His tone left no doubt that the purpose of the visit would be more than brotherly.
‘Please.’ Lucrezia dimpled. Then she paused, and added, in an odd little tone, ‘Be kind to Sancha.’
He frowned, confused. ‘Of course, I am kind to Sancha. Why should I not be?’
‘She has been good to me.’
‘I will be kind,’ Cesare said, then in a lighter tone added, ‘But when I am King of all Italy, we know who will truly be my queen.’
‘I know,’ Lucrezia replied. They had apparently discussed this topic before; yet she felt compelled to repeat, as Cesare made his way out the door, ‘But be kind to Sancha.’
It did not take Pantsilea long to return and to think of an excuse to get Lucrezia to leave her chambers, so that I could escape.
I said nothing to Pantsilea about what I had seen and heard. I had no doubt that she had pushed me into the closet precisely so that I would discover truths even more dangerous than the revelation about the canterella.
In the moments before I left without seeing Lucrezia, I located a small glass vial inserted in a pocket sewn into the sleeve of one of Lucrezia’s gowns. I hid it in my bodice without saying anything to anyone; and I was of such a mind that, when I took it back to my chambers at Santa Maria, I spent a great deal of time thinking about whether and how to put it to use.
XXI
That night I sent Cesare a note saying I was ill. I was indeed sick of spirit; my instinct, that Cesare had disbelieved me because he was capable of treachery, had been correct. But I had never imagined the depth of his duplicity: he had spoken with such hurt, such outrage, of his father’s incest with Lucrezia, even while he was guilty of the same. Nothing Cesare had ever said could be believed.
Now, Alexander had been duped into believing Lucrezia’s child was his—when in fact, it was her brother’s. One thought repeated itself endlessly in my mind, as I stared from my balcony at the dark gardens:
What sort of monstrous family is this?
I could trust none of them; even my feelings toward Lucrezia became guarded. While she might have honestly liked me, and begged her brother to show me kindness, her notion of love and loyalty was twisted beyond comprehension. She had urged me to reconcile with Cesare even though she intended to remain his paramour.
I was so filled with grief that night, so near madness, that I clutched the vial of canterella in my hand and considered whether I should swallow its contents. I hated Cesare with my entire soul…and at the same time, I remained fearfully, violently in love with him. The realization filled me with hopelessness. How had I failed to detect his treacherous nature? Surely there must have been signs—a faint coldness in the eyes, perhaps, a fleeting cruelty in the lips…Of all people, I should have seen them, for I had found them before, in my own father’s eyes and lips; and though they were not outwardly visible in Ferrante, I had sensed them in his evil heart.
I left the balcony and stole silently through the bedchamber, where Esmeralda slept, out into the antechamber. There, carefully making my way in the darkness, I poured myself a goblet of wine, and with trembling fingers, struggled to open the glass vial.
An image, as if from a dream, coalesced before me in the shadows: my father’s body, hanging from a great wrought iron sconce, with Messina’s harbour as its backdrop.
My lips tightened; I straightened, and looked down at the vial with disgust. I swore to myself at that moment that nothing, no one—certainly not Cesare Borgia—would ever provoke me to take my own life. I would never become the coward my father had been.
For the rest of the night, I sat on the balcony, and cursed myself for not being able to control my feelings for Cesare. I knew not how long they would persist—but I was determined, for however long I lived, never again to indulge them.
In the morning, at first light, I wrote him a letter stating that, given the rumours surrounding ‘family members’ at the Vatican, it was best that we halt our trysts—at least for the time being, in order not to add to talk of scandal. I had Donna Esmeralda deliver it to one of his attendants.
He did not respond, in person or by letter; if he was wounded by my request, he did not show it in public, but treated me civilly.
For the next two days, I did not appear at the family suppers, and turned down Lucrezia’s invitations to visit her. I could not bear to see her after learning what she knew. I lay abed during the days, though I did not sleep. Nor did I find rest at night; instead, I sat outside in the darkness, staring out at the starlit sky, wishing for an end to my pain.
I continued such self-indulgent behaviour until, in the late hours, Donna Esmeralda emerged onto the balcony in her nightgown.
‘Donna Sancha, you must stop this. You will make yourself ill.’
‘Perhaps I am already ill,’ I said carelessly.
She frowned, but her expression remained one of maternal concern. ‘You worry me,’ she said. ‘You act like your father did, when the times of blackness came over him.’
And she disappeared back into the bedchamber.
I stared after her, thunderstruck. Then I looked back at the sky, as if searching for an answer there. I thought of Jofre, my husband, a person to whom I owed amends. Perhaps he was weak in character, but he remained sweet-natured in the midst of wickedness, and unlike his so-called brothers, wished no one harm. He deserved a good wife.
I thought also of Naples, and of those I loved there.
At last I rose. I did not go to the bed with hopes of sleep, but instead went out to the antechamber and lit a taper, then found quill and parchment.
Dear Brother,
It has been far too long since I have heard from you about life in Naples. Tell me, please, how you and mother are faring. Spare me no detail…
With regard to Juan, Cesare had been right in saying that it would not take long before he created an opportunity for the family to be rid of him.
Only a few days after I sent Cesare the letter saying we should no longer meet, Cardinal Ascanio Sforza—brother of Ludovico Sforza, ruler of Milan, of relation to the maligned Giovanni Sforza—gave a great reception at the Vice-Chancellor’s Palace in Rome. Many distinguished guests were invited. Lucrezia was still closeted at San Sisto, but Jofre begged me to attend with him. Wanting to be an obedient wife, I agreed—even though the guest list included two men I wanted to avoid—the Duke of Gandia and his brother, the Cardinal of Valencia.
The Vice-Chancellor’s Palace was undeniably grand: the estates were so large that we were obliged to ride up to the entry in carriages, and we entered the Great Hall—larger by thrice than the Castel Nuovo’s—announced in turn. We Borgias arrived together, and were presented in order of our importance to the Pope: Juan first, removing his feathered cap and waving it at the crowd to the sound of cheers for the Captain-General; then Cesare, silent in black; and at last Jofre and me, the Prince and Princess of Squillace.
The surroundings were breath-taking; a large, three-tiered indoor fountain had been created. It was bordered by hundreds of flickering candles, whose light painted each drop of water golden. The floors were festooned with rose petals, perfuming the air; this effect was outdone only by the aroma of the food, borne on golden trays by servants. So vast was the room that even the large white marble statuary—of glorious naked men and women, apparently ancient Romans—seemed small in scale.
I summoned unfelt smiles and greeted those dignitaries I already knew, and let myself be introduced to those I did not. Mainly, I did my best to avoid Juan and Cesare.
As I strolled arm-in-arm with my husband through the assembly, we were met by Giovanni Borgia, the Cardinal of Monreale, who had witnessed our wedding night. The cardinal had grown even portlier, and the fringe of hair beneath his red skullcap had turned almost completely to grey, but his fingers sparkled as always with diamonds.
‘Your Highnesses!’ he cried, with an enthusiasm that reminded me of his cousin Rodrigo. ‘How good to see you both!’ He slyly scanned my bosom, then winked a
t Jofre and nudged him with an elbow. ‘I see the roses are still blooming.’
Jofre laughed, a bit embarrassed by the reference, but replied, ‘She has become even more beautiful, has she not, Your Holiness?’
The cardinal grinned. ‘She has. And you, Don Jofre, have become a real man…no doubt because you have a real woman for a wife.’
I smiled politely; Jofre chuckled again. We were on the verge of moving on through the group to acknowledge the others when Cesare—much to my dismay—joined us.
‘Don Giovanni,’ he said warmly. ‘You are looking as hale and hearty as ever.’
The Pope’s nephew smiled. ‘Life agrees with me…as I can see it does with both of you brothers. But Jofre’—his tone lowered and grew conspiratorial—‘feed your wife some delicacies. She has grown a bit thin. Are you riding her too hard, my boy?’
Taken aback, Jofre opened his lips to reply; fortunately, the cardinal was at that moment distracted as our host, Ascanio Sforza, called to him.
My husband looked at me; he had been concerned for my health of late, kind and solicitous. ‘I shall do that,’ he declared. ‘Let me find a servant to fetch you some food.’ And he was off, leaving me alone with Cesare.
I tried to wander towards another group, but Cesare blocked my path, forcing me to stand alone with him.
‘Now it is you who are unkind to me, Madonna,’ Cesare said, his tone that of the pining lover. ‘I understood your letter, and appreciate your desire for discretion, given the circumstances with my sister, but—’
I interrupted him. ‘It is more than that. Juan spread rumours about us; we must do what we can to dispel them.’ I tried to keep my expression controlled; I fought to pretend that I was doing this for our good, and not because I despised him.
Yet at the same time, another part of me yearned for him—a fact that filled me with shame and self-loathing. I looked upon him, so handsome, so self-possessed, so elegant and so evil.
He took a step closer; instinctively, I moved back, thinking of him winding his arms about Lucrezia’s waist and proclaiming, And you shall be my queen…
‘If there are already rumours, why should we suffer? Why not go on as we had before? We have had only one night together since our reunion…’ He paused to lower his face, then let go a sigh and lifted it again. ‘I know you are right, Sancha, but it is so difficult. Give me hope, at least. Tell me when I can see you again.’
Blessedly, Jofre was returning; I turned eagerly towards my husband as he proffered me a plate of sugared almonds and sweetbreads. I addressed myself to the food and did my best to avoid Cesare’s gaze.
As I ate, our attention was drawn by a loud, drunken shout from another corner; I recognized the voice as we all turned towards the source of the disturbance.
‘Behold the lounging gluttons!’ Juan slurred. Accompanied by one of his captains—who at the moment, was trying to quiet him—he gestured extravagantly at one of the guests: the corpulent Antonio Orsini, a relative of Giulia’s husband and also of Cardinal Sforza. Orsini sat at a table beside his plump wife and two sons—both bishops—and was, at that instant, stuffing as much as he could of a roast duckling into his mouth. He was exceedingly rotund—so much so his hands could scarce clasp each other atop his huge belly; his face, puffed and fleshy, possessed no fewer than three folds beneath his chin, which even his dark beard could not hide.
‘Perhaps, Don Antonio,’ Juan called, in a voice loud enough to be heard by the entire assembly, ‘if you did not linger over-long at the tables of your wealthier relatives, you would not be so fat!’
Some snickered.
Don Antonio set down the remaining piece of cooked flesh and waved his thick, grease-coated fingers dismissively. ‘Perhaps, Don Juan, if you did not run so swiftly from your enemies, you would not be so lean.’
Many in the crowd oohed.
Juan drew his sword and staggered towards his mocker. ‘You shall pay dearly for your insult, sir. I would challenge you to a duel—but, being a gentleman, I cannot take advantage of one so grotesquely incapable of physical exertion.’
Don Antonio rose and stepped forward; even this slight effort left him short of breath. ‘I am perfectly capable of responding to your challenge, sir—but you are no gentleman. You are nothing more than a coward and a common bastard.’
Juan’s eyes narrowed with rage—the same uncontrolled fury that had once been directed at me. I expected him to lash out; instead, white-faced and speechless, he whirled on his heel and strode from the palace.
Orsini laughed loudly. ‘As always, a coward. See? He runs again.’
Ascanio Sforza, eager as a host to ease any unpleasantness, signalled for the musicians to play. Dancing commenced; I received several invitations, but refused them all. Soon I whispered to Jofre that I was tired and wished to return home. He sought Cardinal Sforza, that we might make our farewells.
But we were interrupted by a loud commotion at the chamber entrance: to the assembly’s amazement, a contingent of a dozen armed papal guards marched inside, swords drawn, their expressions menacing.
‘We seek Don Antonio Orsini,’ the commander announced.
Cardinal Sforza rushed forward. ‘Please, please,’ he told the commander. ‘This is a private residence, and a private dispute between two guests—and a minor one at that, provoked by wine. There is no call for such an extreme response.’
‘I am here at the pleasure of His Holiness, Pope Alexander,’ the officer replied. ‘Both the Captain-General and His Holiness have been slandered. Such a crime cannot be overlooked.’
He led his troops past the astonished cardinal; as the rest of us watched, they seized the hapless Don Antonio. ‘This is an outrage!’ he cried, as his wife wailed and wrung her hands. ‘An outrage! I have done nothing for which I can be imprisoned.’
But taking a prisoner was not the soldiers’ intent. Instead, they dragged their victim outside onto the estate grounds, where a pair of their fellows had already secured a length of rope to an ancient olive tree. Two large torches burned on either side: this event was intended to be witnessed. We guests followed, stunned.
At the sight of the noose that awaited him, Don Antonio fell to his knees and let go a shriek. ‘I apologize! Please, enough! Tell the Captain-General I beg his forgiveness, that I shall make whatever public apology he wishes!’
This will certainly stop this foolishness, I thought. But the commander said nothing, merely nodded to his troops. Don Antonio was prodded, moaning and trembling, to his doom. With difficulty, the soldiers helped him up onto a footstool beneath the tree.
Even to the last instant, I did not believe it would happen; I think none of us did. I clutched Jofre’s arm, Cesare at my other side. We three stared, transfixed.
The noose had to be loosened to slip around Don Antonio’s thick neck; he sobbed shamelessly as it was retightened.
Abruptly, the commander gave the signal for the stool to be kicked aside.
The crowd gasped, disbelieving. Only Cesare made no sound.
Don Antonio swung before us in the cool night air, his eyes wide, bulging, lifeless. So silent did our gathering become that for a time, the only sound was the creaking of the branch as the heavy body swayed back and forth.
I looked away—at Jofre first, whose gentle features were frozen in an expression of pure horror. And then I glanced at Cesare.
The cardinal’s gaze was intent, pensive, that of an ambitious mind at work. He was staring directly at Don Antonio’s body—yet he saw right through it, at an opportunity that lay beyond.
A week after, in mid-June, when Lucrezia had been at San Sisto scarcely a fortnight, Vannozza Cattanei threw a family party in honour of her sons. Jofre and I attended, along with Cesare and Juan in all his arrogant glory, as well as Cardinal Borgia of Monreale.
The setting was outdoors, to take advantage of the lovely weather, in a vineyard Vannozza owned. A great table had been set up to accommodate us and our courtiers; it was adorned with flowers
and golden candelabra, flanked by many torches—though the celebration began in the afternoon, it was intended to continue past nightfall.
I held Jofre’s arm as we were escorted onto the property. While he still indulged in courtesans and much wine, I turned a blind eye to such behaviour; instead, I focused on his goodness, and had decided to devote myself to pleasing him as best I could, for I knew not how else to give life meaning.
Once we had arrived at the party site, I was introduced to his mother for the first time. Vannozza was a handsome woman, auburn-haired and serenely confident; child-bearing had left her a bit thick-waisted, but she still possessed an attractive shape, with a full bosom and long, delicate arms and hands; her eyes were as pale as Lucrezia’s. Her face was Cesare’s—strong-jawed, with sculpted cheeks and a straight, prominent nose. On this day, she was dressed in dove grey silk, which accentuated her eyes and fiery hair.
I let go of Jofre’s arm and took Vannozza’s proffered hands; she studied me with a manner that was both calculating and warm. ‘Your Highness. Donna Sancha.’ We embraced, then she drew back to study me and waited until Jofre had moved out of earshot to say, ‘My son loves you very dearly. I trust you are being a good wife to him.’
I returned her gaze openly, sincerely. ‘I am doing my best, Donna Vannozza.’
She smiled with proud satisfaction at her three sons, as Jofre met Juan and Cesare and received a goblet of wine from a servant. ‘They have done well for themselves, have they not?’
‘They have, Donna.’
‘Let us join them.’
We did so. I noticed at once that Cesare was dressed, not in his habitual black priest’s frock, but in a magnificent scarlet tunic embroidered with gold thread; Juan was, as usual, dressed gaudily, in rubies, gold brocade and bright blue velvet, yet the Cardinal of Valencia looked far more striking.
I moved next to Jofre, and directed the requisite smile and nod at his two older brothers. ‘Your Holiness,’ I said to Cesare, averting my eyes as he kissed me on each cheek, as familial relations required. ‘Captain-General,’ I said to Juan. To my surprise, there was no gloating in the Duke of Gandia’s eyes, no challenge, no guarded anger; his kiss was polite, distant. He behaved as one who had been chastened.
The Borgia Bride Page 24