Madonna of the Seven Hills (44 page)

“Say when you wish it to be, oh my beloved, and it shall be then.”

“Tomorrow is too soon. The day after that?”

“It shall be so.”

“Mother, you are my very good friend.”

“And should I not be, my best beloved son who has cherished and honored me at all times?”

She closed her eyes and remembered what Cesare had done to all those who, he had been able to discover, had taken part in the raiding of her house during the French invasion. He had been brutal and many had suffered, and Vannozza was a woman who did not care to see great suffering; but this showed the measure of Cesare’s love for her. “Nothing,” he had cried, “nothing … is too severe for those who sought to dishonor my mother by desecrating her house.”

“You will be glad to see Giovanni with me at your supper party,” said Cesare. “You love him too, remember. It is a pity Lucrezia will not be with us.”

“I should take great pleasure in seeing my daughter, and I agree that I shall be happy to have Giovanni with me. But, my son, of all my children there is one who delights me as none other could. It is you, my dearest.”

He kissed her hand with that extravagant show of love which the family displayed toward each other.

“I know you speak truth, dear Mother. I swear to you here and now that no harm shall ever come your way while there is power in this body to prevent it. I will inflict torture and death on any who dare whisper a word against you.”

“My dearest, do not be so vehement on my poor account. I need nothing to make me happy but to see you often. Bless me with your presence as frequently as is possible—although I know that you have your destiny, and I must not let my selfish love interfere with that—and I shall be the happiest woman on Earth.”

He held her against him, and then they continued their walk among the flowers, planning the supper party.

Cesare walked through
the streets, his cloak concealing his fine clothes, his mask hiding his features, so that none would have guessed his identity. Reaching the Ponte district he sauntered into a narrow street, slipped into another and paused before a house. Looking about him to make sure that he was not followed, he walked through the open door shutting it behind him, and descending the stone steps to a room with wooden panelling and flagstone floor, clapped his hands as he did so.

A servant appeared, and when Cesare removed his mask the man bowed low.

“Your mistress is here?” asked Cesare.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Conduct me to her at once.”

He was led to a room which was typical of many such rooms, furnished with a canopied bed, wooden chairs with carved backs, and the statue of the Madonna with the lamp burning before it.

A very beautiful young girl, tall and slender, who had risen at Cesare’s entry, fell on her knees before him.

“My lord,” she murmured.

“Rise,” said Cesare impatiently. “My brother is not here?”

“No, my lord. He comes two hours from now.”

Cesare nodded.

“The time has come for you to fulfill your duty,” he said.

“Yes, my lord?”

Cesare looked at her shrewdly. “You are beloved by my brother. What are your feelings for him?”

“I serve one master,” she said.

His fingers closed about her ear. It was a gesture both tender and threatening. “Remember it,” he said. “I reward those from whom I demand service, and the reward depends on the nature of their service.”

The girl shivered, but she repeated firmly: “I serve one master.”

“That is well,” said Cesare. “I will tell you quickly what is required of you. You will present yourself at the vineyard of Vannozza Catanei at midnight on a date which I shall give you. You will be cloaked and masked as usual when you ride with my brother. You will leap on to his horse and ride away with him.”

“Is that all, my lord?”

Cesare nodded. “Except this one thing. You will insist on taking him to an inn which you have discovered, and where you will tell him you have planned to stay until morning.”

“And this inn?”

“I will give you its name. It is in the Jewish quarter.”

“We are to ride there after midnight!”

“You have nothing to fear if you obey my instructions.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her lingeringly. “If you do not, my beautiful one …” He laughed. “But you will remember, will you not, that you serve one master.”

Vannozza, still
a very beautiful woman, greeted her guests in her vineyard on the summit of the Esquiline. The table was heavily laden with good food, and the wine was of the best. Carlo Canale was beside her to do honor to the distinguished guests.

“You think we shall be merry enough with only your sons’ cousin, the Cardinal of Monreale, and a few other relations?”

“When my sons come to me they like to escape from all the pomp which usually surrounds their daily life.”

Canale kept sipping the wine to assure himself that it was of the very best; Vannozza nervously surveyed her table and shouted continually to the slaves; but when the guests arrived she gave all her attention to them.

“My dearest sons,” she murmured, embracing them; but the embrace she gave Cesare was longer than that she had for Giovanni, and Cesare would notice this.

The warm summer night was enchanting; they could look down on the city, while the cool sweet air and the scent of flowers from the meadows about the Colosseum wafted up to them.

A perfect night, thought Vannozza.

Conversation about the table was merry. Cesare teased Giovanni in the pleasantest way.

“Why, brother,” he cried, “you expose yourself to danger. I have heard that you ride among desperadoes with none but a groom to protect you—you and your masked friend.”

“None dare harm my father’s son,” said Giovanni lightly.

“Nay, but you should take care.”

“I have taken most things in my life,” laughed Giovanni, “but rarely that.”

“Yes, my son,” said Vannozza, “I beg of you take greater care. Do not go to those parts of the city where danger lurks.”

“Mother, I am a baby no longer.”

“I have heard,” said Cesare, “that he was seen riding in the Jewish quarter late one night. That is foolish of him.”

“Foolish indeed, my son,” scolded Vannozza.

Giovanni laughed and turned to Canale. “More wine, Father. ’Tis good, this wine of yours.”

Canale, delighted, filled his stepson’s goblet, and the conversation turned to other matters.

It was past midnight, and they were preparing to leave when Cesare said: “Why look, who is that lurking among the trees?”

The company turned and looking saw that cowering in a clump of bushes was a slender masked figure.

“It would appear that your friend has called for you,” said Cesare.

“It would appear so,” answered Giovanni, and he seemed to be well pleased.

“Must your friend come even to our mother’s house?” asked Cesare.

“Perhaps,” laughed Giovanni.

“This friend is very eager for your company,” said Cesare. “Come, we will not delay you. Farewell, dear Mother. It has been a night I shall long remember.”

Vannozza embraced her sons and watched them mount their horses. When Giovanni was in his saddle, the masked creature sprang up behind him in order to ride pillion.

Cesare was laughing and calling to the few attendants, whom he had brought with him, to follow him; and he broke into a song, in which the others all joined, as they rode down the hillside and into the city.

When they reached the Ponte district Giovanni drew up and told his brother that he would be leaving him there. He called to one of his grooms: “Hi, fellow, you come with me. The rest of you … go to your beds.”

“Whither are you bound, brother?” asked Cesare. “You are surely not going into the Jewish quarter?”

“My destination,” retorted Giovanni arrogantly, “is my own concern.”

Cesare lifted his shoulders with an indifference which was unusual.

“Come,” he said to his followers and to those of Giovanni’s servants who had not been commanded to accompany him, “home to the Borgo.”

So they left Giovanni, who, with the masked figure riding behind him, and the groom a little distance in the rear, went on into the narrow streets of the Jewish quarter.

That was the last time Cesare saw Giovanni alive.

The next day
, Alexander, waiting to receive his beloved son, was disappointed by his continued absence. All that day he waited, but still Giovanni did not put in an appearance.

He sent to Giovanni’s household. No one had seen him. He had not visited Sanchia.

Alexander chuckled. “I doubt not that he has spent the night in the house of some woman, and he fears to compromise her by leaving in daylight.”

“Then he is showing himself unusually discreet,” said Cesare grimly.

But that day brought no news of Giovanni, and toward the end of it, a messenger hurried to the Pope to tell him that the young Duke’s groom, who had been seen to accompany him, was found stabbed to death in the Piazza degli Ebrei.

All Alexander’s serenity vanished. He was frantic with anguish.

“Send out search parties,” he cried. “Examine every street … every house … I shall not rest until I hold my son in my arms.”

When the search
had gone on for several days and there was no news of Giovanni, the Pope grew desperate, but he would not believe any harm had come to his son.

“It is a prank of his, Cesare,” he kept repeating. “You will see, he will come bounding in on us, laughing at us because he so duped us. Depend upon it.”

“It is a prank of his,” agreed Cesare.

Then there was brought before the Pope a Dalmatian boatman who said that he had something to say, and he would say it only to the Holy Father because he believed it concerned the missing Duke of Gandia.

Alexander could scarcely wait to see the man, and he was immediately brought before the Pope who, with Cesare and several high officials of the Court, waited eagerly for him.

His name, he said, was Giorgio and he slept in his boat which was tied up on the shores of the Tiber.

“My duty, Holiness,” he said, “is to guard the wood pile near the church of San Gerolamo degli Schiavoni close to the Ripetta bridge.”