likely to succeed in his plan without too many later investigations being made. And it was in one of these quarters that he found the sort of situation he had been seeking.
At dusk, he noted, at a particular spot, three goat-swains-two men and a girl-were in the habit of driving a large herd of goats from the city gates into their pen within the city. They all stayed together until a point near the Bridge of St. Angelo across the river where the girl would bid them good-night and slip across the bridge to her house which was close to the far bank. The two men would continue with the goats under the assumption that their companion was safe with only such a little distance to go alone.
Cesare made a survey of the area. His heart raced in anticipation of the deed. As he marked the spot- dangerously near her home-where he could drag her over the low parapet onto the shrub-covered, shelving bank, his breath came quickly as if he were already lying between her legs.
The girl, herself, was a peasant girl with a saucy, good-looking face and a strong, loose-limbed body with large breasts and a behind that was pert under the thin country dress she wore. She would be no easy conquest. Cesare was well aware. But he thought he could subdue her and the sight of her body, revealed in a way that only peasant clothing would allow, infused him with a nervous excitement that gave him butterflies in his stomach.
The day fixed for the crowning of the new Pope came nearer and Cardinal Roderigo spent more and more time away from his house fixing the details of the ceremony.
Cesare's chance came at last. In a sudden fit of trembling he donned the old clothes in the gardener's shed. The hose he slit between the legs-just enough so that another tug would give his organ free exit. The doublet came down far enough to hide the spot.
He stole out of the house, leaving a door to the grounds unlatched for his re-entry, hoping that no would-be robbers would discover it before he got back.
Along the main streets people were still passing in groups, sometimes singly. He avoided these more frequented places after a time and set out through the growing twilight to the poor quarter.
Narrow, cobbled streets led him down toward the river. Sometimes someone flitted quickly from one doorway to another, sending his heart into his mouth, sometimes a shutter would slam, making him jump and twice he brazened it past a group of men who peered at him in the half-light but made no move to interfere with him. At the bridge across the river he stopped and leaned on the parapet for a moment to calm himself and quell the thumping of his heart. He peered through the gloom. He was sure they hadn't yet come. Below, the river was a smooth, dark sheet, behind him odd noises rang out from the Castle of St. Angelo which towered up in ghostly form. In the distance he could still dimly see the outline of St. Peter's. There was nobody about, now. The majority of honest citizens who were able would now be safely locked behind their doors with the shutters barred.
Cesare listened. On the still air he heard the faint bleat of a goat.
Quickly he set off across the broad bridge. His heart was still pounding wildly. The seriousness of what he was doing crept over him and in the middle of his hurrying he wondered, without slowing his place, if he shouldn't just turn back and get home as quickly as possible. But in his head he had an image of the goat-girl with her loose- limbed walk and her body curves embraced in her peasant dress, and he hurried on.
By now the dusk was settling in; in a short time it would be completely dark.
He reached the point where the bridge ran into the far bank. He took a quick look around. He could almost see the girl's house to which he'd followed her twice already. Then he swung himself lightly over the parapet and crouched down out of sight.
The parapet at this point was only three feet high and there was a further six-inch drop on the bankside. From where Cesare crouched, trying to still his heaving breath, the bank, divided into patches of knee-high scrub and dusty sand, stretched gently down to the still edge of the river.
There he waited, not daring to look back over the parapet. He was so nervous that he ripped open the slit in his hose and urinated quickly against the wall of the bridge. He need still do nothing, he told himself. He could just let her go by and then go home. He still hadn't definitely decided he was going through with it when he heard her light footfall on the bridge.
He pulled the dagger from the belt under his doublet. His hand was trembling as he put it over his mouth to try and quiet his breath. In spite of his bladder-emptying, his organ was at half-cock with nervous excitement.
Suppose she was not alone today. Suppose someone came toward the bridge from the opposite direction and saw them. Suppose she broke away from him and screamed for the city guard. What would happen to him? What would his father say? A thousand doubts sprang in on him. But there was her footfall, unsuspecting and so close. He held his breath. There was no other noise at all. She was alone as usual.
Tense as a bowstring he waited. Now she was about ten paces away, now nine, now eight… now one… He put his hands on the parapet in the half-darkness, and with a spring he was up and over it just behind her.
The girl half-turned in horror before his hand clapped over her mouth and he flashed the dagger in front of her eyes.
“If you scream or make any sound I'll kill you,” he whispered fiercely.
The girl stared at him with wide, horrified dark eyes. It was rather a shock to find himself so near her, touching her, the object of her terrified attention, after watching her from a distance for two nights.
Her body was very warm against him through her thin dress. She held herself taut, but didn't make a sound.
Still holding one hand over her mouth, Cesare, glancing nervously across the bridge, prodded her toward the parapet.
“Climb over and drop down the other side,” he ordered. “And don't make a sound. I don't intend to kill you and I shan't unless you scream.”
For a moment the girl wouldn't move and he thought she was going to resist. He prodded her side with the point of the dagger and she went in front of him to the parapet and swung over it, dropping down with him to the other side.
Cesare prodded her on down the bank toward the water's edge and away from the bridge. Behind them on the land side, the bank ended some distance up in a high wall. He was safe from that direction.
The girl made no sound as he walked with her, hand still on her mouth in case she tried to shout. It had all been very easy. Through his excitement he looked down sideways at the bulge of her breasts. It was really here at last — and so easy.
At a distance from the bridge they stopped. Cesare glanced quickly back. Nobody on the bridge could see them at that distance. He jabbed the girl with the knife.
“Lie down-and if you try to shout I'll slit your throat.”
The girl looked around at him. She had long dark hair which was mussed up now around her dark face. Her eyes had lost some of their startled horror and were gleaming with anger.
“What do you want?” she said fiercely. “I am poor-I have no money.”
Cesare was beginning to feel very sure of himself.
“You have something worth its weight in gold,” he said softly. “Now lie down and I will show you.”
The girl's sudden defense took him unawares. He had come to expect an easy victory. She twisted suddenly from his grasp and took a half step toward the bridge. But Cesare's reaction was quick. He caught her again before she had even the time to cry out. He clamped his hand roughly over her mouth and pushed her to the ground. She fell under him and he dug the knife at her ribs.
“I told you I'll kill you,” he hissed.
But this time his warning had no effect. The girl probably thought he would slit her throat anyway when he'd finished with her and she resolved to sell her life dearly.
She twisted over and struggled furiously with him so that Cesare, who'd had no intention of using the knife and adding murder to his crime, was forced to drop the weapon and use both hands in an effort to overcome her.
His prick, which was erect as a raised drawbridge, had flipped out of the slit in his clothing and was crushed and rubbed between them as they struggled.
He managed to stretch her arms out on either side, but her legs continued to writhe and buffet him as he lay along her.
Her face, wrinkled with dark fury, was directly below his. With a little gust of triumph he closed his mouth over hers as she struggled. He could tell he was much stronger than she. When he took his face away she spat in his face. He released one of her arms and slapped her face with his free hand. She pushed with her released arm,
