In his suite the Pope was sitting at his desk, reading and signing official papers presented to him by a pair of secretaries, who were dismissed summarily at Cesare’s entry into his father’s chambers. Marveling at his father’s energy, Cesare advanced toward him to receive an embrace. A five-log fire blazed in the enormous fireplace.
The Pope was already in his sleeping costume: a long woolen nightgown covered over by a richly embroidered silk robe lined with fur, which he claimed retained his body heat and protected him against the malarial winds of Rome. On his head was a small ruby-colored biretta, unadorned. Alexander often said that though a Pope, for reasons of state, must always show the riches of the church in public, he could at least sleep as simply as a peasant.
“And what did my daughter confide in her favorite brother?” the Pope said. “Does she complain of her husband?”
Cesare caught the knowing irony in his father’s voice; still, he was surprised by his father’s awareness of Lucrezia’s feelings. Cesare answered, “She is unhappy with him.”
Alexander looked thoughtful for a moment. “I must admit, I, myself, am no longer happy with my daughter’s marriage. It doesn’t serve politically as I had hoped.” He seemed glad for the chance to talk about it. “What good is that Sforza boy to us anyway? I never truly liked him, and he was worthless as a soldier. And now Il Moro is not so valuable to us, for his loyalties are weak and he cannot always be trusted. He is a man to reckon with, certainly, for we need him in the Holy League. But he can be unpredictable. Still, we must consider your sister’s feelings as well. Don’t you agree?”
Cesare thought how happy Lucrezia would be, and that pleased him. She would think him a hero. “How shall we proceed?”
Alexander continued. “King Ferdinand has asked me to make a friend of the royal house of Naples. Surely, though Jofre’s marriage to Sancia has already put him in the Neapolitan camp, that doesn’t necessarily serve us. In fact, it may have done us damage. Unless . . . ” The Pope smiled before he continued. “We may be able to repair that breach with some new alliance.”
Cesare frowned. “Father? I don’t quite understand.”
Alexander’s eyes glistened, and he looked amused at his most recent inspiration. “Sancia’s brother. Alfonso. Now that could be a much more rewarding match for Lucrezia. It’s always awkward to insult the Sforzas, but it may be worth considering. Tell your sister I’ll consider altering her circumstance.”
Alexander pushed his chair away from his desk and rose to walk across the room to stoke the fire with one of the cast-iron hooks that rested on the stone floor in front of him.
When he turned back to his son, he said, “Cesare, you understand we must control the Papal States. The papal vicars are like greedy warlords, always fighting each other, fighting the Pope’s infallibility, draining and oppressing the people. We must do something to bring them back in line.”
Cesare asked, “And you have a plan?”
“The kings of France and Spain are uniting their territories under a central authority. We must do the same. It is imperative for the people and for the papacy. But we must also do it for our family. For if we do not create a Borgia-controlled, unified government, which will force the locals to recognize the authority of Rome and the Pope, you and the rest of the family will be in grave peril.” He became silent.
“We must have well-manned fortresses,” Cesare said with determination. “To put down the local uprisings as well as to stop the foreign invaders who hope to make the central territories their own.”
Alexander said nothing; he seemed deep in thought.
Cesare bowed his head. “I am at your service, Father. I am a cardinal of the church.”
Pope Alexander spoke with grave intensity as he sat back down in his favorite leather chair. “I don’t have to tell you how dangerous it will be for all of you if I die and a hostile Pope like della Rovere is elected. I can’t begin to think of what will happen to your sister. Dante’s hell has no match for the inferno she will face . . . ”
Cesare said, “Father, why are you telling me this? We need not tremble yet, for you have not yet begun to do the good works you must for the Holy Church, and therefore I am certain you will live many more years.”
Alexander lowered his voice. “No matter the peril, there are only two men in this court that you can trust completely. One is Don Michelotto . . . ”
“That is no surprise, Father, for your affection for him has not escaped anyone’s notice. And it is not difficult for me to trust him, for I have since I was a child.” Now he paused. “Still, his life is rather a mystery to me. I have never asked you this, Father: How is it that a Valencian became so entrenched in the workings of Rome?”
And so Alexander told his son the story of Miguel Corello, now known as Don Michelotto.
“But he is also the one known as the strangler,” Cesare said.
“Yes, my son, he is called the strangler, but he is much more than that. He is an accomplished leader of troops, a ferocious warrior—and, most important, he would die protecting our family. His loyalty is as fierce as his fury. So make no mistake, he is not only a killer. He can be trusted completely.”
“And the other?” Cesare asked.
“The second man is Duarte Brandao. About his past I can tell you little, for he was captured and brought to me as a prisoner many years ago when I requested an English translator and my own was unavailable. But he had been beaten badly by our own troops, and swore he remembered nothing of his past.”
“And still you kept him?” Cesare asked.
Alexander sat, remembering. “The first I saw of him he was filthy and disheveled, as any prisoner who had been locked in the dungeons would be, but once he was bathed and given proper clothing he was brought to me again. On that day, something in his demeanor sparked a memory of one Edward Brampton, a converted Jew, who rendered great service to Edward the Fourth of England. I had seen him only once, long before, but I took note of him, for he was the first Jew ever knighted. It is said he served the king’s brother, Richard the Third, who as you know was slain by Henry Tudor’s men. Brampton fought in great land and sea battles for Edward the Fourth, and literally saved the entire English fleet for Richard the Third. That’s when Brampton disappeared from England, and about the time that Duarte Brandao was captured in Rome. The Tudors would have killed him had they caught him, and even now he is always in danger from Tudor agents.”
“And that accounts for his change of name, Father?” Cesare asked. “But is Brandao a Jew?”
Alexander said, “If so he’s a convert to the Holy Catholic Church, for I’ve seen him take Communion. And for these past seven years he has served me and the Holy Mother Church more religiously than any other man I know. He’s the most courageous and intelligent man I’ve ever met, a fine soldier and oddly enough a highly skilled seaman too.”
“I’m not objecting to him being a Jew, Father,” Cesare said, with an amused expression. “I’m just wondering what anyone else will think when they find that you, the head of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, is being advised by a man who is not even a Christian.”
Alexander smiled. “I’m glad you don’t object, my son,” he said sarcastically. Then his voice took on a more serious tone. “You know my views on the Jewish situation, Cesare. When Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain asked that I imprison, torture, and kill Jews who dared to practice their religion in secret, I refused. I told them I believed the Spanish Inquisition was an abomination, as was the treatment of Jews in their own country. After all, these people gave us the law; they gave us Jesus. Should I slaughter them because they don’t believe he’s the Son of God? I will not! I can’t always prevent our citizens or even our officials from attacking or abusing them, but it certainly is not my policy.”
Cesare knew that when Popes were elected, part of the ceremony was that the new Pope was offered the book of Hebrew laws by the head of Rome’s Jewish community. Every other Pope had taken the book and thrown it
to the ground in revulsion. Only his father had not. Alexander VI, too, had rejected it—but he had handed it back, with respect.
Now Cesare asked, “What is your policy, Father?”
“I will not harm them,” the Pope said. “I will, however, tax them heavily.”
10
POPE ALEXANDER HAD been betrayed at the moment of his greatest need by Virginio Orsini, one of his papal barons, a man he trusted, and he did not suffer this betrayal lightly. The devil had claimed another soul, he reasoned, and the devil must be destroyed. The fact that Virginio himself had been captured, tortured, and killed in one of the most notorious dungeons of Naples did not rid Alexander of his need for revenge.
To the Pope, this became a very real battle between the Vicar of Christ on Earth and Satan himself. As the leader of the Papal States, he knew he must take action against the local barons, those greedy warlords who were always fighting each other—and, even more disastrous, fighting the dictates of the Holy Catholic Church. For if the word of the Holy Father was not honored and obeyed, if evil was allowed to flourish and men of virtue did nothing, the authority of the church itself would be weakened. Then who would save the souls of the good for God?
Alexander understood that spiritual power must be supported by temporal might. Though the French army had withdrawn, and what few troops were left had been conquered by the armies of the Holy League, Alexander knew he must devise a suitable punishment to ensure that such a betrayal would not happen again.
After much consideration, he reasoned that he must make an example of the Orsini, to forever discourage the rebellion of the other barons under his charge. In order to do that, he must use the most lethal weapon in his spiritual arsenal: excommunication. Alas, he had no choice. He must publicly banish the entire Orsini family from the Holy Roman Catholic Church.
Excommunication was the most extreme of proclamations, and the strongest implement of the Pope’s power. For it was a punishment not only of this life but one which extended into the next. Once a man was exiled from the church, he could no longer gain the grace of the holy sacraments. His soul could not be cleansed of its sins by confession; the blackened stains must remain without forgiveness, the opportunity for absolution denied. A marriage could no longer be sanctified, a child could not be baptized, blessed, and protected from the devil by the sprinkling of holy water. Oh, sad day! No last rites could be performed to bring peace at the end of life, for burial in sacred ground was now forbidden. It was the most terrifying of all actions; at its core, it was a judgment that drove the soul into purgatory or even hell.
Having exiled the Orsini from the heavens, Alexander now concentrated on destroying their worldly power. He called his son, Juan, back from Spain to act as captain general of the papal army—despite the opposition of Juan’s wife, Maria Enriquez, who was again with child. His son and heir, Juan II, was only a year old, she argued, and had need of his father.
But Pope Alexander insisted that Juan was to leave Spain immediately to lead the papal troops—for after Virginio’s betrayal he no longer trusted any of the mercenaries, the condottieri. His son must return at once to seize all the towns and castles of the Orsini. Meanwhile, the Pope also sent a message to his son-in-law, Giovanni Sforza, in Pesaro, with orders to bring as many soldiers as he had, and offered to pay him an entire year’s salary if he did so with haste.
From the time his brother Juan was sent to Spain, Cardinal Cesare Borgia had hoped that his father would consider a change in roles for him. After all, Cesare had been the one at the Pope’s side, working on matters of state. He understood Italy. Juan belonged in Spain. And no matter how often his father insisted on his position in the Holy Mother Church, Cesare constantly hoped he would reconsider.
Now, sitting in the Pope’s chambers, Alexander told Cesare of his plans for Juan—that he was to conquer and keep the Orsini castles.
Cesare was furious. “Juan? Juan?” he said, unbelieving. “But Father, he knows nothing about leading troops. He knows nothing of strategy. His only concern is for himself. His strengths lie in the seduction of women, in the squandering of our family’s fortune, and in his own vanity. As his brother I owe him allegiance, but Father, I could lead troops blindfolded and you would be assured of greater success.”
Pope Alexander narrowed his eyes, and looked at his son. “I agree, Cesare. You do have a greater intelligence and ability for strategy. But you are a cardinal, a prince of the church, not a warrior of the battlefield. And who am I left with? Your brother Jofre? Unfortunately, he would lead his horse backward. I cannot even imagine a weapon in his hand. Therefore, what is my choice? A Borgia must appear to command this force, or we will lose the impact of this punishment for the Orsini betrayal on the other papal barons.”
Cesare sat silent and thoughtful for a moment before respond ing. “You truly expect Juan to secure a victory for us? After his ridiculous behavior in Spain, despite our warnings not to gamble, not to bed prostitutes, and to pay proper respect to his wife and the Enriquez family, first cousins of King Ferdinand? Still you choose him?”
Alexander’s deep baritone voice was soft and reassuring. “The real commander will be Guido Feltra. He is an experienced condottiere well known for his military skill and mastery.”
Cesare had heard stories about Feltra. That he was a good man, a loyal man, there was no doubt; he was a famous patron of literature and the arts, and the beloved duke of Urbino. But, in truth, his reputation was that of the son of a true condottiere, a professional soldier, who had gained the duchy as a reward for his military services. Young Guido himself had fought in too few battles, and had won them too easily, to challenge the experience of the ruthless Orsini soldiers. Especially at their main fortress of Bracciano. Certainly, if papal troops were to try to take Ostia, the home of Cardinal della Rovere, there was real danger for his father and for Rome. But Cesare said none of this to the Pope, for he knew that where Juan was concerned his father refused all reason.
Later that night, still angry, he sent a message to his sister. Then he secured a promise from Don Michelotto to accompany her from Pesaro, for he had asked Lucrezia to meet him the following week at Silverlake.
When Lucrezia arrived at the cottage, Cesare was waiting for her. She was dressed in a blue satin gown which highlighted her golden tresses and accentuated the blue in her eyes. It had been a long ride, taking over a day and a half, and her cheeks were flushed with heat and excitement. She ran into the cottage and put her arms around her brother’s neck. “I have so missed you,” she said. But when she pulled back to look at him, she saw the anguish in his eyes. “What is wrong, Chez? What is troubling you?”
Cesare sat on one of the large leather seats and patted the footstool in front of him. Lucrezia sat holding his hand, trying to comfort him. “Crezia, it is pure madness. Father has ordered Juan home to lead the troops as captain general, and I am so full of envy I could kill him . . . ”
Lucrezia stood up, walked behind him, and began to rub his forehead to soothe him. “Chez,” she said, “you must accept your destiny. It is not Juan alone who causes you such sadness. You also are to blame. It is as though you two are still children fighting over Mother Vanozza’s Christmas cakes. I do understand how you feel, but it can only cause you harm, for Father will do as he has always done. Only what he wishes.”
“But I am a better soldier than Juan, much more suited to leading troops, and I would guarantee a victory for the Holy Church and Rome. Why is it that Father would rather have a commander who is an arrogant braggart—a fool who just appears to be leading his army?”
Lucrezia kneeled in front of Cesare now, and looked up into his eyes. “Chez, why is it that Papa must also have a daughter who appears to be happily married to the ignorant duke of Pesaro?”
Cesare smiled. “Come,” he said, drawing her close. “I need you now. For you are what is real in my life. I appear to be a man of God, but for the hat of a cardinal and the love of my father, I swear, Crezia, I fear I
have sold my soul to the devil. I am not who I appear to be, and I find that unbearable.”
When he kissed her, he tried to be gentle, but he had waited so long that he could not manage it. As he kissed her again and again, she began to tremble and then to cry.
Cesare stopped and lifted his head to look at her. There were tears in her eyes. “Forgive me,” he said. “It was brutal of me.”
“It is not the pain of your kisses you see,” she said. “They are the tears of my longing for you. This time in Pesaro makes me dream of the glory of Rome, and you are a part of those dreams.”
After they made love, they lay in bed a long time. Cesare seemed relaxed and Lucrezia could smile again. She rested her head on his shoulder and asked, “Do you believe, as Papa does, that it’s God’s will that his children should live without loving truly?”
“Is that what Papa thinks?” Cesare said, playing with his sister’s hair. “One could not imagine that by his behavior.”
“Well, I am married to a man I certainly don’t love,” she said. “And our brother Juan did not marry for love. Jofre loves easily, so he may be the lucky one, strange as that may seem. For only the hat of a cardinal has saved you from a fate like mine.”
“It is a heavy hat,” Cesare said.
“But not without benefit,” Lucrezia reminded him.
Once they had dressed, they sat at the small wooden table to eat. Cesare poured his sister a fine wine he had brought and raised his goblet to toast. “To your happiness, my dear sister,” he said, smiling. He always felt so safe with Lucrezia, so loved and accepted. He could not imagine a life without her.
He had brought a long loaf of freshly baked bread with a crisp golden crust from Rome—the very kind he knew his sister favored—and it lay alongside several wheels of fresh cheese. As he broke the bread and sliced the cheese to serve her, Cesare said, “I do hope that I will manage to control the way I feel when Juan appears again in Rome. For it takes all my restraint to treat him as a brother.”