Madonna of the Seven Hills (39 page)

Giovanni Sforza disliked the carnival, was embarrassed by the lewd scenes which were enacted and, finding no pleasure in the coarse jokes, he was already homesick for Pesaro.

He did not want to go out and mingle with the crowds in the streets, so Lucrezia went with her brothers and Sanchia, some of their men and Sanchia’s and Lucrezia’s women.

It was Giovanni Borgia’s idea that they should dress as mummers and mingle more freely with the crowds.

This seemed great fun to Lucrezia who, unlike her husband, delighted in the gaiety of Rome and certainly did not sigh for quiet Pesaro.

Sanchia had decided to give her attention to Giovanni in order to arouse Cesare’s anger, and Giovanni was nothing loth; in their mummers’ dresses, masks hiding their faces, they danced through the streets, Sanchia and Giovanni leading the troupe, dancing in the Spanish manner, suggestively, and going through the motions of courtship to an end which seemed inevitable.

But Cesare was not thinking of Sanchia at this moment; he had plans which concerned Giovanni, but he was shelving those, for more pressing ones concerning another Giovanni obsessed him at this moment. Moreover Lucrezia was with him, and his lust for Sanchia had never been as great as his love for his little sister.

He could lash himself into a fury now, not because Sanchia was behaving amorously with Giovanni, but by thinking of Lucrezia’s life with Sforza.

“Lucrezia, little one,” he said, “you love the carnival.”

“Oh brother, yes. Did I not always? Do you remember how we used to watch from the loggia of our mother’s house and long to be among the revelers?”

“I remember how you clapped your hands and danced there on the loggia.”

“And sometimes you lifted me, so that I could see better.”

“We share many happy memories, beloved. When I think of the times we have been parted, I feel murderous toward those who parted us.”

“Do not talk of murderous feelings on such a night as this, Cesare.”

“It is such a night that takes my thoughts back to those weary separations. That husband of yours has deliberately kept you from us too long.”

She smiled gently. “He is Lord of Pesaro, Cesare, and as such has his duties to Pesaro.”

“And what think you, Lucrezia—will he soon be carrying you back to his dreary home?”

“I think that before long he will be impatient to return.”

“And you want to leave us?”

“Cesare! How can you say so? Do you not realize that I miss you all so sadly that I can never be happy away from you?”

He drew a deep breath. “Ah! That is what I wished to hear you say.” He put his arm about her and held her close to him. “Dearest sister,” he whispered, “have no fear. It will not be long now before you are free of that man.”

“Cesare?” She spoke his name in the form of a question.

The excitement of the dance was upon him. His hatred of Sanchia and his brother was overlaid by his love for this little sister. He felt a
great longing to protect her from all unhappiness and, believing that she despised her husband, even as he and their father did, he could not lose another moment before telling her that she would soon be free of him.

“It will not be long, sweet sister,” went on Cesare.

“Divorce?” she asked breathlessly.

“Divorce! Holy Church abhors it. Have no fear, Lucrezia. There are other ways of ridding oneself of an undesirable partner.”

“You cannot mean …” she cried.

But he silenced her.

“Listen, my dearest. We’ll not talk of these matters here in the streets. I have plans concerning your husband, and I can promise you that before next carnival time you will have forgotten his very existence. There, does that please you?”

Lucrezia felt sick with horror. She did not love Giovanni Sforza, but she had tried to; when she was in Pesaro she had done her best to be the sort of wife he wished for, and she had not been unhappy in her efforts. He was not the lover of whom she had dreamed, but he was her husband. He had feelings, aspirations; and if he was full of self-pity, she too had pity for him. He had been unfortunate so many times.

“Cesare,” she said, “I am afraid.…”

His lips were close to her ear. “People watch us,” he said. “We are not dancing with the others as we should. I will come to your apartment to-morrow in the afternoon. We will make sure that we are neither overlooked nor overheard. Then I will explain my plans to you.”

Lucrezia nodded mutely.

She began to dance, but now there was no gaiety in her. Those words of Cesare’s kept drumming in her ears. They are going to murder Giovanni Sforza, she told herself.

Afraid and unsure
, that night she was sleepless, and next day disturbed.

Never in her life had she felt so closely bound to her family; never had she had to face such an important decision.

To her father and her brother she believed she owed complete loyalty. To betray their confidences would be to commit an unforgivable act. And yet to stand aside and allow them to murder her husband—how could she do that?

Lucrezia discovered that she had a conscience.

She was aware of her youth and inexperience of life. She realized that like her father she longed for harmony all about her; and unlike him she could not achieve it ruthlessly. She did not love Sforza; she understood now that she would not greatly care if she never saw him again; but what horrified her was that he should be led to violent death or even quiet death, and that she would be among those who led him there, which she must be if she did not warn him.

She was faced with two alternatives. She could remain loyal to her father and brother and let Sforza go to his death or she could warn Sforza and betray her family.

It was a terrible decision which she had to make. All her love and devotion was at war with her sense of rightness.

Murder! It was a hideous thing and she wanted none of it.

If I let him to go his death the memory of my betrayal would haunt me all my life, she thought.

And if she betrayed Cesare and her father! They would never trust her again; she would be shut out from the trinity of love and devotion on which she had come to rely.

So she lay, sleepless, asking herself what she must do, rising and going to the Madonna’s shrine, falling on her knees and praying for help.

There was no help. What she did must be her own decision.

Cesare was coming in the afternoon to tell her of his plans, and she knew that before that time she must have decided which course she was to take.

She sent one
of her women for Giacomino, Sforza’s chamberlain.

As Giacomino stood before her she thought how handsome he was; there was an honesty in him which was apparent, and she knew that he was her husband’s most faithful servant.

“Giacomino,” said Lucrezia, “I have sent for you that I may talk to you for a while.”

Lucrezia was aware of the little lights of alarm which had sprung into the young man’s eyes. He believed that she found him attractive, for doubtless many women did, and she felt that she was making matters very difficult; but this was her plan and she must carry it out, since she saw no other way out of her dilemma. Giacomino stood before her with bowed head.

“Do you long to return to Pesaro, Giacomino?”

“I am happy to be where my lord is, Madonna.”

“Yet if you could choose, Giacomino?”

“Pesaro is my home, Madonna, and one has an affection for home.”

She nodded and went on to talk of Pesaro. She was thinking, He is bewildered, this good Giacomino, and I must go on talking, even though he may believe that I am seeking to make him my lover.

Giacomino had taken the stool she had indicated. He seemed to grow more miserable with every passing moment, as though he were already wondering how he, his master’s most loyal servant, was going to repulse her. But at length she heard the sound for which she was waiting, and greatly relieved, sprang up, crying: “Giacomino, my brother is on his way here.”

“I must go at once, Madonna,” said the agitated Giacomino.

“But wait. If you leave through the door he will see you, and my brother would not be pleased to see you here, Giacomino.”

What fear Cesare inspired in everyone! The young man had grown pale, his discomfort turning to terror.

“Oh Madonna, what shall I do?” stammered Giacomino.

“I will hide you here. Quick! Get you behind this screen and I will place these draperies over you. If you keep perfectly still you will not be discovered. But I implore you to be as still as you possibly can, for if my brother were to discover you in my apartments …”

“I will be still, Madonna.”

“Your teeth are chattering, Giacomino. I see you realize full well the dangerous position in which you find yourself. My brother does not like me to receive young men in friendship. It angers him. Oh, do take care, Giacomino.”

As she spoke she was pushing him behind the screen and arranging the
draperies over him. She looked at her work with satisfaction; the chamberlain was completely hidden.

Then she hurried to her chair and was sitting there assuming a pensive attitude when Cesare came into the room.

“Lucrezia, my dearest.” He took both her hands and kissed them, as he smiled into her face. “I see you are prepared for me, and have arranged that we should be alone.”

“Yes, Cesare, you have something to say to me?”

“It was dangerous to talk last night in the streets, sister.” He went to the window and looked out. “Ah, the revelries still continue. The mumming and masquing goes on. Is Giovanni Sforza out there in the streets this day, or is he moping in his apartment dreaming of dear dull Pesaro?”

“Dreaming of Pesaro,” said Lucrezia.

“Let him dream while he may,” cried Cesare grimly. “There is not much time left to him for dreaming.”

“You refer to the plans you have made for him?”

“I do, sister. Oh, it has maddened me to think of you with that provincial boor. He deserves to die for having presumed to marry my sweet sister.”

“Poor Giovanni, he was forced into it.”

“You yearn for freedom, dearest sister, and because I am the most indulgent brother in the world, I long to give you all you desire.”

“You do, Cesare. I am happy when I am with you.”

Cesare had begun to pace the floor.

“Our father and I have not told you of our plans before. This is because we know you to be young and tender. You were ever one to plead for the meanest slave who was in disgrace, and ask that punishment be averted. It may be, we thought, that you would plead for your husband. But we know that you long to be free of him … even as we long to see you free.”

“What do you plan to do, Cesare?” asked Lucrezia slowly.

“To remove him.”

“You mean … to kill him?”

“Never mind how we do it, sweet sister. Before long he will cease to worry you.”

“When do you propose to do this deed?”

“Within the next few days.”

“You will ask him to a banquet or … will it be that he meets his assassins by night in some dark alley near the Tiber?”

“Our little Sforza is not without friends,” said Cesare. “I think a banquet would suit him better.”

“Cesare, there is talk of a poison which you use—cantarella. Is it true that the secret is known only to you and to our father, and that you are able not only to kill people but decide on the day and even hour of their death?”

“You have a clever brother, Lucrezia. Does it make you happy to know that he puts all his skill at your disposal?”

“I know that you would do anything in the world for me,” she told him. She moved to the window. “Oh Cesare,” she went on, “I long to go out into the streets. I long to mingle with the revelers as we did last night. Let us ride out to Monte Mario as we did in the old days, do you remember? Let us go
now
.”

He came to her and laid his hands on her shoulders. “You want to feel the air on your face,” he said. “You want to say to yourself, Freedom is one of the greatest gifts life can offer, and soon it will be mine!”

“How well you know me,” she said. “Come, let us go now.”

Only when they had left the Palace could she breathe freely. She was astonished at the cleverness with which she had been able to play her part.