The Medusa Amulet (60 page)

On the bottom shelf, the
harpe
nestled on its black velvet cushion, right beside the silver garland.

In the middle, the manuscript pages rested in a cracked leather binder, which he removed and placed on top of the safe.

And in the shadowy confines of the topmost shelf, the iron strongbox glinted as silently and dully as a crocodile’s eye.

He was already closing the safe again when something made him stop. It had been years since he had last opened the iron box—first made to contain the looking glass—and even then he had sworn to himself that he would never do it again.

But at present, for whatever reason, it beckoned to him. His curiosity was aroused, and he found himself drawing the box far enough forward that the circular dials on its lid were revealed.

The combination, of course, was as simple as Caterina’s nickname, and he turned the circles one by one, carefully, until he heard the tiny click of the lock unlatching.

He paused, wondering if he wanted to go on.

But his fingers, as if possessing a will of their own, were raising the lid and pressing it back on the hinge.

The cold, white light of the vault pierced the black hollow of the box. For a moment, there was no response from the trophy resting inside. But then, as the marquis kept his eyes firmly fixed on the mirror affixed to the underside of the lid, it awakened to the sudden glare. Bewildered and unfocused at first, the yellow eyes quickly assumed a desperate cast. The snakes that made up its hair waved in the air, their tiny teeth snapping in vain. The mouth opened in its habitual snarl, as if struggling to cry out.

But even if it could shriek in fury, who besides the marquis could ever have heard it?

He met its gaze in the mirror, trying not to flinch, as the severed head assumed an expression of impotent fury, of seething and inexpressible rage.
Even now
, he thought,
the Gorgon remains the indestructible embodiment of madness, death, and desolation
. To behold her reflection was to stare into the abyss. He had thought, many times, of simply consigning
his gory prize to the flames. But each time his hand had been stayed by some mysterious impulse. To destroy it would seem a sort of perverse sacrilege. Glad as he was that his own life once again moved forward like anyone else’s, he was not prepared to eradicate this last living proof of immortality. Life and death, good and evil, were all part of some unknowable cosmic plan, and though he was forever done with his interfering, he was not done with his sense of wonder.

Pressing the lid down until he heard the lock catch, he slid the box backward on the shelf. Then he shut the safe and swiftly retraced his steps through the vault. He swung the heavy door closed, turned the wheel to seal it, and then, clutching the manuscript under one arm, mounted the narrow stairs. The whole way he felt as if there was something right behind him, ready to plant its claw on his shoulder, spin him around and petrify him with its baleful gaze. Only when he had reached the top did he stop and turn around and, after flicking off the lights, stare defiantly into the inky darkness. Nothing stirred, and he slammed the door to the staircase shut with a bang loud enough to awaken the whole arrondissement.

Then he stalked off to his study to continue his story where he had left off so very long ago.

Acknowledgments

Without a doubt, my first debt of gratitude must be to Benvenuto Cellini himself, whose engaging and memorable autobiography I read many years ago. It made such a great impression upon me, in fact, that I decided to write this novel. In the course of composing the story, I have incorporated certain elements from that book—incidents from Cellini’s life, people he knew, works of art he did indeed create—while inventing many others.
La Medusa
is, of course, one of those inventions, as are some of the events and characterizations, based on fact, that appear throughout the book.

The two editions of Cellini’s memoirs that I have relied upon are the celebrated translation by John Addington Symonds, and the brilliant new translation (and notes) done by Julia Conaway Bondanella and Peter Bondanella (Oxford University Press, 2002). In addition, I regularly turned to the beautifully illustrated and authoritative study
Cellini
, written by John Pope-Hennessy and published by Abbeville Press in 1985.

For the sections of the novel dealing with the French Revolution, I found Antonia Fraser’s
Marie Antoinette: The Journey
(Nan A. Talese, Doubleday/Random House, 2001), to be indispensable.

I would also like to acknowledge the Newberry Library in Chicago, a fine and venerable institution to which my brother Steve introduced me. But again, while much of what I have to say about it is true, there’s
a lot in this novel that isn’t. Most notably, the library does not possess Cellini’s
Key to Life Eternal
. I made it up. If it did exist, it would make a fitting addition to their renowned collection of medieval and Renaissance materials.

I have taken similar liberties with several other well-known institutions, including the Louvre, the Natural History Museum in Paris, the Biblioteca Laurenziana, and the Accademia di Bella Arti in Florence, Italy. While much of their history is reliably reported, some is of my own creation—the less laudable items in particular.

Finally, this book would never have come to pass without the encouragement of my agent, Cynthia Manson, and the hard work of my eagle-eyed editor, Anne Groell. (Any mistakes are my fault.) Thank you both for helping to see me across the finish line.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

R
OBERT
M
ASELLO
is an award-winning journalist, television writer, and the author of many previous novels and nonfiction books. His most recent novel,
Blood and Ice
, was published to great acclaim in the United States and in nine foreign languages.

His other books include
Vigil
, a
USA Today
bestseller, and
Writer Tells All
, which appeared on the
Los Angeles Times
trade paperback bestseller list. His guide to the writing life,
Robert’s Rules of Writing
, has become a staple in many high school and college classrooms.

Robert’s television credits include such popular shows as
Charmed, Sliders, Early Edition
, and
Poltergeist: The Legacy
.

He has also contributed articles and essays to a wide range of publications, including
The Washington Post, New York
magazine,
Newsday, Town and Country, Travel and Leisure, Elle, Redbook, People, Parade, Glamour, Westways, Harper’s Bazaar, The Wilson Quarterly
, and many more.

A native of Evanston, Illinois, he studied writing under the noted authors Robert Stone and Geoffrey Wolff at Princeton University, and later taught or lectured at several other colleges and institutions, including the Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism, the New York University Publishing Program, UCLA Extension, and Claremont McKenna College, where he served for six years as the visiting lecturer in literature. He now lives in Santa Monica, California.