Jeanne Kalogridis - The Devil’s Queen

One warm, sticky morning in June, surrounded by the sisters, I stared beyond the open windows of the sewing room to find charcoal-colored clouds billowing on the horizon: Outside the city, crops and barns were burning, set ablaze by soldiers of the rebel government. Emperor Charles was coming—or at least his troops were, led by the Prince of Orange—and the rebels did not intend for them to find succor beyond the walls of Florence.

Outside the confines of Le Murate, a militia ten thousand men strong was forming. Walking outside in the garden or on the patio, I heard the terse shouts of commanders trying to organize untrained troops. Fearful of the coming battle, hundreds fled Florence. With Maddalena standing watch, I climbed the alder in the garden and tried to look beyond the city walls but saw only rooftops and the grey haze hanging over the city. Florence stank of smoke; it clung to our clothes and hair, and permeated every corner of the convent.

September brought happy news: King François had signed a treaty with Emperor Charles. No French troops would aid the rebel Republic. I 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 hard against 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 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….