Servant to the Borgia

by Elizabeth McGlone

  Betta was silent. Through the crack at the windows, she could hear the snorting of horses, the jangling of harness and bit, the muttering of men. They were ready to depart. The announcement of his leave-taking had been a surprise at dinner the night before, an urgent summons from Rome although no messenger had arrived. Betta had thought, given last night's actions, that his departure would be delayed.

  Borgia seemed able to read her thoughts; his mouth twisted into a hard smile. He stepped forward and rested a hand on the dagger strapped to his waist. "She said that you are to be trusted."

  Knowledge of danger chilled the air, making gooseflesh prickle on her skin. He would kill her without a moment's qualm if he suspected treachery. She lifted her chin. "I am a maidservant and know nothing that could be used to harm my lady."

  "I hope that it remains so. Give this to your mistress," he said, holding out a square of parchment that had been sealed with a smear of wax the color of blood.

  "Yes, my lord.”

  “And should the Lady Lucrezia seem distraught, or overtaken by sadness, I wish to know that as well.”

  “No, my lord.”

  Borgia lifted an eyebrow.

  “I keep my mistresses secrets, my lord. All of them."

  He regarded her. "See that you do."

  Betta followed him out into the courtyard to where a dozen men were mounted, impatient expressions echoed by the dancing footsteps of their mounts. Closest to the gate, Micheletto leaned against a pillar watching a stable boy cinching the wide leather strap across his horse's middle. As she watched, the enormous black animal with a curling mane turned, baring white teeth and snapping them at the boy's exposed shoulder.

  In a movement too quick to be seen, Micheletto punched out with a fist, hitting the animal between its eyes. The horse snorted, prancing on all four hoofs, and blew out a breath. Micheletto stepped forward, raising a fist again, and the animal danced back, finally allowing the strap to be tightened.

  Betta was on the verge of melting back into the shadows when Micheletto, in response to a shouted taunt from one of the guards, turned his head and saw her. The sensation... Betta tried to place it. As though she had been slapped, but without pain, only the keenest awareness that he was looking at her, truly looking at her as no one had ever done in her life, as though he could see into the silent heart that raged.

  Borgia mounted in a flurry of dark hunting leathers and rode from the courtyard without bothering to look behind to the men that followed. In the time it took to watch the last man ride through the gate, Betta realized that Micheletto was drawing near and was now too close to be escaped without detection.

  He looked at her in silence for a time, the sleep she had yet to rub from her eyes, the disordered folds of her scarf.

  "You." He said. "Always there, always watching." There was something in his voice, a heat that washed over her in a wave, making it difficult to concentrate.

  "A bad business," he continued, looking toward the road. Betta stiffened and snatched her hand away when he moved to take it. "Bad will come of it."

  "I don't know what you mean."

  He chuckled, low in his throat. "Good. I'd hate to have to meet you in an alley again, little Betta." Before she could move, he reached out, catching hold of her waist and jerking her against him. Suddenly she was surrounded by him, leather and horses and the steady beat in the hollow of his neck exposed where his doublet gapped open.

  "Until the next time," he murmured in her ear. Whiskers layered his chin; they brushed against her neck, sending shivers cascading down to land in the pit of her stomach. She stood, unable to move, heart pounding so rapidly that grey swam at the edges of her vision. And then he was gone, striding off toward his horse and mounting.

  He did not look back, even after he clattered through the gate. Digging in his spurs, he galloped toward the riders vanishing down the path as the sun finally broke against the horizon. Fiery rays shot out, touching everything with gold.

  Betta leaned her shoulder against the gate and watched until the mounted party had turned, disappearing into the shadow of a mountain. It was a new day. More than the simple rising of the sun, the changes wrought during the night would touch every facet of their lives. She was now part of a secret, one that could cost her everything. Though she was loyal to Lady Lucrezia, she knew too much to be allowed to ever leave their service.

  For better or worse, she was part of the Borgia famigila until her dying breath.

  Chapter 33

  Lucrezia,

  Destroy this letter once you have read it.

  What happened last night was the foulest of crimes, and the blame for it rests entirely upon my soul. It should never have been. I beg that you endeavor to forget what occurred and enter into your marriage with a willing heart. When next we meet, I will treat you as my sister, nothing more, and pray that you will do the same.

  C.

  Chapter 34

  The night Lady Lucrezia was to become Lord Sforza's wife in truth dawned bright and cold under a heavy November sky. An auspicious omen, the old women said, cackling with joy. Not too warm for a tumble beneath the sheets.

  The expected rains had held off long enough to welcome Lord Sforza back from Pesaro with honor, pennants and plate shining as the condottiere of the papal forces returned.

  The meal for the night had been the subject of intense discussion amongst the stewards and chefs in the kitchen. Together with Adriana de Milla, they selected oysters and truffles to whet the appetite and tender spears of asparagus cooked with saffron and gooseberries. Lady Lucrezia, who had started the night with the frightened eyes of a doe chased by hunters, relaxed as bianco dolce filled her cup to the brim. By the end of the feast, her face was shining merrily, and she joined in the laughter.

  Betta assisted Pantasilea as she dressed Lady Lucrezia for the consummation, removing the layers of cloth until all that remained was hose.

  "How would you wear your hair, Madonna?" Pantasilea asked, holding up jeweled bands and pins. They had undone the fashionable plaits she had worn to the feast, the braids plumped by a small roll of cotton in the center. Unbound, her hair curled wildly in the moist air.

  "Loose, as befits a maiden," Lady Lucrezia said, stepping out of the hose and meeting Betta's eye in the mirror. Betta nodded when Pantasilea's back was turned. Her errand had been accomplished while the household was occupied with the feast; the retrieval of a pouch from her pallet, its contents carefully sorted.

  One of Lucrezia's eyebrows rose, an expression of satisfaction flashing across her face. "Find your bed now," Lady Lucrezia told Pantasilea when the other returned with a new camicia, embroidered all over with a small floral design and slipped it over her naked shoulders.

  "But..." Pantasilea sliced an annoyed look at Betta. The results of the night would be the topic of unending gossip the next day, and information was as precious as gold.

  "I said leave us."

  Pantasilea bobbed a curtsey and left the room. Betta could feel an unfriendly stare coming to rest between her shoulder, bladed and sharp as a knife.

  "She hates you," Lucrezia said, picking up the comb and dragging it through her hair so roughly that several strands remained tangled in the tines.

  "More after tonight," Betta replied, taking the comb.

  "It is all anyone will be talking about on the morrow." Lucrezia mused, watching herself in the mirror. "All of Rome, waiting to see if the Lord of Pesaro is satisfied with his…virgin bride." The corner of her mouth twitched. "It is the best story to come out of the palace since the daughter of Giulia Farnese was given the name Orsini instead of Borgia as punishment for having taken her wedded lord to bed." She placed the comb to the side. "Bring it out."

  Betta nodded, pulling a small pouch from the belt concealed by her apron.

  Lucrezia took the pouch, testing it in her hand.

  "Such a small thing, and so much at stake." Hands shaking, she opened the laces, tilting the pouch until the leech fell into
her palm.

  "You remember what you are to do with it, mistress?" Urgency threaded her voice. Lord Sforza would arrive soon. They had all remarked at his eagerness, the hot, possessive glances he had granted her during the meals, coupled with lingering caresses of his hand.

  She nodded. With one hand, she lifted the hem of her camicia.

  "He was there tonight."

  "The Cardinal?"

  Lucrezia nodded, then took the leech between her thumb and forefinger. Disgust twisted her face. "Watching only. He said... not one word to me and left as soon as the feast was over."

  Betta said nothing, remembering the painful days after the cardinal had fled Caprarola and Lucrezia's misery.

  Lucrezia tilted her head. "I hear footsteps." Lifting the hem of her camicia, she reached down, finding the cleft between her legs and sliding the leech deep inside. "Tonight, I will be meek and timid but eager to please." Dropping the hem, she clasped her hands in front, folding them in an attitude of prayer. Her expression firmed. In the gloom, her eyes had grown very blue, with enormous pupils. "And before the season is out, I will own him," she vowed. "Extinguish all the candles save one."

  Betta moved through the room, pinching off the wicks while Lucrezia arranged herself to kneel by the bed. The only candle that remained on the stand burned a foot away, burnishing Lucrezia with a golden glow which made her appear both younger and older than her fourteen years.

  Far below, music could still be heard, dancing and revelry which would continue until the small hours of the morning, when the marital linens would be displayed prominently for all to see. Light, joyful music, the same that had been popular in the court all season, ignoring the oncoming tide.

  A noise sounded from the hall. The door crashed open, revealing Lord Sforza followed by half a dozen of the companions who had surrounded him at the feast, large, big-boned men who moved with the grace of oxen. Betta stifled a gasp and dropped a candle as they rushed forward to form a fan around their commander, who was staring in mute fascination at the spectacle of his wife encased in a puddle of filmy white.

  Lucrezia finished the prayer and crossed herself before turning to look behind. "My husband." Her tone was gentle, and her eyes the innocent blue of the summer sky.

  Lord Sforza stumbled forward as though pulled by a chain, meeting the welcome in her face. There was an appreciative chuckle from one of the men in the crowd, and it broke through the haze of Lord Sforza's lust.

  "Out," he snapped.

  With a quick curtsey, Betta followed the others as they fled the room, turning down a little-used passageway. Her feet picking up speed as she traveled through the darkness until she flew, outdoors and onto the loggia where the cold air slapped against her face. The panic she had tried to contain had risen now that there were no longer a thousand tasks to occupy her hands. Pain was beating a pulse in her head. Her breath rasped in and out, and she pressed a fist against her stomach, trying to control nausea, the urge to vomit at the knowledge of what would shortly occur, the stench of wine and fumbling caresses...

  No. She would not think about what the night would bring, the risks if Lord Sforza recognized the ruse being played out. There was no one to suspect the truth of what had happened. No one except for the Cardinal, who had not been able to look his sister in the face, and his henchman...

  As if her thoughts had summoned him, Micheletto stepped forward out of the darkness on silent feet. His arrival did not surprise her; she had looked for him as she had watched his master arrive at the Palazzo, splendid in his new scarlet robes.

  They stood together in silence. Betta made an effort to control her breathing, to match the slow and steady inhalations of the man at her side. Together, they watched the shadows deepen as the lamps were extinguished by the downstairs maids. The pungent scent of the oil dispersed, blown by the wind, until only he remained, the leather and horse and steel that was him.

  "You are to wait?" his voice emerged from the darkness.

  Beginning to nod, she caught herself and answered. "Yes."

  Micheletto shifted, a creaking of leather. No metal points fastened his garments together. The knowledge both frightened and filled her with a strange excitement that thrummed in her veins. Micheletto was a creature of the dark, made to move silently on the hunt.

  "Like what you see?" he mocked, turning his shoulders to lean against one of the pillars. Betta realized that she had been staring at him, her eyes grown accustomed to the gloom, measuring what it was about him that made him different from other men. Her gaze snagged on the hilt of a small knife exposed by the open laces at his wrist.

  Not thinking, only acting on what she wanted, her fingers reached forward and touched it, the metal warm from contact with his skin.

  The deep, rumbling laugh surprised her, and she drew her hand away.

  "You look at a knife the way a woman looks at her lover."

  Betta stepped back, widening the gap between them. "I look at no man in that way."

  "No," he agreed. "You do not."

  A shrill cry broke the night, the noise soon muffled by a low growl of triumph. Below them, a wild cheer went up, followed by uproarious laughter.

  "Sforza! Sforza!"

  As though he were a bull tupping a cow. Asses. She had to smother a gasp as Micheletto reached out and took her arm, dragging her closer, as though they were lovers, snatching a few moments together.

  "Matters have been arranged?" he whispered.

  The sensation of his breath, the whiskers on his chin tickling her ear, caused a trickle of warmth to curl down her spine.

  "Yes," she answered, hearing the nervous tick in her voice.

  "Then I will leave you. Wine and a fuck in an alley before I return to the Cardinal's palazzo to assure him that she is safe. Unless..." he reached for her hip, then chuckled again as she pulled herself away.

  "Not yet, eh?.Shame." Without waiting for a response, he headed for the stairs.

  "Micheletto."

  He paused, turning to look over his shoulder.

  "She means to leave soon. Away from him."

  He nodded. "For the best."

  Bed sheets were displayed like flags in the morning, and Lord Sforza wore the face of a grinning, triumphant bridegroom, well pleased with his bargain.

  The images stayed in Betta's mind over the next weeks, lightly tinged with a sense of victory. They had won. Lady Lucrezia's secret was forever concealed, the dregs of it remembered only by those who had reveled in the gossip concerning the Pope's devoted children. And even that gossip soon died away for want of fuel, for the Borgias who remained in Rome were never seen in one another's company.

  Lord Sforza was a devoted husband who found nothing to complain about in his marital bed. His passionate attachment to her soon created its own gossip, speculation about when the Countess’s belly would begin to round. It surprised no one that when Lord Sforza left Rome to return to Pesaro, his wife decided to accompany him, together with Adriana de Milla and Giulia Farnese.

  "Careful!" Betta snapped at one of the carters, a plodding, rough-featured man who had carelessly knocked one of the crates containing her lady's best velvet gowns against the side of the wagon. "Those gowns are worth more than your miserable skin."

  "Sorry," he mumbled, looking down, but not before she saw the quick flash of anger. One of those, she thought. As meek as a lamb when spoken to, but hiding anger close to his chest and burning up with it. She would have to watch herself until the carters left. Being tripped into one of the mud puddles clogging the terrace would make for a miserable start to the journey.

  "Looking for me?" A voice spoke close to her ear. She swatted away the hand that crept around her waist.

  "Wondered if you would speak to me," she muttered, trying to ignore the singing in her blood which always occurred in his presence, the awareness missing in her dealings with all other men. "When I saw the guard come." She looked to the street, where two dozen men waited on horseback, all of them fierce, toughene
d warriors. Borgia men, they called themselves, sent by the Cardinal. Spaniards, speaking the language amongst themselves, the sound like water running over river stones.

  "Here," Micheletto called, and one of the men came over. "See to this."

  The guard nodded and began bawling at the carters, whose pace noticeably quickened under the Spaniard’s heavy gaze.

  "Come." Without waiting for an answer, he seized her wrist, dragging her back. One of the storerooms by the kitchen had a door ajar; he stalked through it and kicked the door closed.

  "What..." Her eyes flew around the room, taking in the barrels of flour, the sacks containing rice and salt.

  "Shut up," he snapped. He loosened one of her hands but kept a firm hold of the other; Betta made it into a fist. If he tried to rape her, he would find that she was no easy pickings.

  Micheletto's hands were plucking at the laces that ran the length of her sleeves, loosening them until he could slide the wool up, past her elbow.

  "Micheletto-"

  "I said shut it." His voice was a snarl. "Foolish, stupid women." Leaning to the side, he spat. With the other hand, Micheletto reached into his doublet and removed a bundle of leather.

  "The French are coming, and stupid women ride north. Not south, where there are allies, or to the sea, but north. Lunacy." he snapped, laying leather and steel against her arm; the coldness bit at her, but she could not look away from his face, the scowl lines on his forehead and the angry sparks that seemed to leap from his eyes, burning her.

  "Keep this on you every moment. And if someone lays hands on you, use it." Turning her arm over, he tightened the laces. The shape of it was unmistakable. A knife, a small knife, the hilt flush against her skin. "In Pesaro, seek out Bernaldino. He's the most skilled at knife play. He will show you more. And here," he said, releasing her hand and placing the bundle of leather on it. Another knife, by the feel, this one larger, encased in a supple sheath. "Bind it against your leg.”