Madonna of the Seven Hills (20 page)

Alexander smiled at them, and the benevolent look had returned to his face.

When the Cardinals
had left the Pope’s presence they discussed the situation.

Della Rovere, who always looked upon himself as a leader, recovered his belligerence although in the presence of the Pope he had been as subdued as the rest.

His one-time enemy Ascanio Sforza supported him. How long were they to endure the outrageous nepotism of the Pope? they asked each other. Not content with making a Cardinal of his illegitimate son, he had done the same for his mistress’s brother. All the new nominees were his pawns. Soon there would be scarcely a man in an influential position to raise his voice against Alexander.

And what was Alexander’s policy? To enrich his own family and friends? It seemed so.

There were rumors in the city that men were dying mysteriously.
Cesare Borgia’s evil reputation was growing; it was now said that he was interested in and made a study of the art of poisoning; and that he had many malignant recipes which came from the Spanish Moors. But from whom would Cesare have learned this lore? From his father?

“Beware of the Borgias!” Those words were becoming more and more frequently heard throughout the city.

Alexander was aware of what was happening and, fearing a schism, he acted with his usual vigor. He made Ascanio Sforza almost a prisoner in the Vatican; and seeing what had happened to Sforza, della Rovere made haste to leave Rome.

Lucrezia’s husband apprehensively
watched the growing unrest. His relative and patron, Ascanio Sforza, was powerless in the Vatican. Moreover Giovanni Sforza knew that the Pope was less pleased with the marriage of his daughter than he had been, and that already he was on the look-out for a bridegroom who could bring him more profit.

The marriage had never been consummated; the dowry had never been paid. What sort of marriage was this?

He was beset by fears on all sides. He could not sleep easily for he was sure that he was spied on in the Vatican. He was afraid of the Orsinis who were allies of Naples and had always been the enemies of Milan. Would they, he wondered, now that he was out of favor at the Vatican, feel it to be a good opportunity to dispose of him? If he wandered across the bridge of St. Angelo, would they come sweeping down from Monte Giordano and run a knife through his body? And if they did, who would care?

Giovanni Sforza was a man who was sorry for himself; he always had been. His relatives cared little for him—as did the new connections he had acquired through his marriage.

His little bride—she seemed a gentle creature, but he must not forget that she was one of them—was a Borgia, and who would trust a Borgia?

He wished though, during that time, that he and Lucrezia had been husband and wife in truth. She had a sweet and innocent face, and he believed he could have trusted her.

But it was too late to think of that now.

There was a great spectacle taking place in Rome at this time. This was the departure of little Goffredo for Naples where he was to marry Sanchia of Aragon.

Cesare and Lucrezia watched their little brother set out for Naples; he was accompanied by an old friend of Cesare’s, Virginio Orsini, who had made the boy’s first year at Monte Giordano tolerable, and who was now Captain-General of the Aragonese army. Goffredo’s tutor also accompanied the party to Naples; this was Don Ferrando Dixer, a Spaniard; and the Pope to show he did not forget the country to which he belonged, entrusted two caskets of jewels—presents for the bride and bridegroom—to this Spaniard.

And so the auburn-haired Goffredo, aged eleven, rode out of Rome to his bride, to be made Prince of Squillace and Count of Coriata and to receive the order of the Ermine, the motto of which was “Better die than betray.”

There was one who watched the departure with mingling pride and sorrow. The maternal Vannozza’s dream had come true. Her little Goffredo was accepted as the son of Alexander; he was to be a Prince, and she was happy.

But there were times when she wished that she were a humble Roman mother with her children about her; there were times when she would have given up her vineyards and her house with the water cistern to be that.

Giovanni Sforza’s anxiety
was increased by the new friendship between Naples and the Vatican which the marriage of Goffredo and Sanchia must foster.

He was afraid to show himself in the streets for fear of enemies of his family; he was afraid of enemies within the Vatican circle. He had a beautiful wife but he was not allowed to live with her; he was lord of Pesaro, a town on the Adriatic coast which seemed to him, particularly at this time, a very peaceful spot, shut away from all strife by the mountains which protected it and blessed by the cool waters of the Foglia River. With the sea on one side and the mountains on the other Pesaro offered a freshness in contrast with the fetid air of Rome; and Sforza longed for Pesaro.

He sought audience of the Pope, because he felt he could no longer stay in Rome.

“Well, Giovanni Sforza,” said Alexander, “what have you to say to me?”

“Holy Father, everyone in Rome believes that Your Holiness has entered into agreement with the King of Naples who is an enemy of the state of Milan. If this is so, my position is a difficult one since, as a captain of the Church, a post in which through your benevolence I have been installed, I am in the pay of Your Holiness, and also in that of Milan. I do not see how I can serve two masters without falling out with one of them. Would Your Holiness, out of your goodness, define my position, that I may serve you as I am paid to do yet not become an enemy of my own blood?”

Alexander laughed. “You take too much interest in politics, Giovanni Sforza. You would be wise to serve those who pay you.”

Giovanni writhed before the calm gaze of the Pope and wished with all his heart that he had never agreed to marry with the Borgias.

“Your questions are answered, my son,” continued Alexander. “Leave me now, and I beg of you do not concern yourself overmuch with politics. They do not touch your duty.”

Giovanni went away and immediately wrote to his uncle, Ludovico of Milan, telling him of what he had said to the Pope and declaring that he would sooner have eaten the straw under his body than have entered into the marriage. He was casting himself upon his uncle’s mercy.

But Ludovico was not prepared to offer him asylum. Ludovico was intently watching the growth of the friendship between Naples and the Vatican; he was not convinced that the bond between those two was of such importance as might be thought in Naples; the Pope was wily and Ludovico preferred to remain aloof.

Giovanni was impatient.

The plague was increasing throughout Rome, and his fears increased with it. In the position he held at the Vatican he was free to leave Rome if he wished.

One day, surrounded by some of his men, he rode out of the city bound for Pesaro.

Lucrezia did not
miss him in the least. She had seen little of him, and it was only at special functions that they had appeared together.

Giulia laughed at her as they played with Giulia’s little daughter Laura, who was now nearly two years old.

“One would think you had gained a lover rather than lost one,” said Giulia.

“A lover! He was never that.” Lucrezia was wistful. One grew up, and she was fourteen now. Giulia had been fourteen when she had become Alexander’s mistress.

“Well, do not show your pleasure in his departure quite so openly,” advised Giulia.

“Is my Holy Father coming to see me?” asked little Laura, tugging at her mother’s skirts.

Giulia picked up the child and smothered her with kisses. “Soon, I doubt not, my darling. He could not stay away long from his little Laura, could he?”

Lucrezia watched them, still wistful, thinking of those days when the same father had delighted other children whose nursery he had visited. Alexander—as tender a father to little Laura as he had been to her and Cesare, Giovanni and Goffredo—remained as young as he had been when she and her brothers were in the nursery. Now they were no longer children, and it seemed that wonderful and exciting things happened to them all except herself. She had been married, but hers was no real marriage; and she could be glad because her husband had now run away. Whether he had run away from the plague or from her, it mattered not. Whatever he ran away from he was a coward. Yes, she was sure he was a coward.

She had dreamed of a lover as magnificent as her father, as handsome as her brother Giovanni, as exciting as Cesare—and they had given her a small man, a widower, a cold man who made no protest because the marriage was not consummated; they had married her to a coward who ran away from the plague and did not attempt to take her with him.

Not that she wanted to go. But, she told herself, if Giovanni Sforza
had been the sort of man who insisted on taking me, I should have wanted to go.

“Giulia,” she said, “do you think that, now Giovanni Sforza has left me, my father will arrange a divorce?”

“It will depend,” said Giulia, smoothing her daughter’s long fair hair from her forehead, “on how useful the Holy Father considers the marriage.”

“Of what use could it be … now?”

Giulia left her little daughter and going to Lucrezia laid her hand on her shoulder.

“No use at all,” she said. “Depend upon it the marriage will be dissolved and then you will have a fine husband … a husband who will declare he will have none of this marriage which is no marriage. Moreover, you grow up, Lucrezia. You are old enough now for marriage. Oh yes, it will be a handsome husband this time. A true marriage.”

Lucrezia smiled. “Let us wash each other’s hair,” she said; and Giulia agreed. It was a favorite occupation, for their golden hair must be washed every three days because after that time it darkened and lost something of its bright color, so they spent a great deal of time washing each other’s hair.

And while they washed they talked of the handsome husband who would be Lucrezia’s when the Pope had freed her from Giovanni Sforza. Lucrezia saw herself in a gown of crimson velvet sewn with pearls. She was kneeling on a cushion at the feet of her father and saying: “I will with a good heart.” And the man who knelt beside her was a shadowy figure, but he combined the presence of her father and the qualities she so admired in her brothers.