bank. He swilled the knife in the almost still water of the river and wiped it on her dress. Then, very gently and carefully, he rolled her over into the water.
He stood up, breathing quickly. Now the city guard wouldn't see the body immediately if they came down onto the bank. He glanced back at the bridge which was like some great conscious presence, a witness to the drama. Suppose her people were out looking for her there, wondering why she hadn't got home. But surely they'd have come straight down onto the bank. Maybe there were a dozen reasons why she might be late on any particular day. He'd only watched her for three days in all-far from conclusive evidence that she followed an unchanging pattern.
Cesare stuffed the dagger back into his belt. He glanced at his hose and then pulled his doublet down as far as possible, hiding the slit as best he could. He didn't look back at the river.
At the parapet he heard voices. They filled him with a consuming dread. He knew they were looking for her. The voices came from people who must be standing on the bridge. There were several voices. He listened. A voice came out distinctly from the others…
“She came across the bridge just like everyday…”
And then another.
“Never should have left her. It was so near…”
Cesare didn't stay to hear any more. With his heart in his mouth, he crept down toward the river and slipped into the darkness of one of the great spans of the bridge. There he waited, quietly, hardly daring to breathe, hoping that the obvious wouldn't occur to them- to come down and scour the river bank.
For half an hour he waited, but nobody came down onto the bank and after a few minutes he crept slowly back to the Parapet higher up. The voices had gone; there was nobody about.
Not much later he let himself into the grounds of Cardinal Roderigo's house. His clothes were still in the garden shed. He changed, rolled the others into an unrecognizable ball and went into the house to his room. He was there, reading, when his father came to see him much later and tell him the news of the morrow-it was to be the crowning day for Christ's Vicar.
CHAPTER 8
Cardinal Roderigo was crowned Pope Alexander VI next day on the steps of the Basilica of St. Peter. The streets of Rome were crowded with citizens, shouting, laughing, applauding.
Their common eyes were dazzled by the colorful beauty of the procession to the Lateran, the Pope's cathedral church.
Alexander, smiling and serene, completely confident and happy in the fulfillment of his aim, rode on a huge white stallion surrounded by banners including the arms of the Borgias — the Bull. The new Pope held his hand high, blessing the populace with the Fisherman's Ring which glittered from his forefinger in the sunshine.
The magnificent cortege included seven hundred priests and prelates, two thousand knights on horseback, three thousand archers and Turkish horsemen and the Palatine Guard with their flashing halberds and shields.
Watching the procession in all its blaze of color, listening to the music, smelling the incense and the flowers which heralded a night of festivity, Cesare could hardly believe in his adventure of the previous night. A desire not to recall the details of its ending denied him the liberty to enjoy remembering the beginning. It was an episode he preferred to forget.
One of Pope Alexander's first acts was to deal with the violence which had been rife in the city. To this end he used an iron fist.
His first decree was that the house of a murderer should be razed to the ground and the ruffian hanged for all to see above the ruins.
CHAPTER 9
Lucrezia was fourteen years old and a woman of great and varied experience before the Pope succeeded in arranging for her a marriage which suited his ambition. Such a marriage as would have been worthy for a daughter of Cardinal Roderigo Borgia was no longer good enough for Pope Alexander VI. He sought for her an alliance among Italy's princely houses.
It was thus that she became bestowed upon the Lord of Pesaro with a dowry of 30,000 ducats.
The Lord of Pesaro, Giovanni Sforza, himself no more than a youth, thus provided the Pope with much desired stronger relations with Milan — albeit Giovanni himself was no more than a bastard of the powerful Milanese house of Sforza.
The nuptials were celebrated with magnificence in the Vatican, and culminated in a supper party given by the Pope to which ten specially picked cardinals and a number of the ladies and gentlemen of Rome were invited.
After a meal of much good food and more good wine, the Pope announced a special attraction and following on his words some fifty courtesans were brought in and set to dance with the servants.
Many among them were of considerable beauty. They were well known to the Pope, the majority of them having already shared his bed.
The dances were stately and well-performed and the guests applauded politely, wondering what was so special about a spectacle which one could see at any Roman ball.
But, just about the time when those present were beginning to get a little bored with the dancing, Alexander clapped his hands. And at his signal, both courtesans and their partners stripped off their clothes and continued the dancing stark-naked.
There was an appreciative buzz of excitement at this unexpected novelty in the holy place. The men felt their pressures rise as they examined the stately sway of some of the most curvaceous bodies in Rome. The ladies, for their part, tried discreetly to hide their enormous interest in the flopping lengths of meat which dangled between the husky servants' legs.
The Pope, well flushed with liquor, stretched back in his chair and appraised the comparative qualities of various breasts and buttocks. To his nearest male neighbors he gave descriptions of the bedworthy qualities of many of the female dancers, while the ladies within earshot sniggered and replied with quips about the men's pricks, wagering on how big they would grow, which would be the longest under cultivation.
Already having anticipated this argument, Alexander clapped his hands once again and, continuing with their dance, the courtesans, each time they came into contact with their partners, gave a quick, expert rub or tickle to their organs until the latter were rising up majestically.
“Now you will have the answer to the problem,” the Pope said with a chuckle to the Lady Manfredi who was his nearest neighbor. Her hand stole over to his lap and pressed him playfully at his genital region.
“I'm sure there can be no better than the holiest,” she said with a grin.
The Pope leaned toward her with a smile.
“You flatter me,” he said, “but modesty prevents me from comment. Perhaps you would like to join me in consideration of the possibility after the spectacle.”
“You are very bold, Roderigo,” she replied softly. “But a bold man usually gets what he wants.”
She gave his penis a squeeze and withdrew her hand, smiling, to turn her attention back to the scene.
All the servants had big erections by this time. The great cudgels soared out from them like artificial fixtures. In spite of what must have been some turmoil in their loins, they contrived to keep poker faces as the Pope had previously ordered.
The eyes of the spectators were goggling. It was the first time most of them had seen such mass nudity and such mass sexual excitement so openly displayed. Many a prick and many a cunt, well hidden by clothes and the festive tables, was hot with desire at the sight.
Another sign from Alexander and more servants appeared with huge baskets of apples, with the centers hollowed out so that only an outside husk remained. These were fitted onto the stiff rods of the nude dancers, so that they clung more or less closely to their reddening-to-purple knobs.
