The Borgia Bride

by Jeanne Kalogridis

  I yielded then. I stepped forward and embraced her tightly. ‘That I can do.’

  She wrapped her arms about me. ‘Good-bye, Sancha.’

  ‘No,’ I responded sadly, my cheek against hers. ‘This is farewell.’

  Preceding Lucrezia’s departure for Ferrara, there were numerous celebrations in the city. Dorotea and I watched from the loggia on clear nights as all manner of sumptuously-dressed nobles and dignitaries processed through the streets and piazzas to the Vatican, on their way to pay their respects to the bride-to-be. There were fireworks, and cannons; Dorotea enjoyed the distractions, but they only fuelled my hatred.

  One morning, as I sat in my antechamber reading, the doors to my apartment opened. I looked up, annoyed at the unannounced intrusion.

  Cesare Borgia stood in the entrance.

  War had aged him, as had the pox; even his beard, which now bore traces of premature silver, could not hide the prominent scars on his cheeks. There were streaks of silver as well in his hair, which had begun to thin, and shadows beneath his jaded eyes.

  ‘You are as beautiful as the day I first saw you, Sancha,’ he said, his voice wistful, soft as velvet. His flattery was wasted. My lips twisted at the sight of him; surely he could only bear evil news.

  Then I saw the solemn little boy holding his hand, and let go a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. ‘Rodrigo!’ I threw down my book and ran to the child at once.

  I had not seen my nephew in more than a year, but recognized him immediately; his golden curls and blue eyes were unmistakably my brother’s. He had been dressed in a princely little tunic of dark blue velvet.

  I sank to my knees before him and spread my arms. ‘Rodrigo, my darling! It is your Tia Sancha, do you remember me? Do you know how I love you?’

  The little boy—almost two years of age, now—turned away at first, and rubbed his eyes with his fists, embarrassed.

  ‘Go to her,’ Cesare murmured encouragingly, and nudged the boy towards me. ‘She is your aunt, your father’s sister…She and your mother loved each other very dearly. She was present the day you were born.’

  At last Rodrigo seized me with impetuous affection. I enfolded him in my arms, not understanding why Cesare was granting this precious visit, and for the moment not caring. It was pure bliss. I pressed my cheek against the child’s down-soft hair as Cesare spoke, his tone uncharacteristically awkward.

  ‘Lucrezia cannot take the child with her to Ferrara.’ It was not the custom to permit a child from a previous marriage to be raised in another man’s household. ‘She has asked that you raise him as your own. I did not see the harm in it, and so I brought him.’

  Despite my joy, I could not resist hurling a barb. ‘A child ought not be raised in a prison!’

  Cesare answered with astonishing mildness. ‘It will not be a prison for him, but a home. All privileges will be accorded him; he will be free to come and go, to visit his grandfather and uncles whenever he wishes. Anything he needs will be provided at once, without question. I have already arranged for him to have the best tutors when the time comes.’ He paused, then the cool, arrogant tone I knew so well resurfaced. ‘He is, after all, a Borgia.’

  ‘He is a prince of the House of Aragon,’ I said heatedly, without easing my hold on the boy for an instant.

  At that, Cesare graced me with a thin smile, but there was only humour, no malevolence, in it. ‘Servants will be arriving soon with his things,’ he added, then left me to ponder how such a monster could at times be so human.

  I called for Donna Esmeralda, to show off my newest, most precious jewel; the two of us covered the bewildered child with kisses.

  Lucrezia had betrayed me and Alfonso had died, but they had left me the greatest of all gifts: their son.

  From that moment, all traces of my madness disappeared. Little Rodrigo restored my hope and purpose. I realized that I had not destroyed all that I loved; and I began to entertain the idea of escaping with the child to Naples, ruled now by King Ferdinand of Spain. I could never return to the Castel Nuovo, but I would not be unwelcome in the city I so adored. My mother, my aunts, and even Queen Juana still lived there. I would be among family there. The women who had known my brother could now know his son.

  I had the weapon to achieve my goal; thanks to Lucrezia, I had the knowledge to use it. Only one thing remained: the means to deliver it. Now that sanity had returned, I remained patient, willing to bide my time, to consider carefully how to fulfil the destiny the strega had foreseen.

  I spent my days caring for Rodrigo. It took him time to accept that he would not see his mother again; most of all, he missed his nurse, who had gone as part of Lucrezia’s entourage to Ferrara. Many nights he kept Donna Esmeralda and me up with his crying—but in truth, I slept better than I ever had before the child’s arrival. Happily, Jofre enjoyed his nephew’s company as well; he was fond of playing with the child, and on those evenings my husband came to dine, he carried Rodrigo to bed.

  A docile year passed; summer went swiftly, and winter came again, too soon. The boy thrived and grew. Cesare, fortunately, spent all of his time with his army; I did my best to be patient.

  Christmas passed, then the New Year. One night in early January, Jofre appeared for supper. On this particular occasion he lingered in the doorway, pale and shaken, unsmiling; even when Rodrigo came running to greet him, he did not bend down to lift the child, as was his wont, but absently laid a hand upon the disappointed boy’s head.

  ‘Husband,’ I asked, concerned, ‘are you unwell?’

  ‘I am fine,’ he said, without conviction. ‘I need to speak to you in private tonight.’

  I nodded, and quickly arranged for Donna Esmeralda to take the child early to bed, and for the other attendants, who usually served us at table and removed the platters, to set out the food and wine for us, then depart.

  Once everyone had gone, Jofre opened the front doors and curtly dismissed the guards, then stood staring after them a time into the empty corridor; he returned and peered at the balcony, to make sure we were truly alone. Only then did he go to the table and sag down into a chair. The candlelight glinted off his closely-trimmed copper-gold beard, which failed to compensate for his weak chin.

  He held out his goblet for wine; his hand was so unsteady that when I poured the ruby liquid into it, it sloshed over the rim. Once the goblet was full, he took a long drink, then set it down and groaned.

  ‘My brother is the Devil Himself.’ He leaned forward, elbow on the table, and clutched his forehead with trembling fingers.

  ‘What has he done now?’

  ‘He and Father are no longer satisfied with simply the Romagna. Cesare has moved down into the Marches, and taken Senigallia.’ I had never been to Senigallia, but I had heard of it—a beautiful town south of Pesaro, on the eastern coast, with such soft, fine-grained sand the beaches were said to be made of velvet.

  ‘Why are you surprised?’ I interrupted acidly. ‘Surely you have always known your brother’s ambition is boundless. He would never be satisfied with only the Romagna.’

  Jofre stared glumly down at his plate without touching the golden-brown leg of roasted fowl and chestnuts there. ‘You have not heard, then, how he took the city.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘He called on all the condottieri of the Romagnol cities to ride with him.’ These were the heads of the noble houses which had been defeated; they had been forced to serve as commanders in Cesare’s army, leading their own men to do the Borgias’ bidding. They had all sworn fealty—at the point of a sword. ‘So they marched on Senigallia,’ Jofre continued. ‘The papal army was so mighty, the city opened its gates and surrendered without a struggle. But it is then that the tale turns ghastly…’ He shuddered. ‘I cannot believe I share the same mother as this man; he is more treacherous than the Turks, more bloodthirsty than the one in Wallachia they called the Impaler.

  ‘Cesare wanted more than the city as his prize. He invited all the condottieri inside the
city walls, saying he wished for them to inspect the castle and sup with him, to celebrate the great victory.

  ‘The commanders obeyed; they had no cause to expect anything but reward for their loyalty. But my brother…he ordered his men to surround them. The city gates were then closed, shutting them off from their own men.

  ‘By morning, Cesare had killed every single one of them. Some strangled, others stabbed, or smothered…’ He laid his arm upon the table and rested his brow upon it.

  I sat stone-faced across from him, trying to fathom the horror of what I had just heard. Proud, noble families who had ruled for centuries had been abruptly rendered powerless, broken. The Borgias truly controlled the Romagna at last.

  He murmured into the crook of his arm, ‘Father and Cesare had already selected new rulers; they were all simply awaiting word to seize command of each city.’ He lifted his face and added miserably, ‘cardinals die almost daily in Rome. Their wealth is being added to the Church’s coffers, and all of it goes to fund the wars. Father will talk of nothing else. He is proud of Cesare, proud of the victories…I cannot bear it.’ He began to shiver so violently that the plate beside him clattered. ‘Now they are both so filled with arrogance, nothing will stop them. With Lucrezia gone to Ferrara, they cannot manipulate her anymore…and so their eyes have turned to me. Father made a comment to me yesterday about needing some of our wealth…for the wars. He spoke about Squillace, and other properties I have in Naples, and my gems and gold—how they might be of use to Cesare, and the Church. His tone was quite threatening. I have begun to fear for my own safety…Outside of my money, I am useless to them. What is to stop me from being their next victim?’

  At his cowardice, I could no longer hold my tongue. ‘Why do you tremble now, Jofre? Why do you show such surprise? Surely you have not been such a fool all these years, yet you chose to remain blind and deaf to all that has occurred around you! You know as well as I that Perotto and Pantsilea were innocents, slaughtered because they knew too much. You witnessed without comment the hanging of Don Antonio, Cardinal Sforza’s guest, with your own eyes. You know the Tiber has been filled to overflowing for years with the victims of your father and brother. Worst of all, you let Cesare murder your brother Juan, and my Alfonso, and did nothing to protect either! Do not complain to me, your wife—I live within the walls of a prison, with women who all were violated by Cesare!’

  He let go a tortured groan. ‘I am sorry, so sorry for all that has happened…but what can I do?’

  ‘Were you a man, you would free me of this,’ I said softly, harshly. ‘Were you a man, you would long ago have taken a blade to your wicked family’s throat.’

  His brow was furrowed with worry, but his gaze was fierce; and his voice was very low as he confessed, ‘Then I want to be a man now, Sancha. I want to be free to go to Squillace, and spend the rest of my days there in peace.’

  So clear was his intention, so vehement his words that I fell silent. Here was the means I had been awaiting; but I had to be sure of Jofre’s steadiness. I would have chosen a more strong-willed accomplice. Yet the longer I gazed into his determined eyes, the more certain I became that this was my opportunity.

  At last I said quietly, ‘I can help you, husband. I know of a way to stop the terror. But you must forsake the Borgias and swear your loyalty to me alone, to the death.’

  He rose from his seat, moved swiftly to my side, then knelt and kissed my slipper. ‘To the death,’ he said.

  Summer 1503

  XXXVII

  Jofre and I agreed that he would have to steel himself, and wait for Cesare’s return from the wars. Were Cesare to hear of his father’s death, he would ride into Rome and appoint his own pope, one that would yield to his bidding even more easily than his father had. We could not strike at Alexander alone.

  Our wait seemed interminable, as Cesare slowly continued his campaign in the Marches.

  One morning, however, brought hope. I woke to the distant sound of thunder; but when I rose and threw open the shutters, I looked out upon a cloudless, sunny sky.

  The thunder sounded again. It was not, I realized, an approaching storm, but the echoes of faraway cannon. I left Donna Esmeralda asleep—she was beginning to grow a bit deaf—and dressed myself. Then I lifted Rodrigo from his cot and set him down.

  Hand in hand, the two of us walked out into the antechamber, and I opened the doors. I had only one guard by then—a new one, Giacomo, a soldier of barely seventeen summers, who loved chatter and gossip almost as much as Donna Dorotea, and who knew I could be trusted.

  Giacomo stood not at my doorway, but at the end of the corridor, staring out over the balcony at a point in the far distance. He was lean and tall, and the tension in his long limbs, as he stood with his back to me, conveyed mild alarm.

  ‘Giacomo!’ I called. ‘I hear cannon!’

  He whirled about, at once embarrassed to be caught leaving his post. He returned immediately. ‘Forgive me, Madonna. It is Giulio Orsini and his men. The Holy Father has been imprisoning Orsini’s relatives, so Don Giulio is leading a revolt. But there is nothing to fear. The Pope has summoned the Captain-General and his army’—and here he lowered his voice and eyelids slyly before adding—‘if he can be convinced to come.’

  For months, Cesare could not be convinced to leave his wars; the Pope was forced to make do with the few soldiers who had not marched with their Captain-General. Alexander could no longer rely on the support of the Roman nobility, who were mistrustful and bitter owing to Cesare’s treatment of the condottieri at Senigallia. Why should they fight for a pope liable to murder them afterwards?

  Giulio Orsini’s strength and support swelled rapidly. One evening, Jofre looked meaningfully at me over the supper table, while Donna Esmeralda poured the wine.

  He cleared his throat nervously, then said, with feigned casualness, ‘His Holiness has grown quite desperate for assistance with the Orsinis. In fact, I learned today from the Cardinal of Monreale that Alexander threatened Don Cesare with excommunication if he fails to obey the papal summons and return to Rome. Cesare is reluctant—fuming, according to the cardinal—but today, Father received word that he and his men are coming.’

  I reached across the table and clasped my husband’s hand; Jofre’s grip was surprisingly determined and strong. If Esmeralda found anything odd in the look of complicity I shared with my spouse, she said nothing.

  In the heat of summer, months after the Pope’s initial call for him, Cesare at last led his army into Rome. For two weeks, he remained inaccessible, encamped with his soldiers in the Roman countryside. But Orsini’s small army was no match for the vast papal horde; the rebellious nobles of Rome were swiftly slaughtered. Jubilant, Alexander ordered all the cathedral bells to be set ringing.

  After the victory, my husband arrived for his evening meal. Rodrigo ran to the door the instant he heard his uncle’s footsteps; when Jofre entered, he lifted the boy high into the air, which made the child squeal with pleasure—then he abruptly kissed Rodrigo and set him down. Despite the boy’s repeated pleas, Jofre could not be coaxed into playing this night, and I asked Esmeralda to put Rodrigo to bed early.

  A small table had been erected out on the balcony so that we might enjoy the summer evenings while dining. As a pair of maidservants set the platters down, Jofre called for a goblet of wine. One of the servants fetched him one, and he drank the better part of it in a single swallow.

  I rose from my chair in the antechamber and went over to where he stood. His gaze was distracted, roving; he had trimmed his beard that day, and none too steadily, for on his cheek was a small cut, marked by freshly dried blood.

  ‘You bear news, husband,’ I remarked, in a voice too low for the women on the balcony to hear.

  Our attention remained on the servants, but I listened keenly as Jofre replied, ‘Cesare is eager to leave Rome as soon as possible and return to the Marches. But Father has convinced him to stay for a victory party—a luncheon to be held tomorrow in Ces
are’s honour, hosted by Cardinal Adriano Castelli. It will be held outdoors, in a vineyard.’

  ‘Arrange to sit between the Pope and Cesare,’ I said softly. ‘Then you need only ask the wine steward to let you deliver their full goblets to them—as a token of your honour and esteem. Make several toasts.’ I paused. ‘When the maidservants leave, I will bring what is required.’

  The servants fretted overlong with the table arrangements, but at last they departed. I went into the bedchamber, where Donna Esmeralda sat sewing as young Rodrigo slept.

  ‘I must retrieve something from my closet,’ I whispered; she nodded and went back to squinting at her needlework while I opened my armoire.

  The open doors blocked Esmeralda’s view so that I was free to open a secret compartment in the closet floor and withdraw a box. Within rested the jewels from my suite in the Palazzo Santa Maria, as well as the vial of canterella. I had previously emptied a tiny container of clear glass which had held precious Turkish attar of roses, a gift Jofre had given me years ago.

  I took a single ruby and the two vials, then returned the box to its hiding place, soundlessly shut the armoire doors, and retreated. Throughout the entire transaction, Donna Esmeralda never glanced up.

  Out in the antechamber, Jofre was pacing. He had already poured himself more wine and had drunk most of it.

  ‘You will have to contain yourself better,’ I chided, ‘if we are to succeed.’

  ‘I will, I will,’ he promised, then threw his head back and finished off the contents of his goblet.

  I eyed him uncertainly, but said nothing. Instead, I handed him the ruby. ‘In case a bribe is required.’

  Then I went over to the oil lamp and held both the emerald and clear vials up to the flame.

  At the proper time, the strega had said. I was never more convinced that this was finally the moment.