Free The Poet Prince by Kathleen McGowan Page A

those words to land before continuing with his explanation. “It was her protective amulet, passed down through the Order and given to her at her equinox birth when it was determined that she was . . . who and what she was. Jeanne wore it every day of her life once she was old enough to understand its purpose. On the day that she was taken, it had fallen off and was later found on the floor where she had last been dressed. The chain was broken. She must not have known it fell off, as she would never have left without it. I contend that she would not have been arrested if she had been wearing it; she would be with us today. Its powers of protection are said to be unlimited. God knows that she wore it into heated battles where she could not possibly have survived, and yet she always emerged from those victorious and unscathed.”
    René walked over and put his hand over Cosimo’s for emphasis. “There is great power in this amulet, Cosimo. See that the child understands it, and that he wears it always. It is a greater shield than armor. One day it may save his life, as it should have saved Jeanne the Maid.”
    Cosimo moved toward the lantern on his desk to look at the amulet more closely.
    It was oval and made like a locket, but with a cover that slipped over the top, like the lid on a tiny box. The lid covered the red wax seal that was used to both protect and authenticate religious artifacts. In this case, the seal was so ancient and deteriorated that it was impossible to determine what the original image had looked like in its entirety, but there were tiny stars visible in what appeared to be a circular pattern embedded in the wax.
    While smaller than Cosimo’s thumbnail, the casing was, conversely,highly detailed and well preserved. Embossed into the silver cover was a miniature crucifixion sequence. At the foot of the cross, a long-haired and kneeling Mary Magdalene clung to the feet of her dying beloved. Strangely, the only other element—carefully crafted—was a columned temple perched on a hill behind the crucifixion. The temple looked distinctly Greek in style, resembling the Acropolis in Athens, the shrine built to honor feminine wisdom and strength.
    Cosimo turned the case over to see the relic itself. It was minuscule, so tiny as to be nearly invisible, but it was there. A speck of wood was held in place by some type of resin, adhered into the center of a golden flower. Beneath the relic was a sliver of paper, handwritten in painstaking script:
    v. croise
    It was an abbreviation that the learned Cosimo understood, even written as it was in the antiquated French of the troubadours.
Vraie Croise.
He looked up at his friend. “This is a piece of the True Cross. The most sacred relic of the Order.”
    “It is. And it will protect your grandson in a world that is most often hostile to those of us who would strive to change it.”
    Cosimo took the amulet with gratitude, aware as he did so that René’s final words on the subject sounded a little too much like a prophecy of their own.
    “It will save his life, no matter how determined others will be to
take it.”

    It would be several hours before the others arrived and the official meeting of the Order came together. Cosimo, in anticipation of René’s potential melancholy over the day, had planned a diversion for his friend that he knew would be greatly appreciated. He led Rene through the grounds of Careggi in the golden heat of a Tuscan afternoon, toward an apple cellar beneath the stables. Rene was perplexed at the destination but followed with interest. No doubt Cosimo de’ Medici had something extraordinary in that apple cellar. And René was relatively certain it was not apples.
    “Art will save the world,” Cosimo said with a smile, and Rene returned the sentence. Passed down through the Order, it was believed to have been spoken by the holy Nicodemus, who was the first man to create a piece of Christian art. His breathtakingly beautiful sculpture of