The Devil's Queen: A Novel of Catherine De Medici by Jeanne Kalogridis Page A

celebrated silently when I heard these things yet at the same time was afraid. I remembered the horrific Sack of Rome, when the Emperor’s men ignored orders and laid siege to the Holy City, breaking down the doors of convents and raping nuns.
    On the twenty-fourth of October, I sat sewing in my usual spot between Maddalena and Sister Niccoletta, both of them as anxious as Pippa and Lisabetta, who huddled over their work in silence. Sister Antonia’s normally serene visage was troubled.
    Beyond the window, the day was gloomy with smoke and the threat of an autumn storm; the alder had lost most of its leaves and stood bleak and jagged.
    I was working on a white linen altar cloth; that morning, I fumbled. The floss seemed too thick, the hole in the needle too narrow. My first few stitches were errant and had to be snipped out.
    My thimble had worn thin at the spot I exerted the most pressure. Distracted, I gathered too much fabric at once, requiring me to push hardagainst the thimble. As a result, the threaded eye of the needle pierced the leather thimble and sank deep into my thumb.
    I let go a startled cry and jumped to my feet; the altar cloth dropped to the floor. All the nuns stopped their work to look at me. I gritted my teeth and, with a sensation of nausea, grabbed the needle and pulled hard. It came free, and I stared at the swelling pearl of blood on my thumb.
    “Here,” Niccoletta said. She snatched a bit of fluff from a ball of uncombed wool in the sewing basket and pressed it to my thumb.
    As she did, a distant boom caused the open windowpanes to shudder. Maddalena and Sister Pippa ran to the window and peered out at the distant plume of smoke rising into the air.
    “Back to your work, all of you.” Sister Antonia’s voice was calm. “Take care of it, and God will take care of you.”
    The instant she finished speaking, a second boom sounded.
    “Cannon,” Niccoletta whispered.
    Sister Pippa remained at the window, staring as if she could somehow look beyond the convent walls. “The Emperor’s army,” she said, her voice rising. “Seven thousand men, but we have ten.” She looked at me, her eyes bright with hate. “You’ll never win.”
    “Pippa,” Antonia chided harshly. “Sit and be silent.”
    The cannon sounded a third time; simultaneously a fourth rumble came from the opposite direction: Florence was surrounded. Lisabetta jumped to her feet and hurried to Pippa’s side.
    Pippa’s cheeks were scarlet with fury. “They won’t let you go free.”
    “Pippa!” Antonia snapped.
    Pippa ignored her. “Do you know what the Republic plans for you?” She sneered at me. “To lower you in a basket over the city walls and let the Emperor’s men blast you to pieces.”
    Sister Niccoletta rose urgently. “Pippa, stop it! Stop it!”
    “Or to put you in a brothel so you can play whore to our soldiers. Then Clement won’t be so quick to marry you off to his advantage!”
    Niccoletta lunged and slapped Pippa full in the face.
    “Enough!” Sister Antonia cried. She moved between the two women; she was taller than either, and more formidable. Niccoletta sat back down beside me and put an arm about my shoulder.
    Pippa stared defiantly at Sister Antonia. “You’ll regret coddling her. She’s an enemy of the people and will come to a bad end.”
    Sister Antonia’s face and eyes and voice were stone. “Go to your cell. Go to your cell and pray for forgiveness for your anger until I send for you.”
    In the hostile silence that followed, cannon thundered.
    At last Sister Pippa turned away and left. After a dark glance at Antonia, Lisabetta went back to her chair.
    “And you,” Sister Antonia said, more gently, to Niccoletta, “will need to make your own prayers when you are in chapel.”
    We all sat then, and took up our work again. I had forgotten about my thumb, and in the excitement, the bit of wool had fallen off. When I gathered the altar cloth in my hands, I stained the linen with