‘How is she?’ I asked, with some alarm at Donna Pantsilea’s expression.
‘Madonna Sancha,’ she said unhappily, and kissed the back of my hand. She spoke frankly, as we two were alone; Lucrezia’s other two attendants had gone with her to chapel, and Perotto had been dismissed to the kitchen. ‘I am so glad you have come. I have never seen her this distraught over anything. She does not eat, she does not sleep. I fear…Madonna, I truly fear that she will do something drastic.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked sharply.
‘I mean that she…’ Pantsilea’s voice dropped to a whisper ‘…she may try to end her own life.’
The statement so shocked me that I found no words for a reply-which was as well, since at that moment, we heard footsteps approaching. The chamber door soon opened, and Lucrezia appeared, flanked by her other ladies.
Dressed entirely in black, she was paler than I had ever seen her, with shadows beneath her eyes; any hint of her former gaiety had completely disappeared, replaced now with a sombreness that was heartbreaking to see.
‘Donna Sancha!’ she said, and gave me a ghostly smile. We embraced, and I felt her bones easily through the flesh; she had lost a great deal of weight. ‘How good to see you!’
‘I have missed you,’ I said honestly. ‘I wanted to see how you were.’
Lucrezia gave a wave of her hand, dismissing her ladies into the other chamber, so that we could converse in private. ‘Well,’ she said, still smiling her unhappy little smile, ‘so you can see.’
She sat down upon a large floor pillow; I settled beside her and took her hand earnestly. ‘Lucrezia, please. I am worried for your sake. Even Pantsilea is terribly concerned. You have shown me such kindness, and I cannot bear to see the vicious words of others harm you so.’
She startled me completely by erupting into tears. I held her for a time and let her sob into my shoulder, trying to imagine myself in her position-what a strange and horrible place, indeed!
And then she startled me even more thoroughly, when she raised her face and said, ‘It is even worse than you think, Sancha. I think I am pregnant.’
I could not find my tongue.
‘Giovanni is not the father,’ she continued, in a wavering voice. ‘If I were to tell you-’
I held up my hand. ‘I know who the father is.’
She stared at me in amazement.
‘But we shall not speak his name,’ I said. ‘For to do so might cost me my life. So let us agree that I can sympathize with your situation-but let us also agree that I have never uttered the father’s name aloud. So it cannot be said for certain that I know the truth.’
‘Sancha, how do you-?’
‘I blame you for nothing, Lucrezia. My heart grieves to see you in such difficult circumstances. I can only offer my friendship and help.’
I watched her expression as curiosity melted away to sorrow again. I held her, thankful my own life was not so filled with misery.
At last she managed to contain herself, and drew back to study my face. ‘Will you do one favour for me?’ she asked, in a manner that sounded disturbingly akin to a request for a deathbed promise. ‘Will you forgive Cesare for how he has wronged you?’
I stiffened. I was at once hurt and angered by the thought that Cesare had confided in anyone about our affair, and certainly about my horrific encounter with Juan-even if that person was his own sister.
‘You must understand that Cesare has been miserable without you,’ she persisted. ‘He was a fool, because he has been betrayed by women many times…and your beauty makes him impossibly jealous. But I have never seen him so in love as he is with you. Have pity on him, Sancha.’
‘Let Cesare speak for himself,’ I responded coldly. ‘Only then will I answer him.’
I returned that evening to the palace of Santa Maria. I did not for an instant believe that Cesare had experienced a change of heart; I felt Lucrezia was only being kind, trying out of a sense of loyalty to smooth things between us.
But before the sun was gone an hour from the sky, a knock came at my chamber door, and a young servant girl left a sealed letter with Donna Esmeralda.
I took it from her greedily, and read it alone on the balcony overlooking the garden. It was written in Cesare’s precise, measured script:
I did not want to go. I wanted to punish him, to make him wait as I had, my hope slowly dying, then turning to pain.
I wanted to go: to make his heart light up with joy at the sight of me, only to be wrenched in two when I spat in his face.
I wanted to go: to throw my arms about him, to rejoice that he was once again mine, to whisper vows of undying love.
In the end, I went.
Cesare knew what to do to win someone to his side. At the sight of me, he dropped to his knees, then pressed his forehead to the gravel. ‘I shall not rise until you give me leave, Madonna.’
I studied him for a moment, thinking of Juan, thinking of the imprints such pebbles had left on my own skin, thinking of the indignity and hurt I had experienced since that day. At last I said, ‘Rise.’
And drew back my veil.
XX
That night, my affair with Cesare resumed with all its former passion. He swore vengeance against Juan-but ‘at a time and place where it will be appropriate.’ I hushed him. What possible action could we take against Juan, the apple of the Pope’s eye, without ourselves being endangered? All I wanted from Cesare was reassurance that I was forever protected from Juan’s touch, and this he swore with a vehemence that was frightening.
The following morning, I rode back to San Sisto to visit Lucrezia. This time, I was armed with pastries and delicacies calculated to tempt her squeamish palate. It was early June, and the weather was extravagantly lovely; every fragrant flower was in bloom. I was ecstatic after the previous night’s encounter with Cesare-so much so that I felt guilt at going to see Lucrezia, whose own life was profoundly unhappy.
I arrived at Lucrezia’s convent chambers only to discover she was again in chapel: Pantsilea greeted me, this time even more distraught. She dismissed the other servants so that we two were alone, and only then did she show me the official document resting on a table.
I had a fair acquaintance with Latin, and read the document silently, with growing amazement. It stated that Lucrezia had been in Sforza’s family
Lucrezia’s timid signature followed.
It was an appeal for a divorce, allowable under papal law, if, as the document stated, the marriage had not been consummated in three years. In addition, Lucrezia agreed to submit herself to a physical examination by midwives, to prove her virginity.
Pantsilea’s great dark eyes were haunted. ‘His Holiness is already accepting bids from suitors. He is thinking of this only politically, without any concern for Lucrezia’s feelings. She has told me she will die before she marries
