“Have you been well?” Cesare asked her. But she did not answer.
“You know,” she said instead, “this man was my life, the foundation of my existence. I have known many lovers, over many years. Most are boys—callow, bullying, glory-seeking boys. But with all his faults,” she said, turning again to Alexander, “he was a man.”
As tears began to well up in her eyes, she whispered, “Good-bye, my love.” She gathered her cloak and veil and quickly left the room.
An hour later Alexander’s confessor was summoned, and the last rites administered.
Cesare moved close to his father again.
Alexander felt a great peace encompass him as Cesare’s face faded from his sight . . .
And his gaze fell upon the resplendent face of death. He found himself bathed in light, walking through the citrus groves at Silverlake, his golden rosary beads threading through his hands. It was such a glorious life. He had never felt so well . . .
Outside, his body grew black quickly, and swelled until it was so large it had to be forced into his coffin, for it seemed to spill over the sides. The top of the casket had to be nailed down, for no matter how many men tried to secure it, it would not stay closed.
And so it was that in the end Pope Alexander VI seemed not only larger than life, but larger than death as well.
29
THE VERY NIGHT of Alexander’s death, armed mobs surged through the streets of Rome, beating and killing anyone of Spanish descent—Catalans, as they were called—and looting all their homes.
At his own castle in Rome, Cesare, younger and stronger than the Pope, still struggled, and remained dangerously ill. He had been in bed for weeks, trying with all his might to recover, to resist the call of Death. Yet it seemed he was not getting any stronger. And so, despite his refusal, on the advice of Duarte, Dr. Maruzza was forced to apply the leeches.
In the following days Cesare was too weak to stand, and so he was unable to take the necessary steps to protect his properties. While the families of the rulers whose territories he had conquered held meetings and formed new alliances, he could barely keep awake. As his enemies gathered their troops to retake the towns of Urbino, Camerino, and Senigallia, and other rulers quickly returned to their cities to take up residence again in their own castles, Cesare could put up no fight. Even as the Colonna and Orsini families united and sent troops to Rome, in the hope of influencing the election of the new Pope, Cesare could not leave his bed.
Over the years, Cesare and his father had developed strategies to be put in place when Alexander died in order to safeguard his family, their riches, titles, and territories. But now, the Pope’s son remained too sick to execute those plans.
A healthy Cesare could have concentrated his own loyal troops in and near Rome at a moment’s notice. He could have seen that his fortresses in the Romagna were defended and provided for, and would have cemented his alliances. But now he could do none of it. He asked his brother, Jofre, but Jofre refused, for he was deep in mourning—not for his father, but for his wife.
Sancia had died in the dungeons before she was released.
Now Cesare called Duarte to him and attempted to assemble an army nearby, but the college of cardinals, no longer in his power, demanded that all troops be withdrawn from Rome at once.
The election of a new Pope was of the highest priority; any foreign troops would be a distraction, he was told, and could cause undue influence upon those who must vote. So strictly was this dictum enforced by the cardinals that even the Colonna and Orsini families obeyed. Soon all troops were exiled from Rome.
The college of cardinals was a powerful force. And so Cesare sent messengers to seek French and Spanish aid. But the situation had changed dramatically, and those powers were no longer willing to intervene on his behalf. Instead they would await the verdict of the cardinals.
Duarte Brandao visited Cesare often, bringing the offerings of new terms by his enemies. “They are not so severe as they might have been,” Duarte explained. “You may retain all of your personal wealth, but the cities and territories you have claimed must be restored to their former rulers.”
The rulers of the conquered cities were being not generous but cautious. Cesare was still alive, and the vicars who had been stripped of their lands still feared him. They even worried that he might just be pretending weakness to lead them into another trap—as he had at Senigallia.
Moreover, the citizens of the cities of the Romagna were satisfied with Cesare’s rule. He was fairer and more generous than their old masters had been, and he had improved their lives dramatically. If Cesare accepted the offer of these rulers, there would be little chance of revolution among the people.
Cesare delayed his response, but he knew that, barring a miracle, he would have to accept. He could see no way out.
That night, he forced himself to sit at his desk. The first thing he did was write a letter to Caterina Sforza in Florence. If he must give back the conquered castles, at least hers should be first. He wrote out an order for the immediate return of Imola and Forli to Caterina and her son, Otto Riario. But in the morning, feeling slightly better, he decided to put both the letter and the order in a drawer. He too would wait to see what happened.
The Pope is dead! The Pope is dead! ” came the sound of the criers as they rode through the streets of Ferrara. Lucrezia got out of bed sleepily and looked outside her windows. But before she could come fully awake—for it seemed like a dream—Michelotto stood cold and shaking before her. He had ridden his horse without stopping from Rome, and arrived just behind the news.
“Miguel?” Lucrezia said. “Is it true about Papa? Is it true he has died?”
Michelotto could not speak, for his head was bowed with grief.
Lucrezia felt as though her screams could be heard throughout Ferrara, and yet she had not made a sound.
“Who did this?” she asked, and even to herself her voice was strangely calm.
“It was malaria, it seems,” Michelotto answered.
“And you believe this is true?” she asked. “Does Chez believe it too?”
“Your brother has fallen ill as well,” he said. “He has barely escaped dying.”
Lucrezia’s breath came short and hard. “I must go to him,” Lucrezia said, calling for her lady-in-waiting. Her father was dead; her brother had need of her. “I must have clothes and shoes and something black,” she told the girl.
But Michelotto objected, stiff as stone. “Your brother asks that I keep you from Rome—far from danger. The citizens in the streets are rioting, pillaging, and looting. It is not safe for you there.”
“Miguel, you can’t keep me from him, from my children, from seeing Papa one more time before he is put beneath the ground . . . ” Now her eyes filled with frustration and tears.
“Your children have been taken to safety in Nepi,” he said. “Adriana still cares for them, and Vanozza will arrive shortly. Once Cesare is well, he will meet you there.”
“But Papa?” she said. “What of Papa?”
Michelotto could not imagine how Lucrezia would feel had she seen the blackened remains of her father’s mortal body. That picture had carved deep sadness and revulsion in his own brain; what could it do to this tender woman’s?
“You may pray for your papa from Ferrara,” Michelotto told her. “For God knows where you are, and he is listening.”
Both Ercole d’Este and Alfonso entered the room now, and each approached Lucrezia to try to comfort her. And yet there was no comfort. She spoke to Michelotto and told him to rest, that he could return to Cesare the following day. She assured him she would be at Nepi whenever her brother called for her.
Ercole and Michelotto left the room, but Lucrezia was surprised that her husband stayed. For the entire time they had been married, Alfonso had spent his time not in marital bliss, or even communion, but rather toying with his gun collection and spending time with courtesans. She, in turn, had spent her evenings opening her home to arti
sts, poets, and musicians, and her days listening to the troubles of ordinary citizens. But now Alfonso stood before her, his face a palette of compassion. “May I be of comfort, Duchess?” he asked. “Or does it cause you more grief to have me with you?”
Lucrezia could not think, could decide nothing. She couldn’t even sit or walk. Finally she collapsed, and darkness obliterated all thought.
Alfonso quickly lifted her in his arms. Then he sat on the bed, and instead of laying her down he held his wife in his arms, rocking her gently.
“Speak to me, Sonny,” she said, when her eyes opened. “Fill my head with any thoughts but those that fill it now.” She could not yet cry, for her tears were far too deep to reach.
Alfonso stayed with her throughout the night, and for all the days and nights that followed while she was torn apart with grief.
The election of a new Pope could not be postponed any longer. Yet Cesare was determined to defeat Giuliano della Rovere, the ever-present enemy of the Borgia.
Cesare’s choice was Cardinal Georges d’Amboise, who was, of course, supported by the other French cardinals. The majority of Italian cardinals would hear none of what Cesare had to say, and they supported della Rovere. Cesare tried to convince the Spanish cardinals to back d’Amboise, but they had their own candidate. Those who remained loyal to Cesare at least opposed his enemy.
Florentines loved gambling, and their favorite form was betting on the election of a Pope. Aside from personal bets between individuals, the bulk of the wagering on papal elections was through the Florentine banks. And the amount bet was enormous.
The odds on d’Amboise were five to one; della Rovere was given a better chance at three to one. It seemed as though no one else was in the running, for the odds on every other candidate were greater than twenty to one. But elections were unpredictable. Many times the favorite when the conclave began remained just a cardinal when it ended.
This conclave was no exception. After the first few scrutinies—as the votes were called—it became apparent that neither d’Amboise nor della Rovere would gain sufficient votes.
After two more scrutinies, the white smoke finally appeared from the Vatican chimney. In a surprise occurrence, the college had chosen the aged and infirm Cardinal Francesco Piccolomini. And Cesare was relieved, if not completely happy.
Piccolomini, at his coronation, took the name Pope Pius III. He had not always agreed with Alexander, but he was a fair and gentle man. Cesare knew he would treat the Borgia honestly and protect them as best he could, so long as such protection was not contrary to the interests of the Holy Mother Church. By some miracle, the danger of a hostile Pope had been averted.
In the weeks following Pius’s election Cesare gradually recovered his strength, first walking up and down the length of his apartment, then strolling through his garden, finally riding his white charger through the countryside. Now he began preparing a strategy to keep his conquests in the Romagna, and to vanquish his enemies.
Then one day, when Cesare returned home from a long, vigorous ride, he dismounted to find Duarte Brandao waiting for him.
Duarte’s expression reflected his distress. “The news is not good, Cesare. Pius the Third is dead.”
He had been Pope for only twenty-seven days.
Now Cesare’s prospects were bleak. With the death of Pius, the possibility of papal protection—or even papal fairness—was a distant hope. Cesare’s enemies saw this as he did, and moved quickly. The Orsini persuaded the Colonna to join them against Cesare.
With few loyal troops in the city, Cesare retired to Castel Sant’ Angelo, still thought to be an impregnable fortress. He sent Vanozza to safety in Nepi, thinking her life more important than her inns and her vineyards.
Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere could not be stopped. Since the last conclave, he had become the overwhelming favorite. No serious rival was even discussed. As the day of the election approached, the banks immediately made della Rovere an even-money bet. Soon the odds shifted more dramatically, making him an even heavier favorite at one to two. Cesare knew he must accept this defeat and marshal all his forces if he was to withstand this staggering blow.
And so it was that Cesare Borgia met with Giuliano della Rovere and struck a bargain, using the threat of his influence over the Spanish and French cardinals and the strength of Castel Sant’ Angelo to extract the compromise he desired.
Cesare offered to support della Rovere in the elections, on the condition that he be allowed to keep his castles and towns in the Romagna. He also insisted on being designated as gonfaloniere of the church, and captain general of the papal army.
To be certain that the cardinal would honor his promises, Cesare insisted that a public announcement be made. Della Rovere agreed, for he wanted nothing to stop this election.
Now, with Cesare’s support, della Rovere was chosen in the fastest election anyone could remember—on the first scrutiny, the moment the doors of the conclave were closed.
Cardinal della Rovere, like Cesare, idolized Julius Caesar. Therefore, as a name he chose Pope Julius II. Good Lord, how long he had waited for this miracle to happen; how many visions he’d had for the reform of the Holy Mother Church.
Though Pope Julius was not a young man he was still physically strong, and now that he was in the position he felt he should be, he seemed less sullen and angry. Ironically, his plan for the Papal States was very much like Alexander’s and Cesare’s, which was to unify all the territories and bring them under a centralized government. The only difference, of course, was that his plan made no provision for a Borgia rule.
When Julius took the throne, he was undecided as to how he would deal with Cesare. It was not that he was concerned about keeping his word, for that was of little consequence to him. But Julius understood that he needed to concentrate his power and position, and ward off his enemies.
At this time he feared the Venetians as much as he feared Borgia power, and he knew that Cesare could be a strong ally against Venetian expansion in the Romagna. Since he knew that he might need Cesare, Julius ensured that relations between the two men—who had spent their lives as enemies—appeared friendly.
Meanwhile, Cesare was seeking to strengthen his own position. He stayed in close touch with all the captains of his remaining castles and towns, assuring them that his position was a strong one, despite the longtime malice of the new Pope. To strengthen his position, Cesare contacted his friend Machiavelli, seeking aid from Florence.
The two men met on a brisk December day in the gardens of the Belvedere, overlooking the spires and towers of Rome. They walked through the rows of tall cedars and sat on a worn stone bench, the vast view of the city spread out below them. The wind had swept away the smoke and dust, and the terra-cotta and marble buildings seemed to have been cut and placed against the clear blue sky.
Machiavelli noticed that Cesare was agitated as he spoke, his cheeks red and his lips tight. He was gesturing broadly, and as he spoke his laughter came a bit too often and too loudly. Machiavelli wondered if he might still be feverish.
“You see all that out there, Nicco?” Cesare said, waving his arm. “That was the city of the Borgia once. And it will be again, I promise you. Reclaiming fallen fortresses will be no more difficult than claiming them in the first place. Defending the ones I have kept will be no problem at all. My commanders are strong now, and loyal. The people support them, and I am raising a new force, including both foreign mercenaries and Val di Lamone infantry.
“Once my position in the Romagna has been made solid in Rome, all that you see out there will fall into my hands. Yes, Pope Julius has been my enemy in the past, but that is behind us now. He has made public promises on his holy oath. He swore to the citizens, and to government and church officials, that he would support me. I am still gonfaloniere. We have even discussed a match uniting our two families—possibly my daughter, Louise, and his nephew, Francesco. This is a new day, Nicco. A new day!”
Where was the brilliant, ha
rdheaded commander he had once idolized? Machiavelli wondered. Yes, he had to admit it, the man he had idolized. Machiavelli considered himself a friend of Cesare’s. But when it came to his official report, he had only one friend: Florence. That evening he rode as hard as he was able, in order to reach his city before it was too late. And this time the views he expressed to the Signoria were quite different from any that came before.
Now he rose, his clothes not as fresh as usual, his voice not as dramatic; in fact, he himself was not in his usual form. In the smaller private chamber used by the key ruling council, his expression was grim. He disliked what he had to say, but he knew he must.
“Excellencies, it would be the height of folly to provide any support to Cesare Borgia. Yes, the Holy Father, Pope Julius the Second, has publicly promised to confirm Cesare in his conquests and to make him gonfaloniere. But, Excellencies, I am convinced this Pope considers himself no more bound to carry out that promise than I feel bound to leave this chamber by the north rather than the south door. He still despises the Borgia. He will betray Cesare; he has already decided privately to do so.
“As for Cesare himself, I see a fearsome change. This man, who would never even hint at what he intended to do, now regales men with things he plans but can never accomplish. Inch by inch, Excellencies, Cesare Borgia is slipping into the grave. Florence must not slip with him.”
Machiavelli was correct. Pope Julius, convinced at last that both the Venetian threat and Cesare’s power were exaggerated, made haste to dissolve his agreement. He demanded that Cesare surrender all of his castles at once. That accomplished, Pope Julius II placed Cesare Borgia under arrest, and sent him to Ostia accompanied by an elderly cardinal and an armed guard to be certain his orders were carried out.
Cesare Borgia turned over the first two fortresses, and wrote to the commanders of others telling them he had been ordered to return them to their former owners. He hoped these messages would be disregarded, at least for a time.