The negotiations for Jofre’s marriage were swift ones. King Ferrante and Crown Prince Alfonso were most eager to gain a close connection to the pope, so they enthusiastically accepted the pope’s terms and dowered Sancia richly. Mere weeks after Father had first raised the possibility of the match, Sancia and Jofre were married by proxy. Arrangements were made for Jofre to travel south to Naples, where the bride and groom would be married in person and be invested with their new titles by King Ferrante: they were to be Prince and Princess of Squillace.
“Do you think she will like me, brother?” Jofre asked me one night. I had gone to dine at our mother’s house, where Jofre still lived for the time being. “I have heard she is very beautiful. Will she think me handsome enough?”
I felt a twinge in my chest at the earnestness in my little brother’s eyes. Only twelve years old—thirteen by the time he met his bride in person—and he was concerned with pleasing a wife, who was three or so years older than he. Why can we not let children be children in this family? I asked myself angrily. Yet Father was only doing what needed to be done, for the good of the family. “I am not acquainted with the lady Sancia, and so I cannot speak to her beauty or character,” I told Jofre, “but she has been raised a princess of the Neapolitan court. I am sure she is a true lady in all respects. You are growing into a fine and handsome young man, Jofre. I am certain she shall be nothing but pleased when she sees you.”
He smiled at me, looking not yet a young man. “You are always right, Cesare. I am sure you shall be this time as well.”
He was much more certain of my words than I. For Jofre’s sake, I wanted to be right.
“Your Excellency. A word, if I might.”
I turned to see Ascanio Sforza coming toward me in the hallway, where I was returning from a meeting with the Neapolitan ambassador about Jofre’s journey to Naples. The pope was entrusting me with many of the details, a fact in which I took great pride.
“Cardinal Sforza. How may I be of assistance?” I asked.
He began to walk slowly alongside me. I matched my pace to his, curious as to what business the Vice-Chancellor of the Curia had with me. “I wonder if you might give me a bit of insight into His Holiness’s mind,” Cardinal Sforza began.
“I? It was my understanding that you and he work most closely together, Cardinal Sforza,” I said, more than a little smug.
“That we do,” he replied, smiling what he no doubt hoped was a winning smile. “Yet it is plain no one knows his mind quite like you do. Close as he and I have become over the years, they say he trusts no one so much as yourself.”
“I suppose,” I said, with mock humility. “And what is it you would seek to know? Of course I shall assist such a loyal servant of His Holiness as you in any way I can.”
“I appreciate that. I wonder if you might reassure me on a certain point.”
“If it is in my power to do so, I shall.”
“Indeed. It is my hope that His Holiness remains well disposed toward my native city of Milan, and toward my brother Ludovico as its ruler.”
I stopped walking, turning to Cardinal Sforza in mock confusion. “Can there be any doubt, Your Eminence? Especially when your cousin remains married to my sister?” I emphasized the word remains ever so slightly and left off the words for now.
“I do not think so, no,” Cardinal Sforza hurriedly assured me. “I seek merely to assure my brother, you see. He was a bit … troubled at the departure of the Duke of Gandia for Spain, and was further distressed by the news of your younger brother’s marriage to a Neapolitan princess.”
I shrugged. “Sancia of Aragon is only Prince Alfonso’s natural daughter, not a legitimate one,” I pointed out casually. “She is no nearer the throne of Naples than you or I. It is a fine match for a boy such as Jofre.”
“Yes, of course. It just seems the pope is aligning himself very firmly with the current ruling family of Naples, and therefore with Spain.”
“Indeed he is,” I agreed. “And can you blame him, being from the Iberian Peninsula as he is? I’m certain you know he helped broker the marriage between Their Most Catholic Majesties as well.”
“A brilliant piece of statecraft, such as only His Holiness could accomplish,” he said. “And of course he is and shall remain most sympathetic toward his native land; that is only to be expected. But is it not—”
“If I recall, you supported Jofre’s marriage to Sancia of Aragon in consistory,” I said. Not being a cardinal, I had not been present, but I had heard about it. “Why did you not voice your doubts to His Holiness then?”
“I … ah. Well. As Your Excellency is so well informed, you no doubt know Cardinal della Rovere voiced very strenuous opposition to the match. I felt His Holiness would benefit from my support.”
“Ah.” I let the syllable hang there between us. “So you were not completely honest with His Holiness?”
“No, no, that is not the case at all. You mistake my meaning, I fear. I agree it is a fine match for your brother. I do certainly feel that way. What I would like to know, if you would be so good as to assure me, is that His Holiness is still well disposed toward Milan and views my brother Ludovico as a staunch ally among his many allies throughout Christendom. And if you could remind His Holiness of Milan’s desire to be viewed as such…”
Oh, I was enjoying this immensely. “His Holiness is as well disposed toward Milan as Milan is toward His Holiness and the interests of the Holy See,” I said. “Now, if you would excuse me, Your Eminence, I have promised to luncheon with my sister, Lucrezia, and it would not do to keep that excellent lady waiting. I bid you good day.”
With that, I bowed to Cardinal Sforza and continued on my way. I did not look back, but knew he was likely staring after me with a mixture of anger and worry.