Disclaimer: I do not own Reign
AN: Some of the content is heavy as it deals with the aftermath of the attack Catherine de Medici experienced as a child. Also, the pope will refer to himself in the plural, such as We, Us, Our (referencing himself & God) as was historically done by popes and monarchs. Enjoy!
Catherine detected a flutter of anxiety as she heard her name announced to Pope Clement. In her eleven years she had only met her uncle a handful of times. Their last meeting had taken place upon her arrival to 'The Eternal City' merely two days ago.
As soon as her feet touched the cobbled street, the duchessina, as Catherine was known, was swept away from the company of the papal soldiers sent to break the Florentine rebels and escort her safely to Rome. She was rushed directly to a chamber where she was bathed and dressed in a silk gown designed to hide most of her injuries. Decked in finery, she made her way down the aisle to kneel before His Holiness, but at the last moment he rose from the chair of St. Peter and bestowed upon her cheek a tender kiss. Before the clergy, the visiting courtiers, the many of rank that had come to petition His Holiness, the pope greeted her with tearstained eyes. Catherine mused at the brilliance of her uncle's performance.
When at last he called for her to enter, Catherine glided in and began to kneel.
He waved his ornamented hand impatiently. "Rise, child."
Pope Clement drew up a cushioned chair. It was customary for a guest to await the offer before taking a seat, but no such offer was made and Catherine remained standing.
Massaging his brow, Clement came right to the point. "We have called you here to discuss a serious matter. Word of the rebels' demands was relayed to Us during the final days of the siege. Troubling news, indeed…"
In her mind flashed horrifying images. With trembling hands, she cropped her hair and took up a nun's habit in the desperate hope that they would refrain from harming a servant of the Lord. How wrong she had been. The stench of death hung in the air. Men with hunger in their cheeks and something sinister lurking behind their eyes clamored outside the walls of the convent delle Murate. Dozens of rough hands grasped for her, tearing her clothes, wrenching what hair she had left. Her eyes searched in vain for help, for a rescuer, but all the doors were barred and the shutters closed. Many had succumbed to the famine and any who still lived were concerned with their own survival and not that of the duchessina. Exposed and lying in the filthy streets of her once great city, Catherine endured the rage of one soldier after another, eventually losing consciousness.
With a sharp inhale she snapped back to the present where she stood before Pope Clement who scrutinized her with a knowing look. Catherine released her breath and pushed the images from her thoughts, refocusing on his words.
"No doubt you count yourself blessed to have escaped such atrocities thanks to the arrival of Our papal forces. You know that if the traitors had had their way, marriage would not be possible?" Warning was written between the lines of his placid mask.
Her eyes were dry, as was her throat, when she answered. "Yes, Your Holiness."
With a curt nod he continued. "Their demands alone are enough to spark rumors… and such rumors would spread like wildfire. Come." Catherine followed him to his desk situated in the opposite end of the room.
Clement selected a piece of unused parchment from his desk. "Tell Us what you see here."
"It's parchment."
"Describe it."
Her eyebrow threatened to arch. "It's blank parchment."
"It's clean." He corrected her. "It's whole."
Catherine could no longer meet his gaze when she understood where this lesson was going.
Clement dripped ink across the parchment and smeared it with his handkerchief. Next, he unsheathed a dagger and thrust it through, leaving a gaping hole. "Now describe it."
Her stomach lurched involuntarily as the words left her lips. "It's ruined."
"Ahh! But not quite!" Gesturing to the untainted, intact corners of the page, he elaborated. "See here, there are salvageable areas. It is only when it is touched by fire…" With his fingertips he held it over the flame of a candle. Curling and disintegrating, the paper was reduced to ash. "Only then is it ruined."
Catherine nodded, understanding her uncle's subtext, but wondering what it was he expected of her.
As though he read her thoughts, the pope explained. "Whilst We are dousing the sparks of gossip here and abroad, you will be under the care of Our cousin. You would do well to learn all you can from her about life among the nobility… She is particularly gifted in the art of deception." He spoke the last sentence as though it were an afterthought.
Clement seemed to feel that her stiff nod required further explanation. "Were gossip to spread, every door would be slammed in your face. We would have few options… but We are sure your good friends at the convent Santa Lucia would be only too happy to take you in for the remainder of your days."
Catherine's neutral expression did not betray the ripple of fear that his words elicited. She had been housed at Santa Lucia during her time as a hostage. Many in Florence cursed the Medici for all their influence and corruption. The nuns of Santa Lucia were no exception. Daily humiliation was her punishment for the sins of her family, hearing her name mocked as she performed whatever menial task they dreamed up. After her removal from the convent delle Murate and...She swallowed the bile that crept up her throat. After all that she suffered in the streets, she had not been returned to the kind sisters at Le Murate. Instead she woke up back in her cell at Santa Lucia garbed in nothing but a worn, oversized cloak that reeked of blood and ale. Catherine could still hear her hoarse voice calling for a bath, a basin of water, something, anything. None came that night, nor the following morning. It wasn't until it was clear that the rebels could no longer hold the city against Clement's forces that she was bathed and clothed. The water was cold and murky, but it was a bath. Two nuns were assigned to aid her in this task. 'Wherever did you get such marks?' they mocked. Replying that she had fallen from her horse caused a sneering laugh, 'And flat onto your back?'
Straightening to her full height and squaring her shoulders, Catherine spoke through a crisp smile. "Praise be to God that I have such a powerful champion as His Holiness. With my very capable uncle at the helm, I am assured of our victory."
A little girl no more, Catherine was learning to play the game.
AN: So that was a bit bleak, but I hope it provides some insight into the woman Catherine became. Historically, Catherine was held in a series of convents including Santa Lucia, staunch Medici haters, and Santissima Annuziata delle Murate, where she was apparently treated well. She was eventually removed from Le Murate by force at which time she did cut her hair and don a habit. The anti-Medici mob returned her to Santa Lucia. Although threats of violence were made, there is no record of any physical or sexual assault on Catherine during the siege.