Holiness.’
‘Fetch them. He is to process next, and must be attended.’
The groom sped to the altar, and up the stairs. Cesare, his dagger still drawn, but lowered, glanced at Jofre’s groom, the other participant in the altercation. ‘He will no doubt need help,’ the cardinal said.
With exaggerated eagerness, Jofre’s groom followed. It took some minutes before the full entourage appeared, but at last, the Pope was able to leave the chapel. Graciously-or rather, with the appearance of graciousness, Cesare insisted on my entourage departing next.
The ceremony was followed by a protracted supper, then dancing. Alfonso was, as always, filled with such charm and good cheer that even the Borgias were infected. For the first time since I had come to Rome, the Pope danced-first with Lucrezia, then with me. Despite his great size, he was possessed of the same athletic grace as his son Cesare.
I was especially happy to see that no courtesans were present-not even the Pope’s mistress Giulia. He seemed to be trying to convince Alfonso that the rumours surrounding the Sforza scandal and the birth of Lucrezia’s child were untrue; regardless, I was relieved that the celebration did not spiral downwards into the Borgias’ customary lewdness. The Pope drank far less wine than his custom, for once considerate of Lucrezia’s happiness. Even Cesare was pleasant.
Alfonso and I performed a Neapolitan dance for His Holiness, and my brother’s eyes were bright, his smile genuine. I knew that part of his joy came from knowing we two would be together again-but I could also see that his delight with Lucrezia was sincere. They had, as Alexander put it jocularly over supper, ‘taken to each other. Look at those two! It is as though the rest of us do not exist. Shall we all retreat quietly, lest we disturb them?’
I could not understand why my little brother, who had his choice of more beautiful and honourable women, should fall in love with Lucrezia; I only hoped for his happiness.
After much dancing, theatricals were presented on a small stage that had been erected in the reception area. One presentation involved a beautifully dressed maid who coaxed a unicorn to lay its head upon her lap. The maid was played by none other than Giulia, the Pope’s mistress, but this was not the greatest irony, for I at last recognized, from his body and movements, the man beneath the heavy unicorn’s mask, a full headpiece with a gilded horn, and holes for the eyes and mouth.
It was Cesare Borgia, portraying the very symbol of chasteness and loyalty.
As dawn approached, Lucrezia and Alfonso retired together, with a smugly smiling Giovanni Borgia following them. My poor brother was about to be subjected to the same indignity I had-that of having the leering cardinal witness his first sexual union with his spouse. At least, I reflected, Alfonso did not have the added embarrassment of having his own father watch the proceedings; I wondered whether the cardinal would comment about roses.
A few weeks after the marriage, Cesare was granted what he had dreamt of for years: the chance to present his case before the consistory of cardinals, asking them to free him from a vocation for which he had never been suited. In exchange, he swore that he would surrender himself to the service of the Church and go at once to France, where he would do everything necessary to save Italy from another invasion by another French king.
There was no more doubt that Cesare would be granted his petition than there had been doubt that Lucrezia would be declared
Cesare got his wish. No sooner had it been granted than he began looking about for a suitable mate. I steeled myself for the worst, expecting to receive another summons to his office: to my astonishment, Lucrezia revealed that he had chosen Carlotta of Aragon-my cousin, the legitimate daughter of Uncle Federico, the King of Naples.
I was ecstatic; I thought I had underestimated Cesare. Lucrezia had said that he truly cared for me-and perhaps that was why he wished neither to coerce me, nor cause me harm. Even better, his choice of bride made Alfonso’s position, as a Prince of Naples, more secure in the House of Borgia.
Carlotta was at the time in France, being educated at the court of the piously Catholic, pro-Borgia Queen Anne of Brittany, widow of
And Cesare was just the person who, as the Pope’s son, could deliver a writ of divorce directly into Louis’ hands-for a price.
With a sigh of relief, I watched him ride away, believing my country’s troubles had at last ended.
Autumn-Winter 1498
XXV
A hot, brutal summer finally gave way to autumn, then a mild winter. My life in Rome had never been more pleasant; Juan was dead, Cesare was busy with politics and courtship in France, leaving me in the company of my husband, my brother, Lucrezia, and Alexander.
Away from Cesare’s and Juan’s demeaning barbs, Jofre was more at ease and kinder. Alfonso was by nature in good spirits, and his love for Lucrezia made him even more jovial and charming; he brought out a sweetness in Lucrezia that I had only glimpsed earlier, but which now became a constant of her nature. And because his family was happy, Alexander was happy. His daughter had made a good match, and was now a duchess instead of a mere countess; his eldest son was about to make an even better match, and there was now the prospect of legitimate grandchildren.
Because of our shared love for Alfonso, Lucrezia and I became closer than ever before. I tattled on Alfonso for all his little idiosyncrasies, and Lucrezia loved to listen to stories of his childhood-how he had once tried to set fire to the tail of the Queen’s lapdog, to see whether it would burn like a candle, how he had almost been swept out to sea as a child of four, and nearly drowned. And she confessed to me how he snored, drawing in great puffs of air
I forgot the canterella I had hidden with the jewels in my bedchamber. I forgot its source; I even forgot the sight of Lucrezia in her father’s carnal embrace, the passionate kiss she had shared with her own brother. (Lucrezia reported with great relief that the Pope had left her alone ever since her pregnancy, either because old age had taken the fire out of him, or because he no longer wished to fan the rumours provoked by the birth of the illegitimate child he had supposedly got on her.) She also confessed that she and Alfonso spent every night together in her bedchamber, and he always woke there, rarely spending time in his own chambers in the men’s wing of the palazzo. ‘I had never dared hope,’ she confided, quite wistfully, ‘that my own husband should also be my ardent lover.’
One winter morning, when the bright sun had taken all the chill from the air, we women decided to go on a picnic in Cardinal Lopez’s vineyard. It was too lovely to stay inside, and Lucrezia seemed restless with an anticipation I did not understand, until she settled beside me in the carriage and confessed, ‘I have a secret. I have not told anyone, not even Alfonso-but I must tell you.’
I was lazily enjoying the sun on my face. ‘Secret?’ From Lucrezia’s smug smile, it was obviously a happy one. I suspected a party, or a gift she had obtained for her new husband.
‘I am pregnant. Two months now without my monthly courses.’
‘Lucrezia!’ Genuinely pleased, I grabbed her shoulders. ‘You are sure then? There is no other cause?’
She laughed, delighted with my response. ‘I am sure. My breasts are so tender, I can scarcely bear for Alfonso
