In August the member of the Borgia family I had hoped never to see again returned home.
I did not attend the procession for Juan Borgia’s return to the Vatican, but Isabella slipped out of the palazzo to join the crowds thronging the streets. She reported back that every member of his entourage was outfitted in silk and pearls, and that the Duke of Gandia was weighted down with so many jewels it was a wonder his horse could carry him. The procession that met him was much larger than the one that greeted the Prince and Princess of Squillace, and the whole piazza in front of the Vatican was trimmed with banners in the colors of the Spanish flag and crests bearing the Borgia bull. There was no doubt who the pope’s favorite son was. I wondered, fleetingly, how Cesare Borgia must feel.
Not long after his arrival, the Duke of Gandia came to Santa Maria in Portico to visit his sister. I was in attendance should they need anything, praying fervently he would not notice me. I hoped he had forgotten about me in the years since he had tried to force himself on me.
Lucrezia and her brother immediately started to converse in Catalan. I had learned a few words of the language in my time serving her, but not enough to make out their conversation.
After they had been visiting for a time, Sancia of Aragon happened into the room. “Oh, do pardon me, dearest Lucrezia,” she said, glancing at Juan. “I did not realize you had a guest.”
Lucrezia and Juan both rose. “Do join us, dear sister,” Lucrezia said, switching to Italian. “You have met my brother Juan, but it will be good for you to become more acquainted.”
Sancia swept the duke a curtsy, and he kissed her hand, smiling broadly at her. “The pleasure is truly mine, sister-in-law,” he said. His eyes roamed lazily up her body before coming to rest on her face.
If she noticed the insolence, she did not comment; in fact, her smile grew even wider. “I look forward to getting to know you better indeed, Your Grace,” she said. “Your wife is not here, correct? We should have loved to receive her as a sister.”
“I was just telling Juan how I long to meet her, and my little nephew,” Lucrezia said.
“Alas, I have left her behind in Spain with our son,” Juan said. “She is with child again, so it was not meet that she should make the journey.”
“You must be eager to get back to her,” Sancia said.
“Indeed, but not before I’ve tasted all Rome has to offer these days,” he said. His eyes flicked over her form once more.
“I am finding it to be a city of many pleasures,” she said sweetly.
Honestly, did the woman flirt as easily as she breathed? Married to one brother, bedding a second, and making advances on the third? The handsomest and best Borgia brother was not enough for her? I cast my gaze down, jaw clenched. Of late I could barely look at her and did so only when she addressed me.
The three of them sat down and began conversing anew, talking of who Sancia had met in Rome and the entertainments Juan hoped to take part in while in the city. I remained at my post against the wall and was relieved they did not call on me all afternoon.