Madame Serpent (8 page)

And now, outside the convent walls, an angry mob was shouting for her.

‘Give us the Medici girl! Give us the witch! We are going to hang her in a basket on the wall of the city so that Clement’s men may have her for their target.’

‘Hang her in a basket! That’s too good for her. Give her to the soldiers! Let them have their sport with her. Then we can decide how she shall die.’

Night came and the city was quieter. Another day of siege had been lived

through.

There was a sudden knocking on the outer door of the convent, a knocking

that echoed through those great corridors and seemed to be answered by the violent beating of Caterina’s heart.

The Reverend Mother took her lantern and, going to the door, found there

three senators from the Government of the city. They had come for Caterina de’

Medici.

Caterina knew this could mean only one thing. It was sequel to that obscene shouting which had been going on all day outside the convent walls. Death for Caterina! Death? Such horror, indeed, that death seemed preferable. their cells the nuns were praying― praying to the Virgin for a miracle that would save their
Duchessina
. But Caterina had no time for prayers. She ran to her cell, and there, in a frenzy of terror, she cut off all her lovely fair hair. When she had done this, she ran from cell to cell until she found a dress of the Order, and this she put on. After that, she felt composed, and ready to face what might be awaiting her.

She went down to the men who had come for her. The Reverend Mother and

the nuns, as well as the men, stared at her in astonishment.

‘I am Caterina Maria Romola de’ Medici,’ she said haughtily. ‘What do you want of me?’

‘I am Salvestro Aldobrandini,’ said the leader of the men. ‘A senator of the Florentine Government. It has been decided that you shall leave the Convent of the Murate, where you suspected of carrying on intrigues against the

Government. You are to be transferred to the Convent of Santa Lucia, and we order you to leave with us at once.’

‘I shall not go,’ she said.

‘Then we must take you by force.’

‘You would not dare walk through the streets with me in these clothes.’

‘You have no right to wear those clothes. Take them off.’

‘I refuse. Will you take a nun, a bride of Christ, through the streets of Florence?’

That was a clever stroke. They all knew it. Nuns were sacred, vowed to

Christ; and it would not be easy to carry a struggling female, her head shorn and her dress proclaiming her to be a nun, through the streets of Florence.

‘We do not wish harm to befall you,’ said Aldobrandini. ‘We have men to

defend you as we pass through the streets.

Caterina, alert of mind, was quick to sum up the character of this

Aldobrandini; he did not like the task which had been allotted to him. He was wavering.

‘I refuse to take off these clothes,’ said Caterina.

The Reverend Mother said: ‘Good sir, leave her with me until morning. I

will pray with her. She will then find in her heart the courage she needs.’

To the astonishment of all, Aldobrandini agreed to wait until morning; and all that night the nuns of the Murate prayed for Caterina.

The little procession rode silently through the city. Aldobrandini had chosen the quiet streets, but it did not take long for the news to spread. ‘They are taking the little Medici out of Florence. They seek to protect her.’

Rough jests passed from hp to hp; obscene threats were murmured, then

shouted.

Aldobrandini wanted no violence. If anything happened to the girl now, he would be held responsible at a later date. Already Clement’s brief humiliation was over. He had made peace with the mighty Charles of Spain, who, for a consideration, was now his ally; and Florence was realizing her mistake in siding with France and England instead of with Spain.

‘Give us the Medici!’ shouted a voice. ‘Give to us the daughter of tyrants.

Let her learn to suffer― as we have.’

The hoarse cry was taken up. ‘Give us the Medici!’

Caterina had need of all her courage, but her long training helped her to hide her fear, and she was glad of it now. She looked neither to right nor left; she sat her horse with haughty grace and seeming indifference to the snarling cry of the mob.

Suddenly there was a rush, a flurry of blows and cries, and the ranks of her guards were broken. The little Medici was seen clearly for the first time.

‘It’s a nun!’ shouted a voice. ‘A holy nun!’

‘They’ve tricked us. They are not bringing the Medici this way. They have tricked us with a nun while she makes her escape.’

Even now Caterina looked straight before her and continued to ride on as

though what was happening about her was no concern of hers.

There was a pause in the rush of the rabble, which gave her guards a chance to close around her again. The crowd fell back.

‘They’re tricking us!’ shouted a voice. ‘They’ve dressed her up as a nun!

Come! Shall we allow them to trick us?’

But the people were unsure; they were afraid to harm a bride of Christ.

The fear in Caterina’s heart was replaced by triumph. She had formed a

miracle no less than that Reverend Mother had with her cloak. She had saved herself from she knew not what― perhaps death itself. How wise, she told

herself, to rely, not upon prayers, but on her own Medici wits.

―――――――

A few months after that terrifying ride through Florence, Caterina was in Rome. Florence had surrendered; Clement was command, so he sent for his

young kinswoman to join him; she was getting very near a marriageable age.

How wonderful it was to meet Ippolito after all these years! How exciting to find him more handsome than ever, and that so was a change in his attitude towards her! She was no longer the little girl whose company he had enjoyed at the Medici Palace; she was nearly fourteen; she had lost that angularity of form and was budding into womanhood.

Life had become miraculously pleasant once more. She had grown fond of

her friends at the Murate, but how she enjoyed gaiety of Rome! There was

another reason for pleasure: Alessandro was not in Rome; he had been installed in the Medici Palace in Florence, for Clement had kept his promise to p boy and had, to the horror of all Italy and the terror of Florence, made the monster ruler of that great city. Ippolito had been stunned when he had heard that Alessandro was to have what had been promised to him; he was still bewildered; he could not believe that the Holy Father could treat him so shabbily; he was angry for himself and afraid for Florence. It was Caterina’s chief concern to try to lift him from the frustration and melancholy which enveloped him.

They were both lodged in one of the palaces of Vatican City, and life there, with the coming and going of ambassadors and the ceremony which surrounded the Papal Court, was varied and full of interest for the girl who had lived so long behind convent walls. But she must make Ippolito happy; she must prove to him that there was greater joy in life than ruling Florence. She saw that she delighted him with her quick retorts, her plump little body, her rich fair hair and those fine, flashing eyes of hers. He had been happier since her return.

They rode together. Caterina was an excellent horsewoman. With a few

attendants, they would spend the whole day on horseback whenever they could manage it.

It was to Caterina that Ippolito unburdened himself of his unhappiness; he could speak of little else during their first weeks together, for not only had he been robbed of his inheritance, but he was being thwarted in his choice of a career.

‘Caterina, the Holy Father has sent for me. He dismissed Excellency and

said he would speak with me privately. Then he told me of the future he has planned for me.’

She saw her dream of happiness threatened. ‘Ippolito! You are not going

away from here?’

‘It is not that. He wishes me to go into the Church.’

‘You― into the Church! But you are not a churchman!’

‘So I told him. I said, “Holiness, I consider myself unfit for the honour you would bestow upon me. I am not a man of God. I have been brought up to

believe that Florence would be mine.” Then he grew angry. “Enough!” he cried.

“Florence has been provided with a ruler.” He was angry; but I was angry too. I forgot I was in the presence of the Holy Father. “I marvel, Holiness,” I said,

“that one of such uncertain parentage should be put above me.” He clenched his fist and all but shouted at me, “You are so certain of your parentage then?” I said proudly that my father was the honoured Duke of Nemours and my mother was a Florentine lady, whereas, though it was known who was Alessandro’s

father, his mother was said to be a Barbary slave. Then was he truly angry. “It is no concern of yours,” he said. “I am determined you shall go into the Church.”’

‘Oh, Ippolito, can you not hold out against his wishes?’

‘Our lives are in his hands, Caterina. And there are times when I forget that he is our Pope. There are times when I hate him. He cares nothing for us; little for the Church. Power is his god. He has made Alessandro, his secret bastard, ruler of Florence; and Florence under Alessandro, Caterina, resembles Rome under Nero. No one is safe from his lust and his cruelty. People are flying from the city when they can. Do you remember the two Ruggieri brothers?’

‘Cosmo and Lorenzo!’ she cried.

‘They have escaped from Florence. They bring sad tales with them. You

knew Alessandro as a vicious boy; he has become a monster. I hear His

Holiness has arranged a marriage for his bastard with none other than the daughter of Emperor Charles.’

‘Poor Emperor’s daughter!’ said Caterina.

Ippolito turned his eyes upon her. ‘Caterina, I thank the saints that His Holiness let the monster masquerade as your brother. If he had not, it might have been you who would have been married to Alessandro.’

Caterina could not speak. There were no words to express the horror such an idea brought to them both.

It was so great that it made Ippolito forget his troubles; Caterina, lifting her eyes to his, thought she saw a response to her own delight.

Ippolito took her hand and kissed it.

‘Life has consolations to offer, Caterina,’ he said. And they laughed and whipped up their horses.

Never had Caterina been so happy. She sent for the brothers Ruggieri. She gave them orders for perfumes and lotions. She begged them to look into her future. It was exciting to wrap herself in a cloak and slip quickly through the streets of Rome to the room these brothers shared. She begged them to let her look into the magic mirror. She would see the face of the man who was to be her husband. The brothers had fled from Florence; they had not, here in Rome, the necessary articles for their study. They would do their best for their little Duchess.

Soon they would find some means of showing her the face of her future

husband.

But Caterina believed she saw it; it was noble and dark, a handsome face

with eyes that flashed and sparkled― Medici eyes very like her own.

This was to be in love. To sing for happiness, to see the river sparkling as it had never sparkled before, the grand and imposing buildings softened, more lovely, the faces of those about her more gentle, the sun more warming; in this new emotion was the dread that she might not see Ippolito this day, then the overwhelming delight when she did.

Ippolito could not remain ignorant of this joy which had seized her. He must see it in the shine of her eyes, in the inflexion of her voice when she spoke to him.

They spoke of their love when they rode out together.
This is the happiest
day of my life,
thought Caterina, looking back at that most gracious of cities glittering in sunshine that had never been so bright as it was on this day of Caterina’s happiness.

Ippolito said: ‘I pray the saints that you are as happy as I am, Caterina. I bless them because the Pope cannot marry you to Alessandro.’

‘Do not speak of him on such a day as this.’

‘No,’ agreed Ippolito. ‘Let us speak of ourselves instead.’ ‘Oh yes― of

ourselves, Ippolito.’

‘I love you, Caterina. I loved you when you were a little girl and we were together in the palace in our beloved Florence.’

‘I loved you also, Ippolito. I have never ceased to think of you during the years of our separation. I knew that we should be together again.’

They had stopped. The attendants kept some distance behind; they had

known, before the young people were aware of it, of this state of love between them.

Ippolito took her hand and kissed it.

‘The Holy Father means us for each other,’ he said. ‘Depend upon it. He

would not allow us to be together if that were not so.’

‘You are right, Ippolito. Oh, how happy I am!’

‘I too. Caterina, since you love me, it does not seem to matter that I have lost Florence.’

‘I understand. I have been unhappy; I have suffered― loneliness and horror.

But I do not care now, Ippolito, because life brought me this.’

They longed to kiss, to embrace, but how could they, here in the open

country with their attendants behind them? The talk of their future, though; they could promise love and passion with their eyes.

‘Caterina, I do not believe the people of Florence will long submit to

Alessandro’s tyranny.’

‘No, Ippolito. I am sure they will not.’

‘And then, my love, I shall rule Florence― and you with me. We shall be

together in the palace where we spent our childhood.’

She said: ‘Ippolito, can one die of happiness, for if one can, I fear you will lose me.’

He answered: ‘I cannot bear to look at you and not kiss you. Let us ride.’

Later there were embraces; there were kisses; it was not possible to keep such a charming love affair secret. And why should it be secret? Ippolito, Caterina, cousins and both Medici. Why should their union be denied the Papal blessing?