A Brood of Vipers(66)

(Never mind the sniggers of my chaplain. Unless a man is truly evil and his soul has died, when you finish any duel your body trembles with a variety of emotions. You retch and vomit, run to the nearest jakes, get drunk! Or lie on a bed, your arms folded, till the terrors go away.)

Of course, I was not so fortunate as to lie long in peace. I must have lain for only a few minutes, watching the candle flame dance in the breeze coming through the open window, when I heard the sounds of horses and voices from the courtyard below. I just lay there. Whoever had come, well they were welcome to the nightmare I had been through. I heard fresh shouts and exclamations as the visitors discovered one corpse after another. Then there was the sound of feet pounding on the stairs, the door was flung open and Seraphino, the Master of the Eight, with his black-hooded police, swept into the room like some vision from hell. I groaned and swung my legs off the bed. The Master of the Eight waddled across. His soft face was wreathed in an air of concern, like some genial uncle who has discovered a favourite nephew in distress. He stood over me, hands deep in the voluminous sleeves of his gown.



'Inglese, what have you done? The corpses below! Signor Enrico awash with his own blood!'



I glared up at him.

'Piss off, you evil bastard!' I hissed.

He struck me across the face.

'Piss off!' I repeated.



I got to my feet. He withdrew his hands from his sleeves and I felt the point of his thin stiletto prick my neck just below the chin. Frater Serpahino smiled benignly at me, though his eyes were two black, soulless holes.



'I could kill you on the spot!' he whispered.



'Do that,' I replied, 'and you really will have to answer to our king. I killed no one.'



'No one?'



'Except Master Enrico. He's responsible for all these deaths.' 'I don't think so.'



'I don't give a damn what you think!' I retorted. 'Enrico's the assassin, settling a blood feud which has been curdling for years. He drugged my master and tried to kill me. However, I am sure you know that. You've had this villa constantly guarded. You saw Enrico return and you watched my arrival. You could have intervened,' I continued, ignoring the prick of steel under my chin, 'but you chose not to. Why?'



'I don't really know. All I know, Englishman, is that some deadly game has been played out and I have one thought and one thought only. Will this game injure Florence? Will the city suffer?'



‘I think you should ask Cardinal Giulio de Medici that?' I replied.



Seraphino pursed his lips. 'You could be my guest again, Englishman. Those rats have not forgotten you.'



'Oh yes, how are your brothers?' I asked.



The Master of the Eight smiled thinly.



'Amusing as ever, eh, Shallot?' He smacked his lips, blinked, and the dagger disappeared up his sleeve. 'Well, there are some unanswered questions and some gaps remain, but I can surmise, speculate, and one day a true picture will emerge.'

He looked down at my master and then back over his shoulder, speaking quickly to one of his companions. I don't know what was said, but my master was given something to drink, gently picked up and carried downstairs. A cart with horses already in the traces stood waiting. My master was laid comfortably in it, his back protected by a mattress filched from one of the chambers. I was told to collect our saddlebags. I did so, hurriedly following the Master of the Eight's instructions to take everything that was ours.

'You will not be returning here!' he snapped. 'The sooner you are gone from Florence, Englishman, the better.'



At last I was finished. I took my saddlebags downstairs. The Master of the Eight had made no attempt to move any of the corpses. He just ignored them as if they were rubbish, though I saw his followers indulging in some petty pilfering.



'You have everything, Inglese? Your master's outside, as comfortable as he can be. My soldiers will guard the villa. We must be gone!'



'Wait for a while!' I replied.



I went back up to our chamber and knelt beside Maria's corpse. I took her little cold hand in mine and stared at her waxen face. Then I kissed those little fingers and, leaning over, brushed her brow with my lips before covering her face and going back downstairs.



Chapter 13



The Master of the Eight took us down to Florence. The sky was beginning to redden. All around thronged Frater Seraphino's dark riders, silent except for the clop of their horses' hooves. He and his two bodyguards rode in front. I rode beside the creaking cart, keeping an eye on my master. He was asleep, his face pale. I was still worried because certain poisons and sleeping draughts play strange tricks upon the mind, so it never comes out of its darkness. I was concerned that he be seen by some skilful physician. I wondered if I could reason with the Master of the Eight until I remembered his black heart and realized that begging would avail me nothing.