Madame Serpent by Jean Plaidy

house. Alessandro was responsible for this trouble, but, in Aunt Clarissa’s mind, Alessandro, the bastard of very uncertain parentage, was of no importance whatever. He could be ignored, while Caterina must learn her lessons.
    Poor Guido! He was beginning to suffer cruelly now. Caterina wanted to
    scream: ‘Stop! Stop! Kill him quickly. Do not let him suffer like this. Hurt me―
    but not Guido. What has Guido done?’
    Be still! she admonished herself. She pressed her lips tightly together. Show nothing . Oh, foolish little Caterina, if you had not shown Alessandro that you cared for your dogs he would not have thought of hurting you through them; if you had hidden your feelings about Fedo’s murder, Guido would now be in your arms, not lying there in agony. Silly Caterina! At least learn your lesson now.
    They watch you now: Aunt Clarissa, who has no feeling but determination that a great house shall continue great; the Cardinal, who cares for nothing but that he keeps the goodwill of the Medici.
    If she showed emotion now it would be her favourite horse next. She must
    not cry. She must watch this horror; she might be wretched, heartbroken, but she must show nothing.
    She sat clenching her hands; she was white and her lips trembled a little; but the eyes that were lifted to Aunt Clarissa’s face were dry and devoid of
    expression. Aunt Clarissa was satisfied.
    ―――――――
    With their attendants, Caterina, Alessandro, and Ippolito made the long and tedious journey through Tuscany to Rome. Florence and Venice might be the most beautiful of Italian cities, but Rome was the proudest. The Eternal City!
    How grand it seemed, how noble set upon the seven hills, surrounded by the purple slopes, the rocky Apennines on one side, and on the other the sparkling Mediterranean Sea.
    The Holy Father wished to receive the younger members of his family in
    audience; he had been having ill reports of their conduct from stern Clarissa Strozzi, who complained that the Cardinal Passerini was too indulgent. A word from the Holy Father was needed; and Clement could never resist an opportunity of seeing Alessandro. So there must be this visit to Rome, the Vatican itself; and Caterina was pleased, for she loved to travel, and a change from the monotonous daily routine of life in Florence was desirable.
    Now she noticed, as they came into the city and people stood about to watch their ceremonial entry, that there were sullen looks instead of smiles, murmuring instead of cheering. But the overpowering beauty of the city made her forget the people.
    There rose St Peter’s itself, though not yet completed, grand, eloquent
    almost, with its lesson to offer. The great church was built on that spot, in one of the gardens surrounding Nero’s circus after his martyrdom, St Peter had been buried. He would have suffered, but a great church bore his name, and he would never be forgotten. The Emperor Nero, at whose command St Peter had been
    tortured, had committed suicide. Whose was the triumph― the saint’s or the tyrant’s?
    The day after their arrival the Pope would give them audience and they
    would be led through the balls and rooms, by papal lackeys dressed in red damask, to the chamber, where the Holy Father would receive them. Caterina had never seen her kinsman except when he was surrounded by the pomp of his office. Now they would go in procession to the Vatican City; they would mount the hill― the centre of a group of three that overlooked the Tiber― and they would pass from palace to palace catching glimpses of the river d the Sistine Chapel, and the old fortress of the Castle St Angelo.
    Clement was glad that the children were in Rome. He would like to keep
    them there, but conditions were uneasy. Not that that worried him greatly. He had too high an opinion of his power to doubt for a moment his ability to quell a grumbling populace. The people distrusted him, he knew; and they considered the state of unrest in Italy due