaze as sneering and arrogant as now.
'A good likeness, Your Grace,' Benjamin said. 'And we take your hint. The Master of the Eight is all-powerful in Florence, so it's best if we seek your protection. That's why we were invited here, at this hour, is it not?'
The cardinal laughed and ushered us back to our seats, putting one arm round Benjamin's shoulders.
'You are clever, but far too blunt, and I apologize for playing games. Yes, you are under my protection.' His face became grave. 'But the Master of the Eight is a law unto himself. Here in Florence we play for high stakes and the game is only beginning. The prize is information, because information is the key to power. Now, repeat what your uncle said before you left England.'
'If Rome says yes,' Benjamin replied, summarizing the message, 'then England says yes.'
The Lord Giulio nodded. 'And I have thought of my reply. Tell your Uncle this: "When the time has come, and the moment is ripe, Rome will say yes". Repeat it!'
Benjamin did so twice. The cardinal extended his hand for us to kiss. We genuflected, kissed that clever bastard's hand, received a small purse of silver each and were ushered out to join a sticky-faced Maria in the antechamber.
We never exchanged a word until the iron gates of the Medici palace slammed behind us.
'Master, what was all that about?' I asked. 'We come to Florence and what happens? We are threatened by the Master of the Eight, God knows for what reason.'
'Threatened?' my master queried.
'Well, watched.'
'What's this all about?' Maria spoke up, jumping up and down, her mouth still sticky from the sweetmeat she had been eating.
'Oh, shut up!' I snapped, attracting the attention of the crowd.
We left by a side street on the other side of the Piazza de' Medici from where the execution had taken place. My master wrinkled his nose at the sour, smoky smell wafting from the pyre. He tugged me by the arm into a small alleyway.
'We were sent to deliver a message to the cardinal,' he whispered. 'We have received his reply. Only God knows, dear Roger, what he and uncle are dabbling in. We know that the Medici have a spy in the Albrizzi household and that someone is busily killing off members of that household. And have you noticed that, since we came to Italy, there's been no further threat against our lives?'
'What about last night!' I exclaimed.
Benjamin shook his head, i don't think we were meant to be killed. I think the killer wanted to destroy certain evidence.'
'You mean the letter from the cardinal to Preneste?'
Benjamin pulled a face. 'Perhaps. I was tempted to ask His Eminence what it all meant. However, as the saying goes, "least said soonest mended". Now we have delivered our message!'
'Master,' I interrupted, 'Why do you think the assassin is no longer interested in us?'
'Oh, I am sure he or she still is. What happened in England was only an attempt to deter us from going to Florence. Now that we are here the assassin sees us as irrelevant in this silent but bloody war against the Albrizzi.' Benjamin pulled me back into the street again. 'As I have said, we have delivered our message and received His Eminence's reply. Now for the painter.' He called Maria over. 'The artist Borelli in the Via Fortunata?'