The Devil’s Queen. Jeanne Kalogridis

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ brandished swords against a crowd thrice their number but steadily growing.

      As the soldiers and I passed through the gate, a man in the crowd shouted, “There she is!”

      I could not see much of the crowd beyond the men on horseback, only a leg here, an arm there, a glimpse of a face. Color fled in the wake of twilight, leaving behind black and grey.

      In the center of the group of soldiers, two men held the reins of unmounted horses and a donkey. One of them handed off his reins to the other as he caught sight of us and hurried over.

      “Commander,” he said apologetically. “I don’t know how word got out …”

       No, it’s her, it is! The little nun—

       The Pope’s niece—

       Pampered in a rich nunnery all this time while we starve!

      The commander’s face grew still, save for a muscle that spasmed in his cheek. He looked out at his men and said softly, “I chose you because I thought you could hold your tongues. When I learn who has done this—I care not why, I care not how—I will see him swing.”

       Death to the Medici! a woman cried.

      A hurled stone struck just inside the ring of soldiers; it skipped and clattered to a stop near my feet.

       Bastards! Traitors!

       Give her to us!

      The commander looked down at it, then back at his second. “Get her mounted,” he said. “Let’s move on before it gets worse.”

      The troops ran to their horses. The second, a large, sullen-faced man, took my elbow as if I were an unruly commoner and swung me up onto the donkey. The animal looked reproachfully back at me, showing large yellow teeth that worried the bit.

      The commander, now astride a pale grey stallion, rode up alongside me and called to his men. We began to move: the commander and I side by side, each flanked by a mounted soldier. In front of us, behind us, men rode three abreast.

      Before all the men were in formation, three street thugs dashed between the horses’ bodies; one reached for me, the tips of his fingers grazing my leg. I cried out. The commander bellowed and leaned toward him with such urgent ferocity that the filthy youth shrank back, and was trampled by a horse.

       Abaso le palle! someone shouted. Death to the Medici!

      The soldiers closed ranks around us, and we made our way down the broad Via Ghibellina at an earnest trot. The crowd followed us for a while, hurling curses and the occasional missile. We soon outpaced them and made our way onto a quieter thoroughfare. We passed monastery walls, cathedrals, and rich men’s houses, the windows dark because the owners had fled in the face of the siege.

      I clutched the saddle horn and slapped, stiff with dread, against the donkey’s saddle. Too late today for a public execution; it would have to wait until morning—unless a quick and private death awaited.

      The streets grew narrower. The grand estates gave way to shops and tradesmen’s houses.

      As we turned onto a broader avenue, our caravan slowed. In the near distance, black forms blocked the street. They had been waiting silently in the dark.

      “Damn you,” the commander cursed his men. “Before God, if one of you is the traitor, I’ll send you to Hell myself …”

      Death to the Medici, someone in the darkness said uncertainly.

       The cry erupted with fervor: Abaso le palle! Down with the balls!

      A hail of stones followed.

      Beside me, the commander reined in his stamping horse and bellowed, “This prisoner is being transported at the command of the Republic! Anyone who interferes is a traitor!”

      “You are the traitors,” a woman’s voice cried.

      She stepped forward into the torchlight, a starving wraith wrapped in filthy rags. Beneath her jutting collarbones, her torn bodice had been rolled down to expose one breast, where a weakly wailing infant refused to suckle. She glared at me, her eyes two wild black holes.

      “Medici bitch!” she roared. “You kill me, you kill my child! Your soldiers starve us, while you grow fat! You should die! You!”

      You, the crowd echoed. Death to the Medici!

      Two youths ran out of the dark to accost the soldier on my left. One grabbed his heel in the stirrup and pulled him down; the other struck him with a club. He fell sideways in the saddle, grappling with the first youth.

      “Get his sword!” someone shouted, and the crowd rushed forward.

      The commander barked orders and reined his horse in until his leg pressed against mine. The fallen soldier had managed to unsheathe his sword and held the youths at bay.

      A grizzled beggar dashed into the light, gripped the skirt of my habit, and tugged mightily; the donkey brayed and I screamed. My saddle slipped, and the world canted sideways in a frightening whirl of animal hide and swords and filthy limbs.

      My legs became tangled in the stirrups; my shoulder struck bone and flesh. I looked up in midfall and saw the beggar’s yawning grin, studded with cracked and rotting teeth, maggots in a putrid hole. I felt his hands on me and screamed again.

      Suddenly he disappeared; I kicked free from the stirrups and was guided up by strong hands onto my feet. The commander’s right arm pressed me close; his left hand brandished his sword. On the stones before us, the beggar lay bleeding. The soldiers encircled us, holding back the now-quiet crowd.

      The commander pointed the tip of his sword at the beggar’s head and thundered, “The next one who touches her, I’ll kill.” He lowered his voice. “She’s just a girl. A girl at the mercy of the same politics you poor bastards are.”

      He mounted his stallion, then gestured at his second in command, who lifted me so that the commander could pull me up into his saddle. We began to move again. The commander’s arms were on either side of me as he held the reins, and momentum pushed me back against his chest, warm and hard.

      Now and then, I caught a whiff of raw meat left too long in the sun. The commander pulled out a square of linen and handed it to me.

      “Put it over your nose and mouth,” he said. “There’s plague in this neighborhood.”

      I put it over my nose and breathed in the antiseptic fragrance of rosemary.

      “You’re still trembling,” he said. “It’s all right now. The street rabble, I won’t let them harm you.”

      I lowered the kerchief. “That’s not what I fear.”

      He grew quiet, then said softly, “We don’t know what to do with you. Were it my choice, I’d free you now. It’s only a matter of time.”

      Eager, wistful, I half turned in the saddle. “You really think I’ll be freed?”

СКАЧАТЬ