by Neil Jordan
ALEXANDER
That may be all one needs. This game will be long, my son, and many sided. Each move will have its implications.
LUCREZIA
But I will soon be lost to you, father. In Ferarra, I believe.
ALEXANDER
We are re-considering Ferarra, are we not?
He looks to Cesare. Lucrezia lowers her eyes.
ALEXANDER (CONT’D)
And eat something now, so you can keep your wits about you-
Cesare eats something.
EXT. VILLA. NIGHT.
A banquet table, entirely draped in muslin. The loud noise of cicadas can be heard, the unearthly whine of mosquitos.
As the camera creeps closer to the scene, we see there are thousand of mosquitos dead against the muslin. And more are flying against it by the second.
Inside the muslin, at a magnificent banquet, are Cardinal Della Rovere, Cesare Borgia and his father the pope.
Both Cesare and Rodrigo have tasters on either side of them.
DELLA ROVERE
Rome is particularly lethal this summer.
ALEXANDER
Indeed. By the lake. With the heat. The mosquitos.
DELLA ROVERE
But one leaves it at one’s peril don’t you think?
ALEXANDER
We would be safer in the hills. But our enemies would prosper in the swamp we had left behind.
A MOSQUITO –
Now buzzing towards the Pope. He swats it away with his wet handkerchief, then refreshes it in the lemon-scented water.
DELLA ROVERE
So, you might agree then. We must find a solution, to this perpetual rancour. This division. Or the world will force it upon us.
ALEXANDER
We have considered a solution that the world might not be ready for.
DELLA ROVERE
Would you be so kind as to share it with me?
Alexander glances towards Cesare, and says nothing.
CESARE
We would hear your solution first, cardinal.
DELLA ROVERE
My solution... has the benefit of originality. And, it even has a precedent...
ALEXANDER
We are all ears...
DELLA ROVERE
If a Pope were to resign, in the full of his health, it would send out a sign to the whole of Christendom.
ALEXANDER
A sign of what, cardinal?
DELLA ROVERE
A sign that the occupant had forsaken self-interest. And had no further interest in the advancement of his family. It would restore the name of Borgia to - dare I say it - respectability. Even, perhaps, sanctity.
Cesare smiles.
CESARE
Our father the saint.
Alexander smiles, bitterly.
DELLA ROVERE
You must taste the quail, Holiness.
ALEXANDER
When it is tasted for us.
The taster chews. Seems to like it.
DELLA ROVERE
And we have here, Holiness, a perfect metaphor for your papacy.
ALEXANDER
How, pray?
DELLA ROVERE
The quail is delicious. It is, I can assure you, uncontaminated. But who enjoys it?
The taster stares at the Pope, his mouth full.
DELLA ROVERE (CONT’D)
His Holiness is the last to partake. By which time the dish is hardly warm. The most succulent meats have been already consumed. The taster grow fat, while His Holiness starves.
ALEXANDER
Great office does come with its own privations.
DELLA ROVERE
But if you were to step down, Holiness, in the fullness of your vigour and health. The world would have to recognise your probity. Your lack of nepotism. Your sanctity, even.
ALEXANDER
And who would succeed me?
DELLA ROVERE
That would be for the conclave to decide.
ALEXANDER
You?
DELLA ROVERE
If the Holy Spirit wills it. But, I could guarantee. . . in the event of my succession. . .
He glances round at the tasters.
DELLA ROVERE (CONT’D)
Could my words be for your ears alone, Holiness? And those of your son?
Alexander takes the plate of quail.
ALEXANDER
Leave us.
DELLA ROVERE
And enjoy my repast. . .
As the tasters leave.
DELLA ROVERE (CONT’D)
...finally...
EXT. MUSLIN TABLE. NIGHT.
The muslin billows as the tasters depart.
A MOSQUITO - flies to the muslin, as if desperately trying to enter...
INT. TABLE. NIGHT.
As Alexander finally eats.
ALEXANDER
It is delicious, cardinal.
DELLA ROVERE
And retains some heat, we hope.
ALEXANDER
So, continue... in the event of your succession?
DELLA ROVERE
In the event of my succession, I could guarantee your son’s position...
CESARE
As?
DELLA ROVERE
As prince of the territories he now holds. Of a new principality in central Italy. Whose capital is Rome.
CESARE
And the Pope?
DELLA ROVERE
Would rule his spiritual kingdom, while the Prince rules his temporal one.
ALEXANDER
And we would retire? To gardening, perhaps? Beekeeping?
DELLA ROVERE
You would retire to whatever estate you chose. To enjoy the fruits of your long labours. With a reputation unblemished. Of probity, humility, and dare I say it, sanctity.
ALEXANDER
Sanctity?
DELLA ROVERE
Were I alive, as pope, when the Almighty finally gathered you to His loving arms, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility.
ALEXANDER
Saint Rodrigo.
Cesare smiles.
CESARE
Saint Alexander, father.
Della Rovere claps his hands.
DELLA ROVERE
And now that we have broached this delicate matter, your Holiness should recall your tasters, while another wine is poured...
Alexander nods his head, and the tasters return.
EXT. MUSLIN TABLE. NIGHT.
ANOTHER MOSQUITO - buzzing down from the Heavens. This one seems to mean business.
INT. TABLE. NIGHT.
The tasters taste the wine. They nod, in nervous approval. Alexander’s glass is filled. Della Rovere stands.
DELLA ROVERE
I would propose a toast, Your Holiness. While our ambitions would seem at odds, they need not be.
So I would drink, to harmony, between those ambitions. And to peace between us.
Alexander nods.
ALEXANDER
To Harmony.
DELLA ROVERE
Harmony. And peace.
ALEXANDER
And peace.
DELLA ROVERE
My Lord Borgia?
Cesare raises his glass. They drink. Alexander raises his glass once more.
ALEXANDER
And we would propose our own toast.
As he raises his glass, he suddenly collapses into Cesare’s arms.
CESARE
Father –
ALEXANDER
We feel –
And he suddenly vomits, blood, and bile, over Cesare and the table-cloth.
He turns and stares at Della Rovere.
ALEXANDER (CONT’D)
How did you manage –
Della Rovere stares, aghast.
DELLA ROVERE
Manage what?
CESARE
You are ill, Father -
He calls.
CESARE (CONT’D)
GUARDS!!!!!
ALEXA
NDER
Poisoned –
And Cesare drags his father through the muslin, as Della Rovere tries to help.
CESARE
You will die for this –
And as the guards support his father, Cesare turns and grips Della Rovere by the throat.
CESARE (CONT’D)
-in agony-
And Cesare goes rigid, as if gripped by a rictus. He suddenly vomits blood, over Della Rovere’s costume.
He falls back into the muslin cloth, dragging the whole tent with him.
And Della Rovere stares aghast, at Cesare Borgia rolling in agony through the blood-stained tent of muslin.
Over the chaotic scene, Machiavelli takes up the tale.
MACHIAVELLI (V.O.)
If the Duke did not succeed in his plans, it was not his fault, but was instead the result of an extraordinary and extreme instance of ill-fortune...
INT. THE VATICAN. NIGHT.
The pope and his son carried through the corridors, which are swarming with Vatican guards and terrified cardinals.
MACHIAVELLI (V.O.)
For Alexander fell ill five years after he had drawn his sword...
On Cesare’s sweating, vomiting face, staring at the ornate ceiling above him.
MACHIAVELLI (V.O.)
...and though he had prepared for everything that might happen, he never dreamed that at the time of his father’s illness, he too would be at death’s door...
INT. PAPAL BEDROOM. NIGHT.
Alexander, taking long and painful breaths, while Lucrezia and Vanozza wipe his sweating forehead.
ALEXANDER
Did I take the wrong path, Vanozza? So long ago I cannot now remember?
VANOZZA
I can remember. The day, and the hour.
ALEXANDER
Forgive me then.
VANOZZA
You don’t need my forgiveness. You need the forgiveness of God Almighty.
ALEXANDER
I must confess my sins...
LUCREZIA
Hush father, hush...
ALEXANDER
With whatever breath I have left...
Vanozza walks to the door.
INT. CORRIDOR. NIGHT.
The huddled semi-circle of cardinals.
VANOZZA
He needs a confessor –
And every cardinal turns away. Scurries down the corridor.
VANOZZA (CONT’D)
It is your duty - under God - to hear his last confession -
INT. PAPAL BEDROOM. NIGHT.
The Pope. Sweating on the bed. He has long since stopped pleading for help.
And now he wakes, once more. To see a figure, cowled like a monk, behind the curtains on the balcony.
ALEXANDER
Who is there?
The curtains shift.
ALEXANDER (CONT’D)
Water, please...
MONK
I have no water.
ALEXANDER
My lips are parched.
MONK
As are mine.
ALEXANDER
But you are a Franciscan? You have come to hear my confession?
The monk moves into the room.
ALEXANDER (CONT’D)
Thanks be to the living God...
MONK
You would have me hear your sins?
ALEXANDER
I would. I would cleanse my soul of every stain upon it.
MONK
The whole world knows your sins. Your soul is blacker than a moonless night.
ALEXANDER
But there can be light again, in
God’s forgiveness.
MONK
For sins such as yours? Fornication? Adultery? Murder? Simony? A greed for gold that had no boundary?
ALEXANDER
We know that God’s mercy is infinite.
MONK
That is true.
ALEXANDER
And that even the worst of sinners can beg forgiveness with his last breath of life...
MONK
True again.
ALEXANDER
So I, Rodrigo Borgia beg forgiveness with my last words, my last breath upon this earth.
MONK
But forgiveness, for you, Rodrigo
Borgia, is impossible.
ALEXANDER
Why?
MONK
Because you have taken your last breath.
ALEXANDER
I have? When?
MONK
Does it matter when? A second, or an infinity? You are dead. You can confess your sins for ten eternities, and God will not hear them. This is hell, and you are in it.
Smoke is now billowing from the monk’s cowl. Alexander reaches out to grab it. It bursts into flame.
ALEXANDER
No pope belongs in hell –
And the flames seem to speak.
MONK
This one does...
And the bed is burning underneath him now. Alexander tries to rise.
Behind him, we see the frescoes have turned into images of hell from Heironymus Bosch.
Alexander screams, as the flames consume him.
CUT TO -
A face, leaning down towards him, with a feather.
Lucrezia.
LUCREZIA
He has breathed his last.
ON ALEXANDER’S DEAD FACE, ALREADY TURNING BLACK.
Vanozza prays beside him.
And now, like a group of red vampires, the cardinals enter, circling round, dropping to their knees.
INT. CESARE’S QUARTERS. DAY.
Cesare, like a barely-moving skeleton, lying on his bed. All of the shutters are closed against the daylight. Lucrezia enters.
LUCREZIA
Our father is dead.
Cesare can hardly speak. Eventually, he says –
CESARE
When?
LUCREZIA
Two hours ago. Nobody will touch the body. But it seems that you might live, brother –
CESARE
So who did it, sis?
LUCREZIA
Whoever stood to profit by it. Is that not the Vatican way?
CESARE
Della Rovere.
LUCREZIA
So. He will make a perfect candidate for Pope.
CESARE
He was our last standing enemy –
LUCREZIA
You must cultivate his favour then. Or do as I am doing. Leave this charnel house.
She stands.
CESARE
Sis –
LUCREZIA
Yes, brother?
CESARE
You must help me to avenge this crime.
LUCREZIA
I can think of no better vengeance than the throne of St. Peters.
She takes his head in her hands and kisses his lips. She says, softly.
LUCREZIA (CONT’D)
Look what it did to us.
EXT. STREETS OF ROME. DAY.
Micheletto drives a carriage out of Rome. Inside it we see the sweating, feverish figure of Cesare Borgia.
MACHIAVELLI (V.O.)
A prince may be seen happy today and ruined tomorrow without having shown any change in his character.
INT. LIBRARY. DAY.
Machiavelli scribbling with a feathered pen.
MACHIAVELLI (V.O.)
For the prince who relies entirely on fortune is lost when it changes...
The camera tracks into the vellum page, as he writes.
IT DISSOLVES INTO -
The thundering hooves of horses, over a dusty arid landscape.
Cesare Borgia is riding, sword drawn, towards an oncoming group of horsemen. He is flung from his horse by a spear, that pierces him through. As he falls, he calls out –
CESARE
Micheletto!!!
Micheletto turns, leaps from his horse, runs back towards him. As he runs, arrow after arrow pierces him, twisting his body this way and that. Then a
shot from an arquebus shatters his shoulder, throwing him into the dust.
As his hand reaches out for Cesare’s, the camera tracks into Cesare’s dying face.
IT DISSOLVES INTO –
The portrait of Cesare Borgia by Altobello Melone. A legend reads:
LEGEND
Cesare Borgia died fighting vainly to reclaim the lands and territories he had once conquered.
EXT. HILLTOP IN FERRARA. DAY.
A party on horse back. A carriage behind them. Lucrezia, Vanozza, Giovanni and Pietro Bembo.
BEMBO
And there it is. Ferarra.
As he guides their horses down to the beautiful town, nestled among Italian hills, the landscape freezes, into the classic landscape of Ferarra by Dosso Dossi.
IT DISSOLVES INTO –
The beautiful portrait of Lucrezia Borgia, by Bartolomeo Veneto. A legend reads: LEGEND
