placed and served according to rank. A throne was carried in for His Holiness and placed where he might best watch the proceedings, but otherwise, everyone moved about freely, from time to time taking cushions or chairs whenever they wished, and vacating them just as easily, to be filled by another.
This did not trouble me; custom varies in all royal households. But then a chair was brought for Giulia, that she might sit directly next to the Pope; and when he first caught sight of her, he went to her, and in front of the entire company, kissed her without modesty, then bade her sit beside him.
I was mildly scandalized. My mother was a prince’s mistress, but my father would never have sat beside her or kissed her at a public affair; and this was, after all, the Vatican. I found it repugnant, too, that only a few hours before, the hands that now caressed Giulia had reached so easily for me. Still, I permitted myself no reaction; Jofre was my guide. He accepted his father’s behaviour as quite natural, so I tried to, as well.
In the interim, wine flowed. I took mine mixed with water, and only a couple of glasses of that.
‘I have been to Naples, and know something of it,’ Lucrezia addressed me conversationally, ‘but never to Squillace. Tell me of it.’ Like me, she had taken care not to be affected by the wine; she was too busy judging me, assessing the potential for rivalry between us.
‘Squillace is quite beautiful in its own way. It lies upon the coast of the Ionian Sea, and though the shoreline is not as scenic as Naples’-it has no Vesuvio, after all-the harbour is lovely. The city has many artists, many craftsmen known for their pottery and ceramics.’
‘It is not as large as Naples?’
‘No, indeed.’ Jofre snickered a bit.
Cesare, up to this point silent, offered graciously, ‘But nonetheless charming, I have heard. Size and beauty are not related.’
Lucrezia tilted her head; her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Ah. There are times I yearn for the simplicity of the provinces; Rome being so vast, and the demands on our time so great, it can be overwhelming. Still, we have the responsibility to impress the populace at all the social functions. Here, I am afraid, the people are far more jaded than those in Squillace, and expect more.’
I lifted my chin at the subtle insult: did she refer to my attire, deliberately matronly and sedate, that she might better shine at our first meeting? If so, I would not make the same mistake again.
‘Lucrezia!’ the Pope called, obviously quite tipsy from the wine. ‘Dance for us! Dance with Sancha!’ He had an arm around Giulia; she giggled as he drew her to him, nose to nose, and kissed her.
Lucrezia gave me another of her sidewise, faintly mocking glances. ‘You of course know the Spanish fashion…or do they not teach that in the south?’
‘I am a princess of the House of Aragon,’ I answered, not kindly.
We joined hands. And as the Pope clapped from time to time with delight, and the musicians played, we performed the steps of an old-fashioned Castilian dance.
At that moment, I was glad to have been raised by my father, to have learned that men and women could behave with apparent courtesy, yet retain a talent for duplicity; I sensed Lucrezia was one such person. And so, as we made polite conversation during our little dance, I kept my wits sharp. Indeed, the instant came when Lucrezia intentionally skipped a step in the dance, and held her foot out precisely so that I would trip and embarrass myself.
I was ready. Perhaps I should have been kind, and simply avoided stumbling, pretending she had made an unintended move; but my father’s ire and haughtiness rose in me. I deliberately brought my foot down upon hers.
She let go a little cry and turned to me sharply; though we continued through our movements, we shared the candid look of two opponents in a duel.
‘How shall we play this, Madonna?’ I asked mildly, though my gaze was hard. ‘I did not come to Rome willingly; certainly I did not come to make an enemy. I have no wish to be anything other than a good sister to you.’
Mindful of those watching, she smiled prettily; it was the coldest, most terrifying expression I had ever seen. ‘You are not my sister. And you will never be my equal, Your Highness. Mark that.’
I fell silent, not knowing how to ease her jealousy.
During our dance, servants appeared with trays of dainty chocolates. Alexander made a great show of feeding one to Giulia, then she fed one to him. Just as our dance was ending, and our audience applauded politely, Alexander-with a great boyish grin-hurled one of the chocolates some distance, hitting Cesare.
The dark-frocked young cardinal reacted with consummate grace; he smiled without surprise, retrieved the chocolate, and ate it with a relish that pleased his laughing father.
Then Alexander, with an exaggerated gesture, dropped a chocolate down Giulia’s bodice.
For an instant, a look of consternation crossed the girl’s face. She did not want her expensive gown ruined.
I caught the sharp gaze Adriana Mila shot her: it was a warning, a threat.
At once Giulia smiled, then giggled with a degree of sincerity only a man smitten by love could have believed. The Pope giggled too, like a naughty schoolboy, and fished his hand deep into her bodice between her snowy breasts, taking an inordinate amount of time and waggling his eyebrows with an expression of prurient delight calculated to entertain the crowd.
Those gathered roared with laughter.
Abruptly, Adriana went to Alexander’s side, and whispered something in his ear; he nodded, then turned to Giulia and, taking her lovely face in his great hands, kissed her on the lips and murmured a promise to her. I suspected a tryst was arranged, and wondered whether a rumour I had heard was true: that the Pope had ordered a passageway constructed between the Palazzo Santa Maria and the Vatican, so that he could secretly visit his women whenever he wished.
Giulia nodded, her face bright, and left along with the unhappy Orsino, the two of them led by Adriana.
This was a signal to the guests that I did not understand: at once, a line of cardinals formed at His Holiness’ throne, bowing and bidding him farewell; most of the nobles followed after.
The night was still early, but the celebration was now reduced to close family-and the unknown, unattended, extravagantly-dressed women.
Whores, I realized with sudden discomfort, even before His Holiness hurled yet another chocolate, which buried itself in the decolletage of the most buxom female present. The harlot laughed. She was an attractive young girl, golden-haired, but there was a hardness in her eyes despite her drunkenness. She leaned forward, the better to reveal her bosom, and half-ran, unsteady on her feet, toward Alexander.
He sat, ready for her. And the moment her brocade-covered breasts appeared before him, he thrust his face heartily between them and began searching for the hidden sweet like a dog hunting a morsel dropped from the master’s table.
She laughed shrilly, pressing him hard against her with a hand at the back of his head. At last he withdrew, triumphant, his face smeared with chocolate, the candy between his lips.
Cesare’s expression was reserved, noncommittal, as he stared down into his goblet. Obviously, this was something he was accustomed to, if not approving of.
I looked at once to Jofre; my little husband was laughing, himself quite intoxicated, and waved to one of the servants to bring a tray of sweets. I forgot myself: I failed to entirely hide my disgust.
Lucrezia caught this at once. ‘Ah, Madonna Sancha, you
Cesare, with a deftness that lacked any hint of impropriety, caught the sweet at once between two fingers, and replaced it on the tray. ‘You must give our new sister time,’ he said smoothly, without reproach, ‘to come to know us, that she might not be so shocked by our Roman ways.’
In response, Lucrezia flushed brightly. She set down her goblet on the tray, took the half-melted sweet, and settled it once more firmly in her bosom.
Without a word, she went over to her father’s throne and gestured for the giggling harlot-who now was sitting on the pontiff’s lap, moving her hips in a most lascivious fashion-to leave.
The woman did so, bowing sweetly, though it was clear she resented the intrusion. And Lucrezia took her place.
She sat upon her father’s lap, and pressed his face to her small breasts; by then, Alexander was obviously drunk-but not too drunk to notice that the woman had changed.
