The Borgia Bride

about Squillace, and other properties I have in Naples, and my gems and gold-how they might be of use to Cesare, and the Church. His tone was quite threatening. I have begun to fear for my own safety…Outside of my money, I am useless to them. What is to stop me from being their next victim?’

At his cowardice, I could no longer hold my tongue. ‘Why do you tremble now, Jofre? Why do you show such surprise? Surely you have not been such a fool all these years, yet you chose to remain blind and deaf to all that has occurred around you! You know as well as I that Perotto and Pantsilea were innocents, slaughtered because they knew too much. You witnessed without comment the hanging of Don Antonio, Cardinal Sforza’s guest, with your own eyes. You know the Tiber has been filled to overflowing for years with the victims of your father and brother. Worst of all, you let Cesare murder your brother Juan, and my Alfonso, and did nothing to protect either! Do not complain to me, your wife-I live within the walls of a prison, with women who all were violated by Cesare!’

He let go a tortured groan. ‘I am sorry, so sorry for all that has happened…but what can I do?’

‘Were you a man, you would free me of this,’ I said softly, harshly. ‘Were you a man, you would long ago have taken a blade to your wicked family’s throat.’

His brow was furrowed with worry, but his gaze was fierce; and his voice was very low as he confessed, ‘Then I want to be a man now, Sancha. I want to be free to go to Squillace, and spend the rest of my days there in peace.’

So clear was his intention, so vehement his words that I fell silent. Here was the means I had been awaiting; but I had to be sure of Jofre’s steadiness. I would have chosen a more strong-willed accomplice. Yet the longer I gazed into his determined eyes, the more certain I became that this was my opportunity.

At last I said quietly, ‘I can help you, husband. I know of a way to stop the terror. But you must forsake the Borgias and swear your loyalty to me alone, to the death.’

He rose from his seat, moved swiftly to my side, then knelt and kissed my slipper. ‘To the death,’ he said.

Summer 1503

***

XXXVII

Jofre and I agreed that he would have to steel himself, and wait for Cesare’s return from the wars. Were Cesare to hear of his father’s death, he would ride into Rome and appoint his own pope, one that would yield to his bidding even more easily than his father had. We could not strike at Alexander alone.

Our wait seemed interminable, as Cesare slowly continued his campaign in the Marches.

One morning, however, brought hope. I woke to the distant sound of thunder; but when I rose and threw open the shutters, I looked out upon a cloudless, sunny sky.

The thunder sounded again. It was not, I realized, an approaching storm, but the echoes of faraway cannon. I left Donna Esmeralda asleep-she was beginning to grow a bit deaf-and dressed myself. Then I lifted Rodrigo from his cot and set him down.

Hand in hand, the two of us walked out into the antechamber, and I opened the doors. I had only one guard by then-a new one, Giacomo, a soldier of barely seventeen summers, who loved chatter and gossip almost as much as Donna Dorotea, and who knew I could be trusted.

Giacomo stood not at my doorway, but at the end of the corridor, staring out over the balcony at a point in the far distance. He was lean and tall, and the tension in his long limbs, as he stood with his back to me, conveyed mild alarm.

‘Giacomo!’ I called. ‘I hear cannon!’

He whirled about, at once embarrassed to be caught leaving his post. He returned immediately. ‘Forgive me, Madonna. It is Giulio Orsini and his men. The Holy Father has been imprisoning Orsini’s relatives, so Don Giulio is leading a revolt. But there is nothing to fear. The Pope has summoned the Captain-General and his army’-and here he lowered his voice and eyelids slyly before adding-‘if he can be convinced to come.’

For months, Cesare could not be convinced to leave his wars; the Pope was forced to make do with the few soldiers who had not marched with their Captain-General. Alexander could no longer rely on the support of the Roman nobility, who were mistrustful and bitter owing to Cesare’s treatment of the condottieri at Senigallia. Why should they fight for a pope liable to murder them afterwards?

Giulio Orsini’s strength and support swelled rapidly. One evening, Jofre looked meaningfully at me over the supper table, while Donna Esmeralda poured the wine.

He cleared his throat nervously, then said, with feigned casualness, ‘His Holiness has grown quite desperate for assistance with the Orsinis. In fact, I learned today from the Cardinal of Monreale that Alexander threatened Don Cesare with excommunication if he fails to obey the papal summons and return to Rome. Cesare is reluctant- fuming, according to the cardinal-but today, Father received word that he and his men are coming.’

I reached across the table and clasped my husband’s hand; Jofre’s grip was surprisingly determined and strong. If Esmeralda found anything odd in the look of complicity I shared with my spouse, she said nothing.

In the heat of summer, months after the Pope’s initial call for him, Cesare at last led his army into Rome. For two weeks, he remained inaccessible, encamped with his soldiers in the Roman countryside. But Orsini’s small army was no match for the vast papal horde; the rebellious nobles of Rome were swiftly slaughtered. Jubilant, Alexander ordered all the cathedral bells to be set ringing.

After the victory, my husband arrived for his evening meal. Rodrigo ran to the door the instant he heard his uncle’s footsteps; when Jofre entered, he lifted the boy high into the air, which made the child squeal with pleasure-then he abruptly kissed Rodrigo and set him down. Despite the boy’s repeated pleas, Jofre could not be coaxed into playing this night, and I asked Esmeralda to put Rodrigo to bed early.

A small table had been erected out on the balcony so that we might enjoy the summer evenings while dining. As a pair of maidservants set the platters down, Jofre called for a goblet of wine. One of the servants fetched him one, and he drank the better part of it in a single swallow.

I rose from my chair in the antechamber and went over to where he stood. His gaze was distracted, roving; he had trimmed his beard that day, and none too steadily, for on his cheek was a small cut, marked by freshly dried blood.

‘You bear news, husband,’ I remarked, in a voice too low for the women on the balcony to hear.

Our attention remained on the servants, but I listened keenly as Jofre replied, ‘Cesare is eager to leave Rome as soon as possible and return to the Marches. But Father has convinced him to stay for a victory party-a luncheon to be held tomorrow in Cesare’s honour, hosted by Cardinal Adriano Castelli. It will be held outdoors, in a vineyard.’

‘Arrange to sit between the Pope and Cesare,’ I said softly. ‘Then you need only ask the wine steward to let you deliver their full goblets to them-as a token of your honour and esteem. Make several toasts.’ I paused. ‘When the maidservants leave, I will bring what is required.’

The servants fretted overlong with the table arrangements, but at last they departed. I went into the bedchamber, where Donna Esmeralda sat sewing as young Rodrigo slept.

‘I must retrieve something from my closet,’ I whispered; she nodded and went back to squinting at her needlework while I opened my armoire.

The open doors blocked Esmeralda’s view so that I was free to open a secret compartment in the closet floor