Madonna of the Seven Hills (49 page)

So when Alexander said Caution, why should Cesare heed that warning unless he wished to?

One day he came face to face with Pedro Caldes in one of the ante-rooms leading to the Papal apartments, and Cesare’s anger flared up to such an extent that he was drained of all memories of his father’s warning.

“Caldes, halt!” cried Cesare.

“My lord …” began the startled chamberlain, “what would you have of me?”

“Your life,” said Cesare, and he drew his sword.

The startled young man turned and fled toward the Pope’s apartments. Cesare, grasping his sword, followed.

Pedro, breathless and terrified, could hear the cruel laughter of Cesare close behind him; once Cesare’s sword touched his thigh and he felt the hot blood run down his leg.

“You waste time in running,” Cesare cried. “You shall die for what you have dared do to my sister.”

Fainting with fear, Pedro reached the Papal throne, on which Alexander was sitting; with him were two of his chamberlains and one of the Cardinals.

Pedro cried: “Holy Father, save me … save me before I die!” And he flung himself at Alexander’s feet.

Cesare was upon him. Alexander had risen, his expression horrified and full of warning.

“My son, my son, desist,” he cried. “Put away your sword.”

But Cesare merely laughed and thrust at the chamberlain, as Alexander stooped forward to protect him, so that the blood spurted up and stained the Pope’s robes, and even splashed his face.

Those who had been with the Pope stood back aghast, while Alexander put his arms about Pedro and looked up into his son’s glowering face.

“Put away your sword,” he said sternly, and there was a return of the Alexander who, benevolent as he was, had always known how to quell his sons. “Bring not your quarrels to our sacred throne.”

Cesare laughed again, but he felt once more that awe of his father which he was surprised to discover he had not quite overcome.

He obeyed as he said truculently: “Let him not think that this is the end of our quarrel.”

Then he turned and strode out of the apartment.

Alexander murmured: “The hot blood of youth! He does not mean to be so rash. But who of us was not rash in youth? Have this young man’s wounds attended to and … for his own safety let him be kept under guard.”

Pantisilea leaned over
the bed.

Lucrezia murmured: “It is beginning, Pantisilea.”

“Lie down, Madonna. I will send a message to the Holy Father.”

Lucrezia nodded. “He will take care of everything.”

Pantisilea despatched a slave to the Vatican with a signet ring which the Pope had given her and which was to be a sign between them that
Lucrezia was in need of a midwife. In this affair, the Pope had decided, no word should be written. When he received the ring he would know its purpose, and for no other reason must it be sent to him.

“How blessed I am in such a father,” murmured Lucrezia. “Oh, Pantisilea, why did I not go to him at once? If I had, Pedro and I might have been married now. How long it is since I saw Pedro! He should be close to me now. How happy I should be if he were! I shall ask my father to bring him to me.”

“Yes, Madonna, yes,” soothed Pantisilea.

She was a little uneasy. She had heard rumors concerning the disappearance of Pedro Caldes, but she had not told Lucrezia of this. It would upset her with her confinement so near.

“I dream, you know,” said Lucrezia. “I dream all the time. We shall have to leave Rome. That will be necessary for a while, I doubt not. We shall live quietly for a few years in some remote place—even more remote than Pesaro; but I do not think my father will allow us to be away from him forever. He will visit us; and how he will love his grandchild! Pantisilea, do you think it will be a boy?”

“Who can say, Madonna? Let us not pray for a boy or a girl, but that it will bring you great happiness.”

“You speak like a sage, Pantisilea. And look, your cheeks are wet. You are crying. Why are you crying?”

“Because … because it is so beautiful. A new life about to begin … the fruit of your love. It is beautiful and it makes me weep.”

“Dear Pantisilea! But there are the pains to be endured first, and I confess I am frightened.”

“You should not be, Madonna. The pains come and then … there is the blessing.”

“Stay with me, Pantisilea. All the time stay with me. Promise.”

“If it is permitted.”

“And when the child is born, when we have our little home, you will be with us. You must not make the baby love you too much, Pantisilea, or I shall be jealous.”

Pantisilea’s answer was to burst into stormy tears.

“It is because it is so beautiful,” she repeated. “Almost too beautiful to be true.”

The midwife came. She was masked and accompanied by two men, also masked. They waited outside the door of Lucrezia’s room and the midwife came to the bed.

She examined Lucrezia and gave orders to Pantisilea. The two men remained outside the door during Lucrezia’s labor.

Lucrezia awoke from
exhaustion, and asked for the child. It was placed in her arms.

“A little boy,” said Pantisilea.

“I feel I shall die of happiness,” murmured Lucrezia. “My own child. I would that Pedro were here. He should be eager to see his son, should he not? Pantisilea, I want you to bring Pedro to me.”

Pantisilea nodded.

“I want you to bring him at once.”

The midwife had come to the bed. She said: “The Madonna is weary and needs to rest.”

“I want to hold my baby in my arms,” said Lucrezia, “and when his father is here with me I shall feel completely at rest.”

“Your maid shall be sent at once for the child’s father. It has been arranged,” said the midwife. She turned to Pantisilea. “Put on your cloak, and prepare to go at once.”

“I do not know where to find him,” began Pantisilea.

“You will be taken to him.”

Lucrezia smiled at Pantisilea, and the little maid’s eyes were wide with joy.

“I will not delay a moment,” she cried. “I will go at once.”

“You will be conducted there. You will find your guide waiting at the door.”

“I shall not be long, Madonna,” said Pantisilea; and she knelt by the bed and kissed Lucrezia’s hand.

“Go, Pantisilea,” murmured Lucrezia. “Go with all speed.”

Lucrezia’s eyes followed Pantisilea to the door. Then the midwife stooped over the bed.

“Madonna, I will take the baby from you now. He must sleep in his
cradle. You need rest. I have a draft here which will send you to sleep. Take it and sleep long and deep, for you will have need of your strength.”

Lucrezia took the draft, kissed the child’s fair head, gave him to the midwife and lay back on her pillows. In a few minutes she was asleep.

One of the
men who had been waiting outside the door of Lucrezia’s apartment stepped forward as Pantisilea came out.

“Follow me,” he said, and together they went out of the palace to the courtyard, where a horse was waiting for them.

It was evening and there was only moonshine to light the streets as Pantisilea rode pillion with her guide away from the palace. They went from the populous quarter and down to the river.

When they were near the bank, the horseman stopped.

He said: “ ’Tis a beautiful night, Pantisilea.”

She looked at the pale moonlight on the water and thought it wonderful. All the world looked beautiful because she was happy. Her mistress safely delivered of a fine boy, herself on the way to bring Pedro to Lucrezia. She had been thinking of their future as they rode along.

“Yes,” she said, “it is beautiful. But let us not tarry. My mistress longs to see Pedro Caldes.”

“There is no hurry,” said the man. “Your mistress will have a long sleep. She is exhausted.”

“I would rather proceed at once to our destination.”

“Very well, Pantisilea.”

He leaped down from his horse.

“Whither are you going?” she asked.

His answer was to lift her from the horse. She looked about her for some dwelling where Pedro might be sheltering, but she could see none.

The man said: “How small you are, Pantisilea, and so young.”

He bent his head and kissed her lips.

She was astonished, but not displeased. It was long since a man had caressed her.

She laughed softly and said: “It is not the time. I wish to be taken at once to Pedro Caldes.”

“You have spoken, Pantisilea,” said the man.

He put his hands tenderly on her head and moved them slowly down to her ears, caressing them. She looked up into his face; he was not looking at her; he seemed to be staring at the moonlit river. His eyes were fixed and glassy, and suddenly a terrible fear took hold of Pantisilea.

For in a moment of blinding understanding she knew, even before it happened.

Then she felt the hands slide down to her throat.

Lucrezia awoke. It
was daylight.

She had been dreaming. She was in a beautiful garden in the country; her baby boy lay in his cradle, and she and his father were bending over it looking at the child.

A happy dream, but only a dream. And here was the day, and she was awake.

She was not alone in her room; a man sat on either side of her bed, and she was conscious of the dull thudding of her heart. Pedro had been promised her; and he had not come; and where was Pantisilea?

She struggled up.

“You should rest,” said Alexander. “You need your strength, my dear.”

“Father,” she murmured; and then she turned to that other figure. “And Cesare,” she added.

“We have come to tell you that all is well,” said Cesare. He spoke in stern clipped tones, and she knew that he was angry. She shrank from him toward her father. Alexander’s voice had been as kind and tender as it ever was.

“I want my child,” she said. “Father, it is a boy. You will love him.”

“Yes,” said the Pope. “In a few years he shall be with us.”

She smiled. “Oh, Father, I knew I could rely on you to look after me.”

The beautiful white hand patted hers. “My little one,” murmured Alexander. “My wise little one.”

She took his hand and kissed it.

“Now,” said Alexander briskly, “there is nothing to worry about. Everything has been settled. You will in a short while resume your normal
life, and this little affair, although there have been some ugly rumors, will have been forgotten.”