Rome? You would
like to rest here awhile?’
Alessandro would like to stay in Rome. He told of the viciousness of
Caterina and showed the wound in his hand where she had bitten him.
‘My son, you shall not live under the same roof with such a savage.’
‘I am treated badly there, Father. I am made to feel of no importance.’
‘My son, my son!’
‘I would I had my own palace, Father.’
‘You shall, my son. A palace of your own, where you shall no longer be
ignored, where you shall not have to submit to such treatment from― your
sister.’
Alessandro was delighted. Master in his own house where all should tremble before him! Here on Vatican Hill had once stood Nero’s Circus. There was a man who had known how to amuse himself― and others. One day Alessandro
would be such a one― a wise Nero. He would make sport and know how to
enjoy it.
‘I thank you, Father.’
‘My son, come close to me. One day Florence shall be yours. I will make
you ruler of all Florence. That is what I plan for you. But for the moment this plan is a secret, my son, yours and mine. For the time being you shall have your own establishment― a palace of your own in Florence.’
And so, after that visit to the Holy Father, Caterina was spared the indignity of living under the same roof as Alessandro.
―――――――
It was three years after that visit to Rome; they had been three happy,
peaceful years, with the friendship between Caterina and Ippolito growing stronger as the months passed. Alessandro had been given a fine villa about half a day’s ride from the city. It was comforting to see very little of him and to see more and more of Ippolito. Caterina had begun to dream and her dreams
included her handsome cousin. She could think nothing more delightful than spending her life with him in this city which they both loved so dearly. Ippolito, it was believed, would one day rule the city; what could be happier than that Caterina, legitimate daughter of the house, should rule it with him? The more Caterina thought of this, the more likely seemed to her that this could come about.
Happy days they were, sharing confidences, riding, and always with
Ippolito. She did not know whether he was aware of what was in her mind.
Perhaps to him she was just the agreeable little cousin. She was only nine years old. Perhaps young men of nineteen did not think of marrying nine-year-old girls. But in a few years she would be marriageable, and then― her wedding would be arranged.
She would long for Ippolito to speak to her of this, but he never did. She was glad that cruel Alessandro was not here in the Medici palace that he might guess her secret and find some way of torturing her.
And so the happy, sunny days passed by― three whole years of them―
until that day when disaster came upon the house. The Eternal City sacked, its palaces and churches looted, its citizens torn limb from limb, its virgins raped along with its matrons! The Holy Father, thanks to the magnificent rear-guard action fought by his brave Swiss guards, had escaped to the Castle of St Angelo, but remained there a prisoner. Florence was in revolt against the Medici.
Alessandro and Ippolito were driven from the city; but the little Caterina― the only legitimate child of the house― was held by the new Government of
Florence as a hostage and sent for safe keeping to the convent of Santa Lucia.
Here in the convent her life must be devoted to fasting and prayers; her
room was a narrow cell with nothing bright in it but the silver crucifix which hung upon the wall; she must live the rough, hard life of the nuns. But it was not that which hurt her; it was not for the cold of stone walls and the hardness of her bed that she wept bitterly into her coarse sheets at night. It was for Ippolito―
her beloved, handsome Ippolito, who was― she knew not where. They might
have killed him, as they would have killed the Holy Father if they had caught him. He
like to rest here awhile?’
Alessandro would like to stay in Rome. He told of the viciousness of
Caterina and showed the wound in his hand where she had bitten him.
‘My son, you shall not live under the same roof with such a savage.’
‘I am treated badly there, Father. I am made to feel of no importance.’
‘My son, my son!’
‘I would I had my own palace, Father.’
‘You shall, my son. A palace of your own, where you shall no longer be
ignored, where you shall not have to submit to such treatment from― your
sister.’
Alessandro was delighted. Master in his own house where all should tremble before him! Here on Vatican Hill had once stood Nero’s Circus. There was a man who had known how to amuse himself― and others. One day Alessandro
would be such a one― a wise Nero. He would make sport and know how to
enjoy it.
‘I thank you, Father.’
‘My son, come close to me. One day Florence shall be yours. I will make
you ruler of all Florence. That is what I plan for you. But for the moment this plan is a secret, my son, yours and mine. For the time being you shall have your own establishment― a palace of your own in Florence.’
And so, after that visit to the Holy Father, Caterina was spared the indignity of living under the same roof as Alessandro.
―――――――
It was three years after that visit to Rome; they had been three happy,
peaceful years, with the friendship between Caterina and Ippolito growing stronger as the months passed. Alessandro had been given a fine villa about half a day’s ride from the city. It was comforting to see very little of him and to see more and more of Ippolito. Caterina had begun to dream and her dreams
included her handsome cousin. She could think nothing more delightful than spending her life with him in this city which they both loved so dearly. Ippolito, it was believed, would one day rule the city; what could be happier than that Caterina, legitimate daughter of the house, should rule it with him? The more Caterina thought of this, the more likely seemed to her that this could come about.
Happy days they were, sharing confidences, riding, and always with
Ippolito. She did not know whether he was aware of what was in her mind.
Perhaps to him she was just the agreeable little cousin. She was only nine years old. Perhaps young men of nineteen did not think of marrying nine-year-old girls. But in a few years she would be marriageable, and then― her wedding would be arranged.
She would long for Ippolito to speak to her of this, but he never did. She was glad that cruel Alessandro was not here in the Medici palace that he might guess her secret and find some way of torturing her.
And so the happy, sunny days passed by― three whole years of them―
until that day when disaster came upon the house. The Eternal City sacked, its palaces and churches looted, its citizens torn limb from limb, its virgins raped along with its matrons! The Holy Father, thanks to the magnificent rear-guard action fought by his brave Swiss guards, had escaped to the Castle of St Angelo, but remained there a prisoner. Florence was in revolt against the Medici.
Alessandro and Ippolito were driven from the city; but the little Caterina― the only legitimate child of the house― was held by the new Government of
Florence as a hostage and sent for safe keeping to the convent of Santa Lucia.
Here in the convent her life must be devoted to fasting and prayers; her
room was a narrow cell with nothing bright in it but the silver crucifix which hung upon the wall; she must live the rough, hard life of the nuns. But it was not that which hurt her; it was not for the cold of stone walls and the hardness of her bed that she wept bitterly into her coarse sheets at night. It was for Ippolito―
her beloved, handsome Ippolito, who was― she knew not where. They might
have killed him, as they would have killed the Holy Father if they had caught him. He
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