Madonna of the Seven Hills (33 page)

Without hesitation, she followed, climbing into the pews, settling down beside them with a rustle of garments, an unusually mischievous smile on her lips, the laughter rising within her.

They had settled down in their pews and Sanchia had forced a look of mock piety on to her face. Loysella dropped her head hurriedly to hide her mirth, and Lucrezia needed all her willpower to stop herself breaking into hysterical laughter.

They had shocked
the Papal Court.

Never, complained the Cardinals, had such behavior been seen during a solemn service. The woman from Naples was clearly nothing more than a Court harlot. The glances she distributed confirmed the reputation which had preceded her.

Girolamo Savonarola declaimed long and loudly from the pulpit of San Marco in Florence that the Papal Court was a disgrace to the world, and the Pope’s women behaved with great impropriety and were the disgrace and scandal of the people.

The Cardinals tentatively approached the Holy Father.

“Your Holiness will have suffered great sadness,” said one. “The spectacle of those young women’s behavior during the Whitsuntide ceremonies horrified all who beheld it.”

“Is that so?” said Alexander. “I noticed many an eye glistened as it turned in their direction.”

“With disgust, Holiness.”

“I saw no disgust, but I did see some delight.”

The Cardinals looked grim. “Your Holiness will doubtless deal adequately with the offenders?”

“Oh come, come, what offense is there in the pranks of girls? Young girls are by nature high-spirited. I for one would not have them otherwise. And who among you was not a little bored by our worthy preacher?”

“Nevertheless, to bring the manners of Naples to Rome!”

The Pope nodded placatingly. He would speak to the girls.

He did. He put an arm about Sanchia and another about Lucrezia, and composed his features into an expression of mock reproach. He kissed them tenderly and smiled benignly at Loysella, Bernardina and Francesca who stood before him, their heads bowed—but not so low as to prevent their glancing upwards occasionally at the Holy Father.

“You have shocked the community,” he said, “and if you were not so beautiful, I should be forced to scold you, and so I am sure bore you as thoroughly as did your Spanish prelate.”

“But you understand, Most Holy Lord,” said Sanchia, looking at him from under her dark lashes with those bluest of blue eyes.

“I understand this,” said the Pope, giving her a passionate look. “It gives me the greatest pleasure in the world to see so much brightness and beauty at my Court; and should I as much as frown on you I should be the most ungrateful man on Earth.”

Whereupon they all laughed, and Sanchia said they would sing for him, for he was not only their Holy Father but their greatly beloved one.

So Sanchia sang to the accompaniment of Lucrezia’s lute, and the girls ranged themselves about him, Loysella, Bernardina, Francesca on stools at his feet, raising wondering and admiring eyes, while Sanchia and Lucrezia leaned against his knees.

Scold these lovely creatures! thought Alexander. Never! Their little pranks could only amuse such a benevolent father.

That night Sanchia
danced with Cesare. His eyes held hers and she was conscious of that smoldering resentment against the world which had afflicted herself. She was of a different temperament, and it was because of
this that she had been able to shrug aside the slights and enjoy her life. But there was a bond between them.

For all his demonstrations of affection the Pope had not assigned to her that position at the Papal Court for which she longed. She was merely the wife of Goffredo, himself suspected of having a father other than Alexander; it would have been different had she been the wife of Cesare.

But her sensuous nature made it possible for her to forget all else in the pursuit of sexual satisfaction. That satisfaction dominated her life. It was not so with Cesare. He craved carnal pleasures but he had other desires as insistent. His love of power was greater than his desire for women.

She, who had known so many men that she read them easily, was aware of this, and she determined now to make Cesare forget his ambitions in his pursuit of her. They were both experienced, and they would find great pleasure in surprising each other by their accomplishments. Each was aware of this as they danced; and each was asking: Why delay longer? Delay was something which neither of them would tolerate.

“You are all that I heard you were,” Sanchia told him.

“You are all that I hoped you would be,” he answered her.

“I wondered when you and I would be able to talk together. This is the first time it has happened, and all eyes are on us now.”

“They were right,” said Cesare, “when they said you were the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“They were right when they said there was something terrifying about you.”

“Do you find me terrifying?”

She laughed. “No man terrifies me.”

“Have they always been so kind?”

“Always,” she said. “From the time I was able to talk, men have been kind to me.”

“Are you not weary of my sex, since you know it so well?”

“Each man is different from all others. That is what I have found. Perhaps that is why I have always discovered them to be so fascinating. And none that I have ever known has been remotely like you, Cesare Borgia; you stand apart.”

“And you like this strangeness in me?”

“So much that I would know it so well that it ceases to be strangeness and is familiar to me.”

“What tales have you heard of me?”

“That you are a man who will never take no for an answer, that men fear your frown, and that when you beckon a woman she must obey, in fear if not in desire. I have heard that those who displease you meet ill fortune, that some have been discovered in alleys, suffocated or with knives in their bodies. I have heard that some have drunk wine at your table and have felt themselves to be merely intoxicated, only to learn that they are dying. These are the things which I have heard of you, Cesare Borgia. What have you heard of me?”

“That you practice witchcraft so that all men whom you desire fall under your spell, and that having once been your lover none can ever forget you.”

“And do you believe these tales of me?”

“And do you believe the tales of me?”

She looked into his eyes and the flame of desire in hers was matched by that in his.

“I do not know,” she said, “but I am determined to discover.”

“Nor do I know,” he answered; “and I think I am as eager to make my discoveries as you are.”

His hand tightened on hers.

“Sanchia,” he said, “this night?”

And she closed her eyes and nodded.

They were watched
.

The Pope smiled affectionately. It was inevitable. How could it have been otherwise? Cesare and Sanchia! They were well matched, and from the moment Cesare had heard of her he had determined it should be so.

Now we shall have the tiresome scandalmongers whispering, mused Alexander, now we shall have the Cardinals raising shocked hands and voices; and Savonarola will be thundering from his pulpit of the vice which goes on at the Papal Court.

The Pope sighed, faintly envious of his son, laughing slyly to himself; he would prevail upon Cesare to give him a full account of the affair.

Goffredo watched delightedly. How handsome they looked dancing together. My wife and my brother. They are the two most distinguished people in the ballroom. All watch them. And they find each other delightful.

Cesare, great Cesare, will be grateful to me because I have brought him Sanchia. And Sanchia, she is clearly delighted to meet Cesare. All her lovers must seem so unworthy when she compares them with him!

Lucrezia watched.

So, she thought, Goffredo’s wife has now determined to take Cesare as her lover. She knows how to lure him, how to please him.

Lucrezia wanted to bury her face in her hands and sob; and fervently she wished that Sanchia had never come to Rome.

They lay together
on Sanchia’s bed.

Sanchia was smiling, glancing sideways at her lover. It is true, she thought exultantly, he is as no other man. He has the virility of two men; he is skilled and yet eager to discover; he is ardent and yet aloof, passionate and yet cold. In all her experience she had never known a lover such as Cesare Borgia.

She turned to him and said languidly: “They should have married me to you … not to Goffredo.”

She saw the change creep into his face; the slack sensuality disappeared and in its place was sudden anger so intense that it shocked her even in her present mood of indolence.

He clenched his fists and she realized that he was fighting with himself to hold back his anger.

“My father,” he said, “saw fit to send me to the Church.”

“It is incomprehensible,” she answered soothingly, and she laid her hand on his arm to draw him to her, once more to court desire.

But he was not to be seduced from his anger.

“I have two brothers,” he said, “and yet I was the chosen one.”

“You will be Pope,” she told him; “and that need not prevent your enjoying adventures such as this, Cesare.”

“I wish to command the armies,” he said. “I wish to have sons … legitimate sons. I wish to cast aside my Cardinal’s robe. I loathe the thing and all connected with it.”

She sat up in bed, her long hair falling about her nakedness. Her blue eyes shone. She wanted now to turn him from his anger, to bring him back to making love. It was a challenge. Is his anger more important to him than I am? What sort of man is this to talk of his ambitions while he lies in bed with me?

She took his hands and smiled at him.

“I doubt not all that you desire will be yours, Cesare Borgia.”

“Are you a witch?” he asked.

She nodded slowly and laughed showing her red tongue.

“I am a witch, Cesare Borgia, and I promise you this … a soldier’s uniform, a wife and legitimate offspring.”

He was looking at her intently; at least she had focused his attention on herself, even if it was the possible power of prophecy, rather than her body, which attracted him.