Rome, June 1493
The week before the wedding, Father summoned Giovanni Sforza to a private audience.
A private audience with the Holy Father was never truly so, of course, for those who were not family. I was present, as was Burchard, Ascanio Sforza, and my father’s chamberlain. Michelotto waited outside, within shouting distance if there was trouble. I did not expect any, but Michelotto was always expecting trouble on my behalf. It was what made him so eminently well suited for his job.
Giovanni Sforza entered the throne room, flanked by an attendant, and bowed. Standing to my father’s right, I wondered at the formal setting. Private audiences were occasionally held in the throne room, but oftentimes in the Holy Father’s own rooms. Surely a meeting with his soon-to-be son-in-law was more suited for a smaller, private chamber?
It would seem, whatever it was Father wanted to discuss with Sforza, he wanted to remind the Lord of Pesaro who truly wielded the power here. I was a bit miffed I did not know why Father had summoned Sforza. But I was present in the room, standing at his right hand, and I would be informed in due course.
“Signor Sforza,” my father said as Giovanni approached, kneeling and kissing the papal ring and slipper. “Rise. I trust your esteemed cousin in Milan is not planning on causing us any trouble, sì?”
Giovanni rose stiffly. “I cannot speak for my cousin Ludovico, nor his actions,” he said, and it was all I could do not to laugh aloud at such a clumsy answer. “But I—”
“My brother Ludovico wants only to be in the good graces of Your Holiness, and to enjoy as close a relationship with the Holy See as possible,” Ascanio cut in smoothly. “There is nothing as dear to his heart, being a man of true piety as he is.”
I could not resist a soft snort. I failed to see how a man of true piety would keep his nephew, the true duke of Milan, all but a prisoner while usurping the powers that belonged, by rights, only to the duke. I caught the glare Ascanio sent my way, but I ignored him. At the side of the room, Burchard’s eyebrows were raised, but he merely continued to studiously take notes.
“Of course,” my father replied, no hint of irony in his voice. He focused his attention on Giovanni. “And I trust you are still finding your accommodations quite comfortable?”
“Very much so,” Giovanni said. “Your Holiness is most generous.”
“Indeed,” my father said. “Your rooms in Santa Maria in Portico are being prepared as we speak, so you might live with your wife after the wedding.”
“I thank Your Holiness.”
“Not at all. A man must be near to his wife, of course. And you will be free to take her back to Pesaro with you as soon as travel arrangements can be made. However, we are very fond of our daughter and would not encourage you to make haste.”
“I am eager to show her my home, Holiness,” Giovanni said. I was astonished to hear a note of petulance in his voice, that he would dare show even a trace of ungratefulness before the Holy Father. “And the people of Pesaro are eager to meet their new countess.”
“Indeed,” my father said, his voice cooling. “Yet surely there is no rush. You’ve a lifetime of wedded bliss to introduce your wife to Pesaro. As she is still so young, we would not wish to see her unduly homesick. Some time for her to adjust to married life in the comforts of her own home is warranted.”
I marked the look of frustration Giovanni sent to his cousin the cardinal. He opened his mouth to protest, but Ascanio shot him a quelling look. “Of course, Your Holiness,” he said tightly. “As you say.”
“We are glad we’re in accord. Which brings us to the other matter we wished to raise.” Father paused, steepling his fingers and peering at Giovanni over them. “As you are well aware, Lucrezia is of a tender age. In the interest of cementing the alliance between our two families in such … uncertain times, the marriage will be proceeding anyway. However, we have one additional condition. It is regarding the consummation of the marriage.” He paused again.
The pope remained silent for so long that Giovanni was prompted to speak. “Yes, Your Holiness?” he asked. “What of it?”
“It is our desire that the marriage not be consummated immediately.”
I saw my own surprise reflected on Giovanni’s face, though I was certain I hid it better than he did. “Oh?”
“Yes,” Father continued. “As we said, she is of a young age still, and out of respect for such an innocent state we think the consummation could be left off for some time. Say, until November of this year, at which time we can revisit the issue.”
I could not resist a slight smile of satisfaction. Not only was I pleased my little sister would not need to bed this man just yet, but I could not help but feel perhaps my father had come around to my way of thinking on this marriage. For if the marriage had never been consummated, it could be put aside without any difficulty at all, if political circumstances should warrant such.
Both Sforzas, Giovanni and his cousin the cardinal, had obviously come to the same conclusion. “This is most irregular,” Giovanni sputtered.
“But important, and hopefully understandable given the circumstances,” my father replied good-naturedly.
“Holiness, surely this is not necessary,” Ascanio interjected. “Your daughter is a fine and obedient young woman, and pious, too, from what I hear. Surely she will understand her duty to her husband as ordained by God, and wish to perform that duty.”
“And so she does,” Father said, his good humor not slipping for an instant. “I ask only that you indulge a doting, loving father.”
It was a masterstroke, and they both knew it. The marriage was going ahead and would be legally binding; the alliance between Borgia and Sforza would be complete. Yet it gave the pope a way out should he need it, and these men could hardly argue with a tenderhearted father—especially not one who was also the pope and to whom they both owed obedience.
Cardinal Sforza, at least, was wise enough to recognize when he had been outmaneuvered. He bowed his head and said simply, “Of course, Your Holiness. As you wish.”
Giovanni, however, did not seem to know he was beaten. “This … restriction was not listed in the marriage contract,” he pointed out.
“Indeed it was not,” my father said. He rose from his throne, indicating the audience was at a close. “We did not think it needed to be included, certain as we are that you are a man of his word who does not need such a clause to pay your bride the respect she is owed, by virtue of who she is and who her father is.” He stared levelly down at Giovanni. “We trust we are in agreement, then?”
The implied threat was nevertheless clear. Giovanni had no choice but to bow his head and reply, “Yes, Your Holiness.”