The Medici Queen aka The Devil’s Queen

of which we speak will bring mild improvement to the Dauphin’s health, and to his sexual desire. Beyond that, the rest is chance.” He did not wilt beneath my withering gaze but added, “I want only to be clear.”

I rose from my desk. “Never again. That is what I told you fifteen years ago. Do not make me repeat it.”

He bowed low and left quickly, closing the door behind him. I stood listening to the sound of his rapid steps dying in the hall.

Within a fortnight, Madame Gondi delivered a small bundle to me, wrapped tightly with ribbon. I opened it: Upon the black silk, two talismans-one of ruby, one of copper-hung from a single cord.

Francois accepted the necklace without question and swore that he would neither speak of it nor show it to anyone, including Mary.

The next morning, I was urgently summoned to the King’s chamber. It was early-I had not yet finished dressing and hurried my ladies in order to respond promptly.

Henri’s antechamber was decidedly masculine, paneled in wood and furnished in brown velvet and gold brocade. Over the mantel was the gilded relief of a salamander, the emblem of Henri’s father, Francois I. In front of the cold hearth, Henri stood waiting, silent and motionless, until the valet departed.

His lips were taut with contained rage, his eyes narrowed with fury. He was a very tall man, and I a very small woman; I sank into a low curtsy and stayed there. “Your Majesty.”

Such a long silence followed that I at last dared to lift my gaze.

Henri was holding out his hand. In his open palm lay the necklace with the ruby and copper talismans I had given Francois.

“What is this, Madame?”

“A simple charm, Your Majesty,” I answered smoothly. “For the Dauphin’s good health.”

“I will not have my son involved with this-this filth!” He flung it into the empty fireplace. “I will have it burned!”

“Henri,” I said quickly, rising, “it is a harmless thing. It is a good thing, made according to a science based on astronomy and mathematics.”

“It is a heinous thing,” he retorted. “You know how I feel about such things. For you to give this to our son…!”

I bristled. “How can you believe that I would give my own child something harmful?”

“It’s that magician of yours. He’s poisoned your mind, made you believe that you need him. Let me warn you now, Catherine, that things will go more easily for you if you dismiss him today, now, rather than later!”

“I have no intention of doing so,” I said, indignant. “Do you threaten me, Your Majesty?”

He let go a long, unsteady breath and calmed himself; dark earnestness replaced his anger. “Two months ago, I petitioned the Pope so that I might organize a French Inquisition.”

I froze.

“Last week, His Holiness granted my petition. I appointed Charles of Guise as head. Can you imagine, Madame, how I felt when the good Cardinal dropped that thing”-he gestured in disgust at the fireplace-“into my hand? How he must have felt when his frightened niece Mary brought it to him?”

Mary, crafty Mary; I should have known that Francois could hide nothing from her. “So what will you do, Henri? Will you bring your wife before a tribunal for questioning?”

“No,” he said. “But if you were wise, you would tell your magician that the King’s Court is no longer a safe place for him.”

Heat rose to my cheeks. “Were you to arrest him, would that not bring ugly attention to me? Would it not start rumors that would only harm the Crown?”

“There are ways to do it without implicating you,” he replied coldly. “You have been advised, Madame.”

I called Ruggieri to my cabinet that afternoon. I did not give him leave to sit-there was no time-but held out a velvet purse filled with gold ecus.

“The King has organized an inquisition; you will be one of its first victims. For my sake, take these,” I said. “Ride far from Paris and remain a stranger wherever you go. There is a carriage waiting at the side entrance. The driver will help you gather your belongings.”

Ruggieri clasped his hands behind his back and turned his face from me. There were no windows in my tiny office, but he seemed to find one, and looked far beyond it at a distant scene.

“For your sake, I cannot go,” he said, then settled his arresting gaze back on me. “Matters grow dangerous, Madame la Reine. The King’s fortieth year is upon us.”

“There is no war,” I said lightly. I set the velvet purse upon my desk, midway between us. “And if war comes, I will not let Henri go. You know this, Monsieur. Do not test me.”

“I would never do so,” he replied. “But consider this: There can be battle even when there is no war.”

“What are you saying?” I demanded. “Do you tell me now that your magic was worthless?”

He remained maddeningly calm. “Every spell-no matter how powerful-has its limits.”

A thrill coursed down my spine. “Why do you hurt me?” I whispered. “I’m trying to help you.”

“And I you. For that reason, I will not leave until the very moment my life is threatened.”

I made my eyes, my voice, my bearing hard and imperious. “I am your Queen,” I said. “And I command you to go.”

With unspeakable rudeness, he turned his back on me and strode to the door, then paused to glance over his shoulder. I caught a flash of wildness in his eye, of the Devil I had seen more than thirty years before, when someone in a hostile crowd had grazed me with a stone.

“And I am Cosimo Ruggieri. Devoted to you, Caterina de’ Medici. I will not desert you until forced to do so.”

He left, closing the door softly behind him.

I did not speak to Ruggieri for days; his words and his insolence rankled me at the same time that they provoked my worry, for him and for Henri. In the interim, I was not without my spies, who kept close watch over the King and the Cardinal of Lorraine.

Late one summer night, my sleep was disturbed by a knock at my chamber door and the movement of a flickering lamp. I murmured drowsily and turned my face away from the light.

At the feel of fingertips upon my arm, I opened my eyes to see Madame Gondi, her face golden in the lamp glow, still in her nightgown, a shawl thrown over her shoulders.

“Madame la Reine,” she hissed. “You must wake up! They are coming for him!”

My body woke instantly; I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and sat, my bare feet dangling. My mind did not respond quite as quickly.

“What is it?” I murmured. “What has happened?”

“The officers of the Inquisition. They are sending men to seize Monsieur Ruggieri-at dawn, if not sooner!”

I willed myself to consciousness. “I must go to him myself and warn him,” I said. I knew Ruggieri would listen to no one else.

Madame Gondi’s eyes widened in horror. “But, Madame…”

“A carriage,” I said quickly. “One without the royal crest. Have it brought to the rear of the palace, then come help me dress.”

The light cast by the carriage’s dual lamps was too feeble to dispel much of the darkness on that moonless night; the street was silent save for the clatter of our horses’ hooves against stone. Madame Gondi rode with me, at her insistence. Like me, she had dressed all in black and veiled her face; it hovered above her body, indistinct and ghostly behind the gauze.

We did not ride far; Ruggieri lived on the street hemming the western side of the Louvre. Our carriage came to rest along a row of three-story narrow houses, crammed side by side. After a moment of stealthy exploration, the coachman found the correct number, 83, then fetched me from the carriage. I stood beside him at the entrance as he knocked, persistently but discreetly.