constantly amazed in my long and varied life by how poorly the English can speak their language or anybody else's, yet how quickly others can master our tongue. I don't know why. I was discussing the matter with young Ben Jonson and Walter Raleigh when we met for a meal in our secret chamber in the house of Bethel. Do you know what I told them? I think the English believe God is an Englishman and speaks our tongue. Consequently, we consider it useless learning anyone else's language, whilst insisting that everyone else learns ours?)
Ah well, back to Agrippa. He was making the usual silky, courtly protestations, but at last he came to the nub of the matter.
'I have informed Master Daunbey of everything the king has done in this matter,' he said, 'and we have visited Cheapsidc and seen where the Lord Francesco was killed. Yet I must be blunt, we can discover nothing.'
'But that's impossible!' Enrico drummed the tabletop, his eyes squinting down at us. 'How can a man take a gun into a busy London street, fire it, kill my father-in-law and escape?'
'That is the mystery,' Benjamin said. 'An arquebus is cumbersome; it has to be loaded, primed, aimed and fired. It stains the person who uses it and cannot be easily hidden.' Benjamin shrugged. 'If we could solve the mystery of how the gun was used, we would trap the assassin and hang him or her at Tyburn. But there is a much more important question.'
'Which is?' Alessandro demanded imperiously. He stared down his hooked nose as if we had crawled out of the nearest sewer. He simply couldn't understand why we were sitting at the same table as he.
Benjamin pulled a face and pointed at the henchman who had been introduced to us simply as Giovanni. He sat playing like some girl with the tresses of his long hair. His hooded eyes never left mine.
'Master Giovanni,' Benjamin asked. 'You are a soldier?'
'I am a condottiero,' the man replied. 'What you Inglese call a mercenary.'
'And you have experienced gunfire?'
'Of course.'
'And you would agree with what I say?'
The man pulled a face and waved one be-ringed hand.
'What is your "important question"?' Alessandro insisted, gesturing at Giovanni to keep silent.
The condottiero's eyes narrowed in a look of hate. Oh dear, I thought, here are two men who have no love for each other.
'My question is quite simple,' Benjamin replied. 'Concedo, for the purposes of the argument, that the Lord Francesco was killed by a ball fired from an alleyway off Cheapside. He was, however, a great Florentine lord visiting the English court - not the sort of man who would saunter through London whenever the whim took him. What really intrigues me is who knew he would be in Cheapside on that particular day?'
Benjamin stared around. The Florentines gazed stonily back.
'What are you implying?' Alessandro asked menacingly.
'My master is implying nothing.' I spoke up. 'The question is simple enough. Someone was waiting for Lord Francesco. Someone who knew he would be there. And someone who knew the best place to commit the murder. There's a warren of alleyways and runnels in the city which would delight any rat, be it four-legged or two!'
Commotion broke out. Chairs were pushed back. Alessandro gabbled something in his native tongue to Roderigo, his hand going to the dagger in his belt. Roderigo sat motionless; he rapped the table for silence.
'Master Daunbey, your servant is blunt.'
'Not blunt, Lord Roderigo, honest. If you want the truth, honesty is the best path to it. And may I add another question - why did the Lord Francesco go unaccompanied?' He stared at the condottiero but Roderigo was now determined to take the heat out of the situation.
'I agree,' he said flatly, 'that silken niceties will not lead us to the truth. To answer bluntly, my brother thought that he was safe in London. Who here would wish him ill?' His hand touched the wrist of the condottiero sitting next to him. 'But we are wealthy people and so attract violence. Master Daunbey, you
Ah well, back to Agrippa. He was making the usual silky, courtly protestations, but at last he came to the nub of the matter.
'I have informed Master Daunbey of everything the king has done in this matter,' he said, 'and we have visited Cheapsidc and seen where the Lord Francesco was killed. Yet I must be blunt, we can discover nothing.'
'But that's impossible!' Enrico drummed the tabletop, his eyes squinting down at us. 'How can a man take a gun into a busy London street, fire it, kill my father-in-law and escape?'
'That is the mystery,' Benjamin said. 'An arquebus is cumbersome; it has to be loaded, primed, aimed and fired. It stains the person who uses it and cannot be easily hidden.' Benjamin shrugged. 'If we could solve the mystery of how the gun was used, we would trap the assassin and hang him or her at Tyburn. But there is a much more important question.'
'Which is?' Alessandro demanded imperiously. He stared down his hooked nose as if we had crawled out of the nearest sewer. He simply couldn't understand why we were sitting at the same table as he.
Benjamin pulled a face and pointed at the henchman who had been introduced to us simply as Giovanni. He sat playing like some girl with the tresses of his long hair. His hooded eyes never left mine.
'Master Giovanni,' Benjamin asked. 'You are a soldier?'
'I am a condottiero,' the man replied. 'What you Inglese call a mercenary.'
'And you have experienced gunfire?'
'Of course.'
'And you would agree with what I say?'
The man pulled a face and waved one be-ringed hand.
'What is your "important question"?' Alessandro insisted, gesturing at Giovanni to keep silent.
The condottiero's eyes narrowed in a look of hate. Oh dear, I thought, here are two men who have no love for each other.
'My question is quite simple,' Benjamin replied. 'Concedo, for the purposes of the argument, that the Lord Francesco was killed by a ball fired from an alleyway off Cheapside. He was, however, a great Florentine lord visiting the English court - not the sort of man who would saunter through London whenever the whim took him. What really intrigues me is who knew he would be in Cheapside on that particular day?'
Benjamin stared around. The Florentines gazed stonily back.
'What are you implying?' Alessandro asked menacingly.
'My master is implying nothing.' I spoke up. 'The question is simple enough. Someone was waiting for Lord Francesco. Someone who knew he would be there. And someone who knew the best place to commit the murder. There's a warren of alleyways and runnels in the city which would delight any rat, be it four-legged or two!'
Commotion broke out. Chairs were pushed back. Alessandro gabbled something in his native tongue to Roderigo, his hand going to the dagger in his belt. Roderigo sat motionless; he rapped the table for silence.
'Master Daunbey, your servant is blunt.'
'Not blunt, Lord Roderigo, honest. If you want the truth, honesty is the best path to it. And may I add another question - why did the Lord Francesco go unaccompanied?' He stared at the condottiero but Roderigo was now determined to take the heat out of the situation.
'I agree,' he said flatly, 'that silken niceties will not lead us to the truth. To answer bluntly, my brother thought that he was safe in London. Who here would wish him ill?' His hand touched the wrist of the condottiero sitting next to him. 'But we are wealthy people and so attract violence. Master Daunbey, you
Similar Books
