The Borgia Betrayal: A Novel (43 page)

“To occur during the Mass.” Cesare looked grim, but at the same time, I could see that he was as fascinated and unwillingly impressed as I was myself. “It is ingenious,” he said.

We do not like to believe that brilliance can march hand-in-hand with evil yet I suspect that happens more times than we know.

“It is,” I said, and felt the first stirrings of despair as I realized what my discovery meant.

35

Morozzi was gone, vanished from Rome as though he had never been. Later, we were able to confirm that the mad priest had been seen departing through the Septimian Gate leading northward out of the city along the Via Cassia, from which he could reach Florence or, for that matter, any number of other towns and ports. That knowledge came too late to matter.

Whether he had been responsible for the other attacks against Borgia remained to be determined. Certainly, he could have used Il Frateschi to that end but, loath though I was to admit it, other parties might have played their part. The Spanish, the Sforzas, the French, della Rovere—truly my master possessed an embarrassment of enemies. How fortunate that he had his family to count on—or not, as the case may be.

Juan was defiant at first when Cesare confronted him, then denied everything and finally sought refuge in outrage.

“How dare you question me?” he demanded. “I serve our father far more loyally than you have ever done! You would see him at war while all I want is peace.”

“What kind of peace?” Cesare demanded. We were in one of the many antechambers scattered through the Vatican Palace, where Cesare had cornered his brother in between the conclusion of the Mass and the beginning of the other welcome ceremonies for Pesaro. I was doing my best to fade into the background as any good servant should. That may have been unnecessary, as I doubted Juan would have recognized me under any circumstances. The notion of a woman daring to dress as a man was simply beyond him.

Besides, everyone knew the
strega
was dead.

“The peace of Saint Peter’s in ruins and all of us buried under it?” Cesare went on. “Is that what you’re talking about? It’s what the man you protected and helped was intent on doing. How could you possibly have allied with him?
How?
”

“You are lying! He never meant any such thing. Father Morozzi is an emissary from Cardinal della Rovere bearing messages of friendship and peace. All he wanted was to convince our father that there need be no enmity between them, no war! But you have destroyed the hope of that. He warned me that you might have a spy in my household but I didn’t believe him. The moment he realized he’d been seen, he knew that he had to leave or risk being killed by you.”

“You are an idiot!” Cesare roared. “Christ’s breath, how do you even have the wit to live? He left because he had accomplished what he came to do, or at least he believed that he had. What do you think, that angels put the barrels of gunpowder in Saint Peter’s and rigged a fuse to set them off while we were all at Mass?”

“No,” Juan said. His glared at his brother sullenly. “If any such thing happened, the witch did it, perhaps with your help. Thank God and all the Saints that she has perished.”

“It’s going to be an awful shock to him when he discovers that I’m still alive,” I said after Cesare had stormed out of the room with me on his heels. Later, I would have to come to terms with my own feelings about Morozzi escaping—again. But just then I was intent on calming Cesare. After all, I needed his help in dealing with his father.

Borgia had been informed of my deception. Vittoro had no choice but to tell him and I think it was better that he heard it from him, as that gave him an opportunity to work through the worst of his rage without my being present. Or at least I hoped that he had done so. I was not looking forward to speaking with him.

Yet with each passing moment, my attitude hardened. I considered the lengths to which I had gone to save Il Papa, including risking my own life. True, he would believe that my real motivation had been to kill Morozzi but the effect was the same—Borgia lived and with him all his vast plans for
la famiglia.
That had to count for something.

“Are you going to tell him about Juan?” I asked as I followed Cesare up the grand stairs toward the papal office.

“What’s the point?” he replied over his shoulder. “He’ll never believe me. He’ll just think that I’m trying to undermine my brother out of jealousy. The best I can do now is make sure that he doesn’t take any of this out on you.”

I had mixed feelings about Cesare fighting my battles for me—on the one hand, I recognized that I could benefit from his help, on the other my damnable independence wished otherwise. That being the case, I kept silent as I tried to decide how best to handle the situation.

Borgia was not alone; several of his secretaries were with him, as was Renaldo, who was going down the list of events planned for the remainder of the day. When the steward saw me, he broke out in a smile so broad that I feared his face would crack. Such was the extent of his unalloyed relief at discovering me alive that I could not help wonder if, despite all evidence to the contrary, Renaldo might not have placed a side bet in favor of my surviving. In his position, I likely would have done so, for surely the odds would have been highly favorable.

With a quick nod in his direction, I concentrated my attention on Borgia. Christ’s Vicar did not appear at all pleased that one of his faithful servants remained among the living. To the contrary, he looked prepared to order me to Hades posthaste.

By all rights, I should have been filled with fear, but instead a great calm possessed me. Its source was no mystery. I had faced my greatest dread, the near certainty that I was too dark a creature to stand in the light of God. I had entered the holiest of holies and survived. Beside that, Borgia seemed scant challenge.

Even so, he made a good show of it.

“Explain yourself!” he demanded after the other men had prudently fled the room and only Cesare and I were left. “What in God’s name did you think you were doing to stage such a spectacle? We had a Mass for you, for pity’s sake! Christ weep, you truly are mad!”

“And you are alive,” Cesare shot back. He faced his father squarely and did not flinch even when Borgia purpled with anger.

“The two of you have been in league all this time,” Il Papa declared. “A faithless son and a treacherous poisoner. What have I done that God should burden me so?”

Really, how could anyone even begin to answer that? Before Christ’s Vicar could further proclaim how abused and mistreated he was, I said, “Only say the word and you will not have me to concern you any longer.”

For the second time, I had failed to avenge my father’s murder and rid the world of Morozzi because I felt compelled to save Borgia. I had wrested the job of poisoner for myself because I believed that the power it brought would enable me to kill the mad priest. So far all I had done was leave him alive to strike again.

“I will gladly resign from your service,” I declared. “Then I will be free to find Morozzi and kill him. Nothing else matters so much to me, as you should know.”

It was no idle threat; at that moment, I truly meant what I said. Despite my feelings for Cesare, the thought of being done with
la famiglia
held an almost irresistible appeal. They were so fiercely focused on themselves, so all-absorbing and demanding that wherever they were, they seemed to leave very little air for anyone else to breathe. I was becoming very tired of that.

“Francesca,” Cesare began. He looked appalled and I could not blame him. At the very least, I might have given him some warning. Yet surely by now he must have known not to expect such consideration from me.

Borgia, by contrast, appeared suspiciously less alarmed. He calmed enough to look me up and down, as though confirming that I truly was no ghost, then said, “Nothing else matters? Is that so? Then what about Lux?”

“What is Lux?” Cesare asked with a frown.

Borgia shrugged. “That depends on who you ask. Some would say that it is a coven of conspirators intent on using alchemical and other means to undermine Holy Mother Church and open the way for the Devil to come into the world. Others would say that it is a group of dedicated natural philosophers striving to grasp the underlying truth of God’s Creation.”

He looked at me and said, “The first explanation will get you burned. As for the second—” Again, he shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that so much in this life is a matter of interpretation.”

One thing that can be said for Borgia, I never had any difficulty understanding him even when I did not want to do so.

“You would go to such lengths to keep me in your service, despite how I deceived you?”

“Despite and because of it. As I said, you have a gift for finding fresh solutions and I have need of that, at least for the moment. Behave yourself, cause me no further upset, and you and your friends may do as you like, discreetly, of course. Otherwise—”

“That is not good enough.” Cesare sucked in his breath at my daring but I did not hesitate. If I was to be coerced into remaining with Borgia, there would be a price to pay.

Facing him squarely, I said, “You will not simply tolerate Lux, you will afford us your full protection, which means never again trying to use us to your own ends.” Before Il Papa could respond, I continued. “And that is not all. You will give me unfettered access to the Mysterium so that I may pursue my own studies and report back whatever I find to the other members of Lux.”

Borgia’s gaze narrowed. He was not a man to accept demands from anyone.

“Is there anything else you want? My papal crown, for instance, or perhaps I should vacate Saint Peter’s Throne two, no three days out of every week and let you sit there, giving out rulings on all and sundry matters?”

“No, thank you,” I said properly. I would not let him make light of my sacrifice in not going after Morozzi at once. The thought of doing so still tempted me almost unbearably, yet I knew that my father would have wanted me to protect Lux and to make the most of the extraordinary opportunity presented by the Mysterium. Was it a measure of my healing heart that I could think of his hopes for me rather than my own need for vengeance?

Reluctantly, Borgia agreed, or so it seemed. As always when I had dealings with him, I was left to wonder if he had not plotted it all out ahead of time, deciding how best to manipulate me that I could be of further service to him.

Cesare, on the other hand, seemed to believe that I had scored a great victory.

“You beat him,” he exclaimed when we had left the office and were making our way back down the grand stair. “You stood right up to him, dared him to do his worst, and you won!”

“Not precisely,” I said. “I have traded away pursuing Morozzi for what I admit are important concessions. But if I did not believe that the mad priest will be driven to strike at your father again, thereby coming once more within my reach, I would never have done so.”

He waved that off as though it were of no account but he also warned me, “Accept your victory, Francesca, and savor it, for believe me, my father will exact full price for it.”

I was left to ponder that as, after a brief, hard kiss guaranteed to scandalize everyone passing through the entry to the Curia who saw the son of Jove apparently
intimo
with a page boy, Cesare took himself off to prepare for the remainder of the welcoming ceremonies.

With no thought left in my head save that of a bath and bed, I made for home, ignoring the shocked whispers that accompanied me. Cesare had managed to knock my hat off as he kissed me and I had not bothered to put it on again. Without it, I was all too recognizable. Already, word was spreading that Borgia’s
strega
had returned from the dead.

Portia was in the loggia when I arrived. She dropped the basket she was carrying and stared at me, open-mouthed. A moment later, I was kneeling in front of her as she flung her arms around me and hugged me fiercely.

“Praise God you truly are whole and well!” she said. “But Donna, if you ever do such a thing again, I swear by all that is holy I will—”

“If I ever plot my death again,” I assured her hastily, “you will be the first to know, I promise. Now tell me, is that chicken I smell, by any chance?”

Fed, bathed, and at rest finally in my own bed, I slept without Sofia’s powder and without nightmares. If I dreamed at all, I do not remember it, but perhaps I chose not to. I woke with thoughts of Rocco already uppermost in my mind. By all rights, I should do no more than send him a brief note apologizing for my deception, then leave the man in peace. He had every right to the chance for happiness that I was convinced Carlotta d’Agnelli could bring him. So, too, did Nando.

Imagine then my surprise when I opened the door to a knock and found an ashen-faced messenger quailing at the prospect of facing an undead witch who was, as I shortly learned, the talk of Rome.

The poor man thrust a package into my arms, declined any payment, and fled with such alacrity that I waited to make sure he did not fall headfirst down the steps before stepping back inside my apartment.

I set the package on a cleared space on my worktable and slowly unwrapped it. My breath caught when I recognized the crimson sphere streaked with gold that I had seen Rocco creating. He had crafted it into a lamp inscribed across the base with the words:
Ex obscuritate lucem fers
—Out of darkness, you bring light.

I did not weep, so I told myself, but I did sit for a long time, my hand on the lamp as I considered what the faith of such a man meant to me. So many struggles still lay ahead—to protect Lux, to keep Borgia alive, to deal with the matter of della Rovere and the looming threat of war, to discover whether Morozzi or someone else entirely had been behind the earlier attacks on Il Papa. Above all, I had to find a resolution within myself for the terrible darkness that still threatened to devour me. Yet on that day, sitting beside the table where I pursued my investigations, in the home of my own making, I felt the stirrings of confidence that I might, when all was said and done, come out a better person than I was.