Sins of the House of Borgia (19 page)

Just then a soft knock came at our door; opening it, I found Catherinella standing outside, slightly breathless.

“You come,” she said.

I felt cold and sweaty all at once, my bowels griped. What had happened? All this talk of miscarriages with Angela made me fear the worst. “What is it, Catherinella?”

“Chief summon you.” By “chief,” I assumed she meant the duke.

“But Donna Angela is unwell. She cannot come.”

“Just you. The Jewess, he say, then my lady say, Monna Violante. Sound angry.” She shrugged and muttered something in her own tongue.

“Angela,” I said as I fished my shoes from under my bed. “Tell me where this woman is. Maybe I can get help.”

“Somewhere near San Paolo.”

“I’ll go as soon as I can get away from Lucrezia.”

“Say nothing to her.”

“Not unless I have to,” I promised. Because if Angela died, I could not let madonna believe her cousin had been poisoned. We were none of us secure until madonna was safely delivered of a son.

***

A young woman I had not seen before was standing beside Duke Ercole when I entered the Camera Dal Pozzolo. As I dropped my curtsey to him, I noticed the uncomfortable shift of her feet beneath her none-too-rich skirt of scarlet wool. She had large feet, so it did not surprise me as I raised my eyes to see that she was tall, almost as tall, indeed, as the duke himself. Duke Ercole, though powerfully built, had short, somewhat bowed legs and all his sons towered over him.

“This is Fidelma,” said Donna Lucrezia, though she made no attempt to raise herself from the cushions supporting her back, and her tone was peevish and reluctant.

“She is to replace Donna Angela,” added the duke. “You will take her under your wing, Monna Violante. She is a baptised Jewess like you.”

How I managed to make sense of anything the duke said I do not know. Replace Angela? What was he thinking of? How could he? Angela was irreplaceable. Had the Este poisoned her after all, and whatever she had been sold by the crone on the Via dei Volte was merely masking the true cause of her sickness? But why? Perhaps Duke Ercole had decided the only way to turn the Borgia parvenue with her doubtful reputation into a wife worthy of his heir was to cut her off completely from her family. Donna Adriana and Cousin Geronima had already left; now it was Angela’s turn.

Lovely, laughing Angela, who had so easily and generously filled my empty heart when I first joined Donna Lucrezia’s household, who had listened with such patience to my lovelorn rantings about Cesare…Cesare. Would the duke try to keep him from Ferrara also? Surely his sister’s marriage to Don Alfonso had drawn his teeth as far as the duke was concerned; he was unlikely to invade the duchy as long as his beloved Lucrezia presided over it. For a moment, I breathed easier until, mortified by my heart’s selfishness, I recollected Angela as she had looked when I left her, curled tight around her pain, her belly cramped up with the effort of expelling her unwanted child.

If she lived, how could she return to Rome, disgraced, cast out from Donna Lucrezia’s protection? If she lost the child, Ippolito would be under no obligation to her; even if she kept it, his father’s hostility to her would make it difficult for him to acknowledge his bastard. As for Giulio, or Ferrante… Suddenly I saw what Duke Ercole was about, and that it had far more to do with the welfare of his sons than with asserting his authority over Donna Lucrezia.

I turned an appraising gaze on Fidelma. Thin, flat chested, with a pronounced bridge to her nose and a sallow complexion, she was certainly unlikely to replace Angela in the affections of Ippolito or Giulio. Or me. I looked away from her without so much as a smile, and tried to catch Donna Lucrezia’s eye, but she and Catherinella were absorbed in re-arranging her cushions. I knew I must acknowledge the duke’s instructions but I could not bring myself to do so; my head refused to bow, my mouth to form words of obedience.

All my life I had been obedient to the men who exercised authority over me. Staying behind in Toledo at my father’s insistence, until it was too late to travel safely and I was forced to witness my mother’s lonely, unnecessary death on the beach at Nettuno. Renouncing my own faith and family in favour of these Borgias with their dangerous charm, their plausible lies, and their inhumane religion. Even taking my vicious nickname because it was bestowed on me by a man.

My name. My real name.

I dropped to my knees in front of Duke Ercole; I bowed my head to the floor; I would have kissed the toe of his boot had he not hurriedly stepped back out of my reach.

“My lord duke,” I began, straightening up. The duke gave a strangled cough; his face had turned the colour of
melanzana
. Perhaps my behaviour had brought on an apoplexy. So much the better. In the chaos that would ensue, I could slip away unnoticed to find the woman on the Via dei Volte. If Don Alfonso were duke, he would not banish Angela; he was too fond of his wife to treat her so cruelly.

But nothing happened so I was compelled to continue. “You know Violante is not my name, merely a jest whose origins do not matter here. My given name is Esther. I know you to be a devout man, so I do not have to remind you of Esther’s story. I humble myself before you now as Queen Esther did before King Ahasuerus, to beg you to reconsider.”

I was aware of Donna Lucrezia and Catherinella falling still behind me. The songs of birds, the cries of market traders, and the rattle of cartwheels over cobbles in the street below, all seemed muted by an immeasurable distance. In the silence of the room I could hear the whisper of the blood in my veins, the rasp of Duke Ercole’s nail as he scratched his jaw with one crooked finger.

“Go on,” said the duke, a note of mild amusement in his voice almost undermining my resolve.

I tried desperately to remember the instruction of my teacher of rhetoric. No time for
dispositio
or
elocutio
or
pronuntiatio.
I had to proceed straight to
actio
and hope to carry the day on the sincerity of my feelings. “I cannot offer you a banquet, or any other service a queen might offer her king. All the riches I can place at your feet, my lord, is my love for my mistress which emboldens me to seek her happiness. Donna Angela is her sister in all but birth, her closest kin and confidante. Your grace, you were blessed with so many brothers and sisters it is not possible to count them all. They are as the stars of the heavens and the sand upon the shore.” I hoped he would appreciate the biblical allusion, even though it was from one of our books rather than one of the Christians’. “But my lady had only three brothers, and one of them is already dead, so I beseech you, do not take Donna Angela from her also.”

I stole a glance at Duke Ercole, to see what impression I was making. He wore an expression of dispassionate tolerance, like an adult forced to sit through the party piece of a child for whom he does not much care. Then I must hope his ambitions for his line in the long term would outweigh his immediate concerns about his sons. “Especially in her present condition. At least wait until she is safely delivered of a son and heir for Don Alfonso.” I was aware of some movement from Donna Lucrezia, a sigh, a rustle of silk as she shifted her position, but I dared not look round and kept my gaze fixed on the toes of Duke Ercole’s black boots and my thoughts on Angela and the life bleeding from between her thighs.

“I fear Donna Lucrezia is more likely to be upset if Donna Angela stays in Ferrara than if she goes,” said the duke, with a candour I had not expected.

“Honoured father…” began Donna Lucrezia, but I gestured to her to keep silent. If the duke were sufficiently rattled to disclose his hand, I must press home my advantage before he recovered his composure. Donna Lucrezia might discipline me for my lack of respect, but I doubted my punishment would be very harsh if I succeeded in pleading Angela’s case.

“I cannot imagine anything calculated to upset madonna more than to be separated from her dear cousin, your grace, but if I cannot persuade you by that argument, consider this. Here before you you see the miracle of not one, but two, Jewesses brought to Christ, exulting in the opportunity to atone for the wickedness of their race. No doubt you have made many gifts to the Church in thanksgiving, but the truest and most valuable gift would be to exercise compassion in your heart for your daughter-in-law to whom you have entrusted the grave responsibility of overseeing Fidelma’s and my journey towards salvation. Remember, my lord, that the Almighty sees beyond altar cloths and reliquaries, right into a man’s soul, and that He values no gift, however rare or beautiful, if it is not given with a true heart.”

I fell silent. My own heart thudded in my throat; I felt sick and shaky, so when the duke bade me rise, in a voice unsteady with emotion, I feared I was more likely to fall. Slowly, carefully, wobbling like an acrobat on a tightrope, I stood up.

“Look at me, girl.” I lifted my eyes to his, pale and prominent, the whites yellowed and thickened with age. What had those eyes not seen? What thoughts and calculations, plans and dreams had they concealed or revealed over the long years of his life? For more than half of it he had lived abroad, passed over by his father, watching and waiting for his opportunity. Though no one spoke of it, everyone knew the exact spot in the
cortile
of the old Castello where he had had the block set up and his nephew, Niccolo, the chosen heir, beheaded. He might despatch a mere Jewess, a money lender’s daughter, with no more care than he would slap away a mosquito. Thinking the worst calmed me; I waited with a dignity which would not have shamed a Christian martyr for my sentence to be pronounced.

“You have spoken well,” he said, “and wisely. You are right. I have allowed matters which are immediate, and probably frivolous, to distract me from what is most important. Donna Angela may stay in Ferrara and in the meantime, I will entrust Fidelma to your particular care, for I think there is much you can teach her about being a Christian, and,” he added, with a twist of his thin lips I took for a smile, “a courtier.” Then he bowed to madonna and left the room, his page scurrying in front of him to open the door.

“Brava, brava,” exclaimed Donna Lucrezia, clapping her hands, as soon as the door had closed behind him. “Oh, Violante, come here and let me kiss you.” Bending over the daybed, I submitted to her embrace. I thought of Cesare as her lips brushed my cheek and her arms encircled my shoulders, about how often she must have kissed his cheek this way, how her lips carried the imprint of his skin, his beard, the fine bones beneath, and now her mouth carried the memory of my face to plant on his, and if she ever kissed me again, the whole cycle would start over.

“I hoped you would win him over,” she said as she released me. “He is not such an ogre as he likes to think he is. Remember how thoughtful he was when my horse threw me during the welcome procession when we first arrived? And he had a mule brought straight away? He is a considerate old soul at bottom.”

Oh yes, the duke was certainly considerate; once he had beheaded his nephew, he had ordered the head stitched back on and the corpse dressed for burial in gold brocade. “I am glad I managed to appeal to his soft side, madonna. I think we would both miss Donna Angela very much.”

“Fidelma, stand a little way off. I would have some private words with Monna Violante.”

Fidelma took a step back, trod on the hem of her skirt, and almost overbalanced. Madonna and I exchanged a look, then madonna rolled her eyes heavenward. “We shall have our work cut out with that one,” she whispered. “Now, dear, tell me how Angela does?” After a short hesitation, she added, “Is she pregnant?”

“Madonna, I…”

“Come, girl, do you think I know nothing? She was lying with Ippolito long before we left Rome and I suppose it has started up again since he arrived in Ferrara. Or is it the other one? The beautiful bastard. I wouldn’t blame her. He really is quite exquisite. I could be tempted myself if he weren’t my brother-in-law. What about you, Violante? Could Don Giulio lead you astray, or do you still hold a candle for my brother?”

“You know I do, madonna,” I confessed. She had never before spoken to me with such candour, and surely I owed it to her to be equally frank.

“His letter…encouraged you?”

“It did not discourage me.”

“Well, that is…” She seemed to be casting about in her mind for the right word. “Good,” she said eventually, though with a doubtful expression about her mouth and eyes. “But we were talking about Angela,” she went on, with a little movement of her head as though to shake off rain. “Am I right about the cause of her indisposition?”

“Yes, madonna and, if you please...”

“And the father?”

“Cardinal Ippolito, she says.”

“Do you believe her?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Not that it matters. Either way, it is all a mess.”

“I think it likely she will miscarry, madonna. I suppose that would make matters a little less messy.”

Donna Lucrezia considered me with her grave, grey eyes. “You have an odd turn of phrase sometimes,” she said, “for a young girl.”

“I should return to her, madonna; she is really very unwell.”

Again, she hesitated, her gaze raking my face as though she might find the solution to the problem of Angela there. “This is what will happen,” she said finally. “Shortly I am to travel to Duke Ercole’s country estate at Belriguardo. The air will be healthier there, now it is getting so warm. Don Giulio is to escort us, on his way to visit Donna Isabella in Mantua. Angela will not be fit to travel so I shall leave her behind, in your care. Do I make myself clear? My husband is going away on an embassy to the court of France. Ippolito will accompany him. That leaves only Ferrante, and Sigismondo, of course, in Ferrara. You have some influence with Ferrante, I think; he is fond of you. By the time we return, let us hope Angela’s situation will look a little rosier.”