It was early evening, and I’d just left His Holiness’s chambers, where I’d delivered some fresh linens. Ever since I had served the pope and his son the first time, simply because there was no other servant handy at the time, I was often sent to perform tasks for His Holiness himself. I had no idea why, but I took great pride in each task. It almost—almost—made me long to see my mother, that I might tell her of the privilege. Not the task God would send a whore or a dire sinner, is it, Madre?
I was so lost in my prideful thoughts that I did not see the man coming toward me until he was almost upon me. “Oh,” I said, my face burning. I dipped a curtsy, eyes cast down. “Excuse me, signore.”
Yet he did not step past me, but stopped entirely. Fearful at having caused offense to some important personage, I peeped up through my lashes.
At once I recognized the pope’s second son, Juan, the Duke of Gandia. Rather than looking upset, he had a wide smile on his handsome face—handsome, yes, but features more watered down than his brother’s, somehow. I could not help but notice his weak chin.
“You may put yourself in my way any time you like,” he said with a leer. Instantly uneasy, I curtsied again and made to move around him, but he stopped me with a hand on my chin, lifting my face up so he might see it better. “I’ve seen you before,” he said. “You’re a pretty thing. Very pretty. What’s your name?”
“Maddalena,” I said.
“Maddalena,” he repeated, his tongue curling obscenely around my name. “Just like the companion of Our Lord. Tell me, Maddalena, are you as free with your favors as she was?”
My heart began to pound. “No, my lord,” I said softly, but hoping he could hear the steel behind my words.
“No? More’s the pity.” Before I knew what was happening, he had seized my arm and tugged me into a narrow, dark hallway, where he pressed me against the wall, my body trapped beneath his. “But women are so fickle … no doubt you can be convinced…”
He put his mouth over mine, and I froze in shock and horror. He took it for acquiescence, pressing his body flush with mine, and I could feel his arousal prodding against me. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong and kept me firmly in place against the wall. I went still again, hoping not to encourage him further.
He broke away, and I found a moment of relief before he reached down and began to lift my skirts. “No!” I cried out, looking frantically up and down the hall for help. But then I had a horrible thought—even if someone did see, who would have the nerve to gainsay the pope’s son?
“Now, now,” he said, running a hand up my thigh. “You’ll enjoy this, I promise.”
“No!” I cried again, struggling against his grip. “Please, my lord!”
“Yes, say it again,” he said, fumbling with the laces of his codpiece and breeches. “I’d like to hear you beg me.”
Rage tore through me. I survived a horrid mother, an inconsiderate and lustful husband, and came all the way to Rome where I serve the Holy Father himself, only to be raped in a hallway by this … this bastard? I think not.
As Juan’s attention turned to shoving down his breeches, I raised my knee and drove it as hard as I could into his balls.
He let out a scream, one of shock as much as of pain, and I tried to shove past him and run. My heart sank as his hand closed on my wrist with a roar of fury. I’ll do whatever it takes … he will not violate me, I swear it … even if I have to kill him with my bare hands …
“Why, you little…” he growled, shoving me up against the wall again.
“Juan.”
The one cold, terse syllable stopped him in his tracks. He hurriedly hiked up his breeches and stepped back, still breathing hard and doubled over. Weak with terror and dread and anger, I collapsed to my knees, hands pressed over my mouth to muffle a sob of relief. I glanced up to see my savior and found none other than the Archbishop of Valencia.
“Why must you spoil my fun, Cesare?” Juan complained.
“It did not look as though the lady was having fun,” his brother said, genuine fury filling his voice. A scornful smile crossed his lips as he surveyed his brother’s posture. “Nor, perhaps, would you have, by the time she was through with you.”
Juan scoffed. “She is no lady, brother. Just a serving girl.”
“Be that as it may,” the archbishop said, his disgust for his brother evident in his voice, “I hardly think it appropriate for you to rape one of His Holiness’s servants in his very palace.”
The Duke of Gandia rolled his eyes. “Come, come, Cesare,” he said languidly. “Surely you find pleasure in subduing a reluctant woman every now and then?”
An involuntary shudder worked its way through my body. Men like this were the reason women could not walk safely in the streets at night.
“I do not,” the archbishop replied sharply. “Personally I much prefer a woman who will gladly devote herself to pleasing me. But,” he added coldly, “I am not a coward who must prey upon defenseless women to prove I am a man.”
“You dare,” the duke snarled, stepping forward, hand on the hilt of his dagger.
“I say only what I see in front of me,” the archbishop said. He reached out a hand to help me to my feet, and I took it. “Now, you’d best be off and not trouble me further. I am late for a meeting with His Holiness as it is.”
“Not before I’ve spoken to him,” the duke protested, and suddenly I had been forgotten.
“He summoned me, and I doubt he’d thank you for keeping him waiting.”
The duke scowled, remaining where he was standing, yet his expression was uncertain.
“Get out, Juan,” the archbishop said, sounding almost bored. “There are plenty of whores in Rome who will be happy to take your coin.”
The duke spat on the marble floor at his brother’s feet, spun on his heel, and walked away.
Once he was out of sight, the archbishop turned his attention to me. “Are you all right?” he asked, his face filled with concern.
“Yes, I … I think so,” I said.
“He didn’t manage to…?”
“No,” I answered. “No, he … he didn’t. I … I injured him somewhat, and…”
He smiled. “Praise be to God. Yes, I gathered the, ah, nature of his injury. Quick thinking. You may not have needed my assistance at all, in the end.” He sighed, his face looking drawn suddenly. “I cannot apologize enough for my brother. He does not conduct himself as a man should, let alone one of his station. His actions are inexcusable.”
“You … you need not apologize, Your Excellency,” I said. “His sin is not yours. And I must thank you for coming to my aid.”
“I could do nothing else.” He studied me, my face growing warm under his scrutiny. As I relaxed somewhat, I was struck anew at how handsome he was. “I have seen you before, serving His Holiness,” he said finally. “What is your name?”
It was nearly the same thing his brother had said, but the words bore not the slightest trace of threat. How strange, that the same words could so differ in their meaning when spoken by two different men. “Maddalena, Your Excellency,” I said, a genuine smile spreading across my face. “Maddalena Moretti.”
“A lovely name,” he said, brow furrowed. “Unfortunately, after I’ve succeeded in embarrassing my brother so, I think he may seek you out again.”
Bile rose in my throat.
“It would be best if you could be out of his way,” he mused.
He has rescued me only to tell me I am dismissed, I thought dismally, so that I might not further tempt his brother.
“I have an idea, if you are agreeable,” the archbishop went on, and I grasped at his words hopefully. “I can see to it you are given a place in the household of my sister, Lucrezia, and her chaperone, Adriana de Mila. You would be responsible for serving them, as well as Adriana’s daughter-in-law, Giulia Farnese.”
“Truly, Your Excellency?” I asked. “You could arrange that?”
“Of course, if you wish.”
It had been a very long time since anyone had asked me what I wished. “But what of my duties here?” I would miss waiting on the pope, but if I did not need to fear further advances from Juan Borgia, that would be compensation enough, and more.
Even if I would be serving the pope’s mistress.
He waved a hand casually at this. “There are plenty of servants here, are there not? And someone else can always be hired if need be.”
We are all the same to them, I thought crossly. But I swiftly shoved aside my annoyance. He had done me a good turn and sought to do me another. Gratitude was what was in order here. “In that case, I accept.” I curtsied. “Your Excellency is most kind.”
“It is no trouble,” he said. “I will send the chamberlain at the Palazzo Santa Maria in Portico a message letting him know to expect you. Report there tomorrow morning. I will see that your wages are the same as here—with perhaps a little extra for the inconvenience of taking a new position.”
“I … I cannot thank you enough, Your Excellency,” I said.
“As I said, it is nothing. And you will like working for my sister.” A tender smile came over his face, succeeding at making him even more handsome. “She is hardly a harsh taskmistress.”
“I am sure I shall like it very much,” I said, already curious, in spite of the tawdry nature of the situation, for my first glance at the pope’s famous daughter and his even more famous mistress.
“Yes.” He rested his eyes on me once more. “Well. Buona fortuna in your new position, Maddalena.” With that, he turned and continued back up the hallway, headed for the pope’s private chambers.
That night when I returned to my room, I immediately fell to my knees and thanked God for delivering me from the Duke of Gandia, and for sending the Archbishop of Valencia.