by L. E. Waters
I see Isabella’s face as a horde of men make their way to me, trying to engage me in conversation, and it’s priceless. After a dozen dances with the many handsome poets and painters invited to Isabella’s event, we sit down to dinner. Alfonso’s nowhere to be seen, and I’m just as glad not to have to witness him sitting there in pain all night. Isabella’s two seats away from me, but she speaks loudly for my benefit.
“Cesare Borgia is a snake. He has crawled in on his belly to sink his teeth into the Duke of Urbino and taken his dukedom.”
I say nothing, which provokes her further.
“Lady Lucrezia Borgia”—she never calls me Lucrezia d’Este—“you stayed with my kind cousin in Urbino on your way to us, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and the duke and his family were very kind to me and my envoy.”
She turns back to her guests. “And her brother, Valentino, repays him with such brutality.”
A man states, “Valentino’s on his way to conquering Romagna. Everyone is vulnerable to his grasp. Whatever he sets his sights on, he conquers.”
A twinge of pride runs through me that Cesare has the country shaking under his thumb.
“I guess we should find some benefit to keeping Dona Borgia in Ferrara,” she throws at me.
The gentleman next to me, with whom I’ve been pleasantly conversing, snaps back, “I can count many, many more reasons to benefit,” and he kisses my hand.
“Oh, if you’re referring to her beauty, you should see how long it takes her to get that way. I grow tired of waiting for her each morning. I, on the other hand, practically wake up this way.”
The man next to her brings us back to Cesare. “I heard that the duke took the right hand and part of a man’s tongue off for spreading scandalous rumors about him!”
“I can just imagine what scandalous rumors he was spreading.” Her eyes flash at me.
“Imagine what he’d do if he heard someone spreading rumors about me?” I flash back.
She gets the message and changes the subject immediately. I’m glad to have such protection.
Once back to my room, my maids are quickly removing all my articles, when one of them gasps while closing the balcony doors.
“What is it?” I ask as I step out of my gown.
“It’s a large bird, lady!”
I rush over in my underclothes, and there Fia is, standing resolute on the stone wall. I shoo the maids back and slowly open the doors, expecting her to fly away at any moment. But she stays, and I tiptoe to the other side of the balcony and pretend not to notice her. Slowly, she hops into my peripheral vision, and my heart races when she stands right beside my arm. We stand there together until the cold becomes unbearable, and once I move, she hops back to the other wall.
The next morning, and every morning after, she is there. I save some of the meat from my breakfast, and she slowly begins to take it from my hand. By the end of the week, she even lets me touch her. After our morning hellos, she flies off again into her forest and returns again faithfully at dusk.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
I awake one morning drenched in sweat and wake Alfonso from his snoring to fetch the doctor. There’s a fever epidemic spreading through Ferrara, and I fear I have come down with it in my seventh month of pregnancy. I’m burning and shivering and start having severe spasms by nightfall. Alfonso never leaves my side. He sleeps near me and feeds me when my fever lowers. I’m surprised by his attachment and worry. Father and Cesare both send their best doctors when they receive word of my condition. Father takes this opportunity to guilt Ercole into granting two thousand more in my allowance, saying it’s the stress from not paying my debts that caused my fever. It works. I’m immediately brought up to the price my father originally fought for. Although my fever continues. Cesare sneaks in to see me on his way to visit the French king in secret, and he wears a disguise of a knight of St. John. He walks in and immediately kneels at my bed and throws his arms around me. I don’t even recognize him until he takes his armor off.
“Sister, it’s Cesare, be calm. I’m frantic to see you, and I’m glad you don’t seem as ill as I’ve been told.”
“I think I may be improving.” I try to sit up straighter. “I haven’t had a fit all day.”
“Well, that’s good news, and I brought some cheer of my own to lift your spirits.” He starts removing his gloves. “Camerino is yielding,” he says with a smile.
“I hope I live to see you King of Romagna.”
“You must, for certain. I love you more than I love myself.”
I wonder if that’s true. He stays for hours, and by the time we kiss our good-byes, I feel I’ve rebounded. But again by nightfall, my fever rises, causing me great convulsions. One particularly terrible convulsion sends my back arching, and a great pain tears down my abdomen. I scream, sure that I’m dying, but something warm and large slips out between my legs. I begin crying and motion for the doctor to see to what is born far too early. I clench my eyes, hoping to hear a cry, but none comes. I go quickly into delirium, where I have no memory.
Cesare comes rushing back to my side, cutting short his meeting with the king, and is there when I open my eyes again.
“They told me you were dying,” he says, holding my hand.
“I still might yet.” I laugh but feel it could be true.
The doctor comes in and says, “She needs to be bled, sir.”
I panic. “No I don’t want to be bled.” I remember doctors who performed it on me before.
He speaks to Cesare. “We fear she will perish without a bleeding.”
Cesare rubs my hand. “I’ll help you through it. You are strong.”
The doctor readies to slash across my forearm, and Cesare grabs my foot and pinches it hard. While I’m yelling at Cesare for doing so, the doctor makes his cut, and thanks to Cesare, I hardly register it.
He then rubs my swollen foot soothingly as the blood runs out of my arm and into the bowl it’s resting on.
“Do you know that Isabella wrote to me a few days ago?”
“If you are trying to distract me, it’s working.” I laugh.
“The plump shrew sent me a glowing letter of great praise of my and the valor of my troops at Camerino. She sent with her messenger one hundred carnival masks for us to enjoy ourselves at carnival time.”
“Why do you think she’s doing that? A month ago, she was spitting venom with your name.”
“Well, now that I’m seizing all of these kingdoms, suddenly my two-year-old daughter Luisa is very attractive to her two-year-old son.”
“Never do so. Any spawn of hers will be torture for sweet little Luisa.”
The next day, I’m much improved, and Cesare comes in to say good-bye.
“You come in and out of my life like a bird in a nest. It would be so nice to stay with you longer.”
“Illustrious but sickly sister, I have to go and conquer the world.” He puts his hat back on, laughing. We say our good-byes and give our kisses, and I watch him walk out regally. Even though he’s done me great harm indirectly, he always shows me great love. I miss him like I’ve never missed him before.
After I recuperate, I’m told it was a girl. She was buried when I was still delirious. Father sends a messenger, saying:
Lucrezia dear,
I am so ecstatic to hear you are better and making a full recovery. If I had not been so sick myself, I would have made my way to be at your side through it all. I’m sure Cesare gave you much comfort, and I heard much of your doting husband who barely left your side. It was a great loss to hear of your premature delivery and of the little angel’s passing. The only condolence that can be offered is that at least it was not male.
Always,
Your father
He always has a way of almost making me feel better but then says the wrong thing, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth.
Alfonso made a promise to God that if I lived, he’ll make a pilgrimage by foot to the Madonna d
i Loreto shrine, but as soon as I’m well, he decides to take a comfortable boat there instead.
My vow to God is that I’ll only wear grey. I do so faithfully for two months, but once Christmas arrives, I give in to indulge in my red velvet dress. I know Isabella’s getting far too much enjoyment out of my dreary attire.
Christmas morning, the news comes to Ferrara of how the former governor of Romagna is found decapitated and displayed in the piazza, his head impaled on a lance. Cesare proclaims that he carried this act out due to the improper treatment of the people of Romagna, but he writes to me another story:
Dearest Sister,
You have probably heard by now about my generous present to Romagna. Though disliked by the people, I have done away with him for personal reasons. I have found that he was plotting against me along with others, including the Orsini that plagues our lives.
I enticed the conspirators to me, closed up all ways out of my city, and locked the gates behind them. I brought the Orsini into a house where Michelotto seized and tied them up and killed them one by one, the Spanish way. I spit in each of their faces as they were turning blue, and said, “This is for Juan.”
Your faithful and devoted brother,
Duke Valentino
I try hard to believe him.
Chapter 13
Light emerges red over the dingy city as stiffened corpses float sleepily down the putrid river, mouths frozen agape with death. A gasping rattle escapes my lungs as warm little arms furiously try to keep hold of me, their terrified cries fade into the background. A ribbon-tied braid spills out of a man’s hand and falls slowly like a feather to the stone floor.
I awake with beads of sweat upon my brow and fumble for my pearl rosary in the dark. The only thing that squelches the persistent nightmares is saying a Hail Mary for each bead, and then I can return to slumber. These nightmares have cropped up just as the plague reached Ferrara, along with the knowledge of many people dying in the streets. There’s little I’m afraid of, but the Black Death makes my heart race at the very mention of it.
The only way I can sleep uninterrupted is to flee to the countryside to the Este Villa of Medelana. I bring only my household and forbid them to see anyone from outside the villa. I miss Fia, but I know she will take care of herself. One morning, my maid comes in and says that although they tried to explain to a messenger from the Vatican that we aren’t taking messages in this dreadful time of plague, he persists that he has dire news. Immediately, my thoughts go to Father.
“Let him up,” I say quickly. It feels like hours until he comes to my room.
Lady Lucrezia d’Este,
I am sorry to have sent this news out so late, but the Vatican was sealed for days due to the delicacy of the pope’s illness. Malaria has been consuming Rome this hot summer, and even though his advisors all warned His Holiness to leave to the cool hills of Alban, he dutifully said he had pressing matters to attend to in Rome. Even your corpulent nephew, Juan Borgia, died of malaria, and at the funeral, your father commented rather prophetically, “This month is fatal for fat men.”
That night, Cesare and your father dined with the Cardinal Adriano da Corneto. Late that night, your father had fits of vomiting and a high fever. At the very same time, your brother Cesare also fell extremely ill, and the two of them were in separate rooms, both fighting for their lives. His Excellency’s stomach became swollen and turned to liquid, while his face became wine-colored. Finally his stomach and bowels bled profusely. After six days of suffering, his last rites were given, and he expired on August 18th. He uttered his last words, “Wait a minute,” before expiring.
Thankfully the Duke Valentino recovered, and I am happy to deliver some good news.
Your father was entered in the crypts of St. Peters, but after Pope Pius III was sworn in, he had your father removed after his short stay and forbade the saying of mass for him, telling the public it was blasphemous to pray for the damned. Your father now lies in Santa Maria in Monse.
I know this is terrible news, and I regret to tell you in such a way, but your father requested that I inform you of all the details.
Your friend,
The Cardinal Cosenza
I wave the messenger away and fall to the floor. To know that the last two weeks he was dying a horrible death without me there ripped my heart. I hadn’t seen him in so long, and I should’ve tried to go to him more. I sit in the dark for two days, turning away all food and drink. On the third day, I bring out my black dress again and ready myself to go to Rome to fight to put Father back in St. Peter’s, where he belongs. But another messenger interrupts my packing.
Dear Sister,
I know you must be heartbroken and grieving as I am. Cardinal Cosenza has informed me that he has sent you a messenger with the news, and knowing you, I bet you are packing to come to Rome. Do not come here; it is not safe. While I was struggling to live, I got word Father was passing and his servants were already robbing his dying body. May they all go to Hell.
Too ill to go myself, I sent Don Michelotto to salvage whatever he could of Father’s treasured possessions. There was a wild scene of disorder that ensued. I scrambled to save anything I could and had to flee the Vatican to the protection of the cardinals at the Castel Sant’Angelo. Promise me you will not come to pay respects to Father. You will be in jeopardy if you do so.
Your brother,
Cesare
I send back a message.
Dearest Brother,
I am so glad that you are well, but I am distraught at the suddenness and brutality of Father’s death and burial. I will not go to Rome, but promise me you will be careful. I have raised as many ducats as I can in such short notice and will be sending you my cavalry to aid you. I will send more money as I can procure it when I get back to Ferrara.
Love and prayers for you,
Lucrezia
Alfonso is on his way home from a campaign when he hears the news. I decide to return to Ferrara, and my only solace is that Fia hasn’t given up in my absence. She’s there, preening her feathers, and peeps happily as I offer her some rabbit. I run my hand down her scale-like back and say, “Thank God I have you, my little flame.”
After declining to go to a dinner party that night with the Estes, I creep to the balcony above the dining room to hear what news people have from Rome. After some small idle chatter, my name is mentioned, and my ears perk up.
“Where is Lady Lucrezia tonight? I hear she has returned.”
“She is grieving in her room,” Ercole answers.
“I understand she must be beside herself with all of the horrors she must have gotten wind of.”
“Do tell, what kinds of horrors are you referring to?” Isabella inquires.
“Well, Pope Alexander VI’s terrible death, to start. People who went to his viewing said they had never seen such a terrible state of decomposition only days after death.”
“Some have said his face was a ghastly color of over-ripened mulberry, and his tongue was doubled its size and not able to fit within his also swollen lips,” another chimes in.
I fight back the bile rising in my throat in order to continue listening to what everyone’s talking about behind my back.
“That’s nothing compared to unusual swelling of his already opulent belly. They say he swelled as wide as he was long!”
“Yes, I’d heard that the swelling caused great trouble for the undertakers, since they couldn’t fit him into the largest coffin. They had to jump on the bloated body to jam it into the coffin, which made it spew sulfurous gasses out of every orifice!”
Isabella as well as a few of the others speaking laugh at this part, and I turn to leave, not wanting to hear any more about my father’s end.
Yet Ercole changes the subject slightly. “I have heard a rumor that they thought, due to the strange decomposition and parallel illness of Cesare, it might have been poison.”
Whomever he had been speaking to laughs. “Indeed, there has been discussion o
f poison since they got ill after dining, but many are suspecting that Duke Valentino and Alexander mistakenly poisoned each other while attempting to poison the cardinal!”
Some gasp at this idea, and I know it’s lies, and I walk back to the comfortable isolation of my room. When news comes of Pius’s death, I know things will worsen for Cesare when I hear who has replaced him.
A messenger comes from Sancia.
Dearest Lucrezia,
I wish this was another letter about how Rodrigo is growing and becoming handsomer by the day, but unfortunately I have more bad news to deliver. Pope Julius II’s army captured Michelotto and Cesare’s cavalry on December 1st. He wrote to Cesare that he couldn’t wait to torture his infamous henchman to derive such “political skills” to gain for his own personal use. Cesare, enraged by his threat, promised that he would negotiate, but once his messenger arrived, he had him beaten and dangled from one of the fortresses’ turrets. Furious, Julius had Cesare locked in the same tower Cesare had my poor brother murdered in. A week later, he was sent to a prison in Spain.
Even though I will always harbor a deep hatred for Cesare and feel that this is what he is due for all of the harm he has done to so many, I know you love him and would want to hear of his imprisonment.
