My laughter sounded too high to my ears. “You exaggerate.” I surveyed her in turn. “I see you are still as beautiful as ever.”
She warmed at once, as she inevitably did to compliments. “Love can be as beneficial as the cloister—and is far more enjoyable.” Hooking my arm in hers, she added, “I want to hear all about it. I was beside myself when you left. And after Juan was found dead—” Her attempt to adopt a mournful tone failed. “I wanted to write to you, but no one would allow it.” She shot a menacing look at Pantalisea. “I did send for news of you every day when you had that dreadful fever. I trust you were informed?”
“I was. Thank you.” I drew her to the door. “And I will tell you everything, I promise, only I must rest before tonight’s reception in the hall and—”
“Yes, of course! Everyone will be here tonight to receive you.”
I frowned. “Everyone? I was told that I was dining with Papa and a few nobles.”
“A few nobles?” She rolled her eyes. “Surely you know that every nobleman who is not already married or on his deathbed has made a bid for your hand.”
As I stared at her, incredulous, she said, “How can you not have heard? His Holiness has been fending off proposals ever since he announced the annulment. You are now the most coveted bride in Italy. Let us see….” She held up her hand, ticking off the names on her ring-laden fingers. “There’s Antonello Sanseverino, son of the prince of Salerno, though his family favored the French during the invasion. And Francesco Orsini, Duke of Gravina, who is far too old. Oh, and Ottaviano Riaro, son of the countess of Forlí, but he’s a child; and Piombino of Appiani, who is too poor, and—”
I turned away, repulsed.
Sancia asked, “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”
I tried to smile. “I truly had no idea.”
“So it seems. I thought—well, never mind what I thought. I clearly thought wrong. Oh, but you’ve gone white as death. Lucrezia, are you quite certain you are not ill?”
I felt faint. I had to sit. Pantalisea came to me with a goblet of watered wine, glaring at Sancia, who ignored her and floated onto the upholstered footstool nearby, waving a peremptory hand at my attendants. “Leave us.”
Begrudgingly, the women departed for the antechamber—all save Pantalisea, who planted herself at my side. Casting a scowl at her, Sancia said to me, “You must have realized you are expected at some point to take another husband?”
I clenched the goblet. “Dio mio. I’ve only just been freed of Giovanni, for which I spent months sequestered in San Sisto to—to stay out of sight while they finalized the annulment,” I said hastily, flustered by Sancia’s keen expression. “And my brother Juan was only recently killed. I’ve not yet recovered from the shock. I cannot possibly consider another marriage at this time.”
“Indeed,” said Sancia, as if my litany were of no account. “Nevertheless, His Holiness is obliged to consider for you.” She looked again at Pantalisea in warning. “And though this must stay between us, I have it on excellent authority that Cesare will petition the Curia to be absolved of his vows. With Juan gone, Rome is in dire need of someone to defend the Holy See’s territories in the Romagna, where those quarrelsome barons continue to defy papal authority. Were it up to them, we’d have another French incursion, now that Charles the Eighth is gone. He left no direct heir, so his cousin will take the throne as Louis the Twelfth….”
Her voice faded. She was still talking, but I barely registered the news that Charles of France, who’d caused us such anguish, was no more. All I could think was that Cesare had finally achieved that zenith he’d strived toward all these years. Juan’s death had freed him of his shackles. He could now divest himself of the hated scarlet to assume charge of our defense, as only he could fill the vacant post of gonfalonier.
“Are you listening to me?” demanded Sancia, startling me.
“Forgive me. What were you saying?”
“I was saying King Louis seeks to claim Milan. He also wants an annulment of his marriage now that Charles’s queen, Anne of Brittany, is a widow. Louis’s own wife, Jeanne, is, by all accounts, both homely and pious. She’s also barren, which makes her fit only for a nunnery.”
My head was reeling; I could barely absorb this maze of events, much less how it might affect me. Sancia tapped her foot at my silence. “You do realize what this means? Once Cesare is no longer a cardinal, he must have a title. But the duchy of Gandia is beyond his grasp; it belongs to Juan’s son in Spain, and his widow fights for it with her every breath. She went so far as to accuse Cesare of having had a hand in your brother’s demise.”
She paused dramatically, gauging my reaction. My mouth went dry. I had no desire to hear more, abruptly wishing she would leave, much as I cared for her. I did not want to think that Papa had dissuaded me from raising my son because he already had another husband waiting for me, though I’d been warned already, by both Juan and Cesare, that it was my fate.
“Of course, His Holiness will not abide such malice,” Sancia went on, for she was never one to be deterred when there was gossip to impart. “He sent an envoy to Spain, denouncing the widow and her accusation. But their Catholic majesties have decreed the duchy must go to her son, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. However, don’t you find it strange that His Holiness also ordered a halt to the investigation into Juan’s death? He still vows vengeance, but how can he have it if the assassins are never found? In any event”—she sighed, clearly not expecting me to answer—“Cesare will require a suitable wife once he’s released of his vows. And satisfying the French king’s request for an annulment will put Louis in our debt, which can only suit Cesare’s plans.”
I finally realized her prattle had a purpose. “He has…plans?” Even as I spoke, I thought that of course he had plans. When did he not?
“Why, yes. He plans to marry me.”
A taut silence fell. Before I could find the right words to reply, Pantalisea threw up her hands in disgust. “I hardly think my lord Cesare would stoop so low.”
Sancia whirled on her. “How dare you!”
Gripping my chair arms, I ordered Pantalisea out.
“You should dismiss her,” Sancia spat. “She is a trull who thinks too highly of herself. If she were my servant, I’d have her flayed.”
I measured my tone, for Sancia was acutely protective of her rank. “She is my most trusted lady, but I assure you, I shall reprimand her for her disrespect.”
As Sancia glowered, I belatedly discerned a change in her, as well—less overt than the one she’d seen in me, perhaps, but one that had nevertheless hardened her in some indefinable way.
“How can Cesare marry you,” I ventured, “if you are already Gioffre’s wife?”
My question caused her to avert her eyes, her fingers plucking the rich embroidery on her skirts. “Gioffre can’t be a husband to me. He…he is too young. Cesare loves me. He told me so when we were in Naples.”
“Did he?” I wasn’t surprised he’d taken her again to his bed, even if it seemed callous in the wake of Juan’s death. But he was not in mourning. He never had been. I also detected a frailty in her avowal. Here was the change I had perceived: the covert falsehood she told herself to hide her vulnerability. Sancia of Naples, siren of the court, was the one in love, so much so that she’d transformed her liaison with Cesare into a quest for permanency. Did Cesare feel the same? Much as I wanted to believe it, I could not. My brother had only ever loved two people in his life: Papa and me. I’d not seen any sign in him that Sancia meant more than a bedmate whom he had discarded once before and would no doubt discard again when it suited him. “You might be careful where Cesare is concerned,” I said softly. “He often promises what he cannot fulfill.”
Sancia squared her shoulders defiantly. “This promise he will keep. He told me he would move heaven and earth to make me his wife and defend Naples from the French, though I doubt either will require much effort. His Holiness now has France on his sid
e. As for my marriage to Gioffre, well, His Holiness had yours to Giovanni dissolved easily enough, did he not?”
I had to stifle sudden laughter. She thought it had been easy? She believed my annulment had required only the stroke of Papa’s quill? Then again, why wouldn’t she? To anyone not mired in the lurid details, it must have seemed the simplest thing in the world.
“It wasn’t quite as easy as you think,” I said, and as her expression faltered, I added, “Perhaps it will be for you, however.” I patted her hand. “I am happy for you. Truly, I am. For you and Cesare. But I must excuse myself. I really should rest before tonight if, as you say, I’m expected to entertain half of Italy. Would you mind terribly?”
“No, no. You’ve quite an ordeal ahead, with all those envoys sent by your suitors to impress you.” She kissed me on the cheek, swirling to the doorway. “Oh, I almost forgot. There is one other who seeks your hand.”
I forced myself to widen my smile, thinking I couldn’t bear to hear the name of another stranger. “Let us keep it a surprise,” I heard myself say.
“I’m quite sure he will be,” she replied, and she pulled open the door, tossing over her shoulder, “I’ll return after you rest. If that scold is your most trusted lady, then you’ll need my help in selecting the appropriate gown. Your Pantalisea dresses like a peasant.”
—
THE SALA DEI Pontefici was crowded to capacity, with smoke from the multitude of standing candelabra and wrought-iron chandeliers adding to the stuffiness. I was perched below the dais on a cushioned stool, watching the courtiers, ambassadors, and nobles parade before us. Papa ambled about the hall, sipping from a goblet, while a page carried the decanter behind him. It disturbed me to see him thus; since Juan’s death, Papa drank too much, when he had always shown abstention. Tonight he was visibly intoxicated, jovial and waving his hands, a benevolent Bacchus who kept calling out to various envoys and motioning them over to the foot of the dais to greet me. I sat rigid, my smile taut as I returned their compliments. Sancia had spoken the truth. I was being ogled like a prize calf.
“Try not to look so dejected,” Sancia murmured beside me, her crimson gown exposing her shoulders. “I told you, you needn’t worry. It’s all for show; none has the prestige to win your hand.”
I was about to retort that I hardly saw the reason for all this fuss if that were the case, when Cesare suddenly appeared, striding directly toward us.
I had not seen him since his return from Naples. He looked fit, his black hose and doublet adhering to his physique like a silk pelt. A silver chain embedded with garnets was draped across his chest. He must be confident indeed to have eschewed his official robes for such an occasion, considering he had not yet shed his vows. For the first time that evening, I felt a genuine surge of delight—until he neared and I saw his expression.
His eyes blazed. “Where is she?” A few paces behind him, Michelotto sketched a bow in my direction. Inexplicably, his obeisance sent a chill racing up my spine.
Sancia drawled, “My lord, is this any way to greet your sister after so long an absence?”
Cesare clenched his jaw, glancing to where Papa engaged an ambassador in conversation. “I have no time for games. Where is she? You must tell me now.”
“Oh, my. Such impatience.” Sancia turned to me. “Lucrezia, where has that haughty maidservant of yours wandered off to? Evidently, she is not in your palazzo.”
“Pantalisea?” I frowned. “I told her she need not attend me tonight. She requested leave to stroll in the gardens and—”
Cesare turned, pushing his way back through the crowd. I stared after him. My heart started to race. As I rose from my cushion to follow him, Sancia said in a fierce whisper, “You must not interfere. Let your brother do what must be done.”
Papa’s laughter rang out from across the room; without warning, something about his hollow mirth curdled my blood. “Interfere?” I said angrily. “What are you talking about?”
At that moment, Papa beckoned me. “Lucrezia, come greet His Excellency Signore Capello of Venice.” He gestured to the elegant Venetian he’d been speaking with, who bowed.
“Go.” Sancia pushed me forward. Stumbling against my hem, I went to my father and stood at his side, directing my attention to the ambassador, though I barely heard his speech. After what seemed an interminable length of time, he bowed again and Papa escorted him away. I suspected it had been a distraction, but when I looked around to search the sala, I did not see Cesare anywhere.
I have no time for games. Where is she?
Apprehension flooded me. I began to weave my way toward the far doors leading out of the sala, smiling and fending off queries from overdressed matrons and their inebriated husbands, sidestepping cardinals and bishops until just as I reached the doors, someone snagged my sleeve.
It was Sancia, out of breath from following me. “I told you not to interfere,” she said, but there was a tremor in her voice, as if she’d feared she might not reach me in time.
“Tell me what this is about. Why does Cesare seek my servants?”
“Not ‘servants,’ ” she said, and her quick glance about us escalated my worry until I felt the tight fit of my bodice squeezing the very breath from my lungs. “He seeks only one.”
“Yes, my Pantalisea. Is it because she insulted you today in my chambers? Honestly, Sancia, it was hardly cause to complain to Cesare and have him—”
She whispered, “Don’t be a fool. This is about you. They must protect you and your son.”
I froze. She looked around us again, though there was nothing casual about her dissimulation as she checked for eavesdroppers. “Lucrezia, you cannot think you deceived me. All the rest of Rome, perhaps, but never me. I know you too well. Why else would you have fled to a convent for nine months? Though I must say, brava for that performance you put on for the Curia. It is a pity, really; your Pantalisea must be quite adept with her needle, to have disguised your belly so well.” She paused. “She knows too much. She was in the convent with you.”
I heard my father in my head—I know what the truth can do—and I whirled to the passageway into the gardens, even as Sancia grasped me again, yanking me close. “Have you not learned by now that everything we do has a price? They plan a new marriage for you. No one can know your secret. No one, do you understand?”
“No,” I said. “She will not tell a soul. She’d die before she betrayed me.” As soon as I spoke those words, terror engulfed me. I clutched Sancia’s hand. “We must stop it. We cannot let him do this!”
She bit her lip. “It is already done. He is determined to—”
Shoving her aside, I took up my heavy skirts and began to run down the passage, my breath burning in my lungs. The entrance to the gardens yawned before me, illumined by flambeaux. The air was moist, redolent of jasmine. It was such a lovely night; nothing bad could happen on a night like this, I thought in a daze, remembering when I’d followed Cesare out here on the evening of Papa’s celebratory feast, how we had danced under the moon—
A scream shattered the air.
I whirled to my left, toward a copse of willows draping over fragmented statuary, and saw furtive movement. Every pebble in the path poked the thin soles of my slippers. I sensed something horrible there and tried to quicken my pace, my gown weighing upon me like stone, so that I feared I might fall before I reached the trees.
Cesare appeared, loping toward me. Behind him, Michelotto rose from a crouch; something thin, taut, and gleaming was stretched between his hands—a length of wire.
All of a sudden I could not take another step.
Cesare likewise halted when he saw me, his motionless figure slashed by the flicker of the torches. Then he started to walk slowly, and as he came closer, and closer still, the light picked out the crimson garnets on his neck chain.
He looked exactly as he had in the hall. No blood on his hands or clothes, though it was, I realized, too dark to be sure. Relief made my knees sag. I would have fallen
to a heap on the path had he not darted forward to slip an arm about my waist.
“You should not be here,” he said, and I smelled his sweat, a pungent musk, and realized the front of his doublet was ripped, as if someone had grabbed hold of it and—
“No.” I struggled against him, slamming my palm into his chest. “I want to see.” I struck his chest again, harder this time. “I want to see what you have done.” But I did not need to see. I knew I had arrived too late. My Pantalisea was already dead.
“You must not,” he said, almost in regret. “Trust me, Lucia.”
“Dear God.” I brought my hands to my mouth and staggered from him, from his handsome face, watching me. “Why? Why would you do this?”
“I had no choice. If I hadn’t, Papa would have sent someone else. At least this way, they did not suffer. It is quick, almost painless, when you use the garrote.”
Like Djem. He had strangled Pantalisea as he had the Turk. The horror rising in me was so vast, so unbearable, I did not realize at first he had spoken in the plural until he said, “Your maid and Perotto knew too much.” I let out a choked wail and began to stumble down the path. He rushed to my side, pulled me back by my arm. “Lucrezia, look at me.”
I slowly lifted my eyes. He was still my brother, still Cesare, but in that moment he was like a stranger to me—a malevolent stranger in an inescapable nightmare.
“They had to be silenced,” he said. “Rome may speculate about why you remained so long in the convent; they may not believe you stayed out of sight solely because of the dishonor cast on you by Giovanni and the annulment—but only she knew for certain. She witnessed the birth. She also saw Perotto outside the convent; she may have told him about the child—and who sired him. You confided in her, did you not? You told her everything.”
“But Perotto is Papa’s favorite servant! He would never have—”
Cesare cut me off. “As I said, Papa gave me no choice.”
“No choice?” I shrieked. “You killed them!”
He flinched. “I did it for you. Hate me if you must; insult me; blame me if that will ease your conscience, but it was done for you. Now only our family will ever know.”
The Vatican Princess Page 32