by L. E. Waters
I’m dressed in a robe of curled cloth of gold cut with crimson thread, with a cloak of gold lined with ermine.
“I’ll be frantic while you’re en route to Ferrara. These are dangerous times to be traveling. I’ll send my best men to ride with you, but you must promise me something.”
He pauses to see I will agree. I nod.
“You must promise to send messengers every hour to let me know you’re safe. Make sure to write in your own hand so I know it’s you.”
“I promise.”
I get up and look out the window to the large envoy waiting below.
“There must be a hundred fifty mules gathered there!”
“That’s how many we need to carry all your previous wedding presents to Ferrara.” He jokes, but it’s very true. “Plus all the dresses, underskirts, robes, tabards, capes, shoes, fans, jewelry, and tapestries you’ve made me buy for you.”
“If I’m going to be the future Duchess of Ferrara, then I have to dress like her.”
Father gives me a kiss on the cheek. “That’s the girl I love!” He gives me one final hug. “You better go. The envoy will be leaving shortly.”
“Now make sure,” he reminds me, “Alfonso sleeps in your bed every night. I heard a rumor that he failed to do so with his first wife, and I wouldn’t want Ercole using that the way we did with Sforza to escape the marriage later. Bed him and bed him well.”
We say our good-byes, and I walk down to my very fine and heavily decorated mule. As I ride away, I see Father move from window to window, waving at me, and I’ve a terrible feeling it’s the last time I’ll see him.
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As at every other time in my life, I’ve no choice but to bottle my feelings. We stop at every city along the way so that my company of one thousand can be fed and lodged. There’s much rejoicing as we make our way through towns, and children dressed in my colors of yellow and mulberry are waving olive branches at our passing. When we draw nearer to Ferrara, I worry about the duke seeing me for the first time. I bring a mirror up and see that I need to stop to color my hair.
I call out the window of my carriage to my lady riding her mule beside me,“Please go at once to ask if we can stop the envoy immediately to attend to my beauty ritual.”
She kicks her heels on the mule’s side to ride ahead and comes back quickly, saying, “He wants me to implore you that we don’t stop here. We have reached Imola, and he says it’s a very dangerous place for us.”
I breathe out to show my annoyance. “If we’re in Imola, then we’re nearing Ferrara, and I cannot delay my beauty regimen! Tell him he’ll stop!”
A man yells out, and the envoy stops. Pleased with my stubbornness, I step out of the carriage as the leader is coming up, red-faced.
“I’ve only stopped to come back myself to tell you what a mistake you’re making.”
I ignore him and keep walking. I call back to my lady, “Fetch me the dye man.”
They bring a chair out in a clearing in the woods next to a river. The dye man is busy pouring, crushing, boiling, and chopping for about an hour. Finally, he brushes his solution on close to my scalp and leaves it to dry for another hour.
“Your hair will glitter and shine like golden threads for the duke!” he promises.
“While this dries, will you mix your skin-whitening treatment to apply also?”
“Anything for the duchess.”
He bows and goes away. These are the things that are expected of noblewomen and can be achieved only through tedious illusion.
The leader looks disappointed that no harm befalls us and throws his gloves on the ground as I get back into the carriage, shouting, “Women!”
Ten miles from the end of our two hundred twenty mile journey, a rider comes up on his horse and paces beside my passing carriage.
“Is this the envoy delivering the future Duchess of Ferrara?”
The coachman confirms it.
“I’m from the house Este, and I’ve brought Dona Lucrezia a message from Alfonso d’Este.”
The coach comes to a halt. He maneuvers his horse skillfully and brings him around in front of my window.
“Alfonso instructed me to bring this kiss for his lady.” He puts his hand out for me to fill. I extend my arm, and he brings my gloved hand up but pauses. “He told me to only deliver this kiss if she was of astounding and divine beauty.”
His brownish-green eyes search me up and down, and with a smile, he bends down to kiss my hand, but I withdraw before his lips can touch. He’s of excellent form and has one dimple on his cheek that shows when he smiles through a trimmed moustache and beard.
“Please tell my lord that I’m eager to have him kiss my hand himself.”
The messenger gives a wide grin and pulls his horse in a circle and gallops away.
We arrive in Ferrara at dusk, and I see the walled city glowing in the yellow and pink sunset. The palace is glorious, even more beautiful than the Vatican. There are towers, turrets, balconies, and great stained windows. The Este flags fly on the tops of every tower. When the drawbridge is lowered for our envoy to enter, trumpets and oboes sound. We stop in the square inside the entrance, and someone has gone to great lengths to make two large wreaths that hang on the great wooden door to the castle. One is the Este crest: a majestic white eagle combined with the French fleur-de-lis granted by Charles VII of France and the black-crowned, double-headed imperial eagle granted by Emperor Frederick III. Next to it is the Borgia crest: a humble grazing bull.
The doors are opened, and my ladies and I enter into a lavishly decorated front hall. An older, slender man comes down the stairs with two younger men and one young female. I notice the messenger at once among them.
The older man bows to me and takes my hand. “I am Ercole, the Duke of Este.” He kisses it. “It is so nice to finally meet you. We have heard so much about you.”
I’m sure this is tongue-in-cheek, but my relentless charm persists.
“It’s a great pleasure, my lord.” I curtsy.
“I will only have you call me Father.” He turns to his right, to the men, and says, “Lucrezia, meet your husband, Alfonso d’Este.”
I naturally deduce that the man standing next to the messenger is Alfonso and hold my hand out to him, but the messenger takes my hand. “You promised me this kiss.”
My eyes widen in surprise, and he laughs as he explains to his father, “I got too anxious waiting here for the envoy and decided to go out and see her for myself.”
Ercole looks embarrassed by his rash behavior. “I take it since you returned, Lucrezia was to your liking then?”
“Far exceeded my expectations.” He kisses my hand again.
Ercole interrupts. “This is my daughter, Isabella d’Este.”
She stares at me like I’m her servant and gives a frigid curtsy, then glares at her father.
I try, “The generous patroness of the arts and antiques. Your reputation precedes you.”
She nods, chin held up. “As does yours.”
I know this is another attack.
Isabella’s of normal height, slightly plump, with ice blue eyes and an abundance of light brown hair.
“Let us go show you to your rooms, where you can dress for our ceremony and celebration,” Ercole interrupts.
Isabella looks all too happy to walk away. Alfonso’s groomsmen motion for me and my servants to follow them.
Chapter 12
My ladies change me into a black velvet dress with a cape of gold brocade trimmed with ermine, a necklace of rubies and pearls, and a net of gold and diamonds in my golden hair. Alfonso’s waiting for me outside of the celebration, wearing red velvet. He holds his arm up for me to hold, and I enter yet another wedding celebration on the arm of a stranger.
After Alfonso’s stiff dancing, we’re seated across from each other with Ercole at the head of the banquet table. Isabella and the other noblemen and women are talking amongst themselves.
Ercole speaks to me. “Your father has been extremely tenacious about getting your yearly allowance of ten thousand ducats raised.”
I feel uncomfortable with him talking about this in front of everyone. “My father is persistent.”
“Yes, but you must let it be clear to him that I am already paying you two thousand ducats more than my daughter Isabella.”
Isabella glares at me with immense disdain. This explained things.
“I am more than happy to have what you are granting me, Father.” I’m going to let my father haggle with him and stay out of it.
He appears happy at my giving in and attacks further. “Another matter we must speak of is your new household.”
“My new household? I do not need a new household.”
“Your household is comprised of Spaniards. I think it would look better to the people if you had a household comprised of people from Ferrara.”
I sit up straight in my chair and look him squarely in the eyes and say, “My household has been with me since I was twelve. I have given up my son at your request. Please leave me my household.”
“Well, I had no idea you were so attached. Fine, have it your way, but maybe as you get more comfortable here, you will make improvements.”
He begins sipping his soup, and I take that to mean his negotiations are over. As I’m waiting between dances, Isabella comes to me directly, out of earshot of Alfonso.
“You, lowly Borgia, will never fulfill the shoes of my mother. She’s turning in her grave right now at this fraud.” She walks off as quickly as she attacked.
The trumpets rise to send Alfonso and me off to our wedding bed, and it reminds me of Sforza all over again. After he leaves in the morning to proclaim his success of three times to his father, I cry in my pillow, remembering Aragon.
I come to learn what kind of man Alfonso is, and it only takes a few days. He’s a very simple man, interested—actually obsessed—with seven things: artillery, tournaments, dogs, horses, pottery, the viol, and whores. Anything outside of these categories he doesn’t have time for.
Ercole one morning at breakfast says to me, “I am very pleased. You seem to be the only woman Alfonso can bear.”
I reply lightly, “If that is so, then why the need for the secret tunnel into the brothels of Ferrara?”
He’s surprised I learned of that so soon. “I said the only woman he can bear, not the only one he rides.”
It’s fine. I don’t care how he spends his time. I know I don’t love him, and we both are playing a part. One morning, he awakes and asks me if I’d like to come hunting with him. Shocked by this request, I agree. After dressing for the occasion, I’m helped onto my fastest horse, and we ride off in the chilly spring air toward his hunting grounds.
He proudly shows me his modern musket and shouts down the hill to his men, “Release the rabbits and leopards!”
“Wait until you see these amazing animal’s speed.”
I watch as one man walks out in the center of the field and empties three lean rabbits out of a basket. The rabbits go scattering, and the man releases two leopards that flash out across the field, one grabbing an unlucky rabbit instantly, and the other running this way and that until the rabbit loses. The last rabbit finds safety under the brush on the edge of the field. Alfonso turns to catch my reaction with an expression that he showed me something rare.
“Oh, fantastic!” I pretend. Little did he know Cesare had shown me every type of hunter and prey, from hawks to prisoners. “Miraculous animals!” I clap.
When they recover the leopards, Alfonso shouts, “Release the wolf!”
A skittish black and grey wolf is set free in the clearing, and Alfonso follows, “Release the dogs!”
I look away as five large and fierce hunting dogs are let out, and hear the struggle. When the cries die down, I open my eyes again and see the wolf lying dead in the grass and the dogs running back to their grinning master. Even though the dogs’ faces are covered in blood, Alfonso lets them all jump on him and lick his face. It’s so hard to keep smiling.
Men and their sadistic pleasures.
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When we return, I walk into my dressing room and collapse on the chair, thankful I’m alone, until disrupted by a timid knock.
I open the door quickly to a young man, all in tawny leather with a flapping hooded falcon on his thick-gloved hand.
“Lady d’Este.” He bows awkwardly. “This falcon’s still jumpy yet.” He tries to calm her with a thinner-gloved hand and steps in without my offer to enter, but bows his head respectfully again. “Lady, the Master d’Este sent for me to train this peregrine as your personal gaming bird.”
I blink at the beautiful statuesque creature held high on his strong arm.
He mistakes my hesitation, and with a flush, removes his light cap and takes it in a hasty bunch to his chest. “I beg your pardon, lady, I should have introduced myself. Niccolo, at your service.” His pointed ears protrude from his scraggly hair, giving him an elfish look.
“Thank you, Niccolo. I’m just overwhelmed with this gracious gift. He’s a magnificent specimen.”
Niccolo beams. “She. I climbed and took her from the nest myself.”
“What do I do with her, though?” I try to walk toward her, but she senses my approach and begins flapping again frantically.
“Why don’t we start out on the balcony?” He heads toward the open narrow doors and leans on the stone wall.
I stand at a distance as he grips her tethers tight and removes the hood. She cries meekly as she futilely flaps and tries to pull her steel claws free. I gasp when I see that her large eyes are half-sewn shut.
“What has happened to her eyes?”
“That is part of her training—was fully sealed up until a week ago. I’ve had her in the dark for months. She’s just getting used to her sight again.”
“Why would you restrict her sight?”
“She would never relax enough to get used to my handling. I seal her up and carry her in a nice quiet place until she calms. Then I remove half the stitches and calm her all over again. She’s ready now to begin to get used to you.” He pulls out a glove from the pouch at his side.
My small hand disappears inside the stiffest leather I’d ever put on—like putting on a giant’s petrified hand. Niccolo makes a motion for me to lift my arm, a challenge due to the heaviness.
He gathers the tethers in one hand. “Hold on tight to these or else we’d never get Fia back.”
“Fia,” I repeat softly to her.
I grab the tethers as tight as I can in the unyielding glove, and the bird’s weight makes me drop my hand on top of the wall for support. Niccolo steadies the bird immediately, and the bird blinks its already squinted eyes. Once he feels I’ve secured her, he brings out a small pair of shears and slowly cuts the last stitches and pulls each one out. She stretches her eyes wide with forgotten freedom, and I drift into her golden bright eyes, eyes that seem to see far more than humans give them credit for.
“Now let her feel your control, and show her that you’re her mistress.”
I nod partially and stare at the buckles on her tethers, the supple leather suffocating her mighty talons; stone-like talons hurting my forearm even through the hardened glove. The sleek curves of her beak lead to a glorious dagger, which opens with a sweet little peep. Her feathers all lay silken like a fur painted by a master.
“Will we be letting her fly today?”
He shakes his head and leans his elbows on the ledge. “No, she won’t fly for some time. I’ll come daily and let you carry her out here until she adjusts to you. Only when she’s completely accepted your control will we let her out on a long leash.”
I don’t want to be anyone’s captor.
“Niccolo, I feel a chill in the air. Will you be so kind to fetch my maid to bring me my favorite cape?”
He bows his head immediately and reaches his arm out to take the falcon back, but I put my
free hand up to stop him. “I have a secure hold.”
He nods again and leaves the balcony on light feet. I watch her beak carefully as I slowly reach my other hand to release the buckle. She doesn’t even notice the freedom, allowing me to quickly undo the other one. Fia studies me and turns her head so that each eye can look through me. Each one has the faintest spark, the dwindling soul-fire yet to be extinguished.
“Go!” I flip my free hand slightly, but she only hops up my arm.
“Go!” I shout. “Be free!”
This time the bird hops into the air, reaches up its suddenly powerful wings, and flies off to the lush forest surrounding the palace. A tight smile brings with it tears, as I wish it could always be this easy. Niccolo closes the door to my suite, and I quickly wipe the shallow tears away. His face falls once he sees the flaccid tethers hanging in my glove.
“How—” But he can’t find any respectful words, so he chews on his lower lip and turns to search the sky behind him.
“I saw that the tethers seemed too tight, and I only went to loosen them—”
He spins around again and stares out to a small spot disappearing by the seconds.
“Won’t she come back?” I pretend.
“She is gone completely.” He lets out a hot breath and pulls all his restraint to force a humble bow. “You must excuse me, lady.”
I hold back a smile and nod, then look back into the spotless sky. My maid rushes out with my cloak, and I shake off the glove with the tethers.
“What shall I do with these?” she asks.
I drape the cloak on and brush the whole last hour away with my arm.
“I’m so sick of tethered things.”
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My maid informs me that I have to dress for a ball that night—the last thing I want to do. I know from the signs I’m at least two months pregnant, and I feel like sleeping all day. I have to wear one of my finest dresses. It’s become an unspoken competition between Isabella and me to be told we’re the most beautiful in the room. I dress in the blue gown I married Alfonso of Aragon in, and I go down late, after most of the guests are already in the ballroom. I peer in from behind the lush gold velvet curtains with red silk pom-pom trim and see Isabella in a new purple silk dress. She looks heavenly, and I know she has found a more beautiful dress than mine. I have an idea. I take the silver-jeweled lit candelabrum and sweep into the room at the end of the song. All eyes gaze upon me, and I can tell I’m illuminated in the dim room. Everyone turns and gasps at my glowing golden hair and sparkling pearls and rubies in the crown in my hair.
