“Let us hope she is not as bloodthirsty as her grandsire, at least,” I quipped, only half joking. King Ferrante was notoriously ruthless, quashing any hint of rebellion or trouble in his kingdom with an iron first. Rumor had it that he kept what he called a museum, containing the preserved bodies of enemies whom he had killed. Everything I had heard led me to believe the rumor was quite true.
The pope chuckled and crossed himself. “God forbid,” he said. “But by all accounts she is a very spirited lady, and quite beautiful, in that dark, Aragonese sort of way.”
“Hopefully Jofre can handle her.”
“She may be a bit much for him,” Father conceded, “but no doubt as he grows into a man Jofre shall learn to tame her. Indeed, it may be that he needs a woman like her to make him a man.”
Jofre, as the youngest, had long been coddled by our mother and mostly ignored by our father as he tended to the needs—and uses—of his eldest children. But Jofre’s childhood was over and he, too, must take up the mantle of duty for the Borgia family.
“It seems a fine match,” I said aloud. “It shall serve the needs of the family quite well, and I’m sure Jofre will not object to a beautiful wife.”
“I believe you are correct on both counts,” Father said, and we tapped our wineglasses together in accord.
Chapter 16
MADDALENA
As had become our custom, Isabella promised to make my excuses and attend to Madonna Lucrezia should she call for me. She gave me a lusty wink as I left. “Off to see that handsome footman, I’ll warrant,” Isabella said. “Don’t hurry back, and don’t behave yourself.”
I blushed at her words but could not help a wide smile all the same. “Grazie, Isabella,” I said, slipping out the back door and into the late summer twilight.
The first time I had gone walking with Federico after my lustful dream had been a bit awkward; I couldn’t quite meet his eye. Yet he engaged me in conversation as usual, making me laugh as only he could, and my embarrassment soon left. I had confessed my sin of lust—not to Federico, of course—and was given a week of eating only bread and water as penance. I obeyed gladly.
Our meeting had been hastily arranged, via a message from Federico saying that he had something he urgently wished to tell me. As such, I walked swiftly to the market, but not without some trepidation. Federico’s note had said to meet him at the stall where we usually shared a meal of bread and cheese. I had treated myself to a slice of beef last time we’d met, what with the increase in my wages that Lucrezia had given me for my embroidery work. My stomach growled at the memory.
My footsteps quickened when I saw Federico, and a smile spread across my face. Yet when he turned and saw me approaching, his face remained solemn.
“Federico,” I said, smile fading as I neared him. “I … I am glad to see you. You do not look as if you are glad to see me, though.”
He sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair. “I am thrilled to see you, bella Maddalena, as always,” he said. “It is just…”
When he did not finish, I pressed him. “What is wrong?” I asked. Fear clutched at my heart.
He did not answer immediately. “Do you mind waiting a bit for our supper?” he asked. “Will you walk with me first? Perhaps share a glass of wine with me?”
“Of course,” I said, puzzled but no less alarmed. I relaxed only slightly when he offered me his arm as always. I took it, and we made our way through the throngs and out of the market. We strolled along the edge of a grassy field, where a few cows grazed—I still marveled that even within the Eternal City, there were such patches of countryside. But perhaps it was no wonder, when one considered the disrepair into which the city had fallen since the days of the mighty Roman empire, most especially when the popes had removed to Avignon. Only of late was Rome returning to its former glory, with the popes undertaking building projects and encouraging the cardinals and other wealthy citizens to do the same.
“Whatever is the matter, Federico?” I asked, when he still did not speak.
“I have had some bad news from home,” he said at last.
“What news? Your parents?”
“My elder brother, Samuele,” he said heavily. “He is dead.”
I gasped, pressing my free hand to my mouth. “Oh, Federico,” I said. I crossed myself. “May he rest in peace, and may God have mercy upon him. I shall light a candle for him and pray for his soul.”
Federico smiled—a genuine, if wan, smile. “You are the sweetest and best of women, Maddalena,” he said. “I thank you for your prayers and condolences. Samuele was a good man, and I have no doubt he rests with our Lord Jesus.”
“Surely he does,” I said, though I had never met the man. Federico said that he was a fine man; that was enough for me.
By then, we had reached a wine shop we had visited before, as a friend of Federico’s owned it. Soon enough we had two glasses of a fine red, with the proprietor waving away payment and showing us to a table by the window.
“Did some misfortune befall him?” I asked, when Federico did not continue. “Your brother?”
He shook his head. “A fever,” he said. “Though I suppose that is misfortune enough. Why an illness should take him, young and strong as he was, I do not know. That is only for God to say.”
He took another swig of his wine and stared through the window, his eyes vacant.
I laid a hand on his arm. “I am truly sorry, Federico. Is there anything I can do? To help ease your sorrow?”
He looked over at me and seemed to come back to himself. “In truth, there was something I wanted to ask you. You see, while I shall miss my brother very much, I have another cause for sorrow at his death, though it seems selfish to speak it aloud.”
“You can tell me,” I said. “I shall not judge you. Only God in his wisdom can do so.”
“I can only hope God does not find me wanting.” He took another long swig of wine. “My brother and I are the only sons of our family. Thus my father has summoned me home, so I might learn the vineyard business. My sister’s husband has no desire to take over, and Father would rather leave it to his own son in any case.”
My heart seized at this. “You … you are leaving Rome?” I whispered.
He turned sorrowful eyes on me. “Eventually, yes. My father said I might stay on a bit longer if I choose, but within a year or two I must return home and stay there.”
Silently I bowed my head, trying to blink back the tears that had formed in my eyes. Federico’s sorrow for the loss of his brother was far greater than my own, yet I could not help but be sad at the thought I would soon never see him again. His companionship—and his letters and sweet compliments and bright smiles—had made my life all the better. My days would be dimmer without him.
“Running a vineyard is not the life I envisioned, as you know,” he went on. “I wanted an adventure, to see as much of Italy as I could. To work in Rome for a bit, then move on somewhere else, and somewhere else after that. Yet that is not to be. I must not abandon my family, nor turn my back on what they expect of me.”
“I am sorry, Federico,” I murmured. “So often our lives do not go the way that we wish. I certainly understand that.” I thought of my unhappy marriage, and of Madonna Lucrezia’s and how it had disappointed her, and the hopes she had had.
“Yet it need not be all bad. You see, I have a hope of something that may make my life in the country more palatable. Even pleasurable.”
“Oh?” I asked. “And what is that?”
He set his now-empty wine cup down on the table and took my hand in his. “I cannot help but hope you would consent to become my wife,” he said softly, his eyes warm with hope and tenderness as they gazed into mine. “And that when I leave Rome, you will come with me. With you by my side, I think any life shall be a paradise.”
I was struck speechless by his proposal. I had anticipated it, but now that it had come, I did not know what to say.
I should give no answer but yes, I knew t
hat. But was I really eager to enter into another marriage, even with so kind and good a man as Federico? Did I want to marry again? When I finally had a measure of independence, a life to call my own?
As though reading my thoughts, Federico went on. “You have not spoken much of your marriage, or your late husband, but I have gleaned the marriage was not a happy one, nor was it of your choice. I understand any hesitation you might have. But in this, you do have a choice, dearest Maddalena. And I would be most honored if you would choose me as your husband.”
I had to say something. “Federico, I…”
He hurried on, as if afraid I was about to refuse. “I am not a man of great wealth and never will be, but you would be mistress of a farm and vineyard. You would never need to serve anyone else ever again. You could devote more time to your embroidery, which I know you enjoy, for your own pleasure. And no one in my family has ever gone hungry.”
I could picture it all. I could. I would run Federico’s household, see to the making of cheese and bread, and oversee the storage of meat for the winter. He would take charge of the vineyard, the planting, the winemaking, the purchase and slaughter of livestock. Our days would be quiet and simple. Maybe eventually there would be children to care for, though I had never conceived with Ernesto. And our nights …
Our nights would be spent in our marriage bed, where he could exert his husbandly privilege whenever he wished. Where we might perhaps get those children, if God willed. The act would be so different with Federico than with Ernesto. Enjoyable. Warmth flooded between my legs, and I blushed. I had dreamed of that, had I not?
“You are quiet, Maddalena,” Federico said anxiously, when I did not speak. “What say you?”
I shook my head slightly to clear it. I knew marriage to him would be so different from my marriage to Ernesto. And yet …
“I … I find I do not know what to say, Federico,” I said at last. “You are right, my first marriage was not a pleasant one, and so I hope you understand why I hesitate.”
“I do,” he assured me. “I do. If you need time to think, I shall wait for you to come to a decision. Please know, I promise to treat you with naught but respect and love for all our days.”
Love. It was the first time the word had passed his lips.
I remembered my dream anew, my desire for love and affection and even passion. Here was the opportunity for me to have those things, within a marriage blessed by God. Where else would I find that? With what better man than Federico?
I appreciated his willingness to give me time to think, yet what would be the point? My situation would not change. Nor his. I was not ready to leave Rome just yet, but there was no reason for me to not give him his answer.
“No need,” I said. “I know my answer. Yes. Yes, Federico Lucci, I will marry you. I will be your wife.”
He let out a shout of joy and leapt up from his seat, pulling me up and into his embrace. He was laughing as he began to dance me about the room. “Did you hear that?” he cried to the other patrons. “This beautiful woman is going to be my wife!” There were some whistles and shouts of congratulations as Federico picked me up and swung me about. Laughing, I implored him to put me down, which he eventually did. “We will not leave Rome just yet?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Not if you do not want to, my beauty,” he said, still beaming. “I am inclined to stay on a bit myself before returning. We shall stay as long as you like. Although,” he said with a heavy sigh, “that shall delay our wedding. My parents would never forgive us if we did not marry in our village church.”
“I believe Scripture counsels patience at moments such as this,” I teased.
“But did any of the writers of Scripture ever have so beautiful a woman in their arms?” he asked. With that, he cupped my face in his hands and bent his head to kiss me. It was a chaste enough kiss at first, but soon his tongue gently parted my lips and slid into my mouth. I returned the kiss as best I could, uncomfortably aware of the whistles from the other patrons. I tried to relax the stiffness of my body as his tongue wetly explored my mouth, but found I could not.
I tried to push away the quiet but insistent voice asking if perhaps I was making a mistake.
Chapter 17
CESARE
The negotiations for Jofre’s marriage were swift ones. King Ferrante and Crown Prince Alfonso were most eager to gain a close connection to the pope, so they enthusiastically accepted the pope’s terms and dowered Sancia richly. Mere weeks after Father had first raised the possibility of the match, Sancia and Jofre were married by proxy. Arrangements were made for Jofre to travel south to Naples, where the bride and groom would be married in person and be invested with their new titles by King Ferrante: they were to be Prince and Princess of Squillace.
“Do you think she will like me, brother?” Jofre asked me one night. I had gone to dine at our mother’s house, where Jofre still lived for the time being. “I have heard she is very beautiful. Will she think me handsome enough?”
I felt a twinge in my chest at the earnestness in my little brother’s eyes. Only twelve years old—thirteen by the time he met his bride in person—and he was concerned with pleasing a wife, who was three or so years older than he. Why can we not let children be children in this family? I asked myself angrily. Yet Father was only doing what needed to be done, for the good of the family. “I am not acquainted with the lady Sancia, and so I cannot speak to her beauty or character,” I told Jofre, “but she has been raised a princess of the Neapolitan court. I am sure she is a true lady in all respects. You are growing into a fine and handsome young man, Jofre. I am certain she shall be nothing but pleased when she sees you.”
He smiled at me, looking not yet a young man. “You are always right, Cesare. I am sure you shall be this time as well.”
He was much more certain of my words than I. For Jofre’s sake, I wanted to be right.
* * *
“Your Excellency. A word, if I might.”
I turned to see Ascanio Sforza coming toward me in the hallway, where I was returning from a meeting with the Neapolitan ambassador about Jofre’s journey to Naples. The pope was entrusting me with many of the details, a fact in which I took great pride.
“Cardinal Sforza. How may I be of assistance?” I asked.
He began to walk slowly alongside me. I matched my pace to his, curious as to what business the Vice-Chancellor of the Curia had with me. “I wonder if you might give me a bit of insight into His Holiness’s mind,” Cardinal Sforza began.
“I? It was my understanding that you and he work most closely together, Cardinal Sforza,” I said, more than a little smug.
“That we do,” he replied, smiling what he no doubt hoped was a winning smile. “Yet it is plain no one knows his mind quite like you do. Close as he and I have become over the years, they say he trusts no one so much as yourself.”
“I suppose,” I said, with mock humility. “And what is it you would seek to know? Of course I shall assist such a loyal servant of His Holiness as you in any way I can.”
“I appreciate that. I wonder if you might reassure me on a certain point.”
“If it is in my power to do so, I shall.”
“Indeed. It is my hope that His Holiness remains well disposed toward my native city of Milan, and toward my brother Ludovico as its ruler.”
I stopped walking, turning to Cardinal Sforza in mock confusion. “Can there be any doubt, Your Eminence? Especially when your cousin remains married to my sister?” I emphasized the word remains ever so slightly and left off the words for now.
“I do not think so, no,” Cardinal Sforza hurriedly assured me. “I seek merely to assure my brother, you see. He was a bit … troubled at the departure of the Duke of Gandia for Spain, and was further distressed by the news of your younger brother’s marriage to a Neapolitan princess.”
I shrugged. “Sancia of Aragon is only Prince Alfonso’s natural daughter, not a legitimate one,” I pointed out casually. “She is no nea
rer the throne of Naples than you or I. It is a fine match for a boy such as Jofre.”
“Yes, of course. It just seems the pope is aligning himself very firmly with the current ruling family of Naples, and therefore with Spain.”
“Indeed he is,” I agreed. “And can you blame him, being from the Iberian Peninsula as he is? I’m certain you know he helped broker the marriage between Their Most Catholic Majesties as well.”
“A brilliant piece of statecraft, such as only His Holiness could accomplish,” he said. “And of course he is and shall remain most sympathetic toward his native land; that is only to be expected. But is it not—”
“If I recall, you supported Jofre’s marriage to Sancia of Aragon in consistory,” I said. Not being a cardinal, I had not been present, but I had heard about it. “Why did you not voice your doubts to His Holiness then?”
“I … ah. Well. As Your Excellency is so well informed, you no doubt know Cardinal della Rovere voiced very strenuous opposition to the match. I felt His Holiness would benefit from my support.”
“Ah.” I let the syllable hang there between us. “So you were not completely honest with His Holiness?”
“No, no, that is not the case at all. You mistake my meaning, I fear. I agree it is a fine match for your brother. I do certainly feel that way. What I would like to know, if you would be so good as to assure me, is that His Holiness is still well disposed toward Milan and views my brother Ludovico as a staunch ally among his many allies throughout Christendom. And if you could remind His Holiness of Milan’s desire to be viewed as such…”
Oh, I was enjoying this immensely. “His Holiness is as well disposed toward Milan as Milan is toward His Holiness and the interests of the Holy See,” I said. “Now, if you would excuse me, Your Eminence, I have promised to luncheon with my sister, Lucrezia, and it would not do to keep that excellent lady waiting. I bid you good day.”
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