Light on Lucrezia (25 page)

“Oh Father,” she said impulsively, “perhaps after all this marriage will bring no happiness to me.”

He caught her hand and kissed it. “It will bring great happiness, my Duchess. You have nothing to fear. You can trust me to care for Roderigo, for is he not your son! Does he not belong to us?”

“Father …” she faltered.

But he interrupted her. “You think that perhaps I shall not always be here.”

“Do not speak of such a thing. It is more than I can bear.”

He laughed. “Your father is an old man, Lucrezia. He is close to seventy years of age. Few live as long, and those who do cannot hope for much longer.”

“We cannot think of it,” she cried. “We dare not think of it. When we were little, it was you … Uncle Roderigo then … from whom all blessings flowed. It has not changed. Father, if you died, what would become of us? We should be only half alive, I believe.”

He enjoyed such talk. He knew that it was not flattery; there was no hyperbole … or perhaps but a little. They did need him—now as they always had. His delicate Lucrezia, his strong Cesare.

“I am strong and have much life in me yet,” he said. “But, my dearest, to satisfy you, the little one shall have another guardian besides myself. What think you of our kinsman, Francesco Borgia? The Cardinal is gentle; he loves you; he loves the child. Would you feel happier then, Lucrezia?”

“I would trust Francesco,” she said.

“Then so shall it be.”

He took her hand and noticed that it was trembling. “Lucrezia,” he said, “you are no longer a child. I shall be making a short tour of the territories very soon. I am going to leave you in charge, to take over my secular duties.”

She was aghast. “But … I am a woman, and this is a task for your most important Cardinals.”

“I would show them all that my daughter is equal to any task with which, as a Borgia, she may be faced.”

She smiled tremulously; she knew that he understood her fears of the new life which was stretching out before her. He wanted her to prove herself; he wanted to inspire her with the courage she would need.

He loved her with a devotion as great as he could feel for any and she loved him. She loved him fiercely, passionately; and she asked herself then: Is there some curse on us Borgias, that our love must be of such an intensity that there comes a point in our lives when we must turn from it, fly from it?

Rome was gay;
the streets were crowded, everyone in the City wished to catch a glimpse of Lucrezia on her way to Santa Maria del Popolo, where she was going to give thanks because the Duke of Ferrara had at last signed the marriage contract between herself and his heir, Alfonso.

The Pope had wanted to make a grand occasion of this and, with that
Borgian love of showmanship, he had arranged a pageant to dazzle even the eyes of Romans. As with all these spectacles the occasion was not only serious but gay, not only a solemn ceremony, but a masquerade. The cannons of St. Angelo were booming, and the bells were ringing all over the seven hills of Rome. Lucrezia, glittering with jewels, her dress trimmed with gold and precious stones, the net which held her hair being composed of gold and jewels, rode in triumph through the streets; with her were the ladies and noblemen of her court, three hundred in all, together with the ambassadors of Spain and France.

The people crowded about the doorway of the church as Lucrezia entered and made her way to Alexander’s impressive marble tabernacle where she knelt to thank God for bringing this great honor to her.

Her secular regency during Alexander’s absence had been a great success; she had dealt with all matters which were not ecclesiastical, and the Cardinals had all been astonished by her gravity and grasp of affairs.

For the first time in her life Lucrezia had been aware of responsibility, and she enjoyed the experience. Cardinal Giorgio Costa, who was eighty-five, had made himself her adviser in particular and delighting in her youth had done a great deal to make the regency a success. It seemed impossible for these Cardinals, when they contemplated this serenely beautiful girl who so desired to please and listened so gravely to their advice, to believe those evil rumors they had heard concerning her. When the Pope returned he was immediately aware of the respect she had won, and knew that it had been a masterly stroke of his to appoint Lucrezia Regent.

Now she came out of the church. It was growing dusk and as she rode back to the Vatican the people shouted: “Long live the Duchess of Ferrara! Long live Alexander VI!”

As soon as it was dark the firework display began; and Lucrezia’s dwarfs, all brilliantly clad, ran through the crowds, shouting “Long live the Duchess of Ferrara!” and singing songs about her virtue and her beauty.

The people, who loved a spectacle of this nature more than anything, were quite ready to forget old scandals and cry aloud “Long live the virtuous Duchess of Ferrara!”

The Pope was in the center of the celebrations, presiding over the banquet, making sure that the ambassadors and all those emissaries from foreign courts should know how he esteemed his daughter; this was a mark of his affection; it was also a warning to the Estes of how great his wrath would be
if they attempted to slide out of their agreement or, when his daughter arrived in Ferrara, they did not give her all the respect due to their Duchess.

And the next day, after the traditional custom, Lucrezia gave her dress to her jester, who put it on and rode through the city, shouting “Hurrah for the Duchess of Ferrara!” The crowds followed him, shrieking with delight to see the fool so clad, making obscene gestures to the “bride”; all of which was watched by Lucrezia and the Pope with great amusement.

Now that the marriage agreement was signed by Ercole there was one matter which the Pope had long wished to settle and at this time felt he was able to do so. He sent for Lucrezia one day and, when she came to him and he had received her with his usual affection, he dismissed all attendants and said to her: “My daughter, I have something to show you!”

She was expecting a jewel, some piece of rich brocade, some article which was to be yet another wedding present for her, but she was mistaken.

The Pope went to the door of an ante-room and spoke to someone who was waiting there. “You may go,” he said. “I will take the child.”

Then he returned to Lucrezia and he was holding by the hand a beautiful little boy aged about three years.

As Lucrezia stared at the child she felt the blood rush to her face. Those beautiful dark eyes were like a pair she had once known, and memory came rushing back to her. She was in the convent of San Sisto where a dark-eyed Spaniard had visited her—handsome, charming, passionate.

“Yes,” said the Pope, “it is he.”

Lucrezia knelt down and would have taken the boy into her arms, but he drew back, watching her solemnly, a little distrustful, bewildered.

Lucrezia thought: And how could it be otherwise? It is three years since he was born … and all those years he has not seen his mother.

“Come, my little man,” said the Pope. “What have you to say to the beautiful lady?”

“She is beautiful,” said the boy, putting out a brown finger to touch the jewels on Lucrezia’s fingers. He put his face down to those hands and made little clucking sounds of pleasure. He liked the smell of musk with which she scented her hands.

“Look at me, little one,” said Lucrezia, “not at my trinkets.”

Then the solemn eyes surveyed her cautiously, and she was unable to resist taking him into her arms and covering his face with kisses.

The Pope looked on, benign and happy. His greatest joy was in bringing pleasure to his loved ones; and this little boy—like most children and especially those who had Borgia blood in their veins—had immediately captivated him.

“Please,” said the boy, “I do not like being kissed.”

That amused the Pope. “Later you will, my son,” he cried. “Later you will not spurn the kisses of beautiful women.”

“Don’t like to be kissed,” reiterated the boy.

“Have you not been kissed much?” asked Lucrezia.

He shook his head.

“I think I should be tempted to kiss you often,” she told him; which made him move hastily away from her and closer to the Pope.

“Little Giovanni likes his new home, does he not?” asked the Pope.

Little Giovanni’s eyes lighted as he looked up into the impressive countenance, which might have been terrifying, but which was redeemed by that beautiful expression which enchanted young and old.

“Giovanni wants to stay with the Holy Father,” he said.

Alexander’s lips twitched with pleasure and emotion; the white hands caressed the child’s thick curly hair. “Then you shall, my son, you shall, for His Holiness is as delighted with Giovanni as Giovanni is with His Holiness.”

“Holiness, Holiness,” chanted Giovanni.

“Come,” said the Pope, “tell the lady your name.”

“It is Giovanni.”

“Giovanni what?”

“Giovanni Borgia.”

“Borgia indeed! Never forget that. It is the most important part. There are thousands of Giovannis in Italy, but few Borgias; and that is the name you will be proud to bear.”

“Borgia …!” repeated Giovanni.

“Oh Giovanni,” cried Lucrezia, “did you mind leaving your old home?”

Giovanni’s eyes clouded slightly. “This is a better one,” he said.

“Of a certainty it is,” said the Pope. “It contains His Holiness and the beautiful Madonna Lucrezia.”

“Madonna Lucrezia,” murmured the boy almost shyly.

Alexander picked him up and kissed him.

“There,” he said. “You have seen him.”

“He is to stay here now?”

The Pope nodded. “He shall stay with his Holy Father who loves him, for that is what he wishes.”

Giovanni nodded gravely.

“Now we will return him to his nursery, and then you and I will have a little talk. I would wish you to see how happy he is there, and how well he gets on with his little friend and kinsman.”

So, carrying young Giovanni, the Pope led the way to the nursery, where little Roderigo was seated on the floor playing with bricks which he was trying to build into a tower. When he saw Lucrezia he got to his feet and came stumbling toward her.

She lifted him in her arms and he showed no resentment at her kisses. Then he pointed to Giovanni and said: “Giovanni.”

Lucrezia’s voice was broken with emotion as she said: “So you love little Giovanni?”

“Big Giovanni,” Roderigo reminded her; then his attention was caught by the great ruby she wore in her necklace, and his fingers closed over it and his big eyes started in wonder.

She hugged him and felt the tears rushing to her eyes.

Alexander saw them and said: “Let us leave the children with their nurses. I have something to say to you.”

So they left the nursery and Alexander put his arm about her as he led her back to his apartment.

“You see,” he told her. “I kept my promise. I have sent for him that he may be brought up as one of us.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I fear I let this break upon you too suddenly. I should have prepared you. But I hoped to give you a great pleasure, and I could not keep the treat hidden any longer. He is a beautiful boy—already I see the Borgia in him.”

She turned to him suddenly and threw herself into his arms. “I’m sorry, Father, but it brings it all back … so vividly.”

He stroked her hair gently. “I know, my beloved. I saw that in your face. And these tears of yours are tears of joy, are they not. You see the boy has been well looked after. You need never worry on that score. I shall give him an estate and titles. He shall be as one of us. Have no fear for his future, Lucrezia. It is in my hands.”

She kissed those hands. “The kindest and most capable hands in the world,” she murmured.

“Their greatest joy is in making happiness for my dear daughter.”

“But Father, he is my son, even as Roderigo is, and it saddens me to have to leave them.”

“True, you cannot take them with you into Ferrara; but you know they are safe here.”

“You wanted your children to grow up round you, Father. I want the same.”

He was silent. “I know this.” Then he smiled brilliantly. “Why should you not have them with you … in time, eh, Lucrezia? I know that you are full of wiles; you are charming and beautiful. When you wanted something of me, did you not invariably get it? Why? Because you were enchanting and I loved you so much that I could not refuse. I doubt not that you will soon learn to get what you want from your husband, as you do from your father.”

“You mean in time I may persuade him to let me have the boys with me.”

He kissed her tenderly. “I doubt it not,” he said.