The Borgia Bride

homesick?’

This drew even more approval. My gesture was partly born of defiance: I disliked this man for insulting Jofre in front of his family. My love for Cesare filled me with guilt; I knew my words were pure hypocrisy. But though I did not love my husband, I still felt allegiance toward him.

The ever-present smirk of arrogance left Juan’s lips: a surprisingly sincere wistfulness overtook his expression. ‘God has smiled on you, brother,’ he told Jofre quietly, ‘to have given you such a wife. I can see that she is a great source of happiness to you.’

The Pope beamed, pleased with everyone’s response. The conversation moved on to other topics, and at last, when we were all sated, Alexander called for the dishes to be removed. We moved out into the Hall of Faith, where more wine was served. On the wall was an almost-completed mural by Pinturicchio and his students, of the Pope himself kneeling in prayer, worshipping the risen Christ.

Alexander sat on the throne provided and gestured for the musicians to begin playing. That evening, it pleased him to see Juan and Lucrezia dance. As the tune was sprightly, Juan led Lucrezia onto the floor, she on his right, and the two began a fast piva: a short step to the left, one half-hop to the right, another left, then a pause. Both were exceptionally graceful, and Juan soon grew bored with simple movements. After the third step, he whirled about to face his partner, and, placing his palm against hers, led her in a voltatonda, a counter-clockwise circle consisting of the same basic piva. Alexander clapped in approval.

By the time the two dancers returned, both were flushed and perspiring.

‘And now,’ Juan told me, ‘it is your turn to be my partner.’ He bowed low, sweeping off his turban in a grand gesture, then tossing it aside as if it were made of rags, not silk and gems. His short, dark hair was plastered to his forehead and scalp with sweat.

The musicians played a languid, almost mournful melody; Juan chose a slower bassadanza, and we moved deliberately about the hall in a solemn four-step processional. For a time, we did not speak, merely performed as prettily as we could for the amusement of His Holiness.

After a pause, Juan remarked, ‘I was most sincere when I said my little brother was lucky enough to have such a wife.’

I averted my eyes demurely. ‘You are kind.’

He laughed. ‘That accusation is rarely brought against me. I am far from kind; but I am honest, when it suits me. And you, Donna Sancha, are the loveliest woman I have ever seen.’

I said nothing.

‘You are also bold enough to defend your husband in public-when he is too weak to do so himself. You are aware that His Holiness does not believe Jofre to be his son, but has accepted the word of his mistress out of kindness?’

I was too angry to meet Juan’s insolent gaze. ‘I have heard as much. It matters not.’

‘Ah, but it does. Jofre, you see, will have his little principality in Squillace, and that will be the end of it. He has been accorded as many honours as he can ever hope to achieve in this life-and as I am sure a lady with your keen insight has guessed, he does not possess the intelligence of a true Borgia.’

Our hands were pressed together tightly as we danced; I wanted nothing better than to pull away from him, to upbraid him for his slurs. But the Pope was watching and nodding in time to the music.

‘You, sir,’ I replied, my voice trembling with anger, ‘have just shown by your arrogant comments that you possess little of that intelligence yourself. If you had any sense at all, you would appreciate your brother, as I do, for his sincerity and his good heart.’

He laughed as if I had just said something remarkably charming. ‘I cannot help but adore you, Sancha. You say what you mean and care not whom you offend. Honesty and beauty are an irresistible combination.’ He paused. ‘Come, come. I can understand why you pity Jofre and don’t wish to hurt him. But there is such a thing as discretion.

‘I am not one to hold back my words either, Sancha. I want you. You would be wise to ally yourself with me-for I am the favourite of all the Pope’s children. I am the captain of his army-and some day I shall be secular ruler of all the Papal States.’

I could restrain my temper no longer, but lowered my hand and ceased dancing. ‘I could never love someone so contemptible as you.’

The sarcastic smirk returned; his upward-slanting eyes narrowed as he replied, ‘Do not play at self- righteousness with me, Madonna. You have already slept with two brothers.’ Jealousy flickered across his features; I realized this had less to do with me and more to do with his rivalry with Cesare. ‘What does it matter if you sleep with the third?’

I drew back my arm and slapped his cheek so hard my palm stung.

Alexander half-rose from his chair in alarm; Lucrezia put a hand to her mouth-whether in amusement or surprise, I could not tell.

Juan drew a dagger from his belt; the homicidal rage in his eyes made me certain this was to be the last instant of my life. His fury was wild and unrestrained, far from the cool, calculating hatred I had first encountered in his sister’s eyes.

But Cesare rushed from his father’s side and stepped between the two of us. Swiftly, he seized Juan’s wrist and twisted it so that the latter cried out; the dagger fell to the stone floor.

‘I will kill the bitch!’ Juan whispered hoarsely. ‘How dare she-’

It was Cesare’s turn to strike his brother across the face. As the encounter between them turned into a full- fledged brawl, I hurriedly made my exit, ladies in tow.

XVI

By the time I arrived back in my chambers at the Palace of Santa Maria, I had grown even more agitated. The fact that I had slapped the Pope’s favourite son in public took full hold of me, as did the knowledge that Juan would not rest until he had his revenge.

Worse, Cesare had stepped forward as my outraged protector-Cesare, and not my own husband. The former’s passionate response would set tongues wagging in the court…and such rumours would hurt Jofre deeply. Not only would they damage my marriage, they would outrage Alexander, and destroy my friendship with Lucrezia.

Worst of all, I feared the news might reach Naples, and Alfonso…and I would not be able to lie to him, even in a letter. Having to admit my adultery to my dear brother would shame me most of all.

Fortunately, I was set to rendezvous later that night with Cesare in the garden, and I focused on the fact as a way to calm myself. Cesare’s unparalleled skill at diplomacy would save me from Juan’s wrath, just as it had saved me from Alexander’s unwanted attentions; I waited restlessly until I could discuss the matter with him.

At last, the time came for me to set out. Instead of struggling with a full gown with bodice and sleeves that required lacing, I had taken to wearing a black silk chemise and an overgown that I could slip on easily. Again, there was always the veil, to protect me from recognition-and the stiletto in case I was accosted.

Thus disguised, I stepped silently out into the corridor. The hour was so late that few sconces were lit, but I made my way through the dimness with ease, as I knew my way well. Cesare had, as always, bribed the guards to keep them out of my path, and so I encountered no one.

But as I passed by the corridor that led to Giulia’s and Lucrezia’s apartments, I heard a woman cry out, as if in pain.

In retrospect, I should have been wise; I should have hardened my heart and continued onward-after all, my affair with Cesare was at stake. But the sound evoked in me concern and curiosity. Thus I took that irrevocable turn down the wrong corridor.

The moment I did so, intuition froze me to the spot, even though I at first could not identify what I saw. Soon enough, however, I distinguished Lucrezia’s moon-coloured face in the dimness. She was still fully dressed in the gown she had worn to Juan’s reception, and apparently just returning from it; her eyes were closed, her lips half- parted, and soft, regular moans escaped from her.