But Giulia was quick with her soothing reply. “It is only gods who have the gift of remaining forever young. Giovanni Sforza, I’ll swear, is but a man.”

Alexander laughed and kissed her. “It is a good match. My beloved daughter will bless me for arranging it. Come, Lucrezia, are you not going to show your pleasure?”

Lucrezia kissed him dutifully. “But I have been betrothed so many times. I will wait until I see him and then until I am married to him before I am too grateful.”

The Pope laughed. They amused him with their chatter and he was sorry to have to send them away because official matters must be settled.

Surrounded by their attendants they left the Vatican, and as they were crossing the square an unkempt vagabond peered at Giulia insolently and cried out: “Why, ’tis the bride of Christ!”

Giulia’s eyes flashed, but the man lost no time in running as fast as his legs could carry him, and had disappeared before Giulia could send anyone after him.

“You are angry, Giulia,” said Lucrezia, “angry at the words of a beggar.”

“I do not care to be insulted,” retorted Giulia. “You know what he meant.”

“That you are my father’s mistress. That is no insult. Think of all those who come to pay court to you because of that!”

“The common people consider it an insult,” said Giulia. “I wish I could have that man put in prison. I’d have him punished.”

Lucrezia shivered. She knew that often men who insulted those in high places had their tongues cut out.

She would not think of that. Perhaps she would have to learn to contemplate such things with indifference, as she had had to learn to accept the relationship between her father and Giulia and pious Adriana’s acceptance of it, and as she had had to accept the fact that she must make herself rich and important by taking bribes. She doubted not that in time she would grow as indifferent as others to these matters; but there was a softness within her which made it difficult for her.

She must conform. She must be like those who lived about her. But for the time being she would refuse to think of the cruel things which could happen to men and women, merely because they spoke too freely.

She wanted to be happy; therefore she would not think of anything that might make her otherwise.

She turned to Giulia. “Perhaps I shall marry this man, this Giovanni Sforza. I like the sound of him. He has the same name as my brother.”

“There are many Giovannis in Italy,” Giulia reminded her.

“But I doubt not that something will happen to make my father choose another husband for me. Giulia, would it not be strange if I never married … because no sooner am I betrothed to one than I must marry someone who will be more grand, more suitable?”

“You will surely marry one day.”

“Then I shall have a lover … even as you have.”

“Husbands are not always lovers, my dear. And you have a long way to go before you are as I am.”

Giulia put her face close to Lucrezia’s and smiled her most secretive smile. “I will tell you a secret. The Pope is more than my lover. He is the father of the child I carry within me.”

“Oh, Giulia! So you are to have a child!”

Giulia nodded. “That was why I was so angry when that vagabond said what he did. I believe it is becoming known. That means that some of our servants are more inquisitive than they should be … and too talkative.”

“Do not punish them for that, Giulia,” said Lucrezia. “It is natural that they should be so.”

“Why should you care whom I punish?”

Lucrezia said: “I do not want to think of punishments. The sun shines so beautifully on the piazza, does it not, and were not my father’s apartments quite beautiful? Cesare and Giovanni will soon be home, and I shall have a husband. There is so much to make me happy. It is merely that I do not wish to think of anyone’s not being pleased.”

“There are times,” said Giulia, “when you seem so simple; and there are times when you seem so very difficult to understand.”


* * *

Lucrezia was in her apartment at the Palace of Santa Maria, and her slaves and women were helping her to dress. One fastened the ribbon of her gown while another set a jeweled ornament in her hair.

The arrangements for her marriage had advanced considerably; Don Gasparo, the rejected suitor, had been placated with a gift of three thousand ducats; and the whole of Italy was talking of the Borgia-Sforza alliance. Some saw in this a threat to their security, and della Rovere had decided he would be safer out of Rome. Ferrante of Aragon was disturbed by the alliance and waited apprehensively for what it would bring forth.

There was no doubt in Lucrezia’s mind that this betrothal had reached a stage which none of the others had, and it seemed almost certain that she would marry Giovanni Sforza.

So, when a page knocked for admission and told one of her attendants that a noble gentleman had arrived at the palace and was asking to see her, Lucrezia immediately thought that Giovanni Sforza had come.

This was wrong of him, of course. He should not come informally; there would be a ceremonial procession into the city; the Pope’s daughter and her betrothed husband could not meet like any serving man and maid; but it would be pleasant and so romantic to do so. She smoothed the folds of her brocade gown and looked at her reflection in the polished metal mirror. She was beautiful; she longed to partake of that sort of love about which Giulia talked.

She said: “Tell him I will receive him.”

But even as she turned, the visitor stood in the doorway and the sight of him made Lucrezia forget the romantic longing she had had to see her future husband.

“Cesare!” she cried, and forgetting all ceremony she ran to him and threw herself into her brother’s arms.

She heard his low laughter, laughter of triumph, of passion, of something she did not understand but loved. She took his hand and kissed it many times.

“You are happy to see me, Lucrezia?”

“It has been a long time,” she cried.

“You thought of me now and then?”

“Every day, Cesare, every day of my life. I never knelt before the Madonna in my room without mentioning your name.”

Cesare was looking impatiently at the women ranged about her. It was as though a new element was in the room, dominating all others; the women looked different; they stood like creatures who had been turned to stone. Yet they almost cringed. Lucrezia remembered how, long ago in the nursery in their mother’s house, the slaves and serving men and women had been afraid of Cesare.

She said: “Leave us. My brother and I have much of which we wish to talk, and that is for our ears alone.”

They did not need to be told twice.

Brother and sister twined their arms about each other and Cesare drew her to the window. “I would look at you,” he said. “Why, you have changed, my Lucrezia.”

There was anxiety in her eyes. “Cesare, you are not displeased with the change?”

Cesare kissed her. “It delights me,” he said.

“But you must tell me of yourself. You have been out in the world. You are an Archbishop. That sounds strange. My brother Cesare, Archbishop of Valencia. I shall have to be very demure when I am with you. I must remember that you are a holy man of the Church. But Cesare! You do not look like an Archbishop! This doublet of yours! I declare it is stitched with gold. And what a little tonsure. A simple priest has more than that.”

His eyes blazed suddenly; he clenched his fists, and Lucrezia saw that he was shaking with rage.

“Do not talk of these matters! Lucrezia, I demand that you stop. Archbishop of Valencia! Do I look like an Archbishop? I tell you, Lucrezia, I will not be forced to continue this life. I was never meant for the Church.”

“No, Cesare, you were not, but …”

“But one of us must go into the Church. One of us, and that one must be myself. I am the eldest but I am the one who must stand aside for my brother. He will soon be home. One imagines the preparations there will be for him. Giovanni, Duke of Gandia! Our father cares more for his little toe than for the whole of my body.”

“It is not true,” she cried, distressed. “It is not true.”

“It is true.” His eyes seemed murderous as they were turned upon her. “Do not contradict me, child, when I tell you it is true. I will not remain in the Church, I will not.…”

“You must tell our father,” said Lucrezia soothingly.

“He will not listen. By all the saints, I swear it.” He went to the shrine and, lifting his hands as one who was about to take a solemn oath, he cried: “Holy Mother of God, I swear I will not rest until I am free to lead the life I wish. I will allow no one to bind me, to lead me. I, Cesare Borgia, am my own master from this day on.”

He had changed, Lucrezia realized; he had grown more violent, and she was afraid of him.

She laid her hand pleadingly on his arm. “Cesare,” she said, “you will do what you wish. No one shall lead you. You would not be Cesare if you allowed that.”

He turned to her and all the passion seemed to have left him; but she saw that he still shook with the violence of his emotion.

“My little sister,” he said, “we have been long separated.”

She was anxious to turn the subject away from the Church. “I have heard news of you from time to time, how you excelled in your studies.”

He touched her cheek gently. “Doubtless you have heard many tales of me.”

“Tales of daring deeds.”

“And foolish ones?”

“You have lived as men do live … men who answer to none.”

He smiled tenderly. “You know how to soothe me,” he said. “And they will marry you to that oaf from Pesaro, and doubtless they will take you away from me.”

“We shall visit often, Cesare … all of us, you, Giovanni … Goffredo.…”

His face darkened. “Giovanni,” he cried with a sneer. “He will be on his brilliant campaigns, subduing all Italy with his armies. He will have little time to be with us.”

“Then you will be happy, Cesare, for you always hated him.”

“And you … like the rest … worshipped him. He was very handsome, was he not? Our father doted on him—so much that he forces me to go into the Church when that is where Giovanni should go.”

“Come, tell me about your adventures. You were a gay young man, were you not? All the women of Perugia and Pisa were in love with you, and you, by all accounts, were not indifferent to them.”

“There was not one of them with hair as golden as yours, Lucrezia. There was not one of them who knew how to soothe me with sweet words as you do.”

She laid her cheek against his hand. “But that is natural. We understand each other. We were together when we were little. That is why, of all the men I ever saw, there was not one as beautiful in my eyes as my brother Cesare.”

“What about your brother Giovanni?” he cried.

Lucrezia, remembering the old games of coquetry and rivalry, pretended to consider. “Yes, he was very handsome,” she said; then, noticing the dark look returning to Cesare’s face, she added quickly: “At least I always thought so until I compared him to you.”

“If he were here, you would not say that,” accused Cesare.

“I would, I swear I would. He’ll soon be here. Then I’ll show that I love you best.”

“Who knows what gay manners he has picked up in Spain! Doubtless he will be irresistible to the whole world, as he now is to my father.”

“Let us not talk of him, Cesare. So you have heard that I am to have a husband?”

He laid his hands on her shoulders and looked into her face.

He said slowly: “I would rather talk of my brother Giovanni and his beauty and his triumphs than of such a matter.”

Her eyes were wide and their innocence moved him to a tenderness which was unusual with him.

“Do you not like this alliance with the Sforzas?” she asked. “I heard that the King of Aragon is most displeased. Cesare, perhaps if you are against the match and have good reason … Perhaps if you speak to our father …”

He shook his head.

“Little Lucrezia,” he said quietly, “my dearest sister, no matter whom they chose for your husband, I should hate him.”


* * *

It was hot June and everywhere throughout the city banners fluttered. The Sforza lion was side by side with the Borgia bull, and every loggia, every roof, as well as the streets, was filled to see the entry into Rome of the bridegroom whom the Pope had chosen for his daughter.