Instructing Nicola and Murilla to stay by the garden entrance, I led Michelotto into the enclosed thicket of fruit trees and graveled paths. Pantalisea padded behind, as it would not do for me to be alone with him. I was glad Giulia had retired to her rooms to nap. She wanted to be as refreshed as possible for Caterina Gonzaga’s arrival, having heard that Giovanni’s former sister-in-law was a fabled beauty. Giovanni was also absent, gone to his Villa Imperiale in the hills overlooking the city to plan a hunting weekend for our guests.
“Though if we are asked,” I advised Michelotto, “I shall say you brought me news from my brother the cardinal of Valencia. I assume you have…?”
“Oh, yes.” His peculiar slate-colored eyes gleamed. “His Eminence also has important recommendations that he wishes to impart.”
I smiled. He looked so out of place in Pesaro’s rustic surroundings, in his parti-colored hose, fitted tunic, and wide-topped boots, that no one would ever mistake him for a local. “How is Cesare—I mean, His Eminence the cardinal?”
“I also call him by his proper name, my lady. He does not stand on ceremony in private. Alas, he is not as well as we might hope. The situation grows difficult. Our informants report that the French already begin to prepare to cross the mountains. Their main obstacle thus far was devising special transport for these new cannon they bring—lightweight dragons that can spew iron instead of stone and have greater range. King Charles boasts that he will bring Naples’s walls down about Alfonso’s ears and bury him in the rubble.”
“Dio mio.” A pit opened inside me. “Is there any threat to Rome?”
“Who can say? The French are savage; once they’re let loose upon us, they could do anything, including marching upon the Eternal City itself. His Holiness has sent King Charles a stern letter, upbraiding him for disrupting the peace, but has also begun to fortify the Castel Sant’Angelo in case he needs to take refuge. My lord Cesare also does everything he can to rally others to our cause; he had sermons preached throughout the papal states on the Feast of Corpus Christi, warning that if the French enter Italy unopposed, everyone shall suffer. Thus far, only Naples has heeded his warning. King Alfonso rallies his troops, but the barons of our central Romagna region, who are forever lawless, seek only their advantage, while the other city-states are uncommitted. La Serenissima is too powerful to fear an invasion. Florence will assist us if it can, but the Medici remain under siege by that devil Savonarola, while Milan, as we know, is willing to spread her legs—begging your pardon, my lady—for Charles.”
“Yes,” I said, “no offense taken.” I took a moment to focus on the pathway ahead, trying to overcome the nightmarish image of the French swarming into our land like barbarians.
“Your assistance is urgently required,” added Michelotto. “My lord Cesare believes that once Signore Giovanni receives His Holiness’s command from Rome, you shall uncover the truth of his dealings with Milan.”
“Command?” I came to a halt. “What command is this?”
“As His Holiness’s vassal by condotta, he’s required to join our defense of Naples.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “My husband? Join with Naples? He’ll never agree. He is family to Milan and…Or do my father and brother intend to force Giovanni to choose?”
“I would not presume to know their intent, my lady. But you show an impressive grasp of the matter, as my lord assured me you would.”
As if she stood beside me, I heard my mother’s voice: Do not make the mistake of thinking you’re unique….In the end, you are but a woman. I closed my eyes, shutting out her words. She was wrong. I was not like her. I was above her and all others of my sex, because I was a Borgia.
“What must I do?” I asked.
Michelotto lowered his voice. “We believe there will be letters between here and Milan, advising Il Moro that Giovanni is at his disposal.”
“Letters? But how can I…?” My question faded as he removed a purse from his cloak. I untied its cords, peered within to find a jumble of uncut rubies. “This is a fortune!”
“Indeed. Gemstones are less easy to trace and you will require the use of bribes. One of the signore’s private secretaries has expressed himself amenable.”
I shoved the purse into my skirt pocket, looking over my shoulder. “His staff has served him for years,” I whispered, though there was no one near us, Pantalisea having taken a seat on a bench a distance away. “I doubt any of them will prove amenable—”
“This one has.” Michelotto’s smile tugged at his scar. “His name is Zacapo. He will make copies of the signore’s correspondence. Once you review the letters, you must forward all relevant news to us through your usual messenger. Do you dispose of someone trustworthy? You must avoid any appearance of familiarity with Zacapo.”
“Yes. My Pantalisea can help.” The purse weighted my skirts as we retraced our path.
Pantalisea rose. I extended my hand to Michelotto. “Please tell His Eminence that I will endeavor to satisfy his expectations. I trust you will have a safe trip back to Rome.” Then I turned away, concluding our engagement, though not before I saw him wink.
Giulia’s laughter rang out. Seated at my dais, I watched her take a stool in the center of the floor with her lute, a pack of youngbloods in tight hose gathering about her while Pesaro’s cantankerous noblewomen, their faces caked in ceruse, sat on their chairs to stare and scowl.
It had been two weeks since Giovanni’s former in-laws, Countess Caterina Gonzaga and her husband Count Ottaviano, had arrived in Pesaro, dispelling the rumor of Caterina’s charms, to Giulia’s delight. While the countess’s manners were as refined as her clothes, she was less Venus than Hippona—too tall, with a square jaw and thin lips, her close-set eyes and mannish hands matching her ardent stride. When Caterina first descended from her carriage, Giulia practically purred; immediately thereafter, she strived to eclipse the countess with her own extravagant attire, whether she was riding the hunt or regaling us with a musical interlude after the feast.
I had thought Caterina oblivious at first, seeming unperturbed as la Farnese whirled about her like an exotic bird, but the countess soon showed her mettle. When we spent a few days at the Villa Imperiale, she outrode Giulia at each of the hunts—no one sat a saddle like the Gonzaga, who were renowned for their horsemanship, no matter the terrain—while ensuring that her husband, who was quite shorter than she was, comically so, but also dark-eyed and virile, was kept at arm’s length from Giulia.
Now, as Giulia strummed the lute, her dulcet voice enunciating lyrics of love while she tilted her head to display the gem-studded coils of hair about her face, Caterina leaned toward me to whisper, “I’ve come to the conclusion that a wife must be either very confident or very foolish to let such a woman remain at her side.” As she spoke, she gestured toward our respective husbands sitting across from us on their dais, staring at la Farnese as if she were an angel materialized in our midst.
Startled by her declaration, I took up my goblet. “Donna Giulia is a dear friend. Indeed, she’s been like a sister to me since we lived in Rome. I have nothing to fear from her.”
“Oh?” Caterina’s smile exposed her discolored teeth. “Even the most loving of sisters will compete for supremacy if she feels she has the advantage, as clearly this one does.”
I felt a cold start, picturing Giovanni on the bed as he hauled Giulia toward him. I forced out a dismissive chuckle. “Do you imply that she would dare…?”
“You speak as if it is impossible.” Caterina’s voice was cool. “From what I’ve seen, your loving sister thrives on attention. A woman like her, living so near Giovanni—well, I’ve known him for years. He was, after all, wed to my own late sister. He’s always too easily swayed by invitation. And, unless I am mistaken, I believe he has not yet received yours.” She turned to face me with unabashed candor. “Am I being too forward?”
I shook my head, focusing on Giovanni. He appeared flustered, but didn’t he always these days? The expense
of the Gonzaga visit was wrecking his nerves. He worried constantly about money, about the French and Milan, all of which caused him to drink too much. As far as I knew, and I’d kept close watch, thus far he had done nothing untoward, staggering drunk to bed every night. I had also discovered that, contrary to his assertion at our wedding banquet, he truly had no skill for dance and attended these soirees reluctantly, knowing he’d be obliged to conceal his incompetence. But was I mistaken? Had he and Giulia found a way to evade my scrutiny?
As I pondered this unsettling thought, Signore Ottaviano pushed back his chair and stood.
Caterina went rigid. Her husband strode past us to where Giulia sat, waiting until she’d finished her saccharine recital before he shouted, “Bravissima!” He began to applaud, compelling the rest of us to follow suit. Giulia extended her hand for him to kiss.
“As I said,” remarked Caterina, “women like her cannot tolerate being ignored.”
“Yes,” I replied coldly. “I begin to see your point.”
“Do you? I am so relieved. I was wondering, in fact, about that little subterfuge I witnessed this afternoon.”
I tore my stare from Giulia to her. “What—what did you say?”
“Oh, cara, I too was once a new wife, many years ago. I recognize a bit of intrigue when I see it. That lady of yours, the dark one with the big eyes: She was trying to hide…a packet of letters, was it? You chased me out of the room so fast, I did not have the chance to tell you that if you are monitoring la Farnese’s correspondence, I approve. I would do the same, if I were you.”
“It’s not—I wasn’t…” Inwardly, I cursed my ineptness, as well as Pantalisea’s. We had been so cautious with our scheduled rendezvous with Zacapo, to the extent that I didn’t even know what he looked like. Pantalisea described him as a thin, fidgety man with beady eyes and sour breath. He was also greedy, pocketing each stone Pantalisea brought, only to report that he had nothing to offer in return. There had been no letters of import arriving at my husband’s office, he insisted. Every time Pantalisea returned empty-handed increased my doubt that Giovanni was indeed working against my family—until today after the hunt, when I entered my rooms with Caterina, laughing about how she’d almost sent Giulia tumbling from her mare as they rode in pursuit of a boar, to catch Pantalisea, red-faced and hiding something behind her back. I had not found a chance yet to see what she brought. I had to hustle Caterina out with vague excuses, discard my soiled hunting clothes, bathe and prepare for the feast, all the time berating Pantalisea for her clumsiness. I planned to examine the letters tonight.
Caterina took in my stunned silence. “Oh. I see it is more serious. May I be so bold as to offer a word of advice? To be rid of a rival is one thing, but to betray a husband quite another. He has the right to imprison or execute you, should he believe you impugn his honor.”
I could not speak, fearing this perceptive woman had unmasked me.
“But wives must look out for one another,” she went on. “We must protect our shared interests. I will not say a word of this. Perhaps I might entreat a small favor of you in return?”
I nodded in relief. “You need only say the word.”
“Oh, I will.” Caterina returned her attention to the floor, where the musicians had struck up a refrain and her husband coaxed Giulia to dance. “I only need some time to consider it. In the meanwhile”—she stood like a tower, the voluminous folds of her apricot-hued camora spilling about her—“I believe it is time we gave our signori their due.”
She strode forth, forcing Giulia aside to assume her place. I was turning toward Giovanni when the idea stole over me. Giulia stood immobile on the floor, thunderous that Caterina had just ruined her ploy. I motioned to Giovanni, who begrudgingly abandoned the dais; when he reached my side, exuding the stench of wine, I murmured, “I am so tired. I wish to retire. Would you mind? Giulia has no partner, and you know how much she loves to dance.”
“If you insist,” he muttered.
“Grazi, Signore.” I dipped my head, watching beneath my lashes as he offered her his hand and Giulia bestowed him with a brilliant smile. They assumed position beside the Gonzagas, startling Caterina, who, after our exchange, appeared taken aback by my willingness to send my husband into Giulia’s ready arms.
I ignored her reproachful glance at me.
Beckoning my women, I left the hall to race to my apartments.
—
“WHERE ARE THEY?” I said as soon as I burst into my chamber, leaving Nicola and Murilla in the antechamber. Ripping off my sapphire-studded snood, which had been crimping my hair all night, I shook out my tresses as Pantalisea dug between the feather mattresses.
“You do realize that is the first place anyone would look?” I snapped, but my reproof died as she handed me a leather packet affixed with cords for a courier. Opening it, I turned to the candle on the desk, pushing aside my hairbrushes, combs, and vials of scents and lotions.
As I pulled out handwritten pages, Pantalisea looked on anxiously. “Zacapo said the courier arrived only this morning. He copied two letters from Milan and included an original for Lady Giulia that he felt you should see.”
I brought the candle closer and peered at the paper in hand, finding to my dismay lines of unintelligible marks. “This is in a cipher. Did he include a key?”
“No. Perhaps my lady is not expected to read it?” she said as she searched the folder.
I frowned. “How am I supposed to send these on to Cesare when I have no idea what they say?” I examined the other letters. “Wait. This one: I can read it.” As I did, my breath quickened. “It is from Giulia’s husband, Orsino. Her brother Angelo…he is dying at the Farnese estate in Capodimonte, and her family gathers at his bedside. Orsino orders her to join them.”
Pantalisea crossed herself. “Bless his soul. You must inform Donna Giulia at once.”
“Wait. You’ve not heard the rest. Orsino writes to her directly because her brother Cardinal Farnese approached my father for permission to fetch Giulia. Papa refused. Orsino says…” I returned to the passage in question, reading it aloud: “His Holiness is so transported by his unseemly passion that, now that it is known the French cross the Alps, he refuses to grant you leave to travel and warns your departure from Pesaro will be considered a grave breach of conduct and insult to his sanctity. Nevertheless, both your brother Cardinal Farnese and I, as your husband, command you forthwith, for as the pope may order in spiritual affairs, in temporal ones you owe allegiance to us. We therefore,” I concluded, with a triumphant lift of my voice, “expect you in Capodimonte within the week and will send an escort to ensure your safety, should the count of Pesaro not see fit to provide you with one.”
I folded the letter into a square.
Pantalisea said, “You…you must tell her.”
“I cannot. Papa forbids it. Why trouble her with something she can do nothing about?”
“Oh, my lady. Her brother is dying! She must have the chance to—”
“I said no.” I thrust the empty folder at her. “Return this to Zacapo.” From my desk drawer, I removed the pouch and shook out six of the rubies. “This is enough for him to buy his own estate. Tell him I expect him to forward any future letters addressed to Giulia. No copies; I want the originals, like this one. I’ll dispatch these others with my next courier to Rome.”
“Yes, my lady.” With a forlorn look, she retreated from the room. I picked up the folded letter from Orsino, holding it for a moment.
Before I could doubt myself, I fed it to the candle flame, watching it curl into ash.
We bid farewell to Caterina Gonzaga. She embraced me in the courtyard under a midmorning sun that carried a hint of spindrift from the sea. “Do not forget my advice,” she said through her practiced smile, slipping a sealed paper in my hand. “For His Holiness from my husband and myself: a small personal request. I hope it is not too much to ask.”
“I’ll send it at once,” I assured. “Though he might not have opp
ortunity to act upon it.”
She sighed. “It is such a nuisance, isn’t it, these French coming here like locusts? Naturally, His Holiness has more pressing concerns. Whenever he can attend to it, I would be most grateful.” She kissed my cheek. “I do hope we shall see each other again, Lucrezia. It has been a pleasure.”
I would not miss her, I thought, as she mounted her upholstered carriage and the entourage rumbled away. Though she had brought me a sense of companionship that I’d not realized I longed for, I did not welcome her petty blackmail. I contemplated the envelope she had given me, stamped with her signet. Probably a request for a cardinal’s hat or settlement of a dispute; I seemed to recall her mentioning someone scheming to overtake one of her castles.
I turned back to the palace. The local nobles had dispersed as soon as they realized that free libations were at an end. Giovanni trudged off to meet with his council; the servants were busy washing the floors under Adriana’s directions; and though she had waved farewell from the loggia, Giulia retired to her rooms, unaware of her brother’s impending death.
I should have felt vindication. After everything she had done, it was the least she deserved. Instead, melancholy overcame me. What was I doing here, in a place where nothing was mine? At this hour, Rome would ring with the church bell, the markets swarming with merchants. Dogs would be yowling from the terraces. My own Arancino would be stalking the cortile for mice, while in the Vatican, Papa would sit down to his midday meal of ham and wine.
I wished I could pack my coffers and depart. I had not accomplished anything noteworthy save to keep the news of her brother’s demise from Giulia. I had not secured any evidence of spying or adultery, and my sudden regret that I had allowed Cesare to persuade me to come here turned everything gray as I trudged up to my apartments. The afternoon stretched desolate before me—devoid of the bustle of Rome or my family, my sole distractions being an unwelcome afternoon with Giulia, once she woke from her nap, and a round of purloined correspondence from Zacapo, though still none had proven eventful, written in that unintelligible cipher that I assumed someone in Papa or Cesare’s employ could translate.
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