ON A SPRING DAY just before my seventh birthday Cardinal Passerini left Palazzo Medici with Alessandro to spend time at one of his hunting lodges. Ippolito, who was suffering from a catarrh and didn’t feel well enough to accompany them, stayed behind. After he had mostly recovered and his cough was improved, Ippolito surprised me in the palace garden. I was sitting in a pergola and practicing on the lute. I had a good ear for music and had learned to play well enough to accompany myself while I sang.
“I thought I heard an angel,” he said. “And indeed I did!”
I smiled. Much nicer to be called “angel” than “frog”! Or even “mouse.”
He begged me to continue playing while he sat quietly nearby, nodding his approval. Lilac and lavender bloomed all around us, perfuming the air. Sometimes Ippolito sang with the tunes he knew, despite a hoarse voice. This scene was repeated over several days, to my great pleasure.
Then Alessandro and the cardinal returned from their hunting trip, both of them bragging about the number of deer they had managed to kill, and the idyll ended.
But I did not forget it.
ONE LONELY DAY followed on the heels of the next. A year passed with little to disturb my routine. As a young child I didn’t understand the political strife that set the rulers of Europe at each other’s throats, but I soon grasped that conflicts among kings and emperors and popes could drastically affect my life. Fra Matteo explained it.
In the year that I was born, Charles V, the king of Spain, had been elected Holy Roman Emperor, a title that gave him power over much of Europe. Emperor Charles and King François of France hated each other and waged war against each other until, in one final battle, Charles took François prisoner, finally agreeing to release him in exchange for the French king’s two sons. For four years he kept the two little boys as hostages in a Spanish prison. Pope Clement had been an ally of King François. But now, with François soundly defeated, Emperor Charles held the fate of the pope, the city of Florence, and all of the Medici clenched in his powerful fist.
During the spring of 1527, as I was about to turn eight years old, disturbing rumors began to drift into Florence. Fra Matteo told me that Charles had ordered twenty thousand soldiers to march south to Rome. Each time we heard a new rumor, I quietly visited the cardinal’s library and studied the maps my tutor had taught me how to read.
“The emperor intends to show Pope Clement who’s in charge,” Fra Matteo speculated when these rumors turned out to be true. “He’s determined to teach the pope a lesson.”
The rumors became much more frightening. The emperor’s soldiers were storming through Rome, murdering, raping, and pillaging as they went. No one wanted to believe the awful stories. There was no word from Pope Clement.
When Aunt Clarissa and Filippo heard the tales brought by traders from as far away as Naples and picked up by the Strozzis’ servants in the market, my aunt rushed to our palazzo, accompanied by her Ethiopian slave, Minna. I was supposed to be at my lessons, but even my tutor, whose family was from Rome, found it hard to think of anything but what was happening there and what might happen next in Florence.
“What a catastrophe!” Clarissa cried, slumping onto a bench, her fingers buried in her hair. “I will not try to deceive you, Caterina,” she told me. “I’m very uneasy about the future. Trouble will surely come to this city as well. Filippo’s banker friends say that feeling against the Medici is mounting steadily here, as it has in the past. We must prepare ourselves.”
“For what?” I asked tearfully as my dull but safe little world shook and seemed about to crumble. “What can we do?”
“Don’t worry,” she said, jumping to her feet. “I’ll think of something.”
And since I had no one else, I had to trust that she would.
FOR SEVERAL DAYS we had no further news from Rome. Hardly anyone slept. Meals were cooked and served but left mostly untouched. Then one night the uneasy silence was shattered by a furious pounding on the main portal, the clatter of horses’ hooves in the courtyard, and persistent shouting.
I flew from my bed, but Betta seized me by both arms. “Stay where you are, Duchessina,” she insisted. “Do you hear me? I’ll go down to find out what’s happening.”
I pretended to obey, but headstrong as usual, I followed her.
Torches flared in the courtyard. Two weary travelers—a young cleric and an older priest who had agreed to undertake the dangerous journey—were calling for Cardinal Passerini. When the cardinal at last appeared in his scarlet robe and hat, the priests delivered to him a letter from Pope Clement. Members of the household gathered while Passerini read the brief letter, his fat cheeks and small eyes grotesque in the flickering light.
His glance swept over us, all waiting silently—cooks, grooms, gardeners, laundresses, valets, and maidservants, as well as Alessandro and Ippolito and their gentlemen dressed in silks and velvets. I crept close to Betta and hung on to her hand, sticky with sweat.
“The emperor’s soldiers are bent on destroying the Eternal City,” the cardinal announced gravely. “But—thanks be to God—our great friend, His Holiness Pope Clement VII, is safe. He sends his assurances that we in Florence have nothing to fear.” Passerini forced a ghastly smile and waved his hands as though he were shooing us away. “Now, I beg all of you, return to your beds for a good and peaceful night’s rest, knowing that, with God’s grace, all will be well.”
No one moved. “Tell us what it’s like there, padre,” the cook called out to the young cleric. “You’ve seen it. Tell us.”
“No questions,” the cardinal interrupted, his voice like the screech of metal on metal.
“On a cloudy night as mist rose from the swamps and shrouded Rome,” the younger man said softly, ignoring the cardinal, “the maddened soldiers broke through the ancient walls of the city. They rampaged through the streets like wolves, looting homes of rich and poor alike, desecrating churches, raping nuns and pious housewives, slaughtering everyone in their path. The waters of the Tiber ran red with the blood of bodies dumped there.”
Betta clapped her hands over my ears to shut out the gruesome images, but I shook her off.
The older priest took up the story in a breaking voice. “The invaders destroyed our ancient monuments and treasures. Wherever they found books, they burned them. If they discovered precious manuscripts, they tore them to shreds. They stabled their horses in the Sistine Chapel beneath Michelangelo’s glorious ceiling.”
We listened without wanting to hear but were powerless to stop ourselves. Even Cardinal Passerini could not bring himself to turn away.
“When Pope Clement realized what was happening,” the young cleric said, “he fled through a secret passageway.”
This last bit of news struck the household like a lightning bolt. Cardinal Passerini’s cruel mouth stretched in a grimace. “Lies! Slander!” he cried in a high, thin voice. “The Holy Father does not run from difficulties.”
The priests lapsed into silence, drained of emotion. Only then did most people begin to shuffle out of the courtyard, shaking their heads, unable to speak.
3
Flight
BETTA HALF DRAGGED me toward the stairs. I hung back, peering over my shoulder, and observed the glances and whispered words exchanged between Passerini and my two cousins. What is he telling them? I wondered, stumbling along after Betta.
Soon the palazzo was quiet again, although I doubt that anyone was asleep—except Betta, who had resumed her throttled snoring. Wide awake, I crept from my bed, pulled a dress over my sleeping shift, and stole silently out of my bedroom.
This wasn’t the first time I had left my apartment in the darkness of the midnight hours. Relying on the map in my head, I made my way from room to room, counting seventeen paces to the first door, twenty-two to the second, careful to avoid the large oak table; six more paces to the left brought me to the top of the stairs. Then I counted each stone step to the landing and continued on down until I arrived in the empty courtya
rd. Smoky torches in iron brackets threw shuddering splashes of light among long, shifting shadows.
Clinging close to the walls, I crept by the night guards dozing near the main portal. I moved through the shadows toward the second courtyard, hoping to overhear the conversations of sleepless servants. But as I passed the entrance to the passageway leading down to the stables, I saw that the door stood ajar. Curious, I peeked in, expecting to see the grooms tending to the exhausted horses ridden by the two priests from Rome. Instead, I saw three fresh horses saddled and ready for their riders: Cardinal Passerini’s sorrel mount, Ippolito’s gray stallion, and Alessandro’s bay. Are they leaving? What’s going on?
Hearing voices, I slipped behind the door and out of sight. Ippolito rushed in, dressed for traveling, a long cloak over his tunic and a leather bag slung over his shoulder. I was too surprised to remain still. “Ippolito, where are you going?” I asked, stepping out of the shadows.
Startled, he swung around, dropping the leather bag. “Duchessina! What are you doing here? Per favore, go back to your apartment before the others come. The cardinal won’t be pleased to find you.”
“Not until you tell me where you’re going. And I don’t give a fig if the cardinal isn’t pleased!”
Ippolito looked exasperated, but he took both my hands in his and spoke gently “We must flee—Alessandro and I. Hatred of the Medici is growing by the hour. Passerini is afraid there will be an uprising, and the rabble will come after us. The cardinal is taking us away to his palazzo in Cortona, to wait until things are calmer here.”
“I, too, am a Medici,” I reminded him. “Surely I am in danger as much as you!” Suddenly I was angry at this cousin, whom I had adored until I saw him preparing to flee to safety, leaving me behind. And more Medici than you, I thought. In my anger I came close to saying the words that must not be said: that I was a true-born duchess and he was only a bastard. But I swallowed those words and said instead, “Why can’t I go with you?” My lip was trembling, partly from fear, partly from fury.
Ippolito laughed, and I hated him for that. Then he knelt down, still holding my hands. “Dear little cousin,” he said, looking into my eyes. I felt myself weakening, the anger draining away, replaced by hurt. “It will be a long, hard ride, and you would be very unhappy, I’m certain. But don’t worry—your aunt Clarissa will care for you,” Ippolito assured me. “You can depend on her. Soon we’ll all be together again, and everything will work out for the best. You’ll see, Duchessina!”
His brilliant smile brought back a rush of my feelings for him, and I wished that his horrible cousin and the dreadful Passerini would never come back.
Ippolito tenderly kissed my hand. “The others will arrive here at any moment,” he said, rising, “and they will be very angry to find you here. Per favore, Duchessina, go back to your bed and sleep well. I’m certain that our aunt will come for you tomorrow and make sure that you’re out of harm’s way and happy as well.”
“Couldn’t Aunt Clarissa see to your safety also?” I asked.
Ippolito shook his head. I would have continued protesting, but I heard low voices in the courtyard and recognized Alessandro’s sarcastic tone.
“Go now, Duchessina! At once!” Ippolito whispered urgently, and hurried to fasten the leather bag to the saddle of his horse.
I quickly hid myself behind a manger and watched resentfully as the three prepared to leave. A short time later Alessandro, Ippolito, and Passerini led their horses up the ramp from the stables and out through a side door. The hooves of the horses clattered on the paving stones. When the sound had faded away, I rushed back up to my room and flung myself, sobbing, onto my pillow.
I MUST HAVE slept a little, for the sun was already high when I heard shouting in the street and excited voices in the courtyard.
Betta hauled me out of bed, babbling, “Mistress, it’s happening, the people have gone mad! A mob is forming at the gates!”
We dressed hurriedly and ran down to the courtyard, where there was much confusion. “Where’s the cardinal?” the servants were shouting. “Has anyone seen him? He needs to speak to those at the gates. He must do something—but where is he?”
Their panic increased my own. Didn’t they know yet that Cardinal Passerini had deserted us, left us to fend for ourselves?
The side door opened, the same door by which Passerini and my cousins had left, and Aunt Clarissa stepped in, followed by Minna, her slave, who slammed the door and bolted it. Immediately Clarissa measured the situation: There was no one in charge. “Where’s Passerini?” she demanded.
I flung myself into her arms. “He’s gone,” I whispered.
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Cortona.” I told her what I had seen in the stables a few hours earlier.
“Accursed coward, that Passerini!” she spat. “I’m not surprised. All right, we must act. No one will do it for us.”
Seizing the arm of the nearest manservant, a groom from the stables, Aunt Clarissa ordered him to carry a bench to the center of the courtyard and then to help her climb on it. “Stay close to me, Caterina,” she ordered, though I didn’t need to be persuaded.
“Now listen to me, all of you,” Clarissa cried, her clear voice ringing in every corner of the courtyard. “Our beloved cardinal has departed, in order to save his own skin,” she said, her words dripping with scorn. “The young gentlemen, Ippolito and Alessandro, have accompanied him. Many of you may wish to follow their example, and you are free to do so. Others may choose to stay, and to you I entrust the care and protection of Palazzo Medici, which has been your home. It is my duty to see to the well-being of my niece, la duchessina. I intend to secure her safety, and then to return here as soon as I’m able. Have any of you anything to say?”
For a moment the crowd in the courtyard was silent, except for the shuffling of feet. Then the cook spoke up. “God go with you, mistress,” he boomed. “And with la duchessina. I for one intend to remain here, with my wife and children. We’re loyal to the Medici. They’ve been good to us.”
The cook’s fat wife and four stout daughters gathered around him. A few others—the head gardener, several kitchen helpers, and two of the grooms—moved to stand with him. But as we watched, several people edged toward the door; others wavered, heads down, eyes lowered. Outside the palazzo, the shouting grew louder and angrier, sending chills down my back.
“Millegrazie,” Clarissa said simply. “A thousand thanks.” She stepped down from the bench.
A guard, ashen faced, made his way to her side. “Signora, they’re demanding to see the cardinal. I told them he’s not here, and that made them even angrier. A few are beginning to call for la duchessina.” He glanced at me and quickly looked away “They want her brought out to them.”
“Hold them off as long as you can. If you must, tell them she’ll come out soon.” Then Clarissa turned to a groom who had pledged his loyalty. “We’ll need a cart and a donkey,” she told him. “Throw some straw in it and a few sacks of grain. A little dung, too, but not too much. Do you understand me?”
The groom bowed. “Si, signora.”
Clarissa led me up the stairs to my apartment. I obeyed, not daring to question her. Betta followed, wringing her hands. “Signora Strozzi,” she said in a breaking voice, “where are you going?”
“To Poggio a Caiano,” my aunt replied, mentioning the Medici villa in the hills outside of Florence. “Caterina should be safe enough there.”
“She maybe safe once she’s there,” Betta said. “But the journey out of the city won’t be safe for either of you unless you’re disguised.” Betta suddenly became calm and businesslike. “Allow me to find you both suitable clothing and to accompany you. I’m sure you’ll find me very useful.”
The furor beyond the palazzo walls was growing more intense. Fists pounded on the main portal. I shivered and fought back a sob. “All right,” Clarissa agreed. “Hurry.”
“Am I to come as well, signora?” asked Minna.
/> My aunt opened her mouth to reply, but Betta interrupted. “There is no way that country folk would have a black slave,” Betta bluntly told my aunt. “And no way I can disguise her.”
Clarissa thought a moment. “You must return to Palazzo Strozzi,” she instructed. “And tell Signor Strozzi I’ve gone to Poggio a Caiano with la duchessina. Assure him that I’ll return as soon as it’s safe.”
Betta helped my aunt exchange her fine clothing for one of Betta’s plain smocks. If I hadn’t been so frightened, I might have laughed at her transformation from noble lady to peasant woman. Betta disappeared to the servants’ quarters while Clarissa packed a canvas bag with her silk gown and a few items for me. I clutched the little cassone in which I kept my mother’s ruby cross and my father’s gold ring.
My nurse reappeared, bringing a boy’s tunic, trunk hose, and well-worn cloth cap. “You’ll travel as a boy,” Betta said. “They won’t be looking for a boy.”
With my hair pinned up under the cap, I was no longer recognizable as la duchessina, and I was so pleased with the disguise that I felt less afraid. The three of us hurried down to the stables. The groom had harnessed a donkey to a cart used for hauling everything from refuse headed for the dump to live pigs destined for the spit. I wrinkled my nose from the smell. I saw my aunt swallow hard. Betta, unperturbed, announced that she would drive the donkey.
Clarissa and I climbed into the cart and allowed the groom to pack baskets and sacks around us and buried the cassone deep in the straw. The groom flung open the door to the street and spoke up loudly enough for anyone around to hear.
“Get on with you now,” he said gruffly, “and don’t be wasting any time or I’ll make sure the master hears about it!”
Duchessina - A Novel of Catherine de' Medici Page 3