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

blood.
     
    The cannonfire continued until dusk. That afternoon, Maddalena’s panicked mother came to the grate and confirmed what we suspected: The Imperial army had arrived and had surrounded the city.
    That night I penned a letter to Cosimo Ruggieri. My correspondence with him had been limited to the subject of astrology, but desperation caused me to open my heart.
     
I am terrified and alone. I was foolish enough to think that the arrival of the Imperial troops would make me safer. But war has rekindled the people’s hatred toward me. I fear the Raven’s Wing alone is not enough to shield me from this fresh danger. Please come, and set my mind at rest.
     
    My esteemed Madonna Caterina,
    War brings dangerous times, but I assure you that the Wing of Corvus has guarded you well, and will continue to do so. Trust the talisman; more important, trust your own wits. You possess an intelligence uncommon in a man, unheard of in a woman.
    Only wait, and let events play themselves out.
    Your servant,
    Cosimo Ruggieri
     
    I felt abandoned, betrayed. I gave up my books, made no effort at my studies. In the refectory I sat beside Niccoletta and stared down at my porridge; food had become nauseating, unthinkable. I did not eat for three days. On the fourth day, I took to my bed and listened to the shouts of soldiers, the song of artillery.
    On the fifth day the abbess came to visit. She smelled faintly of the smoke that permeated Florence.
    “Dear child,” she said, “you must eat. What do you fancy? I will see it brought to you.”
    “Thank you,” I said. “But I don’t want anything to eat. I’m going to die anyway.”
    “Not until you are an old woman,” Giustina said sharply. “Don’t ever say such a thing again. Sister Niccoletta told me what Sister Pippa said to you. Horrible words, inexcusable. She has been reprimanded.”
    “She was telling the truth.”
    “She was repeating silly rumors, nothing more.”
    Exhausted, I turned my face away.
    “Ah, Caterina . . .” The bed shuddered gently as she sat beside me. She caught my hand and took it between her own cool ones. “You have been through too much, and these are terrible times. How can I comfort you?”
    I want Aunt Clarice,
I began to say, but such words were vain and heart-wrenching.
    I looked back at her. “I want Ser Cosimo,” I said. “Cosimo Ruggieri.”
     
    It was enough, Mother Giustina said, that she had tolerated the astrologer’s one visit and, indeed, that she had permitted me to study astrology although it was an inappropriate subject for a woman, much less a young girl. She had conveyed Ser Cosimo’s letters to me only because he had been a friend of the family. But there were rumors of his alliance with unsavory individuals, and of certain acts. . . .
    I faced the wall again.
    Giustina let go a troubled sigh. “Perhaps earlier, before your aunt died, we should have tried harder. . . . But even then, the rebels watched our everymove, read every letter sent you. We could never have gotten you past the city gates. And now . . .”
    I would not look at her. In the end, she agreed to allow further communication.
     
    Within three days—during which I remained abed but allowed myself a few hopeful sips of broth—Sister Niccoletta arrived at my bedside, fresh from outdoors. A bitter storm had brought freezing rain; tiny beads of ice melted upon her caped shoulders. In her hand was a folded piece of ivory paper, and even before she proffered it to me, I knew its author.
     
My esteemed Madonna Caterina,
    The good abbess Mother Giustina has informed me of your malaise. I pray God you will soon find health and cheer again.
    There is no cure for these uneasy times save caution and wit, but I would be happy to provide another talisman should it give you comfort. One under the augury of Jupiter would encourage, in some small way, good fortune, but
     
    I crumpled the letter into a ball and, while Sister Niccoletta watched wide-eyed, cast