Madonna of the Seven Hills (35 page)

He could see the castle—strong, seeming impregnable.

There, he thought, I could live with Lucrezia, happy, secure, all the days of our lives. We should have children and find peace in our stronghold between the mountains and the sea.

His retainers were running out to greet him.

“Our Lord has come home.” He felt grand and important, he the Lord of Pesaro, as he rode forward. Pesaro might have been a great dominion; these few people might have been a multitude.

He accepted the homage, dismounted and entered the palace.

It was a dazzling manifestation of his dream, for she stood there, the sun shining on her golden hair which fell loose about her shoulders, and lighting the few discreet jewels she wore—as became the lady of a minor castle.

“Lucrezia!” he cried.

She smiled that fascinating smile which still held a child-like quality.

“Giovanni,” she answered him, “I was weary of Rome. I came to Pesaro that I might be here to greet you on your return.”

He laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead, then her cheeks, before he lightly touched her lips with his.

He believed in that moment that the Giovanni Sforza whom he had seen in his dreams might have existence in reality.

But Giovanni Sforza
could not believe in his happiness. He must torture himself—and Lucrezia.

He was continually discovering new ornaments in her jewel cases.

“And whence came this trinket?” he would ask.

“My father gave it to me,” would invariably be the answer. Or: “It is a gift from my brother.”

Then Giovanni would throw it back into the box, stalk from the room or regard her with glowering eyes.

“The behavior at the Papal Court is shocking the world!” he declared. “It is worse since the woman from Naples came.”

This made Lucrezia unhappy; she thought of Sanchia and Cesare together, of Goffredo’s delight that his wife should so please his brother, of Alexander’s amusement and her own jealousy.

We are indeed a strange family, she thought.

She would look across the sea, and there was a hope in her eyes, a hope that she might conform with the standards of goodness set up by such men as Savonarola, that she might live quietly with her own husband in their mountain stronghold, that she might curb this desire to be with her own disturbing family.

But although Giovanni had no help to offer her, and only gave her continual reproaches, she was determined to be patient; so she listened quietly to his angry outbursts and only mildly tried to assure him of her innocence. And there were occasions when Giovanni would throw himself at her feet and declare that she was good at heart and he was a brute to upbraid her continually. He could not explain to her that always he saw himself as a poor creature, despised by all, and that the conduct of her family and the rumors concerning them made him seem ever poorer, even more contemptible.

There were times when she thought, I can endure this no longer. Perhaps I will hide myself in a convent. There in the solitude of a cell I might begin to understand myself, to discover a way in which I can escape from all that I know I should.

Yet how could she endure life in a convent? When letters came from her father, her heart would race and her hands tremble as she seized on them. Reading what he had written made her feel as though he were with her, talking to her; and then she realized how happy she was when she was in the heart of her family, and that only then could she be completely content.

She must find a compensation for this overpowering love which she bore toward her family. Was a convent the answer?

Alexander was begging her to return. Her brother Giovanni, he pointed out, was in Rome, even more handsome, more charming than he had been when he went away. Each day he asked about his beloved sister and when she was coming home. Lucrezia must return at once.

She wrote that her husband wished her to remain in Pesaro, where he had certain duties.

The answer to that came promptly.

Her brother Giovanni was about to set out on a military campaign which was to be directed first against the Orsini, and which was calculated later to subdue all the barons who had proved themselves to be helpless against the invader. The rich lands and possessions of these barons would fall into the Pope’s hands. Lucrezia knew that this was the first step on that road along which Alexander had long planned to go.

Now, his dear son-in-law, Giovanni Sforza, could show his mettle and win great honors for himself. Let him collect his forces and join the Duke of Gandia. Lucrezia would not wish to stay on at Pesaro alone, so she must return to Rome where her family would prepare a great welcome for her.

When Giovanni Sforza read this letter he was furious.

“What am I?” he cried. “Nothing but a piece on a chequer-board to be moved this way and that. I will
not
join the Duke of Gandia. I have my duties here.”

So he stormed and raged before Lucrezia, yet he knew—and she knew also—that he went in fear of the Pope.

However, on this occasion he determined to try compromise. He gathered together his men but, instead of leaving with them, he wrote to the Pope and explained that his duties in his own dominion prevented his leaving at this time.

He and Lucrezia waited for the command to obey, the expressions of angry reproach.

There was a long silence; then from the Vatican came a soothing reply. His Holiness fully understood Giovanni Sforza’s reasons; he no longer insisted that he should join the Duke of Gandia. At the same time he would like to remind his son-in-law that it was long since he had seen him in Rome, and it would give him the utmost pleasure to embrace Giovanni and Lucrezia once more.

The letter made Lucrezia very happy. “I feared,” she told her husband,
“that your refusal to join my brother would have angered my father. But how benevolent he is! He understands, you see.”

“The greater your father’s benevolence, the more I fear him,” growled Giovanni.

“You do not understand him. He loves us. He wishes to have us in Rome.”

“He wishes you to be in Rome. I do not know what he wishes for me.”

And Lucrezia looked at her husband and shivered imperceptibly. There were times when she felt there was no escape from the destiny which her family was preparing for her.

Cesare had rarely
been so happy in the whole of his life as he was at this time.

His brother Giovanni was helping to prove all that he, Cesare, had been at such pains to make their father realize. How angry he had been at that ceremony when Giovanni had been invested with the standard, richly embroidered, and the sword, richly jeweled, of Captain General of the Church! How the fury had welled up within him to see his father’s eyes shining with pride as he beheld his favorite son!

“Fool!” Cesare had wanted to cry. “Do you not see that he will bring disgrace on your armies and the name of Borgia?”

And Cesare’s prophecies were coming true. That was what gave him this great pleasure. Now surely his father must see the folly of investing his son Giovanni with military honors which he could not uphold, and the crass stupidity of preventing the brave bold Cesare from taking over the command which, in a fond father’s folly, had been given to Giovanni.

Everything was in Giovanni’s favor. The wealth and might of the Pope was behind him. The great Captain Virginio Orsini was still a prisoner in Naples and could not take part in his family’s defense. To any with an ounce of military knowledge, so reasoned Cesare, the campaign should have been swift and victorious.

And at first it seemed as though it would be so, for, with Virginio a prisoner, the Orsinis appeared to have no heart for the fight, and one by one surrendered to Giovanni’s forces as they had to the French. Castle after
castle threw open its gates, and in marched the conqueror without the shedding of one drop of blood.

In the Vatican the Pope rejoiced; even in Cesare’s presence, knowing how galling it was to his eldest son, he could not hide his pride.

That was why the new turn of events was so gratifying to Cesare.

The Orsini clan were not so easily overcome as the brash young Duke of Gandia and his doting father had believed. They had gathered in full force at the family castle of Bracciano under the leadership of the sister of Virginio. Bartolommea Orsini was a brave woman. She had been brought up in a military tradition and she was not going to submit without a fight. In this she was helped by her husband and other members of the family.

Giovanni Borgia was startled to come up against resistance. He had had no experience of war, and his methods of breaking the siege at Bracciano seemed to the experienced warriors on both sides, both childish and foolish. He had no wish to fight, for Giovanni was a soldier who had more affection for jeweled sword and white stick of office than for battle. He therefore sent messages to the defenders of the castle, first wheedling, then threatening, telling them that their wisest plan would be to surrender. It was uncomfortable, camping outside the castle; the weather was bad; and Giovanni’s gorgeous apparel unsuited to it. His most able captain, Guidobaldo of Montefeltro, the Duke of Urbino, was badly wounded and forced to retire, which meant that Giovanni had lost his best adviser.

Time passed and Giovanni remained outside the stronghold of Bracciano. He was tired of the war, and he had heard that the whole of Italy was laughing at the Commander of the Pope’s forces, and moreover he guessed how his brother was enjoying this turn of events.

The people of Rome whispered about the grand Captain: “How fares he now? Does he look quite so gorgeous as he did when he set out? The rain and wind will not be good for all that velvet and brocade.”

Alexander was filled with anxiety, and declared he would sell his tiara if necessary to bring the war to a satisfactory conclusion. He could not bear the company of his elder son Cesare, for Cesare did not attempt to hide his delight at the way things were going. This hatred of brother for brother, thought Alexander, was folly of the first order. Had Cesare and Giovanni not yet learned that strength was in unity?

Cesare was with him when the news came to him that Giovanni was still waiting outside the castle and that Urbino had been wounded.

He watched the red blood flood his father’s face and, as he stood there, exulting, Alexander swayed and would have fallen had not Cesare rushed forward to catch him.

Looking at his father, whose face was dark with rich purple blood, the whites of his eyes showing red, and the veins knotted at his temples, Cesare had a sudden terrible fear of a future in which there would be no Alexander to protect his family. Then did he realize how much they owed to this man—this man who hitherto had been renowned for his vitality, this man who surely must possess true genius.

“Father!” cried Cesare aghast. “Oh, my beloved father!”

The Pope opened his eyes and became aware of his son’s anxiety.

“Dear son,” he said. “Fear not. I am with you still.”

Once again that exceptional vitality showed itself. It was as though Alexander refused to accept the ailments of encroaching age.

“Father,” cried Cesare in anguish, “you are not ill? You cannot be ill.”

“Help me to my chair,” said Alexander. “There! That is better. It was a momentary faintness. I felt the blood pounding in my veins, and it seemed that my head would burst with it. It is passing. It was the shock of this news. I must control myself in future. There is no need to fret about that which has not yet happened.”

“You must take greater care, Father,” Cesare warned him.

“Oh my son, my son, do not look so distressed. And yet I feel happy to see that you care so much for me.”

Alexander closed his eyes and lay back in his chair smiling. The astute statesman, always wilfully blind where his family was concerned, allowed himself to believe that it was out of affection for his father that Cesare was alarmed, not because he was aware of the precarious position he, with the rest of his family, would be in if the Pope were no longer there to protect them.

Cesare then begged his father to call his physician, that he might be examined; and this Alexander at length promised he would do. But the Pope’s resilience was amazing and, a few hours after the fainting fit, he was making new plans for Giovanni’s success.