The Borgia Bride

Cesare Borgia stood in the entrance.

War had aged him, as had the pox; even his beard, which now bore traces of premature silver, could not hide the prominent scars on his cheeks. There were streaks of silver as well in his hair, which had begun to thin, and shadows beneath his jaded eyes.

‘You are as beautiful as the day I first saw you, Sancha,’ he said, his voice wistful, soft as velvet. His flattery was wasted. My lips twisted at the sight of him; surely he could only bear evil news.

Then I saw the solemn little boy holding his hand, and let go a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. ‘Rodrigo!’ I threw down my book and ran to the child at once.

I had not seen my nephew in more than a year, but recognized him immediately; his golden curls and blue eyes were unmistakably my brother’s. He had been dressed in a princely little tunic of dark blue velvet.

I sank to my knees before him and spread my arms. ‘Rodrigo, my darling! It is your Tia Sancha, do you remember me? Do you know how I love you?’

The little boy-almost two years of age, now-turned away at first, and rubbed his eyes with his fists, embarrassed.

‘Go to her,’ Cesare murmured encouragingly, and nudged the boy towards me. ‘She is your aunt, your father’s sister…She and your mother loved each other very dearly. She was present the day you were born.’

At last Rodrigo seized me with impetuous affection. I enfolded him in my arms, not understanding why Cesare was granting this precious visit, and for the moment not caring. It was pure bliss. I pressed my cheek against the child’s down-soft hair as Cesare spoke, his tone uncharacteristically awkward.

‘Lucrezia cannot take the child with her to Ferrara.’ It was not the custom to permit a child from a previous marriage to be raised in another man’s household. ‘She has asked that you raise him as your own. I did not see the harm in it, and so I brought him.’

Despite my joy, I could not resist hurling a barb. ‘A child ought not be raised in a prison!’

Cesare answered with astonishing mildness. ‘It will not be a prison for him, but a home. All privileges will be accorded him; he will be free to come and go, to visit his grandfather and uncles whenever he wishes. Anything he needs will be provided at once, without question. I have already arranged for him to have the best tutors when the time comes.’ He paused, then the cool, arrogant tone I knew so well resurfaced. ‘He is, after all, a Borgia.’

‘He is a prince of the House of Aragon,’ I said heatedly, without easing my hold on the boy for an instant.

At that, Cesare graced me with a thin smile, but there was only humour, no malevolence, in it. ‘Servants will be arriving soon with his things,’ he added, then left me to ponder how such a monster could at times be so human.

I called for Donna Esmeralda, to show off my newest, most precious jewel; the two of us covered the bewildered child with kisses.

Lucrezia had betrayed me and Alfonso had died, but they had left me the greatest of all gifts: their son.

From that moment, all traces of my madness disappeared. Little Rodrigo restored my hope and purpose. I realized that I had not destroyed all that I loved; and I began to entertain the idea of escaping with the child to Naples, ruled now by King Ferdinand of Spain. I could never return to the Castel Nuovo, but I would not be unwelcome in the city I so adored. My mother, my aunts, and even Queen Juana still lived there. I would be among family there. The women who had known my brother could now know his son.

I had the weapon to achieve my goal; thanks to Lucrezia, I had the knowledge to use it. Only one thing remained: the means to deliver it. Now that sanity had returned, I remained patient, willing to bide my time, to consider carefully how to fulfil the destiny the strega had foreseen.

I spent my days caring for Rodrigo. It took him time to accept that he would not see his mother again; most of all, he missed his nurse, who had gone as part of Lucrezia’s entourage to Ferrara. Many nights he kept Donna Esmeralda and me up with his crying-but in truth, I slept better than I ever had before the child’s arrival. Happily, Jofre enjoyed his nephew’s company as well; he was fond of playing with the child, and on those evenings my husband came to dine, he carried Rodrigo to bed.

A docile year passed; summer went swiftly, and winter came again, too soon. The boy thrived and grew. Cesare, fortunately, spent all of his time with his army; I did my best to be patient.

Christmas passed, then the New Year. One night in early January, Jofre appeared for supper. On this particular occasion he lingered in the doorway, pale and shaken, unsmiling; even when Rodrigo came running to greet him, he did not bend down to lift the child, as was his wont, but absently laid a hand upon the disappointed boy’s head.

‘Husband,’ I asked, concerned, ‘are you unwell?’

‘I am fine,’ he said, without conviction. ‘I need to speak to you in private tonight.’

I nodded, and quickly arranged for Donna Esmeralda to take the child early to bed, and for the other attendants, who usually served us at table and removed the platters, to set out the food and wine for us, then depart.

Once everyone had gone, Jofre opened the front doors and curtly dismissed the guards, then stood staring after them a time into the empty corridor; he returned and peered at the balcony, to make sure we were truly alone. Only then did he go to the table and sag down into a chair. The candlelight glinted off his closely-trimmed copper-gold beard, which failed to compensate for his weak chin.

He held out his goblet for wine; his hand was so unsteady that when I poured the ruby liquid into it, it sloshed over the rim. Once the goblet was full, he took a long drink, then set it down and groaned.

‘My brother is the Devil Himself.’ He leaned forward, elbow on the table, and clutched his forehead with trembling fingers.

‘What has he done now?’

‘He and Father are no longer satisfied with simply the Romagna. Cesare has moved down into the Marches, and taken Senigallia.’ I had never been to Senigallia, but I had heard of it-a beautiful town south of Pesaro, on the eastern coast, with such soft, fine-grained sand the beaches were said to be made of velvet.

‘Why are you surprised?’ I interrupted acidly. ‘Surely you have always known your brother’s ambition is boundless. He would never be satisfied with only the Romagna.’

Jofre stared glumly down at his plate without touching the golden-brown leg of roasted fowl and chestnuts there. ‘You have not heard, then, how he took the city.’

I shook my head.

‘He called on all the condottieri of the Romagnol cities to ride with him.’ These were the heads of the noble houses which had been defeated; they had been forced to serve as commanders in Cesare’s army, leading their own men to do the Borgias’ bidding. They had all sworn fealty-at the point of a sword. ‘So they marched on Senigallia,’ Jofre continued. ‘The papal army was so mighty, the city opened its gates and surrendered without a struggle. But it is then that the tale turns ghastly…’ He shuddered. ‘I cannot believe I share the same mother as this man; he is more treacherous than the Turks, more bloodthirsty than the one in Wallachia they called the Impaler.

‘Cesare wanted more than the city as his prize. He invited all the condottieri inside the city walls, saying he wished for them to inspect the castle and sup with him, to celebrate the great victory.

‘The commanders obeyed; they had no cause to expect anything but reward for their loyalty. But my brother… he ordered his men to surround them. The city gates were then closed, shutting them off from their own men.

‘By morning, Cesare had killed every single one of them. Some strangled, others stabbed, or smothered…’ He laid his arm upon the table and rested his brow upon it.

I sat stone-faced across from him, trying to fathom the horror of what I had just heard. Proud, noble families who had ruled for centuries had been abruptly rendered powerless, broken. The Borgias truly controlled the Romagna at last.

He murmured into the crook of his arm, ‘Father and Cesare had already selected new rulers; they were all simply awaiting word to seize command of each city.’ He lifted his face and added miserably, ‘cardinals die almost daily in Rome. Their wealth is being added to the Church’s coffers, and all of it goes to fund the wars. Father will talk of nothing else. He is proud of Cesare, proud of the victories…I cannot bear it.’ He began to shiver so violently that the plate beside him clattered. ‘Now they are both so filled with arrogance, nothing will stop them. With Lucrezia gone to Ferrara, they cannot manipulate her anymore…and so their eyes have turned to me. Father made a comment to me yesterday about needing some of our wealth…for the wars. He spoke