Madonna of the Seven Hills (30 page)

“I have heard much of your charms, Madonna,” he said in a voice which held a note of tenderness; “it gives me the greatest pleasure to kiss your hand.”

“We have heard much of you here,” murmured Lucrezia. “The story of your valor has traveled before you.”

He sat beside her and told her of the battle, of how he reproached himself because the French King had escaped.

“He left behind him many prisoners,” said Lucrezia, “so we have heard here, with many of the treasures which he had taken from the people of Italy.”

It was true, agreed Gonzaga, and he went on to explain more details of the campaign, amazed at himself for talking thus to a beautiful girl. But this was merely a child. She was sixteen years old, but to him she seemed much younger.

As for Lucrezia, she wished this attractive man would talk of himself, which she knew would interest her far more than details of his battles.

They danced, and she felt a tingle of excitement run through her as their hands touched. She thought: If Giovanni Sforza had been such a man, how differently I could have felt toward him.

She lifted her eyes and smiled at him, but he still saw her as a child.

The Pope and Cesare watched them as they danced.

“A handsome pair,” said the Pope.

Cesare looked uneasy. “Gonzaga is notorious for his attractiveness to women. He should not think that Lucrezia is for his taking before he passes on to the next conquest.”

“Rest assured he does not,” murmured Alexander. “He sees her as a pretty child.”

There was another matter which Alexander would have to broach soon to Cesare, and he wished to choose the right moment for doing so. Giovanni Borgia would receive his father’s letter very soon, and he had no doubt that the young Duke of Gandia would lose little time in returning to Rome.

And when he came, Alexander was going to put him in charge of his armies, which would infuriate Cesare.

They are my sons, pondered Alexander; is it not for me to command them?

Perhaps. But, as he looked at the glowering face beside him, he was uneasy. That dark and brooding side of Cesare’s nature had become more pronounced of late. Cesare had had great devotion showered upon him; he had enjoyed many privileges. When he was at the universities the wealth and power of his father had enabled him to assemble a little court of his own, a court of which he was the despotic ruler. There were disquieting rumors regarding Cesare’s powers and the methods he employed for ridding himself of his enemies.

Alexander would not believe that he, the all-powerful Pope, who had recently triumphed over his enemies, was afraid of his own son.

Yet now he hesitated to tell him that there was little doubt that his brother would soon be in Rome.

Instead he spoke of Goffredo, that younger son, whom he had also recalled.

“It is time,” he said, “that Goffredo and Sanchia were with us. The rumors concerning that woman grow more and more interesting.”

That made Cesare laugh; and there was nothing Alexander liked so much as to enjoy a little light-hearted gossip with the members of his family. It seemed very amusing to them both to contemplate little Goffredo with this wife of his, who was notorious for her amours.

“Such a woman,” said Cesare lightly, “will be an interesting addition to Your Beatitude’s household.”

Lucrezia stood with
her father and Cesare on the balcony, watching the departure of Francesco Gonzaga. He rode at the head of that procession, the man who had stirred some feeling of regret within her because Giovanni Sforza was not such a man. Now Francesco was making his way to Naples and, as he passed through Italy, everywhere he would be honored as the man who, with the Holy Father, had done more than any to drive the invader from the land.

He had the appearance of a conqueror. The crowds shouted their acclaim; they strewed flowers in his path and the eyes of the women were for him alone in the vast procession.

Graciously he acknowledged the acclaim, his dark eyes lighting as they fell on some girl or woman outstanding for her beauty. A smile of admiration for the beauty, regret that he was but passing by, would touch his face momentarily changing its expression.

He turned and smiled his last farewell to the group on the balcony, and his eyes rested briefly on the daughter of the Pope, for she was such a pretty child with her glistening golden hair, but if the thought occurred to him that in a few years’ time she would be worthy of a closer acquaintance, it was quickly forgotten. There was one other who rode in the procession and who turned to take a last look at the assembly on the balcony: this was Giovanni Sforza. He felt angry as his eyes rested on the golden-haired girl. There she stood between father and brother, and it seemed to Giovanni that she was their captive. They would take her from him; they would make her one of them, and very soon it would be impossible to recognize the docile girl who had been his wife during those months at Pesaro. He felt regretful for those months, for he knew that he would never again live in such harmony with his gentle Lucrezia.

Already she was changing. She was a young girl still, but she was a Borgia, and they had determined to stamp her with the mark of the Borgia. In a few years’ time—perhaps less—she would be as they were … that charming innocence lost, her sensuality enlarged so that she, too, would be ready to appease it at no matter what cost; they would tarnish that tenderness in her; they would supplant it with indifference.

He longed to turn back, to storm into the palace, to force her to leave them and come with him back to Pesaro where they would live away from the conflict of politics and the shadow of her scheming and unscrupulous family.

But who was he to dream such dreams? He was a small man; he was a coward who had always been afraid of someone or something, always trying to shake off the memory of humiliation.

No. It was too late. They had taken her from him and already she was estranged; already he had lost her.

Mists of anger danced before his eyes.

Francesco had turned to him.

“It grieves you,” he said, “to leave the Lady Lucrezia.”

Sforza laughed bitterly. “It does not grieve her,” he said. “She is happy enough to settle under the apostolic mantle.”

Francesco was looking at him oddly. Sforza, remembering past slights, could not stop himself from muttering savagely: “His Holiness is eager to be rid of me. He wishes to have the complete care of his daughter … he wishes to be husband as well as father.”

There was silence. Francesco was looking ahead of him; the cavalcade rode on.

On the balcony the Pope was looking fondly at his daughter.

“So Gonzaga rides away,” he said. “Now, my dearest, you must make preparations to greet your brother Goffredo and your sister-in-law Sanchia. It will not be long now before they are with us.”

SANCHIA OF ARAGON

T
he voluptuous Sanchia lay on her bed nibbling
sweetmeats. Sprawling on the bed, helping themselves now and then from the dish were her three favorite ladies-in-waiting: Loysella, Francesca and Bernardina.

Sanchia was telling them about last night’s lover, for she enjoyed recounting details of her various love affairs, declaring that thus she acquired a double pleasure—first in actuality, then in memory.

Sanchia was strikingly beautiful, and one of her greatest attractions was the contrast between her dark hair, dark brows, olive skin and her startling blue eyes. Her features were bold, her nose aquiline and beautifully shaped; her mouth was soft and sensual. To look at Sanchia was to be reminded immediately of erotic pleasures; Sanchia knew this, and the frank sensuality of her smile suggested that she had made discoveries which were unknown to all others but which she would be delighted to impart to those at whom she was smiling, that they and they alone might share this secret.

Sanchia had had lovers for as long as she could remember and she knew that she would go on taking them until she died.

“I do not anticipate the journey with much pleasure,” she was saying now. “But what fun it will be when we arrive in Rome. I am halfway in love with Cesare Borgia already, and I have not even seen him. Oh, what a great passion awaits us!”

“You will make the Pope jealous of his own son,” suggested Francesca.

“I think not. I think not. I shall leave his Holiness to you, Loysella, or perhaps to little Bernardina. Together mayhap you will compensate him for his weariness of Madonna Giulia—she who is known as La Bella.”

Loysella said: “Madonna, you should not talk thus of the Holy Father.”

“He is but a man, my child. And do not look so shocked. It is not as though I suggest you should be bedfellow to that mad monk Savonarola.”

Loysella shivered, but Sanchia’s eyes were speculative. “I have never had a lover who was a monk,” she mused. “Perhaps on our journey we shall pass by some monastery.…”

“Oh, you are wicked, Madonna,” said Francesca with a giggle. “Are you not afraid to talk thus?”

“I am afraid of nothing,” retorted Sanchia. “I confess and I do my penances. When I am old I shall reform my ways and doubtless enter a nunnery.”

“It will have to be a monastery for you, wicked one,” said Loysella.

“Nay, nay, although I would try a monk, it would be but for once. I do not ask for monk night after night … day after day.”

“Hush!” said Francesca. “If our conversation were reported …”

“It matters not. No one attempts to make me change my ways. My father the King knew how I love men, yet what did he do? He said: ‘She is one of us. You cannot grow oranges on pear trees.’ My brother shakes his head and agrees; and even my old grandmother knew it was useless to try to reform me.”

“His Holiness will reform you. It is for this reason that he sends for you.”

Sanchia smiled wickedly. “From what I hear of His Holiness it is not to
reform
me that he invites me to Rome.”

Loysella pretended to stop her ears because she would not listen to such profanity, but Sanchia merely laughed and bade Francesca bring out the necklace of gold and rubies which her latest lover had brought her.

She leaped up and putting on the necklace paraded before them.

“He said: ‘Only the best is worthy to adorn that perfect body.’ ”

She grimaced and looked at the necklace. “I hope it is of the best,” she said.

“The workmanship is exquisite,” Francesca cried, examining it.

“You may try it on,” said Sanchia. “All of you. Ah,” she went on, “last night was wonderful. To-night perhaps will be as exciting, but perhaps not. It is the voyage of discovery which enchants me. The second night is like crossing a sea which has already been traversed. Not the same surprises … not the same discoveries. How I wish I had been here when the French soldiers were in Naples!”

Francesca pretended to shiver. “There have been such tales. You would not have escaped. They would have seized on you.”

“That would have been exciting. And they say the French are good lovers, and so chivalrous, so gallant. To think that while we were cowering on that dull, dull island of Ischia, such exciting things were going on in Naples.”

“You might have hated it,” suggested Bernardina. “There was one woman who, pursued by soldiers, killed herself by leaping from the roof of her house.”

“I can think of better resting places than the courtyard stones,” said Sanchia. “Oh yes, I wish I had been here to meet the gallant French. I was angry … quite angry when we were hustled away to live in exile. That is why I must take so many lovers now. There is much time to be made up. You understand?”

“Our lady makes up for lost time very creditably,” Loysella murmured.

“At least,” said Sanchia, “the rumors have not lied. His Holiness writes to my father that accounts of my conduct, which have reached him in Rome, have most seriously disturbed him.”

“Madonna … Sanchia, take care … take care when you reach Rome.”

“Take care! Nay, I’ll take Cesare instead.”

“I have heard much talk of Cesare,” said Loysella.

“Strange talk,” put in Francesca.

“It is said,” went on Loysella, “that when he casts his eyes on a woman and says ‘Come hither,’ she dare not disobey. If she does, she is taken by force and punished for having dared delay in obeying the lord Cardinal.”

“I have heard,” added Bernardina, “that he roams the streets looking for suitable virgins to fill his harem. I have heard that any who stand in his way die mysteriously; none knows how.”

Sanchia clasped her hands at the back of her neck, threw back her rippling black hair and laughed. “He sounds more exciting than any man I have ever met. I long to see him face to face.”

“Take care, Sanchia,” begged Bernardina. “Take care when you come face to face with Cesare Borgia.”

“I would have you take care,” said Sanchia with a laugh. “I pray you keep my little Goffredo busy this evening. I do not want him strolling into my bedchamber when I am entertaining visitors. It is bad for the dear little creature’s morals.”

The girls laughed.

“Dear Goffredo. He’s a darling, and so pretty. I long to pet him,” declared Francesca.