Chapter 9

 

 

I feel better instantly, knowing he’s on his way to me. He arrives home a week before I give birth to a son. His eyes tear as he holds him out to the people gathered in the courtyard. Rodrigo’s christened in gold with trumpets and oboes announcing the momentous occasion. For seven months, Alfonso, Sancia, and I stay secluded, doting on Rodrigo. Alfonso fears going out and stays close to his men he brought back with him for protection. I have the same nightmare repeatedly for a week:

A fawn walks down the steps of St. Peter’s in the moonlight. A dark hunter appears at the top of the steps and shoots the fawn in the back. The poor thing runs back frantically to the courtyard for shelter. But as it reaches the illusion of safety, a brown wolf pounces and drags the fawn under the bushes.

One morning, there’s a large commotion outside St. Peters. The triumphant son returns with horses, soldiers, and plunder of war. One of the pope’s grooms comes knocking on our door for us to greet Cesare and celebrate. Alfonso stays behind as I hurry down the stairs to stand next to Father on his balcony. Cesare leads the way in his usual black attire but with the addition of a thick gold collar and gold and black cap. Father yells to circle the Vatican to show Rome how victorious he is, and I see Father’s eyes well up with tears as he heartily laughs with joy. When Cesare goes around one side, Father runs to the next side to watch him go all around the palace, waving for me to follow him.

When the procession’s over, we hurry out to greet him, and he jumps off his horse. He gives father a quick kiss on both cheeks and then his ring and gives me two kisses also.

“Guards! Bring Caterina to dine with us,” Cesare yells back to his men, and two guards drag out a raging beauty: a dark-haired and brown-eyed slender woman with small faint freckles on her nose and under her eyes. She wears a crushed velvet dress with a pale blue robe, and she keeps struggling to free herself as she curses the guards.

Cesare motions for us to go in and not to wait for her, who I deduce is one of his prisoners. My stomach wrenches for what’s going to play out at dinner with the poor woman seated with us.

Father sits first, and then we all take our seats. The woman is brought in and tied sitting in her chair so that her back and legs are tight to the chair, but her hands are free. The knots are tied out of her reach behind her back. She looks fierce and angry, which is impressive, since Cesare hadn’t intimidated her yet. I sit across from her, and she stares at me while our course is served.

“You’re the lying whore who’s sleeping with her papal father and pig brother?”

I avert my eyes, completely caught off guard by her hatred.

Cesare starts laughing. “Isn’t she charming?” He grabs her hair and holds her head back. “Now be nice if you want to be fed tonight.”

“Lucrezia, this is Caterina Sforza, Ruler of Forli, relative of your impotent first husband,” my father says.

Caterina guffaws at the word impotent.

My father continues, “This lovely duchess has been so kind as to have attempted to kill me twice in the last month. Trying to preempt the attack on Forli, she sent me letters steeped in poison that sickened two of my messengers and also tried wrapping her letters in clothes worn by plague victims.”

She purses her lips and gives Father a burning stare.

Cesare speaks. “All other provinces gave way to me like cheap whores, but Caterina fought to the very end.” She pulls at her ropes, and Cesare laughs. “She’s still fighting!”

She shakes her head back and forth like she’s gone mad and screams while doing so. “Why have you not killed me yet!”

Father and Cesare are enjoying the show.

“Why would I do something that could make me more enemies than I already have?” Father says with his eyes wide. “If you had only relented as the others had, then you’d still be in Forli.”

“I will never sell my soul!”

“I’m sure Don Michelotto could find your price,” Cesare says, but Father puts his hand up to keep him from going such places.

“Caterina, you’re such a lovely young woman, and I respect your fight, but you must understand I’ve only two choices. Either I can accommodate you and your children very comfortably in St. Peter’s—”

“What will you make me do, sleep with you and have your child as you forced your daughter to?” She looks back at me and enunciates the words. “The Roman Infant.” She can see she strikes a sore spot with my father.

He pushes back slightly from the table and has a serious expression that I’ve learned to fear. “No, I would simply ask that you give up your rights and those of your children to Forli.”

Caterina spits at him from two seats away and hits my father under his eye. He stands up and knocks his chair over and shouts through gritted teeth, “Take this ungrateful shrew and throw her in the dungeon!”

Some of Cesare’s guards dining with us get up and take her away. As she’s being dragged, she yells, “The Borgia will never see happiness long! Their murderous curse will follow close behind!”

After my father’s cleaned, he tries to reclaim the evening by bringing out some of his best wine and having the string musicians play for us, but Caterina’s words reverberate within.

Father lifts his wine as all follow. “To Cesare, Duke of Gandia and soon to be King of Romagna!”

Everyone cheers and clinks their glasses.

 

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

 

The next day, there’s a jousting match held outside the Vatican. Sancia and I decide to attend. We’re sitting in our raised seats above the field, discussing yet another lover Sancia has snuck into her bed, when Cesare approaches. He comes and nods to both of us and stands up and yells across to the jousters getting ready to compete, “Yesterday, this noble Frenchman and this surly Burgundian had quarreled over a banner. The Burgundian has challenged this gallant Frenchman to a duel, which we’re all so lucky to be attending this fine morning. I have total confidence that my Frenchman, who has fought so valiantly beside me, will be victorious. Let the joust begin!”

There are as many cheers as there are boos. While the men are getting their gear on for the match, Sancia and I see Cesare wave Don Michelotto over to him.

“Go to the Burgundian and offer him twenty ducats, clothes, and a new banner if he’ll throw his match. Tell him I’ll double the price if he does so in a humiliating way.”

Sancia and I watch as Don Michelotto saunters his way over to the Burgundian getting his metal gloves on. The Burgundian pushes Don Michelotto back into a pile of manure and turns his back to finish dressing. Don Michelotto sucks his foot out of the pile, shakes his head at Cesare, and walks off. Sancia and I are trying our best to hold our laughter in, and Cesare says, “No matter, the Frenchman will win.”

When the Burgundian throws the Frenchman off his horse on the second run, Cesare gets up and storms away.

Sancia says, “I think I’ll see if our Burgundian is hungry after such a match.”

She winks at me, then makes her way seductively to the sweaty handsome man removing his armor.

The next day, I watch from my balcony while holding Rodrigo as Cesare’s running drills in the courtyard. Sancia dresses herself and twelve of her squires in livery in the colors of the Burgundian and parades them right by Cesare. Cesare holds his middle finger up to her forcefully. Sancia keeps her head held high and blows him a kiss. My worlds are colliding, and I don’t want to see who will ultimately win.

After Alfonso and I dine one evening, he kisses my head. “I have to meet someone across St. Peter’s Square for an hour about Cesare’s push on Aragon.”

“You aren’t going alone, are you?”

“I’ll have my best men with me.” He points to two large men waiting by the door.

“I don’t like you going out in the dark.”

Alfonso laughs. “The moon is bright tonight, almost as light as day.”

“Come home as soon as you can.” I kiss him on the lips and start walking up the tower stairs, and every time I go around, I see a little higher up in the small window overlooking the steps below, waiting to see Alfonso and his men spilling down. A horrible feeling chokes me as I realize there is a full moon low in the sky, and it’s shining down, illuminating St. Peter’s steps. I freeze at the small window and watch as Alfonso’s beautiful shape appears and cascades down the steps, and scream when I see four men on horseback gallop toward the bottom of the steps. I fly down the stairs and run to the dining room, where Father’s still drinking with a few cardinals.

“Alfonso!” I scream, not being able to say any more words, and I point out the door. “Help him!”

I dash out the front door and see the four men, dismounted, dragging Alfonso from the steps toward the river. I scream again, and it pierces the night as my father’s guards come streaming out behind me, causing the four men to jump on their horses and run to the protection of close to forty horsemen, and they charge off toward Porta Pertusa. I skip two or three steps, trying to get to him as fast as I can. He’s bleeding heavily from one deep wound on his head and one gash across his shoulder. I hold his head up and call his name. He doesn’t open his eyes or make a sound.

My father stands at the top of the steps and calls, “Guards, carry him in to my personal doctor.”

The men carry him up all thirty steps to his apartments as I lie rocking on the stone ground, crying his name again and again.

My father finally heaves his large body down the steps. “Lucrezia, stop this now. Your husband is still alive and needs your protection.”

I immediately stop. He’s right. If he has any hope to live, I will have to stay by his side and keep whoever committed this from doing it again. I get up quickly, pulling my skirts high so I won’t trip, not caring my legs are showing. The doctors rush into the room and cut off his clothes to examine the wounds. I go to hold a towel to his head, and a doctor pushes me away.

“Let us handle this. Why don’t you wait outside?”

“I’m not leaving his side.”

“Well, go stand over there out of the way, then.”

I obey and watch from the door and see Sancia running down the hall frantically. “Alfonso!” she searches for him.

“Sancia! Alfonso is in here.” I begin crying again at the sight of her.

She takes one look at his condition and grabs for me. We hold each other, crying, for what seems hours. Once we’re alone with the attending doctor, she cries, “This is all my fault.”

“How is this your fault?”

“I said a… prayer for Cesare to leave us alone once and for all. It has come back on us threefold!”

I know she is referring to her strange behavior by the bonfire, and I don’t want her divulging more. There are serious crimes for what she is speaking about.

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with this.”

My father comes in looking forlorn, and he asks, “Will he live?”

The doctor’s finishing stitching the small wound on his arm; Alfonso’s head’s wrapped in cloths dipped in healing herbs.

“Only God knows. We have done our best. Now he needs to rest.”

My father nods.

“Father, I will need only our most trusted guards to guard him.”

“Don Michelotto?”

“No, none of Cesare’s guards.”

He stays quiet at my accusation and stares at his feet.

“I want only Alfonso’s men. Will you please see to it that they are sent to the Borgia tower?”

He looks up. “Why the Borgia tower?”

“That is where I’m having him moved. It has only one stairway and entrance so that it can be watched night and day.”

He nods again. “I’ll do anything to help you.”

He leaves to fetch his guards.

“It could kill him to be moved,” the doctor protests.

“Better than staying here where he’ll surely die,” I say as I point to the four guards. “Carry him as gently and carefully as you can up to the tower.”

I look to Sancia, and she gives me a nod in agreement.

The doctor begins to follow us up into the tower when I turn to him and say, “Thank you for your help. You may take your leave now.”

“He needs a doctor by his side at all times.”

“I’m the pope’s daughter, and I say you are relieved!” I command.

As he walks away, I instruct Sancia, “Go at once with your fastest messenger to your cousin, the King of Naples, and request his best doctor to be sent on his fastest horse.”

“Yes.” She runs off down the stone corridor.

I sit beside Alfonso on my knees, holding his hand and praying for him to live. Sancia comes back an hour later, and we stay up all night. The doctor arrives in the early morning and goes to work on aiding Alfonso, who’s sweating through a fever all night.

“He made it through his first day. That is most encouraging,” the doctor says.

Sancia and I cry in hope that it may be true.

Two days later, he opens his eyes and rasps, “Lucrezia.”

“I’m here, my love.” I squeeze his hand.

“I still breathe?”

“Yes, and as soon as you’re better, we’re leaving for Naples.”

A servant brings a tray of broth and water in for Alfonso.

“Take that back; we’ll not be needing your services.”

The servant backs out of the room. Sancia looks puzzled.

“We’ll have to take turns cooking him food and fetching water. I don’t trust anything while we stay in the holy city.”

“I will go first, then. You stay with Alfonso.”

He slowly recuperates, and as he’s sleeping one morning, I peer out and see that the whole city is closed down.

I turn to Sancia. “What’s happening? All of the houses are shut up.”

“News of Alfonso’s attack has caused the people of Rome to stay home for fear of a vendetta.” Sancia continues as she makes a stitch in her embroidery. “They say whoever killed Juan has tried to kill Alfonso.”

I know what she’s thinking, and I haven’t left Alfonso’s side to confront him yet.

“Cesare has even issued an edict forbidding the carrying of arms!” She laughs. “I wonder why he has so much to fear?”

There’s a great commotion outside the door, and our guards try to block the door from opening. Sancia throws down her sewing, and we both stand on either side of Alfonso, ready for what’s trying to penetrate. The door pushes open, and six men, Don Michelotto, and Cesare burst in.

“You’re not allowed in here!” I shout at him.

His guards begin fighting our guards, as Don Michelotto and Cesare come to the foot of Alfonso’s bed.

“I have business with your husband!” He throws down three arrows on the bed.

Sancia yells, “I think you’ve done enough, Cesare, leave now!”

“Oh, you think I’ve landed him in this sick bed?”

“There’s no doubt it was you,” Sancia spits.

“I did not attack your weakling husband, but if I had, it would have been no more deserved!”

“What has Alfonso done to you?” I scream.

“Everything!” he screams back. “What hasn’t he taken from me?”

Alfonso stirs and tries to talk. “Lucrezia, I will handle this.” He attempts to sit up, wincing and holding his head.

“It is I who have been wronged,” Cesare says. “Your guards shot these arrows at me while I was walking in the courtyard. One nearly hit my head.”

“That is not true,” I state.

“It is true,” Alfonso replies. “I instructed them to kill him.”

Sancia looks proud, and I realize quickly that she must have delivered his order for him.

“Listen, you imp, you’re lucky it was Orsini and not Don Michelotto that met you on those steps. If he had, you would already be rotting in your Naples mausoleum!”

Cesare bends over Alfonso on the bed, and Sancia and I try to push him back, but he says slowly, “What has begun at breakfast will be finished by supper.”

He walks back out with Don Michelotto and his guards.

“I hate lying here like a useless child.” Alfonso throws his head back on the pillow but then winces in pain.

“Sancia, go to your cousin again and plead for him to come with an envoy to bring Alfonso to safety. I fear every night he’s still within these walls. I know the doctor says he can’t be moved yet, but tell him he’s in great peril.”

As she runs off, Alfonso studies me. “You’re so beautiful, my guardian angel.”

I lie across his chest and hold on tight. I feel fear running through me every moment; I can’t sleep unless Sancia is there. She’s the only one I can truly trust. I’ll send her with Alfonso to Naples and leave with Rodrigo as soon as Father will grant me permission. I hate the thought of leaving him.

Sancia quickly returns and breathless from running up the tower stairs, she says, “King Frederico replied he’ll send his men at once.” Smiling in triumph, she sits beside Alfonso on his bed.

“My two angels.” He takes her hand.

The next day, we hear the trumpets and peer out to see the beautiful sight of the small envoy with the colors and flags of Naples.

“They’ve made it!” I cry. “Sancia come look.”

Sancia runs over. “It’s a miracle! God is on our side!”

I tell his groomsmen, “Please, pack up the duke’s things. He’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Do you need to get your things as well, sister?” Alfonso asks.

“I have been ready for a week!” She smiles.

“Sancia, help me dress him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s been a month and as much as I’d enjoy you dressing me, I think I’ll draw the line at my sister. Turn away, Sancia.”

“Fine.” She turns. “It hasn’t dawned on you that I’ve changed your bed sheets for a month, but I’ll let you salvage whatever dignity you have left.”

We all laugh.

“Easy, Lucrezia, easy!” He squeals as I try to get him into his pants too fast.

Once he’s dressed, Sancia’s hitting the bottom of his boots, trying to get them on. “Did they stab your foot too? It has swollen double the size!” She chuckles as she pinches both sides of his foot and tries in one motion to squish it into the stiff leather.

“Ouch! I think Cesare would be kinder to me!”

Sancia drops the boot and grabs her sides in laughter. We’ve been stressed for so long, it’s such a relief to feel everything will be okay. The door opens, and in walks a handsome white-haired man with at least twelve strong men behind him.

Sancia runs to him. “Uncle!”

She hugs him, and he gives her two kisses. “Lucrezia.” He bows. “Alfonso.” Another bow.

“Uncle, thank you for coming for me.”

“We had better hurry. At our entrance we saw three times our men rush to the opposite side of St. Peter’s in arms.”

He motions four men to go and lift Alfonso to carry him down. As they’re picking him up, Don Michelotto bursts through with two dozen men at the ready. “I’m under the orders of Cesare to keep the prisoner in the tower.”

“Prisoner?” I yell.

“Yes, he’s held until healed for the attempted murder of the Duke of Gandia.”

Sancia recoils. “The Duke of Gandia is already dead, murdered, and drowned by your master.”

“Seize them and bring them to the gaol. They’ve plotted to free the prisoner without the pope’s permission.”

“Why are you doing this, Michelotto?” I cry.

“I’m at the will of others, Duchess.” He bows his head and leaves, motioning his men to follow.

The soldiers lower Alfonso back down and let Michelotto’s men tie their hands and walk them out of the tower.

I run out of the room without thinking and hear Sancia close behind. I dash down the winding steps and head toward the pope’s apartments. When I throw the door open, Sancia has caught up, and Father sits straight up in his chair at our frantic interruption.

“Father! Father!” I can barely talk; I can’t catch my breath.

“What is it, child? Calm down!”

“They’ve imprisoned my uncle and the men from Alfonso’s envoy!” Sancia gets out.

“What envoy?”

“The envoy my king has sent to move Alfonso.”

“Who’s with Alfonso now?”

I see Sancia’s face lose all color, and I’m sure it mirrors mine. Without words, we both rush back up to the tower.

“Stupid women!” I cry as we clamor up the stairs.

“How could we fall into his trap!” Sancia cries.

Seeing the door, we know our worst fears have come true. Don Michelotto’s huge guards are blocking the door. Sancia and I throw ourselves at them, beating our fists on their armored chests.

“Let us by!”

“By order of the pope, I command you to step aside!” I scream.

They don’t budge.

“Alfonso!” Sancia shrieks.

The door opens, and Don Michelotto walks out, putting his gloves on. “He’s dead.”

“Aaaahhahhh!” I rip at him.

His guards pull me off him as Sancia runs into the room.

Her high-pitched scream makes my heart bleed as I realize what undoubtedly has just taken place.

I drop to the floor, and Michelotto says, “Leave her.”

I sob on the ground and then pull myself up to see Sancia draped across Alfonso’s still body. I sweep the covers up to hide the purple marks around his neck and fall on top of him, both lamenting at our great mistake.

“Brother!” she weeps over and over again.

“Husband!” I wail, as if we can undo time.