Light on Lucrezia (13 page)

Lucrezia read the letter through several times; she wept over it; and she was still reading it when the Pope was announced.

He would not let her rise; he came to her bedside and taking her in his arms, pressed passionate kisses upon her.

He dismissed her women, and then she saw how angered he was by the flight of Alfonso.

“He is a young fool, a frightened young fool,” stormed Alexander; and Lucrezia was aware then that Alexander had lost some of that magnificent calm which had been his chief weapon in the days of his early triumphs. “Why does he run away from a young and beautiful wife like you?”

“He has not run from me, Father.”

“All will say he has run from you. Giovanni Sforza will be amused, I doubt not, and make sure that the whole world is aware of his amusement. And you to have his child in three months! The young idiot has no sense of the position he holds through marriage into our family.”

“Father, dearest and Most Holy Father, do not judge him harshly.”

“He has hurt you, my child, I would judge any harshly who did that.”

“Father, what do you propose to do?”

“Bring him back. I have already sent soldiers after him. I trust that they will soon restore the foolish boy to us.”

“He is uneasy, Father.”

“Uneasy! What right has he to be uneasy? Has he not been treated as one of us?”

“Father, there is trouble brewing. Cesare’s friendship with the French …”

“My little Lucrezia, you must not bother this golden head with such unsuitable matters. It was meant to delight the eye, not muse on politics. This husband of yours has wandered into a maze of misunderstanding because he
thought he understood matters which are beyond his comprehension. It is that sister of his and her friends, I doubt not. I trust they have not contaminated
you
with their foolish notions.”

“Would these notions be so foolish, Father, if there were war with the French?”

“Have no fear. I would always protect you. And I will bring your husband back to you. This is what you want, is it not?”

Lucrezia nodded. She had begun to cry and although she knew that the Pope hated tears she could not suppress hers.

“Come, dry your eyes,” he begged; and as she moved to obey him, Alfonso’s letter, which had been beneath the bed covering, was exposed and the Pope saw it.

He picked it up. Lucrezia hastily took it from him. Alexander’s expression showed that he was a little hurt, and Lucrezia said quickly: “It is a letter from Alfonso.”

“Written since he went away?”

“He wrote it before he went and sent a messenger back with it. It explains why he has gone and … and …”

The Pope clearly longed to lay hands on the letter, and waited for his daughter to show it to him; but when Lucrezia did not, he was too clever a diplomatist to demand it and perhaps be refused. He did not want any unpleasantness with Lucrezia, and he knew now that her husband considered himself his enemy; therefore Lucrezia would be urged in two directions. The Pope was determined to keep his hold on his daughter and knew that he could best do this by continuing to be her benevolent and understanding father.

“I wonder he did not take you with him,” said Alexander. “He professes to love you dearly, yet he leaves you.”

“It is because of the child I carry. He feared that the journey must be made in such haste that harm might come to me and the child.”

“Yet he decides to leave you!”

“He wants me to join him as soon as possible in Naples.”

The hardening of the Pope’s mouth was not perceptible to Lucrezia. Alexander was determined Lucrezia should never be allowed to leave her father for her husband.

He hesitated for a few seconds, then he said: “He cannot be as anxious
for your condition as I am. But perhaps he is young and does not realize that child-bearing can be a hazardous experience. I should not allow you, my dearest, to travel so far until your child is born.”

Their eyes met, and Alexander knew then that Lucrezia was no longer a child, and that he had underestimated her. She knew of the existence of rivalries; she was fully aware of the possessive nature of his love for her, and that Alfonso had every reason to mistrust his intentions toward him.

Lucrezia began to cry once more. She could not stop the tears. They were tears of misery and helplessness.

And Alexander, who could not bear tears, kissed her forehead lightly and went quietly away.

Alfonso reached Naples and, in spite of the fact that the Pope demanded that he return at once, he refused to do so; nor would his uncle, King Federico, give him up.

This infuriated the Pope who knew that the whole of Italy would be aware that Alfonso had good reason for being afraid, since he was prepared to leave a wife with whom, it was common knowledge, he was deeply in love.

Alexander had been suffering from fainting fits more frequently during the last year, and there were occasions when the purple blood would flood his face, when the veins would knot at his temples and he would find it difficult to regain that composure which he knew was one of his greatest assets.

This was one of the occasions when he found it impossible to remain calm.

He sent for Sanchia and told her that she might prepare to leave at once for Naples; since the King was determined to retain her brother he could have her also.

Sanchia was astounded. She had no wish to leave Rome, and she immediately made this clear to the Pope.

He did not look at her, and his voice was cold. “We are not discussing your wishes, but mine,” he told her.

“Holiness, my place is here with my husband.”

“Your place is where I say it shall be.”

“Most Holy Lord, I beg of you, consider this.”

“I have already considered, and this is my decision.”

Sanchia lost her temper. “I refuse to go,” she said.

“Then,” reiterated the Pope, “it will be necessary to remove you by force.”

Gone was the urbane charmer of women. Her beauty meant nothing to him. She had never believed this would be possible.

She cried out in humiliated rage: “If I go, I shall take Goffredo with me.”

“Goffredo remains in Rome.”

“And Lucrezia!” she cried. “I shall take Lucrezia and Goffredo with me. They’ll come. Lucrezia longs to join her husband. If my place is in Naples, then so is hers.”

And with a certain satisfaction, for she saw that she had alarmed him, she left him.

Outside the Palace of Santa Maria in Portico a brilliant cortège was preparing to leave. There were forty-three coaches, and among them a splendid litter with embroidered mattresses of crimson satin and a canopy of damask. This was to carry Lucrezia, and had been designed by the Pope himself to afford the utmost comfort to a pregnant woman during a long and tedious journey.

Now Lucrezia was reclining in the litter, and Goffredo had mounted his horse; together at the head of the cortège they would ride out of Rome for Spoleto.

Standing in the Benediction loggia was Alexander himself, determined to see the last of his daughter before she left Rome; his smile was tender and full of affection and he raised his hand three times to bless them before they departed.

Lucrezia was glad to leave Rome. The past few days had been very uneasy. Sanchia had been forced to return to Naples very much against her will, and Lucrezia was aware that this journey to Spoleto was being undertaken because her father feared that Lucrezia and Goffredo might escape him and join their husband and wife in Naples.

They were in benign and tender custody; there was no doubt of it. Surrounding them were attendants who had sworn they would not let them out of their sight, and who would have to answer to the Pope if they escaped.

The Pope had told Lucrezia of this journey she was to make to Spoleto. She was his beloved daughter, he said, and he wished to do honor to her. He was going to make her Governor of Spoleto and Foligno, a position which usually fell to the lot of Cardinals or high-raking priests. But he wanted all the
world to know that he respected his daughter as deeply as he loved her; and that was why he was going to invest her with this duty.

Lucrezia knew that this was but half the reason. He was afraid she would run away, and he could not have borne that; he did not wish to make her his prisoner in Rome. So he made her his prisoner in Spoleto. There she would live in what was tantamount to a fortress, and Spoleto—being a hundred and fifty miles north—put a greater distance between Lucrezia and Alfonso than there would have been had she remained in Rome.

She knew too that her continual tears wearied him. He wanted her to laugh a great deal, to sing to him, to amuse him; he could not endure tears.

The journey was arduous, and it took six days to reach Spoleto. There was much discomfort to be faced for one in her condition, even in her crimson mattressed litter and the satin palanquin which the Pope had had the foresight to equip with a footstool.

Yet she was happier than she had been since she heard of Alfonso’s departure, because her father had told her that he would do all in his power to bring her husband to her, and he doubted not that he would bring about this happy state of affairs within a few weeks by sending Alfonso along to Spoleto to keep her company.

It was impossible to doubt Alexander’s ability to achieve what he set out to do, and she believed that before long Alfonso really would be with her.

And when they crossed the meadows and she saw the great castle, dour and formidable, standing high above the town, she felt as though she were going to a real prison; but, she told herself, if Alfonso should join her there, she would be a very happy prisoner.

In the town the citizens were waiting to greet her; they had crowded into the streets to see her entry in her litter under the canopy of gold damask. They were all eagerness to gape at this Lucrezia Borgia of whom they had heard such tales, both shocking and romantic.

Smiling she was carried under the arches of flowers, and listened with intent pleasure—in spite of her weariness—to the speeches of welcome. Although it was early in the afternoon when she reached Spoleto she did not pass between the Torretta and Spiritata Tower until the sun was about to set.

Inside the castle she was taken into the court of honor with its many arcades, where she handed the briefs, given her by the Pope, to the dignitaries
assembled there. She listened to more speeches; she was acclaimed as Governor of Spoleto; and while she listened and smiled so charmingly on all, she was praying: “Holy Mother of God, send Alfonso to me here.”

She would stand at a window, looking down on the town or across the ravine to Monte Luco, watching for Alfonso.

Several weeks passed; August was over. It was September, and in November her baby was due to be born.

She thought of Alfonso constantly; she longed for him. And one day in the middle of the month her women aroused her from her sleep, and she heard the trills of joy in their voices. She had not time to rise from her bed before the door was flung open and Alfonso had her in his arms.

They clung together, speechlessly, while Lucrezia’s trembling hands examined his face as though to assure herself that he was Alfonso in the flesh and not some phantom, conjured up in a dream.

“Alfonso,” she murmured at last. “So … you have come.”

He was a little shamefaced at first. “Lucrezia, I don’t know how I could have left you, but I thought it best. I thought …”

She was never one for recriminations. “Perhaps it was for the best,” she said; and now that he was with her, she wanted to forget that he had ever left her.

“Lucrezia, I thought you would join me. Had I known we should be separated so long I would never have gone.”

“It is over. We are together again,” she told him. “Oh, Alfonso, my beloved husband, I believe I shall never again allow you to pass out of my sight.”

Food was brought to them and eaten on Lucrezia’s bed. There was laughter in the apartment. Some of the noblemen and ladies came in and danced there, and while Lucrezia played her lute, Alfonso sang. They were together again, their hands clinging at odd moments, as though they were determined never more to be parted.

The lovers were
happy in Spoleto. Alfonso was with her and it was not in either of their natures to alarm themselves by thought of what the future might hold. The Pope had made it possible for them to enjoy this happiness and they accepted him as their loving father.

They consequently did not allow the fact that the French had invaded Italy to worry them. They heard that Ludovico, unable to get help from his ally Maximilian Emperor of Austria, who was fighting the Swiss, had fled from Milan, taking his brother Ascanio with him, and leaving Milan open to the French. Brilliant politician though Ludovico was, he was no fighter, as he had shown during the previous invasion; he could plan, but he needed military leadership if those plans were to be carried out. It seemed as though Louis was going to have a victory as easy as that of Charles a few years earlier.

There came news which did arouse the lovers from their passionate devotion. Cesare was in Milan.