But what was the use? He must face the truth. What had become of the Borgias now? Who cared for the emblem of the Grazing Bull? Alexander, that most fortunate of men, had died in power; but he had taken the might of the Borgias with him.

Cesare’s wife, Charlotte d’Albret, had made no effort to help him. Why should she? He had forgotten her when he did not need that help. He had escaped from the King of Spain, and the King of France had become his enemy. What was his standing with his brother-in-law? He had no illusions. Should the King of France demand him to be delivered up, the King of Navarre would not refuse.

He was alone and friendless. There was only one in the world whom he could trust; she would give everything to help him, his beloved Lucrezia.

But what of Lucrezia? Her power had waned with his, for they were bound together as Borgias, and his danger was hers. Lucrezia would give her life for him, he knew; but that was all she could give.

“Little Lucrezia,” he murmured, looking up at the stars. “What big dreams we had in our nursery, did we not? And bigger dreams when our father ruled the Vatican. Dreams, my dearest, only dreams. I would not accept this fact before tonight. It is significant that I do so now. Cesare Borgia believed himself capable of ruling the world, but I see these idle fancies of mine as dreams.”

There was sudden tumult within the camp. One of his men shouted that the enemy were taking stores into the castle under cover of darkness.

“To horse!” cried Cesare, and he leaped into the saddle.

He could see the party riding with great speed toward the castle; he shouted to his men to follow him, and he was off.

He rode with such mad fury that he outstripped all his followers. He reached the raiding force which was now joined by men from the castle who, realizing what had happened, had come out to do battle.

Cesare rode into their midst, slaying right and left, shouting triumphantly as he did so. But he knew that the others were far behind, and that he was alone … alone and surrounded by the enemy.

He laughed within himself. In that mad moment, when the need for action had intruded on his reverie, he had determined on this.

They were all about him; he heard their blood-thirsty laughter. He heard his own, loud, demoniacal. He raised his sword and slashed furiously.

He was brave, they said; but what was one among so many?

He went down, the mad and bitter laughter on his lips; and as he lay bleeding from his many wounds Louis de Beaumont rode up to see who this man was who had so eagerly sought death.

There were many to bend over him, to strip him of his shining armor and his fine raiment.

When they had done this they left him naked for the buzzards; and the thirty-one-year-old Duke of Romagna and Valentinois, the dreaded Cesare Borgia, was no more.


* * *

Lucrezia was dreaming of Francesco in her apartments, asking herself if he would come again, when into the courtyard there came a dusty rider.

Lucrezia did not know that he had come, and it was Friar Raffaela who brought her the news.

He came to her, and there were tears in his stern eyes as he laid his hands on her shoulders and blessed her.

“You are so solemn,” said Lucrezia; “you are so tender that I am afraid.”

“I would ask you to prepare yourself for tragic news.”

Lucrezia waited tense.

“Il Valentino has been killed in battle.”

She did not speak; she stood staring at him, her expression blank as though she refused to believe him.

“It is true, my daughter,” said the friar.

She shook her head. “It is false … false!” she cried.

“Nay. It is true. He died bravely and in battle.”

“Not my brother, not Cesare. He would not die in battle. He could not. He was a match for all.”

“Would you like me to pray with you? We will ask for courage that you may bear this grief.”

“Prayer! I want no prayers. There has been a mistake. Good friar, you must go to Navarre. You must bring me the truth. There has been a mistake. I know it.”

He looked at her sadly and shook his head.

Then he led her to her bed and signed to her women to help her. She seemed limp until they laid hands on her. Then she threw them off.

She looked pleadingly at the friar once more before she covered her face with her hands. They heard her whispering to herself: “Cesare … my brother! My brother … Cesare! It is not possible. Not Cesare … anyone but Cesare.…”

She signed to them to leave her alone. They did so and she threw herself on to the floor still murmuring his name.

“My father … Giovanni … my first Alfonso … all those … yes … but not Cesare.…”

Her women were afraid when she remained thus for more than an hour. They came to her and tried to rouse her, but she would not be roused. She would neither eat nor drink; but eventually she allowed them to help her to her bed.

She lay there woebegone and during the night they heard her sobbing.

Many times she called his name; it was uncanny, they said, as though she were imploring him to come back from the dead.

In the morning they tried again to rouse her.

It was a terrible blow, they said; but she would grow away from it. It was the sudden shock which had stunned her.

“Grow away from it!” she cried. “You do not understand, for Cesare was Lucrezia, and Lucrezia Cesare; and one without the other is but half alive.”


* * *

It was Strozzi who sought to rouse her.

She must not give way to her sorrow, he implored her; she was young yet and there were many years before her. He understood her grief for her brother, but there were many who loved her and grieved to see her grief. For their sakes she must not become so sad that she would surely die of melancholy.

To him and to Barbara she tried to explain this bond between herself and her brother which had begun in their nursery days and had continued through their lives. They assured her that they understood, but that she must throw herself into some activities or lose her reason.

What of Francesco who loved her so tenderly? Was it fair to him that he must in anguish hear these reports of her misery?

Strozzi had devised an intricate plan whereby Lucrezia and Francesco might correspond with each other. They must not forget that they were surrounded by spies here in Ferrara, and it was certain that Isabella had heard by now of her husband’s infatuation for Lucrezia.

Strozzi’s plan was that he should write letters to Francesco on Lucrezia’s behalf, and that he would send these to his brother—Guido residing in Mantua—who would then take them to the Mantuan court and present them to Francesco. The answers would come by the same route. But they dared not use their own names for this correspondence in case it should fall into hands not intended to receive it; Francesco, for instance, should be called Guido since the letters were to be addressed to Guido, and Lucrezia should be known as Barbara. They must also have faked names for others such as Alfonso, Ippolito, Isabella, who might be referred to.

Lucrezia must admit that it would be a means of corresponding with her lover, and what she needed now in this time of terrible melancholy was an interest which would make her forget for a time the death of Cesare.

Lucrezia, at first half-heartedly, allowed herself to be drawn into this scheme; and after some weeks she realized what Strozzi had done for her, since this correspondence which brought her assurances of Francesco’s devotion was, she believed afterward, the means of saving her from a breakdown at this time.

Then she discovered that she was pregnant.


* * *

Alfonso refused to take any great interest in this pregnancy. He had been disappointed so many times. He was finding the bonnet-maker’s daughter absorbing; she appealed to him as no woman had before, and what he had thought would be a passing fancy had developed into a love affair already of some duration.

He spent a great deal of time in the woman’s company; and Lucrezia was glad of this. She was determined this time, though, that she would do nothing rash, and she lived quietly during the months of waiting, longing for the arrival of the baby.

She never danced and was very careful of what she ate, spending her time in writing letters with Strozzi and designing the baby’s garments. She instructed the court engraver, Bernardino Veneziano, to make her a cradle which should transcend all other cradles, and when this was completed members of the court came to marvel at it. It was made of gilded wood with four pillars at its corners. The roof was a pergola of gold branches and leaves; the curtains were of satin and the miniature pillows embroidered with gold.

It was in April when her pains started, and there was excitement throughout the castle. Alfonso however reacted by leaving at once. He could not endure another failure, and he did not trust Lucrezia to give him the heir he so much needed.

It was some hours after he had left when the baby was born—a healthy little boy who cried lustily and who, all declared, would most certainly not go the way of his predecessors.

When the little boy was laid in Lucrezia’s arms she felt a great load of sadness lifted from her. She had her son and she would try to live her life in him; she would try to forget all the sorrow which had made up the preceding years and she would endeavor with all her might to stop grieving for Cesare.

Alfonso came riding back to Ferrara when he heard the baby was born and was male and healthy.

He stormed into the bedchamber and demanded to see the child. He held it in his arms and laughed aloud with pleasure. This was a true heir of Ferrara.

“We will call him Ercole, after my father,” he said. “Come, Ercole, my son, come and meet the ambassadors who are all waiting to welcome Ercole who will one day be their Duke.”

And in the audience chamber, where many waited to see the new heir, Alfonso held up the child; then he removed the robe, crying: “See. He is healthy, this one, and provided with all things.”

There was great rejoicing in Ferrara.


* * *

There were rumors concerning the baby, for many remembered the last visit of Francesco Gonzaga and, although the lovers had believed at the time that their meetings had been secret, there could have been some servant whom they had believed erroneously that they could trust.

There were covert remarks concerning little Ercole’s appearance.

Was that the Este nose? Perhaps it was a little too wide? A little too flattened? Did it resemble the very distinctive nose of a certain neighboring Marquis?

Lucrezia heard the rumors through Strozzi, a born intriguer who had his spies everywhere; she shrugged them aside. They were quite ridiculous, she said, and everyone must know them to be so.

Strozzi however warned her to be careful. Ippolito was watching her closely and she should remember the havoc he had wrought in the lives of his brothers. She must never forget those two young men, still captive in their tower. No one spoke of them nowadays; they seemed to have been quite forgotten; but she should never forget and, remembering them, be reminded of the might and malice of Ippolito.

Her first indication that Alfonso was aware of Francesco’s love for her and hers for him was when he sent the announcement of little Ercole’s birth to Mantua. She read his message and expressed astonishment that it should be addressed to Isabella.

“I see,” she said, “that you do not mention Francesco Gonzaga.”

Ippolito, who was with his brother, said: “Isabella is our sister.”

“But Francesco Gonzaga is ruler of Mantua.”

“We do not think it necessary to tell him of the child’s birth,” retorted Ippolito.

Lucrezia did not answer. Alfonso was looking at her directly. She knew then of their suspicions.

Alfonso said: “I shall shortly be going to France. You will be Regent with my brother while I am gone. Doubtless”—he waved his hands—“after recent happenings you may be feeling incapable of governing. I would have you know that Ippolito is always here to help you … and to help me.”

It was a warning. She went back to her apartments and sent a message by her chaplain, to Strozzi. She trusted the chaplain completely. He had been with Cesare and had helped him escape from Medina; he had come to her asking for refuge, and most willingly she had given it; she was very fond of his company, for they would sit together and talk of Cesare for hours, so that Lucrezia was able to hear details of his captivity; and it was almost as though Cesare were not dead, when she talked with his chaplain. Moreover this man and the page who had brought her the news, were, she knew, her very trusty servants, and she had need of all those whom she could trust.