Madame Serpent Read online

  terrified Alessandro if she had not known herself safe from his vicious ways. He dared not hurt her; but he hated her all the same.

  She was the legitimate daughter; he was the illegitimate son; but the Holy Father, loving the boy though he did, would not allow harm to come, through Alessandro, to the little girl who was hope of his house. Alessandro came slowly into the room. He was fourteen at this time― eight years older than Caterina, and already showing many signs of the man he would become.

  The dog whimpered.

  ‘Be silent, Guido,’ said Caterina, and kept her eyes fixed on her half-

  brother’s face.

  ‘The brute escaped me!’ said Alessandro.

  ‘I rejoice to hear it,’ retorted Caterina.

  ‘He knows not what is good for him, that dog. I was going to feed him.’

  Alessandro laughed and showed teeth like those of a rat. ‘I had prepared a delicacy for him― all for him.’

  ‘You shall not harm my dog,’ said Caterina.

  ‘Harm him? I tell you I would have fed the brute.’

  ‘You would only give him food that would harm him!’ Her eyes flashed, for alone with Alessandro she would not consider her dignity; she would not smile when she was being hurt; she would answer his taunts with taunts of her own.

  ‘You call killing things sport,’ she said. ‘And the more cruel the killing, the greater is the sport to you.’

  He did not answer her. Instead, he bared his teeth at the dog and murmured:

  ‘Come, little Guido, dear little Guido. I would feed you, little Guido.’

  Caterina dropped to her knees; her usually sallow cheeks were flushed; she was frightened that she was going to lose her spaniel, one of the best friends she had. ‘Guido,’ she whispered frantically, ‘you must not go near him. If he catches you, you must bite.’

  ‘If he were to bite me,’ said Alessandro, ‘I would cut him into little pieces.

  Or perhaps I should put him into a cauldron and bring him slowly to the boil. I do not allow dogs to bite Alessandro de’ Medici, Duchessina.’

  ‘You shall leave my dogs alone,’ she said with dignity, rising and looking at him. ‘Go and have your sport with others if you must, but leave my dogs alone.’

  ‘When I see the Holy Father,’ said Alessandro, ‘I shall tell him that the Duchessina has become a hoyden who wastes her time frolicking with dogs.

  Then they will be taken from you. Perhaps I shall ask that they may become mine.’

  She was trembling. The Holy Father would believe Alessandro! How

  strange it was that the great man, who cared so much for power and hardly anything for his six-year-old cousin whom he courteously called his niece, should be affectionately disposed towards her ugly bastard half-brother.

  ‘Then,’ she retorted, ‘ I shall tell that I heard one of serving girls screaming in your apartments, and I shall see she holds nothing back when she is

  questioned.’

  ‘You forget I have a way of enforcing silence. That girl will not relish losing her tongue.’

  ‘I hate you!’ said Caterina vehemently. ‘I shall tell Aunt Clarissa.’

  ‘Even if she believed you, she would not consider me worthy of

  punishment.’

  ‘Then I shall tell the Cardinal.’

  ‘He will not believe ill of one whom his master loves as the Holy Father

  loves me.’

  In spite of her training, an impulse to run to him, to kick him, scratch him and bite him came to Caterina. She might have done so, for her mounting fears for her dog were fast destroying her control, had not the door opened that moment and Ippolito entered the room.

  What a contrast he made to evil-looking Alessandro! Ippolito was the

  handsomest young man in Florence; he had inherited all that was best in the Medici family, and none of its shifty weakness and cruelty. He was only sixteen, but he was loved by the Florentines, who looked upon him, in spite of

  illegitimacy, as their future ruler. They saw in him his illustrious ancestor, Lorenzo the Magnificent, as well as his noble father, the Duke of Nemours; already the boy had shown himself to be by nature bold and courageous, yet kindly, a lover of the arts. He possessed those qualities for which the Florentines looked in a leader, and it was hoped that the time would soon come when this young man would take the reins from the hands of Passerini, who ruled the city under Clement, that Pope whose vacillating European policy had brought unrest to Italy.

  Caterina rejoiced to see Ippolito. She admired him; he had never been

  unkind to her, although it was true he had not time to bestow upon such a very little girl. She knew Alessandro was afraid of Ippolito and that Ippolito had nothing but contempt for The Moor.

  Caterina said quickly: ‘Ippolito, Alessandro threatens to hurt my dog.’

  ‘Surely not!’ said Ippolito, advancing and glancing contemptuously at

  Alessandro. ‘Has he not dogs of his own on whom to play his vile tricks?’

  ‘I will thank you to remember to whom you speak!’ cried Alessandro.

  ‘I do not forget it,’ answered Ippolito.

  Now that Caterina’s control had broken down, she could not restrain herself, and, emboldened by the presence of Ippolito who would always take the side of the weak against the strong, she cried out: ‘No, Alessandro. Ippolito does not forget that he speaks to the son of a Barbary slave!’

  Alessandro’s face darkened and he stepped towards the little girl. He would have struck her if Ippolito had not quickly stood between them.

  ‘Stand aside!’ growled Alessandro, his dark brows coming down over his

  flashing eyes. His voice rose to a scream: ‘Stand aside, or I’ll kill you. I’ll put out your eyes. I’ll tear your tongue from your mouth. I’ll―’

  ‘You forget,’ said Ippolito, ‘that you are not speaking to those unfortunate slaves of yours.’

  ‘I shall tell His Holiness of this when I am next summoned to his presence.’

  ‘Yes, tell him you tried to strike a little girl. Tell him you teased her and frightened her about her dog.’

  ‘I will kill you!’ yelled Alessandro.

  He turned away suddenly, because he was afraid of his rage and what he

  might be tempted to do either to Ippolito or Caterina; and there would be serious trouble if he harmed one of his family. He would do the wise thing. He would see blood flow for this; but it must not be Medici blood. He would have some of his servants whipped. He would think up new tortures for them to endure. He ran from the room.

  Ippolito laughed aloud; Caterina laughed with him; then she lifted her eyes shyly to the boy’s face. Never had he seemed so attractive as he did now when he had, with his clever words, driven Alessandro from the room. He was very handsome in that rich mulberry velvet that suited his olive skin, his blue-black hair and those flashing dark Medici eyes which were not unlike her own. She felt that she could have worshipped Ippolito as though he were one of the saints.

  He smiled at her very gently. ‘You must not let him frighten you, Caterina.’

  ‘I hate him!’ she cried. ‘The Moorish bastard! I wish he need not be here. I do not believe he is my half-brother.’ She touched the velvet of his sleeve.

  ‘Ippolito, do not go yet. Stay and talk a little while. I am afraid Alessandro will come back.’

  ‘Not he! He is watching one of his slaves being whipped by now. He can

  never leave a spectacle of bloodshed.’

  ‘Do you hate him, Ippolito?’

  ‘I despise him.’

  She felt warmed by their common feeling for Alessandro. ‘I would give

  much,’ she said, ‘to hear that he were not my half-brother. Alas! I have many brothers and sisters in Florence, in Rome, in every town in Italy where my father sojourned. In France also, I have heard.’

  Ippolito looked at her and smiled mischievously. She was quite a charming little girl when she was not prim and silent; he had not
thought, until he had seen her exasperated by the Moor that she could be so angry and so delightfully friendly. He wanted to please her, to make those lovely eyes shine with joy.

  ‘There are some, Caterina,’ he said quietly and confidentially, ‘who say

  Alessandro is not your half-brother.’

  ‘But if he were not, why should he be living here?’

  ‘Caterina, can you keep a secret?’

  Why, yes.’ She was overjoyed at the prospect of sharing something with this handsome young man.

  ‘The Pope cares more for Alessandro than for you or for me. It is for that reason that people say he is not your brother, Caterina,’

  Her eyes were big with excitement. ‘But― why, Ippolito?’

  ‘The Pope calls you niece, but the relationship is not as close as that. People say that the relationship of the Pope and Alessandro is very close indeed.’

  ‘You cannot mean―?’

  Ippolito laughed and placed his hands on her shoulders; their faces were

  close and he whispered: ‘The blackamoor is the son of the Holy Father!’

  ‘And his mother?’ whispered Caterina.

  ‘Some low serving-girl.’

  ‘But the Pope himself!’

  ‘Popes are human.’

  ‘But they are said to be holy.’

  Ippolito laughed gaily. ‘But you and I know differently, eh?’

  Caterina was so happy that she threw off completely the restraint of years.

  This was wonderful news brought to her by the most wonderful person in the world. She danced round the room; then collapsed on to her stool. Guido

  jumped on to her lap and started licking her face.

  Ippolito laughed aloud to see them. So this was the little cousin whom, until now, he had thought so plain and solemn. He was delighted that his bit of gossip had been able to bring about this transformation.

  Caterina made her way down to that chamber of mysteries where Bartolo,

  the astrologer, spent most of his nights and days. She ran swiftly and silently down the great staircase; she was afraid that she would meet someone and be called upon to explain her presence in this part of the palace.

  At this hour of the day, Bartolo took his exercise in the palace grounds; solitary he walked, in his flowing black robes, his white hair flying from beneath the round cap he wore. Embroidered on the cap were the signs of the zodiac; the magician’s person carried with it that odour of his magic room― the scent of herbs and blood of animals, musk, verdigris, civet, and the ingredients from which he made perfumes and lotions, potions and poisons. Few dared

  approach Bartolo. If any of the serving men and women saw him walking in the grounds, they would look away quickly, and try to forget that they had seen him.

  But at this hour, Caterina felt she must be safe. Bartolo was not in the magic chamber, but others were. These were the young brothers, Cosmo and Lorenzo Ruggieri, whom Bartolo was training to become seers and astrologers as he was himself. The boys would be there among the charts, the cauldrons, skeletons of various animals, the perfumes, the bottles and powders. They would be awaiting the coming of their little Duchess, and they would have ready for her that which she asked them to prepare for her.

  The staircase narrowed and turned. Now she was in a stone corridor, and she could already smell the sickly sweet odour of the magician’s rooms. She

  reached a door which led to a passage the end of which was another door that would open into the room itself. She knocked.

  ‘Enter!’ said the high-pitched voice of Cosmo Ruggieri.

  She went into the vaulted room on the walls of which hung parchments

  decorated with mysterious characters. She glanced at the big chart of the heavens, at the cauldrons standing among the rushes on the floor, and the skeleton of a cat on the bench.

  The Ruggieri boys bowed low. They were faithful servants of their little

  Duchess. Often they had given her charms to protect from the wrath of her aunt and the sorrow of the Cardinal― and all unknown to old Bartolo. Caterina, whose respect for the occult was one of the greatest emotions in her life, admired these two boys who were learning to be magicians.

  ‘You have it?’ she asked.

  Cosmo said: ‘We have. Get it, Lorenzo.’

  ‘Yes, give it to me quickly,’ said Caterina. ‘It would not do for me to be caught here.’

  Lorenzo took a waxen figure from the pocket of his flowing gown. There

  was no mistaking whom it was meant to represent. The brothers had cunningly reproduced the ugly face and squat figure of Alessandro.

  And he will die within three days?’ asked Caterina.

  ‘Yes, Duchessina, if you pierce the heart at midnight and say: Die, Alessandro! Die! ’

  The lovely dark eyes were opened wide in horror. ‘Cosmo― Lorenzo― it is

  a bad thing to do. I am afraid.’

  ‘There are many in this palace, Lady Duchess,’ said Cosmo, ‘who would say it is a good thing to do.’

  ‘He is going to kill my dog. I know he will― if I do not kill him first.’

  ‘He will surely die if you pierce the heart of this waxen image,’ said

  Lorenzo.

  ‘It is not wrong for me to do this?’ She looked from one to the other.

  ‘It would not be wrong,’ they chanted simultaneously.

  ‘Then I will do it.’ She took the figure and, wrapping it in a kerchief, put it into her pocket.

  ‘ Duchessina,’ said Lorenzo, ‘if any should discover the figure, I beg of you, do not tell whence it came.’

  Poor Lorenzo! He could not hide his thoughts. He was terrified of the ugly Moor. He was picturing what would happen to him and his brother if Alessandro discovered that they had supplied the figure.

  But Cosmo was bolder. ‘It will not be discovered,’ he said.

  ‘I swear I would tell none where I found it,’ Caterina assured them. I must go,’ she went on. ‘I shall never forget what I owe you both.’

  Hurriedly she made her way to the upper regions of the palace.

  In her own apartments she took the image from her pocket and studied it.

  But for its size it might have been Alessandro himself that she held in the palm of her hand.

  She must do this thing. If she did not, poor Guido would surely die― die

  agonizingly of poison. Ippolito was her dear friend, but he could not always be at her side to protect her from the cruel Moor, any more than she could always be with Guido. It seemed to her that the only way to save the dog― and at the same time to make life happier for those poor slaves of Alessandro’s― was to remove him from this world altogether.

  There was no harm in this, only good.

  ―――――――

  Caterina was frightened. At midnight, when she had gone to that drawer

  where she had carefully hidden the figure, it was no longer there. Alessandro had his spies everywhere. They obeyed him because not to obey him meant they would suffer those hideous tortures which he was always inventing.

  She was waiting now for Alessandro’s revenge. She knew that it would be

  terrible, for the Moor would know why she had acquired that figure; he would know exactly what her intentions.

  She was startled when a serving-girl came to her room to tell her that her cousin Ippolito wished to see her. Caterina was surprised, for she had thought Ippolito was out hunting. He must have returned sooner than usual. She was glad. Now she could tell her cousin what she had done ; she could ask for his advice and his protection.

  When she knocked on his door, there was no answer, so she went in. There

  were some books on the table, but no sign of Ippolito. He would come soon, she was sure; and she felt at peace. She need not be afraid of Alessandro while Ippolito was in the palace.

  And then suddenly she heard the swish of a curtain; she turned with a joyful smile of welcome on her lips, and there, peeping between the curtains which he
grasped with his ugly hands, grinning at her, was the hideous face of

  Alessandro.

  She jumped up and gave a little cry of horror; but Alessandro did not look angry; he was smiling; he put a finger to his lips. ‘It is a surprise I have for you, Duchessina.’

  She stammered, ‘I― I had not thought to see you here.’

  ‘No? You thought to find handsome Ippolito. But there are some, Caterina, in this palace, who think me as handsome as Ippolito.’

  She gripped the table. She wanted to run, but her legs seemed to have lost their power. Yet she could not control her tongue. She had not really learned those lessons which the Cardinal and her aunt had taken such pains to teach her.

  She cried out: ‘Then they say so because they dare say nothing else. You

  force them to lie.’

  He advanced slowly towards her. ‘You are not pleased to see me, Caterina,’

  he said mockingly. ‘It was to be a surprise. A most happy surprise. I have something to show you.’ He took the figure from his pocket and held it up.

  ‘Where did you get this, Caterina?’

  She kept her lips tightly shut.

  ‘Answer me,’ he said slowly. ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘I shall never tell you,’ she said, and she smiled suddenly. He was afraid of the magicians, so he would not dare try his tricks on Bartolo or the boys.

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘You are so fond of me that you wanted an image of me, that you might look at it when I was absent. Never mind now. Come with me, and see what else I have to show you.’

  She knew now that she was about to suffer Alessandro’s revenge; she had

  known it must come because Alessandro never failed to take revenge. He drew aside the curtain and as she approached, he pointed to the floor. There lay the body of Fedo. It was stiffening, but the legs were contorted and she knew that Alessandro had poisoned the dog in a way calculated to give the maximum of suffering to the poor animal.

  Caterina sank on to her knees and touched Fedo’s body. Tears came to her

  eyes and ran down her cheeks. She sobbed bitterly. Alessandro stood very still, smiling at her.