A Brood of Vipers Read Online Free PDF Page B

declare a blood feud, not resting until they have hunted him down.' Agrippa brought the brim of his hat lower over his eyes. 'The king and Cardinal Wolsey want the killer caught. They have posted rewards and used all the force of law to discover what they can, which is, precisely, nothing at all.' Agrippa gestured at us. That's why you are going to Eltham and, if the king wishes it, accompanying the Albrizzis back to Florence. Your task will be to discover the identity of the murderer.'
    I closed my eyes and groaned. Here we go again, I thought. Old Shallot sent on his travels just to satisfy the whim of the cunning cardinal and of the great beast, that fat bastard King Henry VIII.
    'What happens if the murderer stays in England?' Benjamin asked.
    Agrippa shook his head and smiled faintly. 'Now, now, Benjamin. Cardinal Wolsey and the king both believe that, whatever the Albrizzis say, the assassin was a member of Francesco's own family. If he or she did not kill the man, they certainly paid gold for it to be done.'
    'But you think the latter is highly improbable?' Benjamin queried.
    'Yes, yes.' Agrippa squinted up at the sun. 'Hiring an assassin to do your dirty work can be very dangerous; once the assassin is unmasked, so is the person who hired him. Secondly, if you hire an assassin to kill a powerful man, you have no guarantee that he won't take your gold before earning some more by telling his potential victim. And finally-'
    'And finally,' Benjamin concluded for him, 'the Albrizzis may be powerful in Florence, but they are not knowledgeable enough about English affairs or London life to know where to hire such an assassin.'
    'Exactly!' Agrippa concluded. 'So, like it or not, sweet Roger, it's Eltham for you, then the glories of Florence! A beautiful city,' he added, 'nestling in the golden Tuscan hills. They say the wine is good and the women even better. So, don't despair. I am sure you will do the king justice and come back laden with glory.'
    Sarcastic bugger! When, I asked myself, did that ever happen? Oh no. Hunted across cold moors! Chased by man-eating leopards in a maze outside Paris! Assassins of every hue and kind dogging our footsteps! Believe me, I was proved right. We were about to enter a nest of vipers and embark on one of the most dangerous escapades in my long and varied career. Yet, that's life, isn't it? If you sat upon the ground and told sad stories about the fate of kings (I gave a line like that to Will Shakespeare) you'd end up barking mad – yes, just like Will's Hamlet mournfully declaiming To be or not to be, that is the question'. Will Shakespeare thought of that line as he was sobering up after a drinking bout with myself. He has a slight strain of melancholy has Will, probably inherited from his mother and certainly not helped by his shrew of a wife. Lord save us, you could cut steel with her tongue! But, there again, poor lass, perhaps she's got good cause. Will's never at home and he's for ever mooning about some dark lady – he even refused to tell old Shallot who this mysterious Helen of Troy could be. I did try to make him change Hamlet's line. 'It's not being which matters,' I cried, 'but being happy!' Old Will just shook his head, smiled mournfully and refilled his cup. Ah well, that's the way with writers! Not the happiest or most contented of men. Except myself, but there again I do have Margot and Phoebe to comfort me and I tell these stories for a purpose -to reveal the wickedness of the great beast; to extol the virtues of my master, because he was a most honourable man; and finally to instruct you young men (and the not so young) about the dangers of lechery, cursing, roistering, drinking, gambling and all the other fascinating aspects of life. Yet the young never reflect and neither did I as we continued our journey and entered the joyous, filthy, tumultous city of London.
    Now, I have lived ninety-five years and if I live another hundred and fifty I would never tire of