Before Cesare could say anything, Cardinal Riario began to circle the piece, studying it closely, touching it. Then he turned to Costa and said, “My dear fellow, this is not an object of antiquity. My senses tell me it is something done quite recently.”
Costa said, “You have a good eye, Cardinal. I did not proclaim it to be an antique. But it was not finished yesterday, rather, last year. By a very talented young artist from Florence.”
The cardinal shook his head. “I have no interest in contemporary works; that is not what I collect. And certainly none at that exorbitant price. Come, Cesare, let’s go.”
But Cesare stood his ground, fascinated. Then, without further consultation or bickering, he said, “I don’t care what it costs or when it was carved; I must have it.”
Costa apologized. “The profit does not all belong to me, for I must send the artist and his representative their price. And transportation is costly . . . ”
Cesare smiled. “Your job is finished, for I already said I must have it. And so I will give you what you ask. Two thousand it is . . . ” he said. Then, as an afterthought, he asked, “What is the name of this young sculptor?”
“Buonarroti, Michelangelo Buonarroti. He shows some talent, yes?”
Rome was wild with rumors. First it was said that Cesare had struck down another brother, but once he denied it publicly that rumor was quickly replaced by another. Now the citizens gossiped that the Orsini, angered at Lucrezia’s governing of Nepi, had taken their revenge on her husband, an ally of their enemies, the Colonna.
But in the rooms of the Vatican there were other concerns. The Pope, hit by several bouts of syncope, was becoming weaker, so he had taken to his bed. Lucrezia, who had stayed at her husband’s side during his early recovery, now often left Sancia to care for her brother while Lucrezia ministered to her father. He seemed frail, and was comforted by her company.
“Tell me the truth, Papa,” she asked him one day. “You had no part in the attack on Alfonso, did you?”
“My sweet child,” Alexander said, sitting up in bed. “I would not lay a hand on the one who brought you such happiness. And that is why I have placed such security at his doors.”
Lucrezia was comforted knowing her father had not ordered the harm that had befallen her husband. But at the very moment that the Pope was reassuring his daughter, two swarthy Neapolitans familiar to Sancia were led into the Vatican, past the guards of Alfonso’s room. Alfonso had been recovering; on that day he was feeling quite well, though it had been only a fortnight since his assault. He could now stand, though he could not yet walk.
Alfonso greeted the men warmly, and then asked his sister to leave them for a few moments so they could converse in the way men do when no women are present, for he explained he hadn’t seen these two friends since he had been to Naples several months before.
Pleased to see her brother happy, Sancia left the Vatican to visit Lucrezia’s children. She would only be gone a short time. And in the company of these men she was certain he would be safe.
This golden August day in Rome was hotter than most, and the Vatican gardens were in full bloom. Cesare was strolling alone, enjoying the serenity of the tall cedars, the soft murmuring of the fountains and the cheerful chirping of birds. He seldom felt such peace. He was not bothered by the heat; in fact, he enjoyed it—a credit to his Spanish blood, no doubt. He was deep in thought, trying to deliberate on new information he had just received from Don Michelotto, when he saw the beautiful red exotic flower on the path before him. He bent to examine it, and as he did he heard the swift whir of a crossbow bolt pass perilously close to his head. It embedded itself into a nearby cedar.
Instinctively he dropped to the ground as a second bolt sped by. And as he shouted for his guards, he rolled over to see where the arrows were coming from.
There, on the balcony of the Vatican Palace, stood his brother-in-law Alfonso, supported by two Neapolitan guards. One was drawing back his crossbow to shoot again, and Alfonso himself had his own bow aimed straight at Cesare. This bolt landed in the earth only inches from his leg. Cesare called for his guards again, shouting, “Traitor! Traitor! Look to the balcony!” Automatically he reached for his sword, wondering how he could slay his brother-in-law before being hit by Alfonso’s crossbow.
By then the Vatican guards were running toward him, shouting, and he watched as Alfonso slipped from the balcony and disappeared. Cesare dug the crossbow bolt out of the dirt beside him, but the one caught in the cedar could not be removed. He immediately brought the bolt he carried to the Vatican assayer, a man highly skilled in the study of metals and other substances. The man confirmed what Cesare suspected: The bolt had been soaked in a lethal poison, and even a scratch would have been fatal.
Next Cesare went to the Vatican apartment, where he found his sister Lucrezia gently bathing her husband’s wounds. Alfonso lay motionless, his bare white chest still showing the angry red scar of the attacker’s stiletto. The two men who had been with him on the balcony had escaped down some Vatican corridor, but Cesare’s guards were in hot pursuit.
Cesare said nothing to his sister. Alfonso looked up at him nervously, not knowing for certain if Cesare had recognized him in the garden attack. Cesare smiled, then leaned down close as though to comfort him, and whispered in his ear. “What was begun at lunch will be finished at supper.”
Then he stood tall again, stared at the silent prince, and kissed his sister before leaving.
Hours later, in that same room at the Vatican where Alfonso was recovering, Lucrezia and Sancia were making plans to travel to her palace in Nepi. There they would all spend time together with the children while Alfonso regained his strength, and make up for what they had lost when Sancia was banished to Naples. Lucrezia had developed a deep respect for Sancia’s fighting spirit, and they had grown fond of each other.
Alfonso had fallen asleep as the women sat by his bed talking in whispers. But suddenly he was awakened by a hard knock at the door. When Lucrezia opened it, she was surprised to see Don Michelotto.
“Cousin Miguel. What are you doing here?” she said, smiling.
“I’ve come to see your husband about some Vatican business,” he said, thinking fondly of the times he had carried Lucrezia on his shoulders as a child. He bowed and asked, “May I beg your indulgence for a few moments? Your father is calling for you, and I would appreciate the time to speak with your husband privately.”
Lucrezia hesitated only a moment before agreeing. “Of course, I’ll go to Papa, and Sancia will stay here, for Alfonso is weak tonight.”
Michelotto’s face never changed its pleasant expression. He leaned toward Sancia now, and said in apology, “It is very private, this conversation.”
Alfonso didn’t say a word; he pretended to be sleeping, hoping Michelotto would go away, for he didn’t want to try to explain what he had been doing on the balcony that afternoon.
Lucrezia and Sancia left the room, destined for the Pope’s chambers, but before they reached the end of the corridor they were summoned back by the urgent call of Michelotto.
They ran back to the room to find Alfonso lying in bed as though asleep, but now his skin was tinged with blue, his body still and dead.
“He must have suffered a hemorrhage,” Michelotto explained softly. “For suddenly his breath just stopped.” He said nothing about the powerful hands he had placed around Alfonso’s neck.
Lucrezia began to sob uncontrollably, as she threw her body over that of her husband. But Sancia began to shriek and scream, throwing herself at Michelotto, her fists swinging and hitting his chest again and again. When Cesare entered the room Sancia immediately fell upon him, scratching and screaming all the more. “You bastard! You godless son of the devil,” she screamed.
She began to rip at her hair, tearing shocks of it out of her head, leaving many of her long dark locks lying in heaps on the floor at her feet.
Jofre entered and came toward her, and bore the weight of her fists until she could scream
and shout no more. Then he held her, to try to comfort her, until she could stop trembling. Finally, he took her to their quarters.
It was only after Cesare dismissed Michelotto that Lucrezia lifted her head from the chest of her lifeless husband and turned to Cesare. Tears streaming down her face, she said, “I will never forgive you for this, my brother. For you have taken from me a part of my heart that can never love again. It can never be yours, for it is no longer mine. And even our children will suffer for this.”
He tried to reach out for her, to explain that Alfonso had shot his weapon first. And yet he found himself speechless in the face of her desolation.
Lucrezia ran from the room then, to her father’s chambers. “I shall never feel the same way about you, my father,” she threatened. “For you have caused me more misery than you can imagine. If it was on your order that someone did this evil deed, then, out of love you should have considered me. If it was my brother’s hand, then you should have stopped him. But I will never love either of you again, for you have broken my trust.”
Pope Alexander lifted his head to look at her and his expression was one of surprise. “Crezia, what are you saying? What has happened to you?”
Her light eyes were clouded with grief. “You have ripped the heart from my chest and you have severed a bond that was tied in the heavens.”
Alexander stood up and slowly walked toward his daughter, but he kept himself from wrapping his arms around her, for he was certain she would recoil from his touch. “My sweet child, your husband was never meant to be harmed, but he tried to kill your brother Cesare. I ordered your husband’s protection,” he said, but lowered his head and added, “but I could not stop your brother from protecting himself.”
Lucrezia saw the distress on her father’s face, and she fell to her knees at his feet. She covered her face with her hands as she wept, “Papa, you must help me understand. What kind of evil comes in this world? What kind of God is this, who would allow such love to be extinguished? This is madness! My husband tried to kill my brother, and my brother kills my husband? Their souls will be lost in hell; they will be damned. I will see neither of them again; with this one tragic deed I have lost them forever.”
Alexander put his hand on his daughter’s head and tried to stop her tears. “Shh, shh,” he said. “God is merciful. He will forgive them both. Otherwise there is no reason for his being. And one day, when this worldly tragedy is done, we shall all be together again.”
“I cannot wait an eternity for happiness,” Lucrezia cried, and then she stood and ran from the room.
This time there was no question. Everyone knew Cesare was responsible for the killing. Yet word had spread of the attack on him in the garden, and so most Romans thought his action justified. Within a short time the two Neapolitans were caught, confessed, and were hanged in the public square.
But once the initial shock wore off, Lucrezia was enraged. She entered Cesare’s chambers, screaming that he had first killed his brother, and now his brother-in-law. Alexander tried to keep Cesare from becoming angry, for he wanted no breach between his two favorite children. Yet Cesare was stunned and upset by his sister’s presumption that he had killed their brother Juan. He had never considered defending himself to her, for he never imagined she suspected him.
After several weeks Alexander and Cesare could no longer bear seeing Lucrezia in tears, or stand to witness her misery. And so they began to avoid her, and finally to ignore her. When Alexander tried to send her and her children back to Santa Maria in Portico, Lucrezia insisted on leaving Rome for Nepi and taking her children and Sancia with her. Her brother Jofre was welcome, she told her father, but no other brother could come. Just before she left, she informed Alexander that she never again wished to speak to Cesare.
Cesare struggled to keep himself from following Lucrezia, for he wanted very much to explain. Yet he knew it would do no good, and so he distracted himself with strategies for his campaign. The first thing he knew he must do was go to Venice in order to reduce any possibility of interference from their quarters, for Rimini, Faenza, and Pesaro were territories all under the protection of the Venetians.
After days of sea travel Cesare finally approached Venice, and the huge shimmering pastel city built on stilts emerged from the vast dark waters like some mythic dragon. He saw Saint Mark’s Square before him, then the Doge’s Palace.
From the harbor he was taken to an imposing Moorish palace just off the Grand Canal, where several noble Venetians greeted him and helped to make him comfortable. Cesare settled in, and soon requested a meeting with the members of the Great Council. There Cesare explained the Pope’s position, and offered an accommodation: papal troops would defend Venice from the Turks in the event of an invasion, and in return Venice would withdraw its protection of Rimini, Faenza, and Pesaro.
In a brilliantly colorful ceremony, the council passed his resolution and draped Cesare in the scarlet coat of an honorary citizen. He was now “a gentleman of Venice.”
The two years Lucrezia spent with Alfonso had been the happiest time of her life, a time when the promises her father made her in childhood seemed to come true. But now the grief she felt over Alfonso’s death transcended the loss of her husband’s sweet smile, bright eyes, and pleasing disposition. It transcended the loss of their laughter, even the loss of her innocence when she first bedded Cesare. For then she’d had faith in her father, trust in her brother’s love for her, and in the power of the Holy Father to bind and unbind sin. But since the death of Alfonso, all this was lost to her. Now she felt as abandoned by her father as she did by her God.
She had come to Nepi with Sancia, Jofre, her sons Giovanni and Rodrigo, and only fifty of the most trusted members of her court to accompany her.
There, just a year before, she and Alfonso had spent their hours together making love, choosing fine furniture and lovely wall hangings to decorate their castle, and walking through the tall dark oak trees and groves in the vibrant countryside.
Nepi itself was a little town, with a small central square, and streets lined with Gothic buildings and a few castles where the nobles lived. There was a church, a lovely church, built upon the temple of Jupiter. She and Alfonso had walked those streets together holding hands and laughing with pleasure at its quaintness. But now everything about Nepi seemed as melancholy as Lucrezia felt.
Whether she looked from her castle window to see the black volcano of Bracciano or turned to look at the blue chain of Sabine mountains, it made her weep. For in everything she saw, she saw Alfonso.
On one bright sunny day, Sancia and she carried the babies as they walked through the countryside. Lucrezia seemed more at peace than she had been, but suddenly the bleating of the sheep and the plaintive notes of the shepherd’s flute spun her into melancholy all over again.
There were nights she swore it was a nightmare, that she would turn and find her handsome husband lying right beside her, but then she would reach out and touch the cold empty sheets and find herself alone again. Her body and soul ached for him. She lost her taste for food, and had no appetite for pleasure. Each morning she woke more tired than she was the night before, and the few smiles she managed were brought forth by her children. The only action she took in the first month she was in Nepi was to order some clothes made for her boys, but even to play with them seemed to exhaust her.
Finally, Sancia determined to try to help her sister-in-law recover. She put aside her own pain and devoted herself to Lucrezia and the babies. Jofre was a great help as well, comforting Lucrezia whenever she cried and spending hours at the castle and in the fields playing with the children, reading them stories and singing to them each night as he put them to sleep.
It was during this time that Lucrezia began to explore her feelings about her father, her brother, and God.
Cesare had been in Venice for over a week, and he was ready to return to Rome to resume his campaign. So it was that the night before he was to leave, Cesare dined with several of hi
s old classmates from the University of Pisa, enjoying good wine, engaging in old memories and interesting conversation.
As bright and shimmering as Venice appeared during the day, with its crowds of people, pastel castles and gilded rooftops, grand churches and lovely arched bridges, it was as sinister when darkness fell. The rising moisture from the waters of the canals smothered the city in a thick and misty fog, through which it was difficult to find one’s way. Between the buildings and canals the alleys grew like spider legs, providing refuge for the street thieves and other villains who would not come out by day.
As Cesare made his way along the narrow alley that led back to his palazzo, suddenly he was forced to attention by a beam of light that spilled across the canal.
He looked around, for someone had opened a door.
But before Cesare could get his bearings, three men, dressed in drab, worn peasant clothes, rushed toward him. Through the dusky gloom he saw the glint of their knives.
He turned quickly, and saw another man coming at him from the opposite direction, another knife gleaming through the darkness.
Cesare was trapped; there was nowhere to go. Both the entrance and the exit of the alley were blocked by men waiting to attack him.
Instinctively, he dove headfirst deep into the muddy waters of the canal alongside the alley, thick with the garbage and sewage of the city. He swam beneath the surface, holding his breath until he was certain his chest would burst. Finally, he broke through the surface on the other side.
From there he could see two more men running across a narrow arched bridge, from the far side of the canal to the side he was on. They were carrying torches as well as knives.
Cesare took another deep breath; then, submerging himself again, he swam under the bridge itself, where two long gondolas were moored. Sinking low in the water between the two boats, he prayed he wouldn’t be seen.
The men ran up and down each of the canals and alleys trying to find him. They searched each nook and cranny with their torches, but each time they came near Cesare he slid beneath the water, and held his breath until he could no longer.