Light on Lucrezia (57 page)

It was a situation which was quite intolerable to Isabella. What was going on behind those sly meek eyes? Was the girl laughing at her? Was she thinking to take her revenge for what had happened at the wedding?

She took Lucrezia’s arm and with a party they toured the castle, for Isabella had a great longing to show Lucrezia the treasures she possessed. She wanted to accentuate the fact that she, Lucrezia Borgia, was no longer a power in Italy, and that even the possessions still left to her were held insecurely.

Francesco was in the party, so were the two women whom she had dressed in two of her most becoming gowns. They were chattering as coquettishly as they knew how, but Francesco was scarcely aware of them.

Lucrezia must gasp in admiration at the beautiful works of art which Isabella had to show her, and even Isabella gloating over them briefly forgot her enmity toward Lucrezia.

Isabella was a born collector with a sincere love of what was beautiful, and as she stood before the glorious Mantegna painting of the Triumphs of Julius Caesar her eyes filled with tears.

Lucrezia was similarly affected, and for a moment they were drawn together.

“It must be one of the finest paintings in Italy,” said Lucrezia.

Isabella nodded. “Painted for me by Andrea Mantegna when Francesco became Marquis of Mantua.”

Isabella had broken the spell; immediately she was herself once more. Painted for
me
. Arrogant and possessive, implying everything within this castle belongs to me—including Francesco.

There were the beautiful paintings by other artists of note; Isabella had made sure that all the greatest works of art should be housed in her palace. Here were works by Costa and Perugino; the rarest books were in her possession; ornaments finely wrought in gold and silver and decorated with precious stones. She had her grotto to which she took Lucrezia, and there, among the most exquisite sculpture in the world, Lucrezia discovered that which was perhaps the most beautiful of all.

Her eyes dwelt on Michelangelo’s Sleeping Cupid which had once been in the possession of the Duke of Urbino. To Lucrezia it represented more than a beautiful piece of work by one of the world’s most brilliant artists; it was a symbol of Isabella’s ruthless cupidity. Lucrezia remembered that, when those whom Isabella had called her great friends were in distress, her first thought had not been for their safety but for the Sleeping Cupid; and at Cesare’s request she had banished the Duke and Duchess of Urbino in exchange for the Sleeping Cupid.

Did Isabella think of this every time she looked at that exquisite statue? What was she thinking now? Isabella’s mocking eyes held those of Lucrezia briefly, as though to imply: Understand the sort of woman I am. Ruthless to my friends, how much more so should I be to my enemies!

But there was one treasure Isabella had kept to show her visitor, which she guessed rightly would cause her more pain than anything else she could show. This was the handsome young heir of Mantua, one of the most beautiful boys in Italy: Federigo, son of Francesco and Isabella; and Isabella made sure that Lucrezia, who had so recently lost the heir of Ferrara, should have plenty of opportunities to envy her the heir of Mantua.

She sent the younger of the ex-mistresses to her husband’s bedchamber that night, but the woman returned to Isabella and told her she had been
dismissed. Isabella then sent the second of the women, and she too failed and returned to her mistress.

Lucrezia’s bedchamber was well guarded. She should not have the comfort of Francesco during her Mantuan nights, decided Isabella; and after a two-day visit of great strain and tension, Lucrezia re-entered her barge and sailed away from Mantua, leaving behind a regretful, unsatisfied lover and his bitter and revengeful wife.

The barge glided
on its leisurely journey along the Po, turning from the main stream on the way to Ferrara, and so it came to rest at Belriguardo.

Here a pleasant surprise awaited them. Giulio was standing on the bank to welcome them.

Eagerly he kissed Lucrezia’s hand and even more eagerly his eyes sought those of Angela.

“But … Giulio!” cried Lucrezia. “Should you not be far away?”

“Have no fear,” Giulio reassured her. “I have not broken parole. Alfonso was in a benign mood when the baby was born. He gave me leave to return to court.”

“I am glad, and so will Angela be.”

Angela certainly was. She was a little anxious also; her pregnancy was drawing toward its end, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide her condition which by now several of the women had guessed. Therefore for Angela’s sake, Lucrezia was delighted to see Giulio and still more delighted that Alfonso had decided to forgive him.

Giulio explained that he had called at Belriguardo to welcome them, and was going to ride on ahead of them the very next day to warn the court of their imminent return.

Lucrezia arranged that he and Angela should be alone together, and when the lovers had embraced they began to discuss their plans.

“We must marry soon,” Giulio declared.

“If we do not,” grimaced Angela, “our baby will be born before we do.”

Giulio hesitated. He told her that he longed to marry her immediately, but at the same time he did not wish to offend Alfonso.

“You see, my beloved Angela,” he explained, “after this affair of the chaplain
he warned me that there must be no more rash escapades. If there were, he said, he might not forgive me so readily next time.”

“We want no more banishments,” said Angela.

“No. But I will speak to Alfonso. He is not unreasonable, and I feel sure that had I not been banished I could have arranged our marriage before this. The menace is of course Ippolito. He hates me, largely because he knows you love me.”

“A curse on Ippolito!” murmured Angela. “He will do everything within his power to prevent our marriage. I know. But we’ll outwit him. The first thing is to get Alfonso’s consent.”

“Then I will ride to Ferrara tomorrow and consult him on this matter at once.”

True to his
word Giulio left Belriguardo the next morning. He rode alone not wishing to be encumbered with attendants. He had not ridden many miles when he saw horsemen approaching, and he laughed to himself when he recognized his half-brother Ippolito at their head.

“Good day to you, Cardinal,” he called in insolent tones.

Ippolito pulled up sharply and gave his brother a look of hatred. He had never seen Giulio look so handsome, so sure of himself.

“You looked pleased with yourself,” cried Ippolito.

“As you would be, were you in my shoes.”

“You have just left the Duchessa?”

Giulio nodded. “And … Angela,” he added softly.

“I have heard news of that girl.”

“That she is to have my child?” said Giulio.

“You speak with pride of that which should fill you with shame.”

“Shame, brother? When you would give so much to be in my place?”

Ippolito was filled with a sudden rage. He thought of Angela, and how his desire for her had become important to him, because it contained more than a physical need; her rejection of him was the symbol of his brother’s superior attractiveness and powers with women. She had said that she cared more for Giulio’s beautiful eyes than all the Cardinal’s power and wealth. For
the moment Ippolito’s fury was beyond control; and as Giulio was about to whip up his horse Ippolito shouted: “Seize that man. Put out his eyes!”

His grooms hesitated a second, but Ippolito snarled: “Obey, you knaves, lest that which I command you to do to him be done to you.”

That was enough. They fell upon Giulio; they had him spread-eagled on the ground while they jabbed at his eyes with their daggers and wild agonized screams came from Giulio.

“It is enough,” said Ippolito; and he and his men galloped away, leaving Giulio frantic with pain, lying half dead on the blood-stained grass.

It was some
hours later when a rider came panting into the castle of Belriguardo to tell of the terrible sight he had seen in the meadow close by.

Angela, in floods of helpless tears, fell fainting to the floor while Lucrezia gave orders that a litter be hastily made, and Giulio brought back to the castle. There was a doctor present but she sent messengers to Ferrara, demanding that all the best doctors should leave at once for Belriguardo.

And Giulio, more dead than alive, was brought to the castle.

When Alfonso heard
the news he was both angry with Ippolito and filled with pity for Giulio; then he was apprehensive. That which he had always feared had broken out: enmity within the family circle.

His first impulse was to send for Ippolito and punish him severely for the terrible thing he had done; but Alfonso was quick to remember that he was first of all Duke of Ferrara and that he could not allow personal feelings to stand between him and the good of his dukedom. Giulio was of little importance to Ferrara; whereas Ippolito was a Cardinal and as such would wield some influence for Ferrara at the Vatican. Therefore Alfonso could not afford to mete out justice at the expense of that man who, next to himself, was the most powerful in Ferrara. Moreover Ippolito, in spite of his haughty and ungovernable temper, in his calmer moments was a sound statesman and there had been many occasions when his advice had been invaluable to Alfonso.

Alfonso was a plain man, and a man who took his duty seriously. He wanted to do what was right and honorable; he had only shortly taken over the reins of government, and fervently he wished that his father were alive to deal with the terrible quandary in which he found himself.

Ippolito in the meanwhile had ridden out of the state of Ferrara, fearing the severe punishment which he had earned; and Alfonso was aware that very soon the terrible story would be spread throughout Italy, and the weakness of a House, in which brothers warred with one another, exposed for all to see.

He wrote at once to his sister Isabella and her husband Francesco, telling them what had happened; and his letter was a plea for advice. When Isabella heard she was maddened with fury, for one of the few people whom she loved was her dashing young half-brother Giulio.