Read Online Duchessina - A Novel of Catherine de' Medici by Carolyn Meyer - Free Book Online

out of the shadows. He draped me in a black veil that covered me from head to foot, lifted me onto a waiting horse, and swung up into the saddle. Just before the veil fell over my face, I noticed two men armed with pistols riding with us.
    â€œHold tight,
mademoiselle
” the ambassador called over, his shoulder and I wrapped my free arm around his waist.
    As we rushed off into the night, I thanked God that I was gone from that horrible place. It didn’t occur to me then to pray that I would never return.

5
Le Murate
    A FREEZING RAIN had begun to fall as we raced from Santa Lucia through the narrow streets of Florence. Occasional shouts sent a chill of fear through me. I buried my face against the ambassador’s back, too frightened to speak. At last we halted. The men with pistols sprang off their mounts and lifted me down.
    â€œWhere are we?” I dared ask when I could find my voice.
    â€œSanta-Maria Annunziata delle Murate,” the ambassador explained. “They’re waiting for you. Hurry Catherine.”
    There were dozens upon dozens of convents in Florence, but, as it happened, I was acquainted with Le Murate. The abbess, Suor Margherita, was my godmother. Visitors were rare, and the nuns never left, once they’d been admitted through a hole symbolically broken in the wall and then sealed up again—Le Murate means “the walled-in ones.” Goods were delivered into the convent on a wheel built into the wall, and sometimes unwanted babies, like Immacolata’s, were left there, too. I’d gone there a few times with Aunt Clarissa to buy delicate sweetmeats for special feast days or a book of devotions to give to one of her close friends. She’d placed her order on the wheel and turned it, and then waited until the sweetmeats or the Book of Hours had been sent out.
    Suor Margherita came to welcome me. The French ambassador leaped back on his horse and was gone before I could thank him. The abbess swept me inside, where several nuns were waiting to embrace me, though it was long past midnight. How different from the cold, sour greeting I had received at Santa Lucia!
    â€œIf only the governors had sent you here in the first place!” the abbess exclaimed as she led me to my quarters.
    â€œBut why didn’t they?”
    â€œBecause you’re a Medici, dear child. The governors want you safe but not comfortable. The French ambassador convinced them you’d be safer with us.”
    The rooms were simple but clean and pleasant. The bed had been made up with a thick mattress, warm blankets, and an embroidered satin coverlet. There was a plain but nicely finished wooden table and stool, and a prayer bench beneath a silver crucifix. Two paintings, one of the Annunciation and another of the Nativity, hung above the bed.
    Adjoining my bedroom was a small alcove with a pallet for the lay sister, Maddalena, who was to be my maidservant. Maddalena immediately filled a brazier with glowing coals and began to warm the linen sheets.
    I placed the
cassone
on top of a larger chest. Suor Margherita smiled when she saw it. “A gift of our beloved Pope Leo,” she said. “I remember it well.”
    The abbess kissed my forehead and wished me good night. Maddalena took my wrinkled and mildewed gown and cloak and brought me a soft linen shift for sleeping. Soon I was snug in my warm bed, settling down with a sigh of peace and contentment, the first in many months.

    A T SANTA LUCIA I had grown thin and pale, my arms and legs were covered with scabbed vermin bites, and a lingering cough kept me awake at night. The abbess of Le Murate decided that I must be restored to health as quickly as possible. For the next few weeks I was petted and pampered, mostly at the hands of Maddalena, and I gave myself up to my servant’s gentle care.
    Every morning, as she carried in a basin of warm water to wash my hands and face and brushed my thick dark hair, I remembered the