Pope Alexander stood. “Cesare, is that the way you’ve learned to bed a woman? What a pity. Surely I have failed you, for if not me, who should have shown you how to bring Heaven to Earth?”
Cesare got up and stood by the bed, eyes blazing. He felt rejected by his sister and reproached by his father, but still he was a young man and so his ardor had not cooled.
Alexander approached the bed as Cesare moved aside. “Come here, my son,” he said to the boy. “Come here. Crezia, come closer to the edge.” He motioned to her, and she moved gingerly over toward them. Then, with his hand placed over his son’s, he began to stroke his daughter’s body, slowly, tenderly. First her face, then down her neck and across her small firm breasts, as he instructed Cesare. “Don’t be in such a hurry, my son. Take the time to enjoy beauty. There is nothing as exquisite in the world as the body of a woman, the smell of a woman as she surrenders . . . willingly. But if you move too quickly you will miss the very essence of the lovemaking, and startle the poor things . . . ”
Lucrezia was lying quietly now, her eyes half closed, her breathing quickening, as she felt the pleasure of the stroking of her brother’s hands on her body. When he reached her belly and began to move downward, her eyes opened and she tried to call out, but her voice was stopped by the quivering of her body as wave after wave of pleasure shook her to her very soul. “Papa?” she whispered, “Papa? Is it not sinful to feel such pleasure? I shall not go to hell, shall I?”
“Would Papa endanger your immortal soul?” he asked.
Pope Alexander, still leading the hand of Cesare, was close enough to Lucrezia to smell her warm breath upon his face, and the force of his own response to her frightened him. He suddenly dropped Cesare’s hand and said in a husky voice to his son, “Now take her, but take her slowly. Gently. Be a lover, be a man, honor her . . . but take her.”
Shaken, he turned quickly and walked across the room to sit again on his throne. But when he heard his daughter moan, when she moaned again and then again in pleasure, he suddenly was afraid for himself. His heart was beating hard and too fast; he felt himself becoming dizzy. He had never before felt such intense emotion, such arousal at witnessing a carnal act, and in one brief moment he knew. He understood completely. Though Cesare might endure, might be saved in spite of this, he himself—the Vicar of Christ on Earth—had just seen the snake in the garden of Eden. And he had been tempted. His head throbbed with the knowledge that if ever he were to touch that child again, he would be damned for all time. For the pleasure he felt was of no earthly kind, and there was no doubt that it would mean his fall from grace.
He prayed on that day, to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, to lead him not into temptation ever again. “Deliver me from evil,” he whispered earnestly, and when he looked up again his two children were lying on the bed, naked and spent.
“Children,” he said, his voice devoid of all strength. “Put on your robes and come to me . . . ”
And when they knelt before him, Lucrezia looked up to her father with tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Father. I can’t imagine giving myself to another in the same way without knowing this first. I would have been so frightened, and yet I felt such pleasure.” Then she turned to her brother. “Cesare,” she said. “My brother. I thank you too. I can’t imagine loving anyone as I love you in this moment.”
Cesare smiled, but said nothing.
And as Pope Alexander looked down at his children, he saw an expression in Cesare’s eyes that troubled him. He had not thought to warn his son of love’s one pitfall: true love empowers a woman and imperils a man. And now he could see, that though this day might have been a blessing to his daughter and strengthened the Borgia dynasty, it might one day prove to be a curse to his son.
5
ON THE DAY that Lucrezia’s husband-to-be, Giovanni Sforza, duke of Pesaro, was to arrive in the city of Rome, Pope Alexander arranged for a large procession in celebration. For he knew that Giovanni’s uncle, Il Moro, would consider this gesture a sign of respect; proof of Alexander’s sincerity in his alliance with Milan.
But Alexander also had other considerations in mind. As the Holy Father he understood the hearts and souls of his people, and he knew they enjoyed pageantry. It reassured them of his benevolence, as well as the benevolence of their Heavenly Father, and helped relieve the torpor of their drab, dull lives. Any cause for celebration brought new hope to the city, and often kept the more desperate among his citizens from murdering each other over minor disputes.
The lives of his less fortunate citizens were so devoid of pleasure that he felt responsible for providing them with some small happiness in order to feed their souls. For what else could ensure their support of the papacy? If the seeds of jealousy were repeatedly sown in the hearts of men who were forced to watch the pleasures of those less worthy but more fortunate, how could a ruler ask for their loyalty? Pleasure must be shared, for only in that way was it possible to keep the desperation of the poor at bay.
It was on this warm, balmy day, a day filled with the scent of roses, that Cesare, Juan, and Jofre Borgia rode to the high stone gates of Rome to greet the duke of Pesaro. Accompanying them was the entire Roman senate and the regally adorned ambassadors of Florence, Naples, Venice, and Milan, as well as the representatives of France and Spain.
The procession would follow this envoy on its return, past the palace of his uncle, Ascanio Sforza, the vice-chancellor, where the young duke would stay until his wedding night. It would then continue through the streets until it reached the Vatican. Alexander had instructed his sons to ride past Lucrezia’s palace in order to allow her to see her future husband. Though her father had tried to allay her fears by promising her that she could stay in her own palace at Santa Maria of Portico with Julia and Adriana after her marriage, and not be required to travel to Pesaro for a year, Lucrezia still seemed upset. And Alexander was never at peace when his daughter was unhappy.
The preparations for the procession had taken many weeks, but now everything was in place. There were jesters in green and bright yellow velvet suits, jugglers twirling gaily colored sticks and tossing gaudy papier-mâché balls into the air while the intoxicating tempo from the fife and trumpet brigades rang out musical notes to brighten the spirits of the crowds of Roman citizens who had gathered along the route to see this duke of Pesaro who was to wed the Pope’s young daughter . . .
But early that morning Cesare had awakened in a foul humor, with an ache that made his head throb wickedly. He tried to excuse himself from greeting his future brother-in-law, for he thought it an unpleasant obligation, but his father would hear none of it. “As a representative of the Holy Father, you will not be released from your duty unless you are on your deathbed from plague or malaria,” the Pope had said sternly. Then he stormed out.
Cesare would have argued had not his sister come into his room to plead with him. She had run through the tunnel from her own palace as soon as she heard he was ill. Now she sat on his bed, rubbing his head gently, and asked, “Chez, who but you will tell me the truth about this man I am to marry? Who else can I trust?”
“Crezia, what difference can it make?” he asked. “You are already promised, and about that I can do nothing.”
Lucrezia smiled at her brother and ran her fingers through his hair. She bent to kiss his lips tenderly and smiled. “Is this as difficult for you as it is for me?” she asked. “For I hate the idea of another man in my bed. I will weep and cover my eyes, and though I will not be able to keep him from the contract, I will refuse to kiss him. I swear I will, my brother.”
Cesare took a deep breath and resolved to do as his sister wished. “I hope he is not a beast, for both our sakes,” he said. “Or I shall have to kill him before he ever touches you.”
Lucrezia giggled. “You and I will begin a holy war,” she said, pleased by Cesare’s reaction. “Papa will have even more to do than he does now. He will have to pacify Milan once you’ve killed Giovanni; then Naples will come t
o beg for alliance. Il Moro may capture you and take you to the dungeon of Milan to torture you. While Papa is using the papal army to try and save you, Venice will surely have something up their sleeve in order to conquer our territories. And Florence will have their finest artists paint unflattering portraits of us, and their prophets curse us with eternal damnation!” She laughed so hard she fell backward onto the bed.
Cesare loved to hear his sister laugh. It made him forget all others existed, and even soothed his anger toward his father. Now the throbbing in his head seemed to subside. And so he agreed to go . . .
As soon as Lucrezia heard the music of the approaching procession, she ran up the stairs to the second floor, to the main room of the castle from which the loggia, or balcony, extended like the hand of a great giant, fingers curled. Julia Farnese, who had been the Pope’s mistress for more than two years now, helped Lucrezia choose a gown of deep green satin with cream-colored sleeves and a jeweled bodice. Then she dressed Lucrezia’s hair and pulled her blond curls atop her head, allowing a few wisps to fall on her forehead and at her neckline to enhance her look of sophistication.
Julia had tried for months to instruct Lucrezia about what to expect on her wedding night, but Lucrezia paid little attention. As Julia explained in great detail how to please a man, Lucrezia’s heart and mind went straight to Cesare. Though she never said a word to anyone, her love for him filled many of her thoughts each day.
Now, as Lucrezia Borgia walked out onto her balcony, she was surprised to see the crowds awaiting her. Her father had provided guards to protect her, but they could not save her from the petals of flowers that blanketed her and carpeted the grand balcony. She smiled and waved at the citizens.
As Lucrezia watched the procession approach, she laughed at the jester who passed before her, and joyfully clapped as the trumpeters and flutists played their merriest tunes. Then, from behind, she saw them.
First her brother Cesare, handsome and noble astride his white horse, his back straight and his expression serious. He raised his head to look at her and smiled. Juan followed, taking no notice of her, leaning down on his horse to gather the flowers from ladies of the street who called to him. Her younger brother, Jofre, waved to her with a dull but happy smile.
Behind them she saw him: Giovanni Sforza. He had long, dark locks and a well-trimmed beard, a fine nose and a shorter, stockier build than any of her brothers. She felt self-conscious and embarrassed when she first saw him, but when he looked toward the balcony, reined in his horse, and saluted her, she curtsied back as she’d been taught.
In three days she would be married, and as the procession passed her on its way to her father’s house, she couldn’t wait to hear what Adriana and Julia had to say about her betrothed. Though Adriana would console her and tell her all would be fine, she knew Julia would tell her the truth.
Once inside her palace again, Lucrezia asked them, “What did you think? Do you think him a beast?”
Julia laughed. “I think he’s good-looking enough, though quite a large man . . . maybe too large for you,” she teased, and Lucrezia knew just what she meant. Then Julia hugged her. “He’ll be fine. It’s only for the Holy Father, and the Heavenly Father, that you must marry. It has little to do with the rest of your life.”
Once Alexander had established official residence in the papal palace, he had taken a suite of bare rooms built and abandoned long before, and made of them the fabulous Borgia apartments. The walls of his private reception room, the Sala dei Misteri, were covered with great murals painted by his favorite artist, Pinturicchio.
In one of these murals, Alexander himself was painted as part of the Ascension, one of the chosen few who watched Christ’s ascent to heaven. Attired in his great jewel-studded cloak, he has placed his golden tiara on the ground beside him. He stands with eyes raised upward as he is blessed by the ascending Savior.
In other murals, likenesses of other Borgia were shown as the faces of long-dead saints, martyrs, and other religious figures: Lucrezia strikingly beautiful as a slender, blond Saint Catherine, Cesare as an emperor on a golden throne, Juan as an oriental potentate, and Jofre as an innocent cherub. And throughout the murals there roamed the charging red bull that was the symbol of the Borgia family.
On the door of the second Borgia room, Pinturicchio had painted a portrait of the Madonna, the Virgin Mary, in all her serene beauty. The Madonna was Alexander’s favorite among the holy figures, so the artist had used Julia Farnese as his model, satisfying two passions of Alexander’s with one painting.
There was also the Hall of Faith, a thousand yards square. This room was vaulted, with frescoes filling the lunettes and medallions on the ceiling. There was one fresco for each apostle, every one of them reading a scroll to the eager prophets who would spread the word of the divinity of Christ. The faces of the prophets were Alexander, Cesare, Juan, and Jofre.
All of these rooms were richly decorated with elaborate tapestries and gold trim. In the Hall of Faith was the papal throne, on which Alexander sat to receive important persons. Alongside the throne were ornate footstools on which the nobles knelt to kiss his ring and his feet, as well as divans on which those in power could sit for longer audiences while making plans for future crusades or discussing who should rule the cities of Italy and how.
Now the duke of Pesaro, Giovanni Sforza, was led into the Pope’s chambers. He bent to kiss the holy foot, and then the Pope’s sacred ring. He was enormously impressed by the beauty of the Vatican, and by the riches he would soon possess. For with his young bride had come a dowry of thirty thousand ducats, enough for him to beautify much of his home in Pesaro and provide him with other luxuries.
As Pope Alexander welcomed him into the family, Giovanni thought about his new wife’s brothers. Of the two oldest, he was drawn much more strongly to Juan than to Cesare; Jofre was too young to consider. Cesare did not seem at all welcoming, but Juan had promised the duke a good time in the city before his wedding, and so he came to believe it might not be as bad as he had imagined. Whatever the circumstances, of course, he could never have argued with his uncle, Il Moro, or Milan would take back Pesaro and he would lose his duchy as quickly as he had gained it.
That afternoon, once everyone had arrived at the Vatican for the beginning of the celebrations, Cesare quickly disappeared. He left the palace on horseback and galloped out of Rome into the countryside. He had spent almost no time with Sforza, and yet he already hated the bastard. He was a lout, a braggart, an ass. Duller than Jofre, if that was possible, and more arrogant than Juan. What would his sweet sister do with such a husband? And what could he tell her when he saw her again?
As intensely as Cesare objected to his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Juan was drawn to him. Juan had few friends at the court; his only constant companion was the Turkish Prince Djem, who was being held hostage by the Pope at the request of Djem’s brother, the reigning sultan.
Sultan Bayezid had made an arrangement with Pope Innocent when he feared the Christian Crusades were planning to overthrow him under the pretext of restoring his brother, Djem. In exchange for keeping Djem hostage in the Vatican, the Pope was paid forty thousand ducats a year. Once Innocent had died, Pope Alexander upheld the promise, treating him as an honored guest of the palace. For how better to fill the coffers of the Holy Roman Catholic Church than by taking the money of the Infidel Turks?
The thirty-year-old Djem, dark-skinned and surly-looking to the Roman citizens, with his turban and dark curled mustache, insisted on wearing his oriental costumes about the Vatican, and soon Juan, when not at official occasions, began to dress as he did. Though Djem was almost twice the age of Juan, they began to go everywhere together, and the prince exerted a great deal of influence on the spoiled and protected son of the Pope. Alexander tolerated their friendship not only because of the revenue Djem brought to the Vatican, but because the companionship of the prince seemed to bring a smile to Juan’s otherwise sullen face. But Cesare found being in their company
unbearable.
The night before the wedding, Juan invited Giovanni Sforza to accompany him and Djem into the city of Rome in order to visit the local inns and bed some bawdy whores. Giovanni agreed immediately. Djem and the duke of Pesaro seemed to get along well, exchanging stories and chatting amiably as they ate and drank in abundance. The citizens of Rome stayed as far away as possible, and did not invite the trio into their shops or houses.
The prostitutes were a different matter. Juan was familiar to them, and many placed small bets on who could bed him most often. There were rumors he was Djem’s lover, but the courtesans who earned their daily bread by bedding men of high rank didn’t care, for when he visited them for his pleasure he paid them generously.
One of the girls Juan most frequented was about fifteen years old, with long dark hair and curly lashes. Her name was Avalona. The daughter of one of the innkeepers, she was truly fond of Juan. But on the night the three young men from the Vatican came to the city, Juan offered Avalona first to his brother-in-law, then to Djem. Both men took her upstairs to bed her while Juan looked on, but he was too drunk to consider how she felt. Instead, when he came to her expecting her familiar warmth and affection, she turned away and refused to kiss him. Juan, with his usual prickly sensitivity, was enraged at the thought that she enjoyed his brother-in-law better than himself. He slapped her for this insult, and she refused to speak to him. Juan sulked the entire return to the palace. But both Giovanni Sforza and Prince Djem had a fine evening, and hardly noticed that Juan was offended.
The day of the wedding arrived quickly. Lucrezia looked regal in a gown of red velvet trimmed with fur, her white-blond hair spun gold and ornamented with rubies and diamonds. Julia Farnese wore a simple rose-colored satin gown, which illuminated her pale beauty. And Adriana had chosen a deep blue velvet gown, unadorned, so as not to compete with the ruby-jeweled bodice of Lucrezia’s gown. Only the bridegroom, Giovanni Sforza, wearing a thick borrowed gold collar, her brother Juan, and his friend Djem were dressed in clothes more richly fashioned than her own. The three wore turbans of cream satin and golden brocade stoles, ornate enough to outshine not only the garments of the bride, but the Pope’s ecclesiastical vestments as well.