In my chamber, Nicola and Pantalisea were airing out my gowns. “Leave me,” I said.
Kicking off my slippers, I fell fully dressed onto the bed. I shut my eyes, tears burning behind my lids. I was fourteen years old.
How could I have known this would be my last hour of peace?
—
I AWOKE TO wailing.
Groggily, I shifted on my pillows, leaden with sleep. The light in my room had darkened. I must have been exhausted. It was dusk already; I had slept away the entire day.
The cry came again. I staggered up and was moving to the casement overlooking the inner courtyard when Pantalisea rushed in, Murilla and Nicola close behind. One look at them stopped me in my tracks. “What—what is making that awful noise?” In my sleep-addled mind, all I could think of was the French. They were here. They had marched across Italy and over the Apennine range separating us from Rome.
“Zacapo,” said Pantalisea. “Signore Giovanni had his office searched. God save us, my lady, he knows everything.”
Fear iced my veins. As I spun to the window, Pantalisea said, “No, my lady, please don’t look!” but I wrenched back the curtains to stare through the horn pane at the scene below.
Along with the night, mist crept in from the sea. Firebrands were on the walls; in the inner cortile, guards in livery held down a small thin man, who struggled as they tore off his sleeves and yanked his tunic to his waist, forcing him to his knees.
Before him stood a wood block.
He cried out again, a desperate lament. I saw Giovanni emerge from among his guards. Beside him was a man holding a poleaxe.
Horrified disbelief flared in me. My breath came in bursts as I frantically fumbled at the window latch, trying to get it open. My fingers kept slipping. I’d barely managed to push it ajar when I saw my husband motion. The guards holding Zacapo forced his arms onto the block. As I felt a cry hurl up my throat, a desperate plea to halt the proceedings, Zacapo wailed and the guard swung his blade, cleaving the secretary’s hands from his wrists.
Blood gushed forth in such a torrent that I recoiled, that cut-off wail of terror and pain ringing in my ears. I had to clutch at the sides of the window to hold myself upright as the guards detaining Zacapo leapt back and he collapsed onto the cobblestone, his dismembered hands still twitching. A dark pool began to spread around him, thick and dark as ink.
And as I stood there, petrified, Giovanni lifted his eyes to me.
I reeled back, my legs threatening to buckle as I turned to my women. Pantalisea was crying. Murilla clutched handfuls of her skirts, and Nicola had gone ashen.
I will not faint, I told myself. I will not. I will not….
After a seemingly endless silence, I heard myself say, “Did Zacapo tell them about me?”
Pantalisea nodded. “My ladies Giulia and Adriana are packing. The signore granted them leave to depart for Capodimonte and—”
I did not wait to hear the rest. Ignoring her cry for me to halt, I dashed through my chambers into the passageway, my heart pounding as I raced to Giulia’s apartments.
I found the antechamber in upheaval, her women throwing belongings into two large leather travel chests. An unfamiliar Franciscan friar in a cloak stood like a sentinel by the hearth. When he saw me on the threshold, his face turned cold. Giulia’s personal maid looked up from where she sorted through clothes. She dropped an armful of items and came to me.
“Donna Lucrezia, I beg you, this is not the time. My lady is enraged and—”
I thrust out a hand, pushing her aside. Ignoring the staring friar, I stepped toward the bedchamber. As I neared, I caught sight of Giulia, dumping unguents and jewels into a coffer on the bed. “How could she have done this to me?” I heard her say. “My own brother died before I could see him. We would never have known had Fra Tadeo not brought word. And all because of her.”
“Perhaps that secretary lied,” Adriana quavered. “Maybe he wanted to cover up his own treachery by blaming Lucrezia.”
“Dio mio, how can you still defend her? You heard Fra Tadeo. He came here because we did not arrive in Capodimonte as expected. Your own son Orsino and my brother Alessandro sent a missive informing us that Angelo was ill. That secretary received the letter but never delivered it, because he gave it to her instead. He spoke the truth when put to the question. He said he gave her my letter because she had paid him to spy on us.”
“But Lucrezia is a child. She couldn’t have—”
“A child?” Giulia’s laughter was harsh. “When has any Borgia ever been a child? They sprung from Vannozza’s womb fully cloven and horned, like the devils they are.”
Adriana let out a gasp as I made my presence known, crossing the threshold into the chamber. Giulia looked up at me, her hair tangled about her enraged face.
“If we are devils, then you are the devil’s handmaiden.” My voice was quiet, assured, despite the fact that I was shaking inside, aware that I had been unmasked. “You can hardly play the innocent, after what you have done.”
Giulia flung the vial she held against the wall. It shattered, suffusing the charged air with perfume. “I trusted you! I trusted and cared for you. I loved you as a sister—and this is how you repay me.” She stalked toward me, her hand raised, ready to strike.
Adriana let out a horrified cry. “Do not touch her!”
I lifted my chin, inviting her blow. She came within inches of me. “Be careful,” I told her. “I might do more. I might tell Papa everything I know—about you, Juan, and my husband.”
The words came out before I could stop myself. As soon as I spoke, Giulia faltered, the rage fading from her cheeks, turning her skin so pale I clearly saw a blue vein threading her temple.
“You stupid, ignorant girl,” she breathed. “You know nothing. You’re but another pawn to them, a blade honed to carry out their foul deeds. This is Cesare’s doing, isn’t it? He set you to the task; he convinced you to ruin me, but you were never a danger to me. The only ones you have harmed are that pathetic husband of yours, whose missives you intercepted, and his greedy rat of a secretary, who lost his life over a handful of flawed rubies.”
“Don’t dare speak to me of my brother. This is about you. I know everything. I was there that night in Giovanni’s apartments in Santa Maria. I saw how you betrayed Papa.”
She went still. And then, to my dismay, a malicious smile crept over her mouth. “Is that what you think? Let me tell you how matters stand between your beloved papa and me.”
Adriana moaned. Sudden fear tightened my chest like a vise.
Giulia said, “Everything I did was at his command. Rodrigo sent me to Giovanni that night. Yes, His Holiness, your father, our blessed pope, ordered me to entertain your husband. He already knew what Juan and Djem were to each other and what Giovanni desired. Rodrigo used me to entrap the Sforza—and all to protect you.”
I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. Her sordid revelation uncoiled inside me like a serpent, fanged and venomous. “You…you are a liar,” I whispered. “Papa loves me. He would never—”
She cut me off with a toss of her head. “Oh, yes. He loves you. La famiglia is in fact all he loves. I was his plaything; he took me when I was no older than you, before I’d even graced my husband’s sheets, and he trained me to be his whore. Do whatever is necessary, he said, to keep my Lucrezia safe.”
She paused as I stood motionless, aghast at the enormity of what she described, the obscene deliberation of it. “Or did you think that clause in the nuptial treaty was sufficient?” she said, her voice taunting. “Do you think Giovanni would ever have agreed to wait until you came of age had he been left with any alternative? Blackmail, dearest Lucrezia, is the most powerful incentive that exists. Giovanni would never dare lay a finger on you as long as Rodrigo kept his dirty secret. But you’ve spoiled it. Your zeal to prove your Borgia worth has unlocked your door to him. I hope you find it worthwhile. You cannot escape him now. Rome stands to fall—and you belong to the Sforza.”<
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“No,” I heard myself whisper. “It’s not true….” But I couldn’t stop seeing Juan in my mind—the way he’d seemed to know I was there, watching—and hearing his whisper before he left: I trust you now know how to best please your husband. He had done those vile things with Giulia and my husband under my very roof; he had not tried to hide their depravity, although there must have been dozens of other places to go, although he must have realized how much they risked. But I believed Juan capable of anything. Not Papa. Not this.
“We are not so different, you and I,” went on Giulia. “We are both slaves to Rodrigo’s ambition—though while you went about seeking your petty revenge on me, I ensured that your precious virginity remained untouched.”
“You are lying!” My voice rose to a howl. “It’s not true. You did this—you and Juan!”
Her face turned implacable as stone. “You truly are one of them. You deserve whatever happens, because, like every Borgia, you are incapable of recognizing the truth.” She met my stare, held it for a blistering moment before she turned away to the coffer on the bed. “But whether you believe me or not is of no concern.” Her voice was subdued now, stripped of emotion. “I’ve had enough of you and your family. It is over. Finished. I will not be their whore again. I will return to my husband to beg his forgiveness and veil my dead brother, whose final hours you have denied me. Take her away,” she told Adriana, without looking at me. “I don’t want her near me. She means nothing to me.”
I began to shiver, even as I said defiantly, “You cannot leave. I forbid it. My father forbids it.”
“No, my child, say nothing more.” Adriana rose wearily from the bed and stepped to me; her face looked sunken, as if she had aged years. “We must go. Her brother is dead, and my son, her husband, commands her return. He sent the friar to escort us. There will be a scandal if we do not obey. Come, we must return to your rooms. You are without stockings or shoes. You shall catch your death, and then your father will indeed have our heads for it.”
“He will,” I threatened, directing myself at Giulia. “He will never forgive you for this. When I tell him what you said, he will never let you set foot in Rome again.”
Giulia did not answer, did not even glance at me as Adriana propelled me through the antechamber, where Giulia’s women stood petrified and the friar glowered. In the passage, we found Pantalisea pacing. She immediately assumed charge of me. As Adriana started to turn back, I grasped her sleeve. “Wait.”
She paused. Her expression was full of despair.
“It cannot be true,” I said. “Why would Papa do such a thing?”
She lowered her eyes. “I cannot answer for him. I only know that before we left Rome, Rodrigo told me to not interfere should your husband and Giulia…” She faltered. When she finally spoke again, the resignation in her voice made me doubt everything I believed, everything that I trusted and cleaved to. My entire world felt as though it were crumbling all around me when Adriana said, “But they never did. He never called for her. I believe that no matter what he may have done, Giovanni cares for you. You must care for him in return; do whatever is required to regain his trust. The French are upon us. They have Milan’s support and an army to trample us into dust. You must not lose Giovanni’s protection now. He is all you have, should your father fail.” She inclined to me, pressed her lips to my cheek. “God keep you, Lucrezia. You are not my charge anymore.”
She walked back into Giulia’s rooms. As she left, my entire childhood vanished with her, the brittle illusion of safety shattering apart. I couldn’t make sense of the void inside me, the terrifying sensation that I had somehow been misled, baiting a snare prepared by others, for reasons I couldn’t comprehend. I no longer knew if Giulia had been protecting or deceiving me; I no longer was sure if she had been a friend or a foe. All I knew was that I felt lost in a palace that was not my own, in a world where truth was unfathomable, opaque, and slippery as shadows.
Pantalisea led me to my apartments. By the time she had undressed me, put me to bed, and assumed vigil at my side, I realized that in one thing Giulia had not lied: Giovanni would indeed eventually come to me.
God help me if I tried to resist him.
—
DAYS TURNED TO weeks.
I stayed cloistered in my apartments, feigning an injured arm from the riding undertaken during the Gonzaga visit. Pantalisea and Nicola tiptoed about the palazzo and brought news of Giulia and Adriana’s precipitous departure, followed thereafter by Giovanni himself, who left for his country villa. I avoided looking out the windows; although the cortile was scrubbed clean, Zacapo’s mutilated corpse hung in the piazza for the gulls and ravens to gnaw, a grim reminder of what befell those who betrayed the signore.
For the first time in my life, I was alone, without Adriana or Giulia, without anyone to give me counsel. It was so unexpected, the solitude, that at first I did not know what to do with myself. I lay awake at night, tormented by Giulia’s revelations, by the image of my father sending her to Juan like something he had paid for, which, in some respects, he had.
I found myself doubting. He did love her. I knew he did. As the initial shock waned, I began to think she had only said accusations to hurt me. When had she ever told the truth? She may not have succeeded in seducing my husband here, but Adriana had confirmed it was her charge. Adriana may have advised caution because outside forces gathered against us, but she’d heaped plenty of derision on Giulia in the past. Nothing they said could be believed, I kept telling myself, and even if it could, Papa must have his reasons. He always acted in our best interests, for his family, whom he loved more than life itself.
Still, I could not forget what Giulia had told me. And as the last of summer turned into autumn, as winds rose from the sea to raze the city and fog shrouded the palazzo, I was cast adrift in a world of shadows, where nothing I saw or felt seemed real anymore.
No letters came. I was not surprised. Giovanni had no doubt ordered all correspondence routed to him. Still, the lack of news was unsettling. I had no idea what was happening beyond Pesaro, if Cesare and Papa had sought refuge in the Castel Sant’Angelo as the French scorched their path to Naples, if the French king had been met in battle, if Naples had triumphed or fallen.
It could not go on indefinitely, this hollow existence; it had to end. And so it did, shortly before Christmas, when I awoke from one of my desultory naps to hear horses coming into the cortile. Moments later, Pantalisea brought me the news.
Giovanni had returned.
Within the hour I had bathed, coiffed, and dressed myself in tawny silk, cut in the Milanese style, with a squared bodice and banded lime-green sleeves, my hair under a lawn caul, my wrists and fingers devoid of jewels. I sought to present an image of maidenly innocence, though heat flared in my cheeks when my husband appeared in my doorway, his boots brushed clean of mud from the road. In his hand, he carried a satchel.
I had ordered my women into the first antecamera, with strict instructions to remain there unless I called for them. I did not want them to hear whatever might occur. As I faced him, alone for the first time since our arrival in Pesaro and a year and a half of marriage, I wondered what exactly he had prepared for me. Fear set my pulse racing, while I couldn’t stop staring at his satchel. Had he brought some instrument of pain?
“You look well.” He moved to the chairs set before the fire; upon the intarsia table between them, Pantalisea had left a decanter and goblets. The decanter was full with pale Frascati wine. It was undiluted. If I must submit, I would dull my senses as much as possible.
I poured from the decanter, trying to avoid another glance at the satchel at his feet.
Men can have strange appetites….
He accepted the goblet with a curious half smile. “Are you?” he asked. “Well, I mean? I regret to have been gone so long. It could not be helped.” He paused, as if to lend emphasis to his next words: “I had to go to Milan to welcome the French king.”
Milan. All this
time he had not been at the villa. He’d not even been in Pesaro.
I bit my lip, took up the other goblet. It was not my role; I had heard somewhere (or had I read it?) that wives must not query their husbands. I was here to heed and obey.
“I went because of my condotta,” he said, as if he’d heard my unvoiced question. “And because Il Moro invited me. King Charles has brought thirty thousand men.” I gave a sharp intake of breath. “Yes,” he added. “That many, along with all the other necessities of a well-equipped army: hundreds of horses and artillery and—”
I could not stop myself. “Is it true what they say about his cannon?”
“How do you know about that?” he asked sharply. When I did not reply, realizing I had once again betrayed myself, he added, “I should have known. They kept you informed until the incident with Zacapo. Yes, it is true; his cannon are unlike any we have seen. His Majesty King Charles organized a demonstration for us outside Pisa. It was impressive.” I felt his gaze on me, gauging my reaction. “So impressive, in fact, that should he take it into his head to conquer all of Italy, I daresay there is not a city-state that could withstand him.”
I felt sick. He sounded as if he admired it, as if he welcomed this foreign intrusion into our land.
“Charles of France is pious, however,” Giovanni went on. “He respects the Holy See and wishes only to stake his claim on Naples, using it as a base for a new crusade against the Turk. He told me it is the infidel, not the pope, who poses the greater threat. But if His Holiness refuses to grant him safe passage through the papal states—”
“Safe passage?” I burst out, horrified by his nonchalant air. “You think my father, ruler of Rome and Supreme Pontiff, should allow this king and his hordes safe passage to raze the Romagna? To trample the very wheat fields that provide our bread, to plunder and pillage as they see fit and scorch their way to Naples to wrest the crown from that realm’s anointed head?”
The Vatican Princess Page 17
