Light on Lucrezia (18 page)

Sanchia put her arm about Lucrezia. “My dear sister,” she said, “you are overwrought. They will be here soon … and if he lives through this night … we will save him. You and I together.”

When the physicians came Sanchia drew Lucrezia to a corner of the room while Alfonso’s wounds were dressed and the ambassador looked on.

Sanchia’s voice was cold and angry as she whispered: “Lucrezia, you understand what this means … all that this means?”

“I heard his words,” Lucrezia replied.

“We have to fight
him!
We have to fight your brother and my lover for Alfonso’s life.”

“I know it.”

“They would have taken him to the Tiber, as they did your brother Giovanni. It is the same method … so successful before. Thank God it failed this time.”

“Thank God,” whispered Lucrezia.

“There will be other attempts.”

“They shall not succeed,” declared Lucrezia fiercely.

“The Pope understands. That is why he insists on the Neapolitan ambassador’s watching the dressing of the wounds. He does not want it said that poison was inserted into his blood by the Papal doctors. You love him, do you not? He is your husband and should be more to you than any other. Can I trust you with my little brother?”

“Can I trust
you
with my husband?”

Then they began to cry and comforted each other, until Sanchia said: “It is not the time for tears. If he recovers we will have a stove brought into this room, and all that he eats shall be prepared by us. We will stand guard over him, Lucrezia … my little brother, your beloved husband.”

“It is wonderful, Sanchia,” said Lucrezia, “at such a time to have someone whom one can trust.”

“I feel that too,” answered Sanchia.

In the streets
the people stood in little groups, discussing the attempt on the life of Alfonso of Bisceglie. In the Vatican there was much whispering and hurrying to and fro.

In the sick-room Alfonso hovered between life and death, and two women with a fierce fanaticism in their eyes stood guard over him. In a corner of that room two beds had been placed, although they were not occupied at the same time. When Sanchia slept Lucrezia was on guard and Lucrezia slumbered while Sanchia watched Alfonso. They had had a field-stove brought into the apartment in readiness, to prepare his food.

Sanchia had demanded that the guards placed outside the apartment should be those whom she was sure she could trust—members of her own household and her brother’s. She sent messages to her uncle, King Federico, telling him what happened, and as a result Messer Galeano da Anna, a noted
Neapolitan surgeon, arrived in the company of Messer Clemente Gactula, Federico’s own physician.

By this time it seemed almost certain that Alfonso would live, and now that he was well enough to realize that either Lucrezia or Sanchia was constantly with him and that his doctors were those sent by his uncle, he felt a new confidence and with this came a new strength.

The Pope was a little irritated by his daughter’s desertion of his own sick-room for that of her husband. He hinted that it was a little melodramatic of the two women to watch over Alfonso as though his life were still in danger.

But Alexander was worried. He was fully aware who was responsible for the attack, and this meant that he could only pretend that he wanted his son-in-law’s would-be murderers brought to justice.

It was said in the Vatican and in the streets that if Alfonso recovered from this attack it would not be long before he met with another, for it was clear that Cesare Borgia, the dreaded Il Valentino, was behind this attempt on his life.

They were very anxious days for Lucrezia. How could she help recalling that period of great anguish when she had learned that her lover’s body had been found in the Tiber? She knew who had arranged poor Pedro’s death. It was the same one who had tried to strike down Alfonso.

Sometimes Alfonso would call out in his sleep and she would rush to his bedside to soothe him. She knew that his nightmares were always of threatening danger, and there was one name which he never failed to whisper—Cesare!

Lucrezia decided that she must see her brother; she must make him understand how devotedly she loved Alfonso. Cesare loved her. Had they not always been close? Surely he could not continue to plot Alfonso’s death if he understood how much she loved her husband.

She left Sanchia with Alfonso and went to Cesare’s apartments.

Her brother’s eyes shone with mingled affection and speculation. “My dearest sister, it is rarely that you have given me this pleasure of late.”

“I have been nursing my husband.”

“Ah, yes. And how fares he?”

“He will live, Cesare, if his attacker does not make another and successful attempt.”

“How could that be while his two guardian angels watch over him?” said Cesare lightly. “You look tired, my beloved. You should rest. Or better still, ride with me. What say you … out to Monte Mario?”

“No, Cesare. I must go back to my husband.”

He took the back of her neck in his hands and squeezed gently. “Have you no time for your family?”

“Our father is well again,” she said; “you do not need me, and my husband has been wounded nigh to death. Oh Cesare!” Her voice broke suddenly. “There is a great deal of scandalous talk. People say …” She faltered, and his hands on her neck tightened. He put his face close to hers, and the gleam in his eyes frightened her.

“What do people say?” he demanded.

“They say that he who was behind the killing of the Duke of Gandia was behind the attempted killing of Alfonso.”

She lifted her face and forced herself to look into his eyes.

“Cesare,” she insisted, “what have you to say to that?”

She saw his mouth tighten; she was aware of the intense cruelty in that face, as he answered brutally: “If it was so, there is no doubt that he had his reasons; and I am certain that your little husband deserved his wounds.”

She had been trying to tell herself, against her better judgment, that it could not be Cesare, but she found it impossible to deceive herself longer.

Cesare pulled her to him, his fingers still on her neck, and she suddenly felt that he saw her as a kitten, a pretty playful kitten whose charming ways delighted him when he deigned to be amused by them. He kissed her. “You must not tire yourself,” he said. “But I shall not insist on your riding with me today. I would have you come of your own free will.”

“That will be when Alfonso is quite well,” she answered firmly, disengaging herself.

“In the meantime,” he said, “you and the militant Sanchia will guard him well, knowing that what fails at noon may be successful at night.”

She lowered her eyes and did not answer. Her throat was constricted with an emotion which she ascribed to fear.

Back in the apartment she consulted Sanchia.

“I have been with Cesare, and I know that he will not rest until he has killed Alfonso.”

“I know it too,” replied Sanchia.

“He will make another attempt, Sanchia. What can we do?”

“We are here to prevent that attempt.”

“Is it possible, Sanchia?”

“I do not think,” said Sanchia, “that while you and I are near any will come to attack him. Cesare is suspect. If any were taken in the act and put to the Question they might confess. A confession involving Cesare would not please him.”

“But, knowing Cesare is involved, my father would never allow the murderers to be brought to justice.”

“It would be difficult to murder Alfonso here in the Vatican itself. No, I believe they will wait until he is well, and then they will lure him to some lonely spot. They will attack then. It is later that we have to fear such an attack. What we must guard against now is poison.”

“Sanchia, I am frightened. I see shadows all about me. It is like being alone in the dark when I was very young and peering into the shadows, waiting for wild beasts and ghosts to spring at me.”

“There is a vast difference,” said Sanchia grimly. “These are not ghosts.”

“Sanchia, we must get him out of Rome.”

“I have been turning over plans in my mind for days.”

“Can we do it?”

“We will. As soon as he is well we will have him smuggled out of Rome. We’ll disguise him as one of the chamberlains and send him with a letter which I will write to my uncle Federico. We will do it, Lucrezia.”

“Thank you, Sanchia, thank you for all you have done for my husband.”

“Who,” Sanchia reminded her, “is also my brother. Listen, Lucrezia. When the doctors come tomorrow we will consult with them. You know that little hunchback from Alfonso’s household?”

“He who loves Alfonso so much, and has waited outside this room ever since it happened?”

Sanchia nodded. “We can trust him. He will be able to have horses ready, and as soon as Alfonso’s wounds are healed, he shall escape. Tomorrow we will begin preparations to put the plan into action.”

She sat by
Alfonso’s bed, holding his hand. He had just awakened from one of his nightmares.

She put her face close to his. “Alfonso, my dearest, all is well. It is I … Lucrezia.”

He opened his blue eyes and she felt a surge of tenderness, for he looked very like little Roderigo.

“Lucrezia,” he murmured, “stay close.”

“I am here. I shall remain here. Try to sleep, my darling.”

“I am afraid of sleep. I dream, Lucrezia.”

“I know, my love.”

“He is always there … in my dreams. He bends over me … that cruel smile on his lips … that gleam in his eyes, and his sword raised. There is blood on that sword, Lucrezia. Not my blood. His brother’s blood.…”

“You distress yourself.”

“But he will not rest until he is rid of me, Lucrezia. He is your brother and you have loved him. You have loved him too much. Your father protects him. You all protect him.”

“I have one thought only, Alfonso—to protect you, to make you well. Listen, my dearest, there are plans afoot. As soon as you are well enough you are going to slip away from Rome.”

“And you?”

“I shall follow you.”

“Come with me, Lucrezia.”

“And our baby?”

“We must all go together. No more separations.”

She thought, the three of us to escape; that would not be easy. But she would not disturb him now by pointing out the difficulties. Let him dream of their escape. Let him replace his nightmare with that happy dream.

“The three of us,” she said. “We will go together.”

“I long for that night. ’Twill be at night, will it not? You and I … and the child, riding away to safety, Lucrezia. When … 
when
?”

“When you are well enough.”

“But it will take so long.”

“No. Your wounds are healing. You are very healthy, they tell me. Your blood is good. Few would have recovered as quickly as you have. It will not be long now. Think of it, Alfonso. Think of it all the time.”

He did think of it; and when he slept there was a happy smile on his lips.

Alfonso was now
able to walk about the apartment. He would sit on the balcony overlooking the Vatican gardens, and feel the warm sun on his face. The doctors said that he would soon be ready to sit his horse.