A Borgia Daughter Dies

by Maryann Philip

  For her part, Sister Beatrice questioned the gatekeeper. From her records, they learned that forty-six people had journeyed together from San Sisto to receive the pope's Easter blessing: four pilgrim guests (with ten unnamed retainers), ten older students, twenty nuns, one lay sister, and Maria from the kitchen.

  As the priora had instructed, Sister Beatrice then wrote up a list of all those present in St. Peter’s Square from families known to have grievances against the Borgias. Of the twenty nuns, eight belonged to families who opposed the Borgias, and six were old enough to have known that Sister Gerolama was herself a Borgia:

  Nuns from families Opposing the Borgia:

  Sister Anna (Orsini)

  Sister Elisabetta(Orsini)

  Sister Beatrice (Orsini)

  Sister Amelia (Orsini)

  Sister Ignacia (Sforza)

  Sister Bernina (Farnese)

  Sister Sophia (Gaetani)

  Sister Domenica (Gaetani)

  Nuns old enough to know Sister Gerolama's secret:

  Sister Ignacia

  Sister Sophia

  Sister Bernina

  Sister Amelia

  Sister Beatrice

  Sister Domenica

  Pilgrims from families opposing the Borgia:

  Leonora Sforza

  Students from families opposing the Borgia:

  Pia Gaetani

  Servants

  No information

  Others:

  Madonna Paleologus (La Greca)

  Nicola and Sister Beatrice sat on a cot in the infermeria to go over the list, while they took apart worn nuns’ habits to make bandages. Now empty of patients, the walls and cots were dazzlingly white from the sun pouring through open shutters. The breeze stirred spring herbs strung from the ceiling to dry, mingling their scents with the strong smell of lye soap used to banish the worse smells of sickness.

  “I didn’t know you were an Orsini, Suora,” Nicola said when she spotted Sister Beatrice’s name on the list. “Can you explain why the Orsinis hate the Borgias?”

  Sister Beatrice sighed. “Who knows? It goes back many years, at least to the first Borgia pope. My family is angry now because Pope Alexander imprisoned Virginio, the head of the clan, who immediately died. They believe he was poisoned.”

  “Are any of the nuns here close kin to Virginio Orsini?” asked Nicola.

  “Sister Amelia is—was-- Virginio’s sister, and was devastated by his death.” Sister Beatrice’s voice hinted that she did not approve of Sister Amelia’s excessive grief.

  Sister Beatrice now scanned the list they had made. “At the moment, the Gaetanis and the Sforzas have the greatest grievances against the Borgias.”

  Nicola nodded. “Pia told me about the Gaetanis— the pope jailed the head of the family and then seized all their lands. Pia says that the head of the Gaetani clan—the one who died in the pope’s prison—was first cousin to Vivos-- I mean Sister Domenica. I wish both my teachers and you weren't on the list, but I know none of you would hurt anyone. Sister Domenica is hot-tempered—not at all like Sister Ignacia. But she is so fat that someone would have seen her, if she had been near Sister Gerolama when she died.”

  “’Fat’ is not a polite word, Nicola. Now you sound like Pia--who is a good girl, despite her language. She is also too young to do such a terrible thing. We should take her off the list.”

  “Pia’s family lost its lands when the pope seized the Gaetani properties,” Nicola responded. “She should stay on the list.”

  She did not add that Pia had loudly vowed to take personal vengeance on the pope. Pia, now almost fifteen, was trying hard to act like a grown woman. Her longing for adult status could well tempt her into adult activities--like vendettas.

  Nicola questioned why Sister Bernina was on the list. “I know she is from the family of the pope’s current mistress—but isn’t that more an Orsini grievance, since the pope is cuckolding an Orsini?”

  “That’s another word you shouldn’t use,” admonished Sister Beatrice. “But you are right, it is more an Orsini grievance.”

  Nicola now jumped up and dumped the bundle of cloth she was holding into a basket. “I have finished taking the stitches out of Sister Francesca’s habit. Can I rip this one into bandages?”

  Sister Beatrice smiled. “Not yet. I need to sort out what cloth can be used again. How do you know it was Sister Francesca’s habit?”

  Nicola picked up a piece of skirting. “Look at the mud on the hem—it’s from the time she spends working in the fields. No one else gets this muddy.”

  “Except you, Nicola! Why have you added La Greca to the list?”

  “She hates the Borgias,” replied Nicola. “You should hear the way she talks about Madonna Lucrezia!”

  “I am glad I did not,” said Sister Beatrice, shaking her head. “Did you ever ask her why she disliked Madonna Lucrezia?” Sister Beatrice asked.

  “I must have,” Nicola admitted, “because I remember her saying that bastards could not be princesses. What do you suppose she meant by that?”

  “Never mind what she meant. It is suspicious that she went to receive the pope’s blessing, since she does not follow the Roman church. You were right to put her name on the list,” replied Sister Beatrice firmly.

  “Your name should not be on this list, Suora,” Nicola countered. “You did not have to reveal that Sister Gerolama was poisoned, yet you did so. Surely that exonerates you.”

  “That may make it less probable that I am the murderer, but we aren’t eliminating suspects because of probability. I still think Leonora Sforza is responsible.”

  “She denied she was there—but then she said she saw that you were the only sister there. So she lied. But the priora says we need proof to accuse her. One lie is not the same as proof, is it?”

  Sister Beatrice groaned. “I don't have time for this! My vocation is to heal the sick. With the extra guests and fever season coming, I have my hands full with the living, without wasting time on the dead. I will bring the priora our list, and ask how we should proceed.”

  * * *

  “So many Orsini,” the priora murmured as she scanned the list of suspects brought to her by Sister Beatrice. “Your pardon, Beatrice—I did not mean to imply . . .”

  “I took no offense, Priora,” replied Beatrice. “I had the same concern when I saw the list. Look who it is, though—can you possibly think that any of them would be capable of poisoning Sister Gerolama?”

  “Not from what I know of them,” the priora admitted.

  “My opinion is still that Madonna Sforza is the killer,” Beatrice concluded. “I cannot believe that any member of our convent is capable of such a terrible act.”

  The priora nodded thoughtfully. “It is time I invited Madonna Sforza to join me for dinner,” she announced. “I will try to establish whether she knew about Sister Gerolama.” She was now frowning. “Why is La Greca on this list?”

  “It seems suspicious that she would go to receive the pope’s blessing, since she is not of the Roman faith. Also, Nicola reports that she hates the Borgias—or at least, that she hated Madonna Lucrezia. She told Nicola that bastards could not be princesses.”

  “She is wrong there, but I understand her resentment.”

  “What should we do about her?”

  “Do about her?” the priora repeated in a puzzled voice. “What is there to do? We have long since spent the money she brought here. We thought the Greek church would rejoin the Roman one—the Greeks promised, even before Constantinople fell to the Turks. It will happen eventually. In the meantime, La Greca cares full-time for the girls, which none of us can do, unless I excuse our sisters constantly from prayer. What is there to do about her?”

  “I mean, do you want me to talk to her about Sister Gerolama?” asked Sister Beatrice.

  “That man she sees wasn’t there, was he?”

  “Not that I saw,” responded Sister Beatrice “and I think I would have noticed. She stayed with the students
and saw to their welfare, as you would have expected, Priora.”

  “I do not want you to speak to anyone for the time being, Beatrice. I will try to determine if Gerolama’s identity was known to the younger nuns or anyone outside the convent. You have given me the information I need. Go back to your patients. Leave this to me.”

  “Gladly,” said Sister Beatrice, who bowed and took her leave.

  Chapter 13—Betrayed Trust

  The next day

  The priora invited Leonora Sforza and several nuns to dinner for the following night, in the private dining room reserved for important guests. The nuns, after looking around curiously, seated themselves facing the carved crucifix, hands folded and heads bowed, waiting for the food to be blessed. Leonora Sforza, looking displeased and vaguely angry at the plain table and plainer fare on the wooden sideboard, seated herself ostentatiously in the only leather-bottomed chair, though it was obviously intended for her hostess. Ignoring this slight, the priora herself on the bench beside her well-born guest, and blessed the food.

  “I am so thankful Sister Gerolama did not die of the plague,” said Leonora Sforza as she helped herself to bread. “I was afraid we would be quarantined here.”

  “You are free to stay or to leave as you wish,” the priora promised, as she poured wine for her guests. “Though with the pope’s armies looting the Romagna, I recommend that you stay.”

  Secretly she regretted that the pope’s wars were preventing many guests from leaving. Cook was tired of feeding them, and their lodging payments were not worth the trouble caused by their rowdy retainers. The night before, the silent nuns had discovered a drunken pair of servants having sex behind the altar when they filed into the church for Compline. The priora had been forced to shout, to get them to dress and leave. It had been very disturbing.

  "I am so glad you are all well," she said, as she served brown crockery plates from the steaming pot in front of her, filling Madonna Sforza's first. "Sister Beatrice thinks it was falling sickness that took our dear Sister Gerolama, but some of the symptoms caused concern about food poisoning. Have any of your retainers been ill, Madonna Sforza?"

  “I do not keep track of their digestion," Leonora Sforza responded between mouthfuls, "but no one has said anything. But we did not eat the convent food--good as it is," she added hastily. She was devouring an excellent meal, of lamb ragu, fresh-baked bread, and a fragrant compote of figs and raisins. And using a fork, though she obviously didn't know how—her home in Pesaro being a little backward, the priora supposed. In Madonna Sforza’s fist, this new implement had rapidly turned into a shovel.

  "We ate the same thing Sister Gerolama did, and we were fine, Priora," Sister Anna assured her, looking at her sister Elisabetta for confirmation.

  The priora knew their story well. Thin-lipped and plain, the two sisters were the oldest of nine Orsini daughters, whose father had kept his succession of wives continuously pregnant in a vain attempt to father a son. The daughters had been doled out to convents after the pope’s soldiers killed him during Juan Borgia's attack on the Orsini fortress at Bracciano. Their beloved Uncle Virginio had died in the pope’s prison, soon thereafter.

  “Sister Anna is our resident artist,” the priora said to Leonora Sforza. “Did you see the frescoes in our courtyard?”

  “Very nice,” Madonna Sforza said, in a tone that suggested she hadn’t noticed them.

  “We also illustrate manuscripts,” Sister Anna added. “Elisabetta copies the text, and I paint the pictures.”

  “When we can,” her sister added. “These new printing presses have made it hard to sell our work.”

  “Printed works are getting cheaper and cheaper,” Sister Anna conceded. “But the quality—so poor. And the illustrations are primitive. They will never replace good quality vellum manuscripts.”

  The conversation drifted to other topics. As they talked of Il Moro's defeat, the plague, and the perils that Madonna Sforza faced on her journey home, the priora watched and refilled her guests' wine cups.

  “I wonder why La Greca went to St. Peter’s Square,” the priora commented to Sister Ignacia. “Did you ask her for help?”

  “No, but she volunteered to help.” said Mortuos. “She is fond of the girls and I think she enjoys getting out of the convent.”

  While the nuns drank little, Madonna Sforza downed three cups of wine with scarcely a pause. Priora Picchi unobtrusively filled her cup again, as soon as it was empty. After the wine had loosened Madonna Sforza's tongue, the priora looked for ways to turn the conversation back to Sister Gerolama.

  “I will certainly be glad to get away from the crowds in Rome,” Madonna Sforza was saying. “I have never seen so many strange people.”

  “Folk from all over the world, I understand.” The priora sighed. “I keep thinking of poor Sister Gerolama. She was so easily intimidated. I was surprised she felt brave enough to go. But she felt it was very important for her to receive the pope's blessing,” the priora continued, looking carefully at Madonna Sforza for her reaction.

  Madonna Sforza smiled, and threw a glance at her own sister, Ignacia. “Safe enough, in a crowd of thousands. But I doubt the pope would have recognized her, even if he saw her. He probably does not recognize half his children,” she concluded, chuckling at her own joke.

  No one else laughed. The nuns looked at Sister Ignacia, reproach in their eyes.

  “I don't know what you are talking about, Leonora,” said Sister Ignacia, so pale that she looked as deathly as her nickname. Realizing she had blundered, Madonna Sforza was suddenly silent.

  “Who else outside this convent knew that Sister Gerolama was a Borgia?” asked the priora, looking at each nun in turn.

  “I have told no one, Priora,” said Sister Elisabetta firmly.

  “Nor have I,” added Sister Anna. The priora nodded, thinking. They had joined the convent years after Sister Gerolama. If they knew her identity, then so did every other nun in the convent.

  “Priora, I am sorry. But I told only my own sister, and did it when our families were allied with the Borgia. I saw no harm . . . .” Sister Ignacia's voice faltered.

  Priora Picchi made no comment. Having learned what she needed, she decided to change the subject. “Did you notice anything that might have brought on her falling sickness?” she asked.

  All looked at one another, shaking their heads. “I spoke to her, a few minutes before she...”Sister Elisabetta's eyes filled with tears. “It was just to offer water, since she had lost her wineskin.”

  “Lost her wineskin? Poor woman, she must have been dying of thirst,” said Sister Anna, stopping abruptly and covering her mouth when she realized what she had said.

  “I hope you gave her something to drink,” said the priora gently to Sister Elisabetta.

  “Of course. We drank from the same wineskin, Priora. It did me no harm.”

  “Did any of you see anyone else give Sister Gerolama food or drink?” the priora asked, very quietly. A chorus of denials followed. Abruptly, Madonna Sforza stood to take her leave. Her sister followed her out.

  * * *

  As they walked back to the guest house, Mortuos berated herself for telling Leonora about Sister Gerolama's identity. It was obvious that Priora Picchi was worried that Sister Gerolama had been poisoned--perhaps by food, perhaps by something else. As Sforzas, she and her sister were suspect. However, Leonora was leaving, as soon as travel was safe. Mortuos would face the priora's displeasure alone.

  “Ignacia, I know we have talked about revenge. For what the Borgias have done to our family’s honor. Understand--even though I want revenge, I would never poison a nun.”

  “Of course not,” Mortuos murmured, without meaning it. In Pesaro it was widely rumored that Leonora had poisoned her own husband. Mortuos was now inclined to believe the rumors, because Leonora had bragged of purchasing a papal indulgence during the Jubilee, at great expense. If she paid that much, she had done something very bad.

  “I have never
understood your preoccupation with family honor, Leonora. What honor? The Sforza are not known for their goodness. We are bastard children of a bastard condotierrò, who took Pesaro by force.”

  “Still we are Sforza. You know that legitimacy does not matter! Our brother Giovanni is ruler of Pesaro, though he is a bastard. He married the pope’s daughter, though she is a bastard. Half the cardinals in Rome are bastards. Most of your students are bastards. Blood is blood,” pronounced Madonna Sforza, visibly offended.

  “Most of us are here because we are bastards. You were lucky to marry.”

  “Are you still bitter about that, after all these years?”

  Mortuos was silent. They had reached the guesthouse, and she turned to leave.

  “Ignacia, wait. I nearly forgot. Caterina Sforza has written to ask a favor. Will you help?”

  “Depends what it is.”

  Chapter 14—Lucrezia Runs the Vatican

  Convent of San Sisto

  Early June, 1500

  “We have not learned anything of interest concerning Sister Gerolama’s death,” said Sister Beatrice to the priora. “She became separated from the group. No one remembered her eating or drinking anything, other than the watered wine she shared with Sister Elisabetta. Am I right, Nicola?”

  “Si, Suora,” said Nicola. “But I have not spoken to everyone, yet,” she added quietly. She disagreed with Sister Beatrice’s impulse to abandon the search for Sister Gerolama’s murderer. And, she had no intention of giving up herself.

  “Madonna Lucrezia is running the Vatican now, while the pope is making war on Naples,” the priora responded. “It is a good time to bring her news of her sister's death, while her father is away. We will ask her what she wants us to do.”

  Sister Beatrice’s jaw dropped. “Madonna Lucrezia is running the Vatican? The cardinales must be beside themselves to be governed by a woman.”

  “Not much surprises them anymore, but si, they are undoubtedly unhappy. The pope trusts no one more than Lucrezia, however. Last year he made her governor of Spoleto.”