Light on Lucrezia: A Novel of the Borgias

by Jean Plaidy

“Have I not told you that I love you?”

  “They are the words of a courtier.”

  “They are spoken from my heart.”

  “But of what use is love if only one feels it? Love must be shared to be beautiful.”

  “It shall be. It shall be,” he cried passionately.

  But she only shook her head once more.

  “I will show you the extent of my love,” he told her.

  “I pray you do not. Did you not know that the men who love me are unlucky?”

  “Alfonso …”

  “Alfonso never loved me.” She turned to him smiling. “But it is good of you to show me such kindness. You know how heavy my heart is. You know of the sorrow which has befallen me during this most tragic year. You seek to make me light-hearted. That is so kind of you. I do not forget how kind.”

  “You do not believe that I love you truly, and that my love is greater than any you have ever known before. Do not think that poets, who have a gift for flowery speech, can love with the same passion as a soldier. My verses make you smile—or would, had you not the kindest heart in the world; but love does not consist of writing verses. I will show by my deeds that I love you. You have a brother on whose behalf you suffer much pain.”

  She had clasped her hands together in an agony of expectation, and he smiled believing he had found the way to her heart.

  “I have some influence in this land and in that of Spain. If I sent an envoy to the court of Spain begging for your brother’s release, my request might not go unheeded. What would you say to me then, Lucrezia?”

  “I should say you were the kindest man in Italy.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I could, I believe, begin to love one who could bring so much good to me.”

  “How you love this brother of yours!”

  “We were brought up together. There are family ties. We have always been of great importance to each other.”

  “I have heard that said. I believe, Lucrezia,” he went on seriously, “that there will never be happiness for you while your brother is in captivity.”

  “It is as though we are one person,” she said. “While he is a prisoner, so am I.”

  “The prisoner of your own emotions, Lucrezia,” he said. “There shall be one in your life who means so much to you that even your love for your brother will seem of small significance. I intend to be that one.”

  “You forget Isabella,” she said. “Isabella and Alfonso.”

  “I forgot nothing,” he answered. “You will see in time. Tomorrow I send that envoy to Spain.”

  “How can I thank you?”

  “Between us,” he said, “there shall be no formal gratitude. You will see that I shall put my life at your service and in exchange …”

  “Yes?” she asked. “In exchange you will require?”

  “Only that you love me.”

  Isabella was waiting to receive her sister-in-law at Mantua. She was suspicious. Why had Francesco suddenly become so bold as to forbid her to attend the two days’ festivities at Borgoforte? And who were the guests? Lucrezia and her miserable attendants! All that fuss, all that preparation for the Borgia woman!

  Yes, Isabella was very suspicious indeed.

  She had been almost unbearable to her servants that day. She had been dressed three times before her appearance satisfied her.

  She was assured that no dress in Italy could compare with the one she was wearing. The Borgia woman in her morello and gold would look coarse beside her; she was so slender, so dainty. Isabella cuffed the woman who said that. “Am I a fool?” she demanded. “Can I deny the evidence of my eyes? I am neither slender nor dainty. These are the Borgia’s qualities. But I fancy I have as good a shape as any woman in Italy.”

  The more apprehensive she grew, the more she wished to flaunt her superiority. She practiced her singing and dancing steps, as she had before the wedding; she went through her galleries admiring her works of art. The woman would never have seen such treasures, not even in the Vatican. That rogue, her father, had collected women rather than art treasures.

  But what annoyed her more than anything was the thought of her husband Francesco’s daring to dance attendance on a woman who she had decided to hate.

  She sent for two of her women who she knew had been his mistresses. They were quite handsome still and she bore them no grudge. She had, though he had not known this, chosen them for him. She complimented herself that she knew him so well that she was aware of those occasions when he was ready to go, as she called it, a-roving. That did not worry her. All she asked was to rule Mantua, and if he was deep in a love affair he was more likely to leave her in command than if he were concerned with matters of state. She liked him to have his mistresses in the household so that she could watch the progress of his affairs. What she would not tolerate was that he should choose his own women.

  “We must show the Duchess of Ferrara that we can give as good a banquet here as ever she enjoyed in the Vatican,” said Isabella. “And you two shall have new dresses. There is not time for me to design them for you, so I shall select from my own store what most becomes you.”

  The women were delighted. They understood, and she knew she could rely on them to use all their wiles to lure the Marquis of Mantua from any fresh love.

  Isabella took Lucrezia in her arms and gave her the kiss of Judas.

  “How it delights me to see you here!” she exclaimed.

  Lucrezia’s smile betrayed nothing. She stood before Isabella, child-like yet self-contained; not in a dress of morello striped with gold but in dark draperies which clung to her figure and which were even more becoming than the bright colors had been. In spite of her troubles she was still a slender and lovely girl.

  “Come,” said Isabella, leading the way into the castle, “I long to show you my treasures. I trust my husband entertained you in a manner suited to you?”

  Isabella’s eyes were mocking and cruel, full of suggestions, hinting that she suspected Lucrezia of being her husband’s mistress.

  Lucrezia replied: “The Marquis and his friends gave me a hearty welcome at Borgoforte. I fear my low spirits disappointed them.”

  “Then I trust they were able to raise them a little.”

  “It is always comforting to have good friends.”

  “Alfonso was not pleased by your sojourn there as my husband’s guest, I gather. He is a jealous husband.”

  “He has no need to be.”

  Isabella’s laughter rang out.

  “The Duchessa has had a long journey,” said Francesco, “and she has not yet fully recovered her health.”

  “Forgive me,” said Isabella. “I am forgetful. We will refresh ourselves, and later I will show you my paintings and statues. I’ll swear you have rarely seen a better collection. I pride myself on it.”

  Isabella would not leave Lucrezia’s side; she watched her husband’s two ex-mistresses waiting upon him, and Isabella had to admit that they seemed gross beside the newcomer.

  It was clear to Isabella that Francesco either had made or determined to make the woman his mistress. Lucrezia with her air of innocence might suggest that she was unaware of this, but she did not deceive Isabella. She is a Borgia, thought Isabella, and therefore a monster.

  The light of battle was in Isabella’s eyes. There shall be no love affair between those two, she told herself. I’d see Francesco dead first. He may have all the women in the world if he wishes to—but not that one.

  It was a situation which was quite intolerable to Isabella. What was going on behind those sly meek eyes? Was the girl laughing at her? Was she thinking to take her revenge for what had happened at the wedding?

  She took Lucrezia’s arm and with a party they toured the castle, for Isabella had a great longing to show Lucrezia the treasures she possessed. She wanted to accentuate the fact that she, Lucrezia Borgia, was no longer a power in Italy, and that even the possessions still left to her were held insecurely.

  Francesco wa
s in the party, so were the two women whom she had dressed in two of her most becoming gowns. They were chattering as coquettishly as they knew how, but Francesco was scarcely aware of them.

  Lucrezia must gasp in admiration at the beautiful works of art which Isabella had to show her, and even Isabella gloating over them briefly forgot her enmity toward Lucrezia.

  Isabella was a born collector with a sincere love of what was beautiful, and as she stood before the glorious Mantegna painting of the Triumphs of Julius Caesar her eyes filled with tears.

  Lucrezia was similarly affected, and for a moment they were drawn together.

  “It must be one of the finest paintings in Italy,” said Lucrezia.

  Isabella nodded. “Painted for me by Andrea Mantegna when Francesco became Marquis of Mantua.”

  Isabella had broken the spell; immediately she was herself once more. Painted for me. Arrogant and possessive, implying everything within this castle belongs to me—including Francesco.

  There were the beautiful paintings by other artists of note; Isabella had made sure that all the greatest works of art should be housed in her palace. Here were works by Costa and Perugino; the rarest books were in her possession; ornaments finely wrought in gold and silver and decorated with precious stones. She had her grotto to which she took Lucrezia, and there, among the most exquisite sculpture in the world, Lucrezia discovered that which was perhaps the most beautiful of all.

  Her eyes dwelt on Michelangelo’s Sleeping Cupid which had once been in the possession of the Duke of Urbino. To Lucrezia it represented more than a beautiful piece of work by one of the world’s most brilliant artists; it was a symbol of Isabella’s ruthless cupidity. Lucrezia remembered that, when those whom Isabella had called her great friends were in distress, her first thought had not been for their safety but for the Sleeping Cupid; and at Cesare’s request she had banished the Duke and Duchess of Urbino in exchange for the Sleeping Cupid.

  Did Isabella think of this every time she looked at that exquisite statue? What was she thinking now? Isabella’s mocking eyes held those of Lucrezia briefly, as though to imply: Understand the sort of woman I am. Ruthless to my friends, how much more so should I be to my enemies!

  But there was one treasure Isabella had kept to show her visitor, which she guessed rightly would cause her more pain than anything else she could show. This was the handsome young heir of Mantua, one of the most beautiful boys in Italy: Federigo, son of Francesco and Isabella; and Isabella made sure that Lucrezia, who had so recently lost the heir of Ferrara, should have plenty of opportunities to envy her the heir of Mantua.

  She sent the younger of the ex-mistresses to her husband’s bedchamber that night, but the woman returned to Isabella and told her she had been dismissed. Isabella then sent the second of the women, and she too failed and returned to her mistress.

  Lucrezia’s bedchamber was well guarded. She should not have the comfort of Francesco during her Mantuan nights, decided Isabella; and after a two-day visit of great strain and tension, Lucrezia re-entered her barge and sailed away from Mantua, leaving behind a regretful, unsatisfied lover and his bitter and revengeful wife.

  The barge glided on its leisurely journey along the Po, turning from the main stream on the way to Ferrara, and so it came to rest at Belriguardo.

  Here a pleasant surprise awaited them. Giulio was standing on the bank to welcome them.

  Eagerly he kissed Lucrezia’s hand and even more eagerly his eyes sought those of Angela.

  “But … Giulio!” cried Lucrezia. “Should you not be far away?”

  “Have no fear,” Giulio reassured her. “I have not broken parole. Alfonso was in a benign mood when the baby was born. He gave me leave to return to court.”

  “I am glad, and so will Angela be.”

  Angela certainly was. She was a little anxious also; her pregnancy was drawing toward its end, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide her condition which by now several of the women had guessed. Therefore for Angela’s sake, Lucrezia was delighted to see Giulio and still more delighted that Alfonso had decided to forgive him.

  Giulio explained that he had called at Belriguardo to welcome them, and was going to ride on ahead of them the very next day to warn the court of their imminent return.

  Lucrezia arranged that he and Angela should be alone together, and when the lovers had embraced they began to discuss their plans.

  “We must marry soon,” Giulio declared.

  “If we do not,” grimaced Angela, “our baby will be born before we do.”

  Giulio hesitated. He told her that he longed to marry her immediately, but at the same time he did not wish to offend Alfonso.

  “You see, my beloved Angela,” he explained, “after this affair of the chaplain he warned me that there must be no more rash escapades. If there were, he said, he might not forgive me so readily next time.”

  “We want no more banishments,” said Angela.

  “No. But I will speak to Alfonso. He is not unreasonable, and I feel sure that had I not been banished I could have arranged our marriage before this. The menace is of course Ippolito. He hates me, largely because he knows you love me.”

  “A curse on Ippolito!” murmured Angela. “He will do everything within his power to prevent our marriage. I know. But we’ll outwit him. The first thing is to get Alfonso’s consent.”

  “Then I will ride to Ferrara tomorrow and consult him on this matter at once.”

  True to his word Giulio left Belriguardo the next morning. He rode alone not wishing to be encumbered with attendants. He had not ridden many miles when he saw horsemen approaching, and he laughed to himself when he recognized his half-brother Ippolito at their head.

  “Good day to you, Cardinal,” he called in insolent tones.

  Ippolito pulled up sharply and gave his brother a look of hatred. He had never seen Giulio look so handsome, so sure of himself.

  “You looked pleased with yourself,” cried Ippolito.

  “As you would be, were you in my shoes.”

  “You have just left the Duchessa?”

  Giulio nodded. “And … Angela,” he added softly.

  “I have heard news of that girl.”

  “That she is to have my child?” said Giulio.

  “You speak with pride of that which should fill you with shame.”

  “Shame, brother? When you would give so much to be in my place?”

  Ippolito was filled with a sudden rage. He thought of Angela, and how his desire for her had become important to him, because it contained more than a physical need; her rejection of him was the symbol of his brother’s superior attractiveness and powers with women. She had said that she cared more for Giulio’s beautiful eyes than all the Cardinal’s power and wealth. For the moment Ippolito’s fury was beyond control; and as Giulio was about to whip up his horse Ippolito shouted: “Seize that man. Put out his eyes!”

  His grooms hesitated a second, but Ippolito snarled: “Obey, you knaves, lest that which I command you to do to him be done to you.”

  That was enough. They fell upon Giulio; they had him spread-eagled on the ground while they jabbed at his eyes with their daggers and wild agonized screams came from Giulio.

  “It is enough,” said Ippolito; and he and his men galloped away, leaving Giulio frantic with pain, lying half dead on the blood-stained grass.

  It was some hours later when a rider came panting into the castle of Belriguardo to tell of the terrible sight he had seen in the meadow close by.

  Angela, in floods of helpless tears, fell fainting to the floor while Lucrezia gave orders that a litter be hastily made, and Giulio brought back to the castle. There was a doctor present but she sent messengers to Ferrara, demanding that all the best doctors should leave at once for Belriguardo.

  And Giulio, more dead than alive, was brought to the castle.

  When Alfonso heard the news he was both angry with Ippolito and filled with pity for Giulio; then he was apprehensive. That
which he had always feared had broken out: enmity within the family circle.

  His first impulse was to send for Ippolito and punish him severely for the terrible thing he had done; but Alfonso was quick to remember that he was first of all Duke of Ferrara and that he could not allow personal feelings to stand between him and the good of his dukedom. Giulio was of little importance to Ferrara; whereas Ippolito was a Cardinal and as such would wield some influence for Ferrara at the Vatican. Therefore Alfonso could not afford to mete out justice at the expense of that man who, next to himself, was the most powerful in Ferrara. Moreover Ippolito, in spite of his haughty and ungovernable temper, in his calmer moments was a sound statesman and there had been many occasions when his advice had been invaluable to Alfonso.

  Alfonso was a plain man, and a man who took his duty seriously. He wanted to do what was right and honorable; he had only shortly taken over the reins of government, and fervently he wished that his father were alive to deal with the terrible quandary in which he found himself.

  Ippolito in the meanwhile had ridden out of the state of Ferrara, fearing the severe punishment which he had earned; and Alfonso was aware that very soon the terrible story would be spread throughout Italy, and the weakness of a House, in which brothers warred with one another, exposed for all to see.

  He wrote at once to his sister Isabella and her husband Francesco, telling them what had happened; and his letter was a plea for advice. When Isabella heard she was maddened with fury, for one of the few people whom she loved was her dashing young half-brother Giulio.

  Francesco had rarely seen her so moved. “To think of him,” she cried. “My dear little brother.… To have left him there lying on the grass … in agony! I could murder Ippolito. And Alfonso asks what he should do. He should summon my lord murderer back to Ferrara and he should slash out his eyes. ’Twould be a just punishment.”

  Francesco watched her quietly. It is strange, he thought, but I believe I have come to hate Isabella.