Light on Lucrezia (10 page)

“You have news of Cesare?”

“I know that he is not going to marry Carlotta, but I knew that before he went.”

Lucrezia smiled sadly at her sister-in-law. Sanchia had been jealous, she knew, and she was sorry for Sanchia’s unhappiness.

Sanchia said fiercely: “He went in October. It is now February. Yet he remains unmarried. I tell you this, Lucrezia: Cesare is nothing more than a hostage of the French. The bonds are silken, shall we say, but they are nevertheless bonds. Why does Cesare not marry? Because the King of France wishes to keep him in France!”

“You mean he is so attached to Cesare …”

Sanchia laughed. “Do you think the whole world loves your brother as you do? No! The King of France is planning an attack on Italy, and if he holds the Pope’s beloved son as hostage he can be sure that he will be free from Papal interference when he makes the attack.”

“Cesare … a hostage!”

“Why not? He was once before, remember. He escaped at Velletri and thus inflicted humiliation on the French which they will not easily have forgotten. Mayhap they remember it still.”

“But the King of France greatly honors my brother. We constantly hear of the entertainments he gives for his pleasure.”

Sanchia put her face close to Lucrezia’s and whispered: “One of those who accompanied Cesare to France has written that the honors paid to Cesare are like those paid to Christ on Palm Sunday, when less than a week later there were cries of ‘Crucify him.’ ”

“Sanchia! You mean Cesare is in danger!”

“I doubt not that he will know how to look after himself. But he’ll not get Carlotta.” Sanchia lifted her shoulders. “Come, which bonnet will you wear?”

Lucrezia tried to turn her attention to the bonnets. She would not believe that Cesare was in any danger. If he did not marry Carlotta, then he would have someone else. Soon he would be home. She was not going to let fears for her brother cloud her happiness.

So they set out for the vineyards of Cardinal Lopez. They were very beautiful in the pale February sunshine and Lucrezia was determinedly merry, eager to banish the uneasy thoughts which Sanchia had set in motion.

Cardinal Lopez and his household had prepared a feast for the visitors, and they sat watching races or joined in the outdoor games which he had arranged for their entertainment. There was much laughter, but every now and then Lucrezia felt a longing to be with Alfonso that she might tell him of Sanchia’s words which had made her a little uneasy, and seek reassurance. She would not tell her father because, although he would dismiss the rumors, he might in the secrecy of his mind brood on them; but Alfonso, she was sure, would dismiss them as ridiculous because he would know that was what she wanted him to do.

Longing to be with Alfonso, she cried out as they were walking down one of the sloping paths to the stables: “Do hurry. Let us race!”

Bernardina, who was close behind her, gave a whoop of joy and, pulling at Francesca’s gown, shouted: “Come along. I’ll be at the stables first.”

Lucrezia cried: “Not you!” And sped away.

She was leading when her foot tripped over a stone and, as her ankle twisted under her, she fell; Bernardina unfortunately was too close on her heels to pull up and, as Lucrezia went down, fell on top of her. Francesca fell over Bernardina and for a few seconds the pair lay on Lucrezia, their full weight pressing her to the ground. They were laughing as they leaped to their feet; then suddenly they stopped, for Lucrezia had not moved. She was lying, her body twisted and still, exactly as she had fallen.

The Pope sat
by his daughter. They had carried her back to her palace, and put her to bed; then they had taken the news to the Vatican that there had
been an accident and that the doctors feared the consequences might be serious. Lucrezia lay white and still; she had lost the baby.

It was comforting, when she opened her eyes, to see her father beside her. She put out a hand and he took it. She knew immediately what had happened, because she was aware of the sorrow in his eyes. The loss of a grandchild could make him more unhappy than the news that the French were at the outskirts of Rome.

“Dearest Father …” she began.

Now he was smiling, ready to soothe her.

“You will get better, my daughter,” he murmured. “Your weakness will pass.”

She whispered: “My baby …”

“Oh, but it is an unfortunate accident, nothing more. Two people in love, such as you and Alfonso are, will get many more children. As for this one … we do not even know that it was a boy.”

“Boy or girl, I loved it.”

“Ah, we loved it. But it was not to be.” He leaned over the bed. “And dearest daughter, you are safe. Soon you will be well. I praise the saints for that mercy. Shall I grieve because of an unborn grandchild, when my dearest is spared to me? When they brought me the news of your accident terrible fears beset me, and I cried out that if aught happened to my Lucrezia I would have no more interest in life. I prayed for your life as I never prayed before; and you see, Lucrezia, my prayers have been answered. My beloved is safe. And the child … But I tell you there will be more children.”

“Father,” she said, “stay near me. Do not leave me yet.”

He smiled and nodded.

She lay back and tried to think of the children she and Alfonso would have; when they had a child, a living child, she would cease to mourn for this one; she wanted to think of the future; she wanted to forget the uneasy words she had heard concerning her brother Cesare.

Meanwhile Cesare remained
unsatisfied in France. He was wishing that he had never set out on the French adventure. He had been humiliated,
he considered, as he never had been before in all his life. Carlotta of Naples hated him, and she had declared to all her friends, who had made sure that her comments should reach his ears, that she would never be known as Madame la Cardinale, as she surely would if she married the Borgia.

When they met, which they did frequently, she would endeavor to appear guileless and imply that he must not blame her for his lack of success in his courtship; she merely obeyed her father who was upheld in his determination by all the royalty of Europe—except of course the King of France.

It was a galling position, but Cesare must control his anger and pretend that he was not perturbed, not growing more and more worried with every passing week.

The King sent for him one day. His Queen was with him and he did not dismiss those few ministers who stood near his throne; which Cesare felt to be an added insult.

“I have grave news for you, my lord Duke,” said Louis, and Cesare was aware that some of those men about the throne were hard pressed to hold back their smiles.

“Sire?” said Cesare, fighting for control with all his might.

“Two of our subjects have married,” said Louis, “and I fear this is not going to please you.”

“Have I any special interest in these subjects of Your Majesty?” asked Cesare.

“A great interest. One is the Princess Carlotta.”

Cesare felt the uncontrollable twitch in his lips; the hot blood flooding his face; he was clenching his fists so tightly that his nails, which were buried in his palms, drew blood.

He heard himself stammering, and his voice seemed to begin in a whisper and end in a roar. “Married, Your … Majesty?”

“Yes, the minx has married her Breton nobleman.” The King lifted his shoulders. “Of course, she had her father’s consent to the marriage, and the Queen and I consider that in these circumstances the matter was out of our hands.”

“His Majesty, the King of Naples, seems very pleased with his daughter’s match,” said Anne of Brittany quickly.

Cesare’s fingers itched to seize his sword and attack the royal pair there and then. They were his enemies; they had arranged this. And to think that it
was he who had brought them the Bull which enabled them to marry! They were deliberately insulting him, telling him that the King of Naples did not object to a Breton nobleman of no great importance, whereas he would not accept Cesare Borgia, son of the Pope, as his son-in-law.

It was unendurable. They were asking him to suffer too much humiliation.

Perhaps Louis realized this, because he said quickly: “Ah, my lord Duke, there are other ladies at our Court. Perhaps they would be less capricious.”

“Holy Mother,” prayed Cesare, “keep me calm. Stop this mad racing of my blood which bids me murder.”

He managed to say: “What lady has Your Majesty in mind?”

Louis smiled pleasantly. “This is a bitter disappointment. But I have a good match in mind for you. My kinsman, the King of Navarre, has a fair young daughter. What say you to marriage with young Charlotte of Navarre?”

Cesare felt his heartbeats quicken. He had set his heart on Carlotta, but Charlotte was no mean alternative.

“Alain d’Albret,” went on the King, “come forth, cousin, and tell us what you would say to a match between our good friend the Duke of Valentinois and your little Charlotte.”

The King of Navarre came and stood before the King of France. His looks were sullen. He said: “It does not seem meet to me, Sire, that a Cardinal has a right to marry.”

“The Duke is no longer a Cardinal,” the King reminded him.

Cesare cried: “I have been freed from my vows. I am as fit and able to marry as any man.”

“I should need to be sure that a man who had once been a Cardinal was free of all ecclesiastical ties, before I gave him a daughter of mine,” said Alain d’Albret stubbornly.

Cesare cried out: “You are a fool! The whole world knows I am free.”

There was silence all about him. Louis’ looks were cold. This foreigner had forgotten the strictness of Court etiquette in France.

Cesare said quickly: “I crave pardon. But these matters could be proved to you.”

“They would
need
to be proved,” said rough Alain.

“You must forgive his caution,” added the King, looking from Alain to Cesare. “He is a father with a father’s feelings.”

“Your Majesty can explain to him that I am free.”

“We will give him full proof,” said the King. “But this will take a little time.”

“I shall need the utmost proof, Your Majesty,” declared Alain.

The King rose and going to Alain put his arm through his; then he turned and beckoned to Cesare, and linking his other arm through Cesare’s he walked with the two of them to an embrasure where he spoke in whispers while those who had watched the previous scene talked among themselves, respecting the King’s wish for privacy.

“The proof will come,” said the King to Alain. “His Holiness will lose no time in supplying it.” He turned to Cesare. “Charlotte’s brother Amanieu will be your brother, my lord Duke. He has long desired his Cardinal’s hat. A Cardinal’s hat, Alain! I feel that, if you saw your son in possession of that, you would hasten your decision, would you not?”

“Proof, Sire,” said Alain. “I must have proof … proof for myself, and a Cardinal’s hat for my son; and then … I should not be averse to accepting a husband for my daughter.”

Cesare was silent. He must have a bride. He could not face the humiliation of returning to Rome without one. And Charlotte d’Albret was the daughter of a King, even as Carlotta was.

He saw in this marriage a means of saving his face, but at the same time he was wary.

Was it true, that which was being whispered throughout the Court: “The King keeps Cesare Borgia here as a hostage”?

Had he suggested this marriage to delay Cesare’s departure from France, to make him a willing visitor rather than an unwilling one? Cesare believed that Louis was even now planning an attack on Milan. Was he, the great Cesare, to be put in the humiliating position of hostage once more?

Yet marriage with a kinswoman of France would serve him well.

He determined then to marry Charlotte as quickly as possible.