The Devil’s Queen. Jeanne Kalogridis

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СКАЧАТЬ He pointed at the title: De Vita Coelitus Comparanda.

      “Gaining Life from the Heavens,” he translated. “Ficino was an excellent astrologer, and he understood that magic is a natural power.” He grew animated. “Listen to this….” He translated haltingly from the Latin. “ ‘Using this power of the stars, the Magi were first to worship the infant Christ. Therefore, why fear the name Magus, a name which is pleasing to the Gospel?’”

      “So this astrologer’s son is coming to bring us help,” I said. “Help from God’s stars.”

      “Yes.” Piero gave a reassuring nod. “Even if he weren’t, we would still be all right. Mother might complain, but we’ll just go to the country until it’s safe again.”

      I let myself be convinced—temporarily. On the library floor, I nestled against my cousin and listened to him read in Latin. This continued until Aunt Clarice’s slave Leda—pale, frowning, and heavily pregnant—appeared in the doorway.

      “There you are.” She motioned impatiently. “Come at once, Caterina. Madonna Clarice is waiting.”

      The horoscopist was a tall, skinny youth of eighteen, if one estimated generously, yet he wore the grey tunic and somber attitude of a city elder. His pitted skin was sickly white, his hair so black it gleamed blue; he brushed it straight back to reveal a sharp widow’s peak. His eyes seemed even blacker and held something old and shrewd, something that fascinated and frightened me. He was ugly: His long nose was crooked, his lips uneven, his ears too large. Yet I did not want to look away. I stared, a rude, stupid child.

      Aunt Clarice said, “Stand there, Caterina, in the light. No, save your little curtsy and just hold still. Leda, close the door behind you and wait in the hall until I call you. I’ll have no interruptions.” Her tone was distracted and oddly soft.

      After a worried glance at her mistress, Leda stole out and quietly shut the door. I stepped into a pane of sunlight and stood dutifully a few paces from Clarice, who sat beside the cold fireplace. My aunt was arguably the most influential woman in Italy and old enough to be this young man’s mother, but his presence—calm and focused as a viper’s before the strike—was the more powerful, and even Clarice, long inured to the company of pontiffs and kings, was afraid of him.

      “This is the girl,” she said. “She is plain, but generally obedient.”

      “Donna Caterina, it is an honor to meet you,” the visitor said. “I am Cosimo Ruggieri, son of Ser Benozzo the astrologer.”

      His appearance was forbidding, but his voice was beautiful and deep. I could have closed my eyes and listened to it as if it were music.

      “Think of me as a physician,” Ser Cosimo said. “I wish to conduct a brief examination of your person.”

      “Will it hurt?” I asked.

      Ser Cosimo smiled a bit more broadly, revealing crooked upper teeth.

      “Not in the least. I have already completed a portion; I see that you are quite short for your age, and your aunt reports that you are rarely sick. Is that true?”

      “Yes,” I answered.

      “She is always running in the garden,” Clarice offered palely. “She rides as well as the boys do. By the time she was four, we could not keep her from the horses.”

      “May I …?” Ser Cosimo paused delicately. “Could you lift your skirts a bit so that I can examine your legs, Caterina?”

      I dropped my gaze, embarrassed and perplexed, but raised the hem of my dress first above my ankles and then—at his gentle urging—to my knee.

      Ser Cosimo nodded approvingly. “Very strong legs, just as one would expect.”

      “And thighs,” I said, dropping my skirts. “Jupiter’s influence.”

      Intrigued, he smiled faintly and brought his face closer to mine. “You have studied such things?”

      “Only a little,” I said. I did not tell him that I had just been listening to Piero reading Ficino’s attributions for Jupiter.

      Aunt Clarice interrupted, her tone detached. “But her Jupiter is in detriment.”

      Ser Cosimo kept his penetrating gaze focused on me. “In Libra, in the Third House. But there are ways to strengthen it.”

      I braved a question. “You know about my stars, then, Ser Cosimo?”

      “I have taken an interest in them for some time,” he replied. “They present a great many challenges and a great many opportunities. May I ask what moles you have?”

      “There are two on my face.”

      Ser Cosimo lowered himself onto his haunches, bringing us eye to eye. “Show me, Caterina.”

      I smoothed my dull, mousy hair away from my right cheek. “Here and here.” I pointed at my temple, near the hairline, and at a spot between my jaw and ear.

      He drew in a sharp breath and turned to Aunt Clarice, his manner grave.

      “Is it bad?” she asked.

      “Not so bad that we cannot repair it,” he said. “I will return tomorrow at this very hour, with talismans and herbs for her protection. You must employ them according to my precise directions.”

      “For me,” Clarice said swiftly, “and for my sons, not just for her.”

      The astrologer’s son cast a sharp glance at her. “Certainly. For everyone who has need.” A threat crept into his tone. “But such things bring no benefit unless they are used exactly as prescribed—and exactly for whom they are created.”

      Clarice dropped her gaze, intimidated—and furious at herself for being so. “Of course, Ser Cosimo.”

      “Good,” he said and bowed his farewell.

      “God be with you, Donna Clarice,” he said graciously. “And with you, Donna Caterina.”

      I murmured a good-bye as he walked out the door. It was odd watching a youth move like an elderly man. Many years later, he would confess to having been fifteen years old at the time. He had used the aid of a glamour, he claimed, to make himself appear older, knowing Clarice would never have listened to him otherwise.

      As soon as the astrologer was out of earshot, Aunt Clarice said, “I’ve heard rumors of this one, the eldest boy. Smart, true—smart at conjuring devils and making poisons. I’ve heard that his father despairs.”

      “He isn’t a good man?” I asked timidly.

      “He is evil. A necessary evil, now.” She lowered her face into her hand and began to massage her temple. “It’s all falling apart. Rome, the papacy, Florence herself. It’s only a matter of time before the news spreads all over the city. And then…everything will go to Hell. I need to figure out what to do before …” I thought I heard tears, but she gathered herself and snapped open her eyes. “Go to your chambers and study your texts. There will be no lessons today, but you’d best comport yourself quietly. I won’t tolerate any distractions.”

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