Free Madame Serpent by Jean Plaidy Page A

now.
    The whole of Florence was rising in hatred against the Pope. Some time ago, dressed as a peddler, he had escaped from St. Angelo, and when the plague had driven its ravishers from Rome, he had returned to the Vatican. Now he was determined to subdue Florence, but Florence was not easily subdued.
    Florentines had relentlessly cleared a space one mile wide all round the city, burning beautiful villas and destroying rich lands so as to give the enemy no cover. Every one of them had given himself up to the task of defence― even artists like Michelangelo had left their work to join in the fight. For months the struggle had gone on, and Caterina knew that the citizens of Florence had not forgotten that the Convent of the Murate sheltered her, a daughter of that house which was bringing death and disaster to Florence.
    She knew that another happy period of her life was fast coming to an end.
    She had grown to love the convent, her lessons, the sensuously stirring chants for which, at one time, the convent had been censured by Savonarola; she had loved the spice of intrigue, the sending out of baskets of pastry by certain nuns of the convent to members of their families, baskets which would be
    embroidered with the Medici sign of seven balls, and were meant to indicate that, shut away from the world though the nuns were, they retained their interest in politics.
    Notes were sent into the convent in the baskets. It was thus that she had heard that Ippolito was safe in Rome. She had felt lightheaded with joy when she had heard that; but it was not such good news that Alessandro was also in Rome. In all the years that Caterina had been away from Ippolito, she had never forgotten him.
    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.