Light on Lucrezia

by Виктория Холт

  She realized then that this was but a foretaste of what might be waiting for her in her new home; she had to fight prejudice; she had to win the affection or at least tolerance of people who had made up their minds before they met her that they would dislike her.

  * * *

  Guidobaldo had put his castle at the disposal of Lucrezia, and he had planned masques, banquets and lavish entertainments; he was courteous and kind; but Lucrezia was constantly aware of the disapproval of Elizabetta; and it was with Elizabetta that she must travel to Ferrara, as it had been arranged (and it was the Pope’s urgent desire that this should be so) that she and Elizabetta should share the magnificent litter.

  Alexander had warned his daughter that she must spend as much time as possible in the company of Elizabetta and Isabella. She must study their clothes, their manners, their gestures; she must remember that they were aristocratic ladies belonging to the most noble families in Italy.

  “Nothing will delight me more,” Alexander had said, “since I cannot have my dearest daughter with me, than to think of her in the company of these Princesses. Do as they do. Speak as they speak. For, Lucrezia, my beloved, you have become a Princess even as they are.”

  So Lucrezia, lying side by side with Elizabetta in the litter, was determined to be as serene, as aloof as her companion; and thus Elizabetta lost one opportunity of snubbing Lucrezia as she had intended. The Borgia girl, she was forced to admit, had grace and charm, and to be in her company was to believe her to be almost as noble as oneself.

  But Elizabetta did not forget. This girl had been brought up at the Papal Court. She had no doubt heard stories of Guidobaldo’s impotence since he had returned from the prison in which the Pope had allowed him to languish. The Borgias had always appreciated the coarsest jokes. Elizabetta was not going to forget merely because this girl had a quiet grace and a serene dignity. The Borgias were loathsome; and if they appeared in the guise of charming girls they were even more deadly.

  So Elizabetta continued cool and unhelpful, and Lucrezia was conscious that her companion was hoping all the time that she would commit some social error. Adriana Mila hated Elizabetta and was unable to avoid showing it. This hatred delighted the Duchess of Urbino. She would sit smiling her aloof superior smile as they continued the journey, thinking of all she would have to tell her dear friend and sister-in-law, Isabella, when they met in Ferrara.

  Elizabetta was slyly amused when they came to Pesaro. She watched the wilting of Lucrezia’s spirits as they entered the town. The girl must remember those months she had spent here as the wife of Giovanni Sforza who had been Lord of Pesaro before Cesare had taken it from him.

  She must be remembering all the details of the scandalous divorce, and surely she must feel some shame.

  Elizabetta said as they came into the town: “This must seem very familiar to you.”

  “I have been here before.”

  Elizabetta laughed lightly. “Of course, with the first of your husbands. But then you were so young, were you not. He could not have seemed like a husband to you. After all, it was no true marriage, was it? There was no consummation.”

  Lucrezia stared straight ahead, and there was a faint flush in her pale cheeks.

  “Giovanni, who has been at the court of my sister-in-law, swears that the marriage was consummated,” went on Elizabetta. “Poor Giovanni! He has lost so much … his lands … his wife … even his reputation as a man. I pity Giovanni Sforza.”

  Lucrezia still said nothing; she too pitied Giovanni.

  “The people here will remember, doubtless,” pursued Elizabetta. “They have long memories. They will remember when you came here as the bride of the Lord of Pesaro. Odd … that now you should come here as the bride of another, although their lord—I should say he who was their lord—still lives, still declares himself to be your husband!”

  “I do not know how that can be,” said Lucrezia, “since there was a divorce.”

  “On the grounds of non-consummation! But if the marriage was consummated, the grounds for divorce would disappear and … if there was no reason, how could there be a divorce? I do not know. Your father, who is wise in these matters, no doubt could tell us. Why, look! The people are eager to see you. You must show yourself, you know.”

  And Lucrezia, who had hoped to enter quietly into Pesaro of many memories, must leave the litter, and ride her mule, so that all might see her.

  Elizabetta rode beside her, maliciously hopeful. If she could have incited those people to shout abuse at Lucrezia she would have done so.

  But here was Ramiro de Lorqua, the Spaniard whom Cesare had set up to rule Pesaro in his absence, and Ramiro, knowing the esteem in which Lucrezia was held by his master, was determined that such a welcome should be given her as was never before seen in Pesaro. He could count on the cooperation of the people, for Ramiro was the most brutal of overlords and they dared not oppose him.

  It may have been fear of Ramiro, it may have been because the slender girl with her long golden hair falling about her shoulders seemed to them so gentle and so charming, but there was no abuse; there were only cries of “Duca! Duca! Lucrezia!”

  And although Lucrezia’s misgivings did not abate during the time she was in Pesaro, Elizabetta was disappointed.

  * * *

  It was Ramiro’s duty to escort Lucrezia through the territory of Romagna, and this he did, making certain that in her brother’s domain she should be fêted wherever she went. Banquets were arranged in her honor; in the captured towns the citizens displayed banners of greetings. Cries of welcome followed her wherever she went.

  The Duke of Ferrara was growing uneasy, for the journey was taking longer than he had anticipated and as many of the wedding guests were already at Ferrara he was groaning at the expense of feeding and entertaining them.

  He sent instructions that the journey must be speeded up. There must not be these long halts at various towns. He was all impatience to receive his daughter-in-law.

  But Lucrezia showed a certain determination. She would not hurry. Every few days her hair must be washed, and she felt too fatigued to spend day after day in the saddle or even in the litter.

  So the Duke fumed and counted the cost of entertaining his guests, while Lucrezia continued with her slow progress.

  Ferrante was enchanted by her; he was writing the most eulogistic letters which were dispatched by special messenger to his sister Isabella, throwing that lady into a passion of jealousy.

  “She and I opened the ball last night, sister. I have never seen her look more lovely. Her hair was more golden than ever. She had washed it that day. It was necessary that it should be washed every few days to preserve its gold. Her dress was of black velvet, and she looked more slender, more fair than ever before; on her head was a small gold cap, and it was difficult to see which was cap and which was hair; on her forehead there was an enormous diamond. Her Spanish dwarfs are amusing creatures. They dance in the ballroom when she dances, following her round, calling attention to her beauty. They are quite vain and like to parade in brilliant clothes to match those of their mistress. They gesture obscenely and make bawdy jokes—even about their mistress. No one seems to object. The manners of Rome are different from those of Ferrara or Mantua. I wonder, my dear sister, what you would say if your dwarfs made such jokes and gestures as they followed you round the ballroom. Lucrezia accepts it all in the utmost good humor, and since we left Pesaro—where I confess she seemed somewhat depressed—she has been full of high spirits.”

  When Isabella received that letter she was furious.

  “Idiot!” she cried. “The young fool writes like a lover. From what we know of her reputation, mayhap he already is.”

  She would show the letter to Alfonso, try to rouse some indignation in his sleepy mind.

  While Lucrezia was at Rimini, that town where she had opened the ball with Ferrante, one of the servants rode into the castle with disquieting news.

  Ferrante was the first person h
e saw, and he fell at the young man’s feet, declaring that Madonna Lucrezia was in terrible danger.

  “How so?” asked Ferrante.

  “Because, my lord, outside the town a company of men are waiting for her. These are led by Carracciolo.”

  “Carracciolo!” cried Ferrante.

  “May I refresh your lordship’s memory? Carracciolo was betrothed to Dorotea da Crema who was abducted by Cesare Borgia and has never been heard of since.”

  “You mean that this man seeks to abduct Madonna Lucrezia?”

  “It would seem so, my lord. Aye, and do to her what Cesare Borgia did to his betrothed.”

  Ferrante lost no time in hurrying to Lucrezia, and telling her what he had heard. Lucrezia was terrified, for the thought of violence alarmed her.

  Ferrante threw himself on his knees and declared that he would protect her with his life. She was not listening; she was thinking of Dorotea, who had set out on a journey very similar to this one she was making, and who had never reached her destination. She thought of Cesare, and she shivered.

  She understood the feelings of this man Carracciolo. She knew what would happen to her if she fell into his hands.

  Elizabetta came in, startling Ferrante from his knees.

  He at once blurted out what he had heard.

  Elizabetta shrugged her shoulders. “Doubtless it is merely some tale,” she said.

  But she could not hide the expression of pleasure which briefly flitted across her face. She hates me, thought Lucrezia. She hopes I shall fall into Carracciolo’s hands.

  She was horrified as much by the malice of this woman as by the fears this story had conjured up.

  She thought then: I am a Borgia. The sins of my family are my sins. Can it be that now … they are catching up with me, that there is no real escape?

  * * *

  Lucrezia had spent a sleepless night. All through those hours as she tossed and turned she had expected to hear shouts of triumph from below, harsh voices demanding her surrender.

  A thick fog lay over the town in the early morning, and she insisted that they slip away under cover of it. She was terrified of this place and could not bear to spend another hour in it.

  So they left as quickly and as silently as they could, traveling along the Via Emilia toward Bologna.

  When the fog lifted they were able to see the open country for miles round and there was no sign of a pursuing force.

  Lucrezia’s relief was apparent, but Elizabetta was determined that she should not enjoy it.

  “I have news for you,” she said. “Giovanni Sforza is coming to the wedding.”

  “Oh, but he can’t do that!”

  “He can. He has announced his intention of so doing. I have heard that he has already set out for Ferrara.”

  Lucrezia looked sharply at her companion, and she believed then that Elizabetta and her friend Isabella, whom she had now realized was also an enemy, had arranged that Giovanni Sforza should be at the wedding so that she would be embarrassed.

  Looking forward to her new life she saw that it would be peopled with those who wished to destroy her.

  * * *

  They came to Bologna where members of the reigning family, the Bentivoglio, set out to meet her; and she was led in triumph to their beautiful house on the outskirts of the town.

  Great fires were burning, and it was with immense relief that Lucrezia and her entourage warmed themselves. Entertainments had been prepared, but Lucrezia had begged that they should be postponed. She and her fellow travelers were very fatigued and longed to rest for this first day.

  It was pleasant to be within these frescoed walls, to stretch out before a blazing fire, to call for hot water, that the dust of the journey might be washed from her hair.

  Angela and Girolama helped with her toilet, chatting excitedly, reminding her that they were on the very borders of Ferrara and very soon would reach their journey’s end.

  Angela had been a little subdued since her encounter with Ippolito, but she was no less lovely for that.

  They were talking of the receptions they had received, of the banners in morello and gold which had been hung out by the people, who knew how she favored these colors.

  “It would seem, Lucrezia,” said Angela, “that the whole of Italy loves you. Surely only love could inspire such enthusiasm.”

  “Love … or fear,” said Lucrezia grimly.

  Girolama said: “I hear their voices in my sleep. I hear the chanting: ‘Duca! Duca! Duchessa!’ It goes on and on.”

  “They loved you as soon as they saw you,” persisted Angela. “They take one look at you and catch their breath with wonder.”

  “Rather is it surprise,” said Lucrezia, “because my hair is not serpents and I have not the eye of the Gorgon.”

  “They love you the better because of the false rumors they have heard. You look … angelic. There is no other word for it.”

  “You look at me with the eyes of a Borgia, little cousin; and I have come to believe that in Borgian eyes Borgias are perfect. Try looking with the eyes of others.”

  Adriana came bustling in.

  “Hurry!” she cried. “There is unexpected visitor. Oh … but look at your hair. Take off that robe quickly. Where is your striped morello? Oh, we shall never have time.”

  “Who is it?” demanded Lucrezia, terror seizing her. She thought of Carracciolo, furious on account of the rape of his betrothed, vowing vengeance on the Borgias; she thought of Giovanni Sforza humiliated and insulted, determined on revenge.

  Adriana was so excited she could scarcely find the words. “I had no notion that this would happen. Come … girls … quickly. Oh dear … oh dear … that we should be caught like this!”

  “But Adriana, be calm. Pray tell us who the visitor is.”

  “Alfonso is here. Your bridegroom is determined to see you before you make your state entry into Ferrara.”

  “Alfonso …!” Lucrezia had begun to tremble.

  She was aware of the distracted Adriana, searching for the right dress, of Angela, running a comb through her wet hair.

  Then there were heavy footsteps outside the room, there was a deep voice commanding someone to stand aside.

  The door was flung open and Alfonso d’Este stood looking at his bride.

  * * *

  He was tall and broad, his eyes gray-blue in color, his nose fiercely aquiline, and there was about him an air of brutal strength.

  Lucrezia hastily rose to her feet and curtsied.

  Those watching thought they had never seen her look so fair and fragile as she did beside her future husband.

  “My lord,” she said, “if we had had news of your coming we should not have received you thus.”

  “Ha!” he said. “ ’Twas my plan to surprise you.”

  “You find me with my hair wet. We have but recently arrived here with the grime of the journey upon us.”

  “I’m not so shocked by grime as are most.” He took a strand of the hair in his hand. “I had heard it shone like gold,” he said.

  “It does so when it is dry. I am grieved that it should be wet when you first meet me.”

  He twisted a handful of it and pulled it gently. “I like it,” he said.

  “I am glad it pleases you. As I hope to.…”

  He was looking at her, and she knew him for a connoisseur of women; each detail of her body was considered, and now and again she would hear that short dry laugh of his. He was not displeased.

  He looked at Adriana and the two girls.

  “Leave me with Madonna Lucrezia,” he said. “I have business with her.”

  “My lord,” began Adriana in alarm.

  He waved his hand at her. “Have done, woman,” he said. “We have been married, if only by proxy. Begone, I say.” And as Adriana hesitated, he bellowed: “Go!”

  Adriana curtsied and went, the girls following her.

  Alfonso turned to her. “They will learn,” he said, “that I am a man who likes instant obe
dience.”

  “I have already seen that.”

  He came closer to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. He was not fully at ease in her company; he never was in the presence of well-bred women. He preferred the girls he met in taverns or in the villages. He looked; he beckoned; and because they would not dare disobey—nor did they want to—they came at his bidding. He was not a man who wished to spend a lot of time in wooing.

  She looked fragile, but she was not inexperienced, he knew that much. He had sensed that sensuality in her which appealed to his own.

  He seized her roughly and kissed her on the mouth. Then he picked her up in his arms.

  “It was for this I came,” he said, and carried her through the apartments to her bedchamber.

  She was barely aware of the scuffling movement, the hasty departure of the girls, who had been waiting there for her.

  All through the house they would be talking of Alfonso’s visit. She did not care. Nor did he.

  When Isabella heard that Alfonso had paid an unceremonious visit to the bride she was furious.

  She stormed into Alfonso’s apartments and demanded to know how he could have committed such a breach of etiquette.

  “How!” cried Alfonso, who saw everything literally. “By taking horse and riding there.”

  “But you are expected to greet her standing by the side of our father at the ceremonial entry.”

  “I shall do so.”

  “But to go ahead like some lovesick apprentice!”

  “All men have some curiosity about the woman they are to marry, whether they are dukes or apprentices. If you want to blame someone for this, blame yourself.”

  “Myself!”

  “Certainly yourself. If you had not painted her so dark, made such a monster of her, I might have been ready to wait. As it was I had to satisfy my curiosity.”