Light on Lucrezia (32 page)

So Lucrezia, lying side by side with Elizabetta in the litter, was determined to be as serene, as aloof as her companion; and thus Elizabetta lost one opportunity of snubbing Lucrezia as she had intended. The Borgia girl, she was forced to admit, had grace and charm, and to be in her company was to believe her to be almost as noble as oneself.

But Elizabetta did not forget. This girl had been brought up at the Papal Court. She had no doubt heard stories of Guidobaldo’s impotence since he had returned from the prison in which the Pope had allowed him to languish. The Borgias had always appreciated the coarsest jokes. Elizabetta was not going to forget merely because this girl had a quiet grace and a serene dignity. The Borgias were loathsome; and if they appeared in the guise of charming girls they were even more deadly.

So Elizabetta continued cool and unhelpful, and Lucrezia was conscious that her companion was hoping all the time that she would commit some social error. Adriana Mila hated Elizabetta and was unable to avoid showing
it. This hatred delighted the Duchess of Urbino. She would sit smiling her aloof superior smile as they continued the journey, thinking of all she would have to tell her dear friend and sister-in-law, Isabella, when they met in Ferrara.

Elizabetta was slyly amused when they came to Pesaro. She watched the wilting of Lucrezia’s spirits as they entered the town. The girl must remember those months she had spent here as the wife of Giovanni Sforza who had been Lord of Pesaro before Cesare had taken it from him.

She must be remembering all the details of the scandalous divorce, and surely she must feel some shame.

Elizabetta said as they came into the town: “This must seem very familiar to you.”

“I have been here before.”

Elizabetta laughed lightly. “Of course, with the first of your husbands. But then you were so young, were you not. He could not have seemed like a husband to you. After all, it was no true marriage, was it? There was no consummation.”

Lucrezia stared straight ahead, and there was a faint flush in her pale cheeks.

“Giovanni, who has been at the court of my sister-in-law, swears that the marriage was consummated,” went on Elizabetta. “Poor Giovanni! He has lost so much … his lands … his wife … even his reputation as a man. I pity Giovanni Sforza.”

Lucrezia still said nothing; she too pitied Giovanni.

“The people here will remember, doubtless,” pursued Elizabetta. “They have long memories. They will remember when you came here as the bride of the Lord of Pesaro. Odd … that now you should come here as the bride of another, although their lord—I should say he who was their lord—still lives, still declares himself to be your husband!”

“I do not know how that can be,” said Lucrezia, “since there was a divorce.”

“On the grounds of non-consummation! But if the marriage
was
consummated, the grounds for divorce would disappear and … if there was no reason, how could there be a divorce? I do not know. Your father, who is wise in these matters, no doubt could tell us. Why, look! The people are eager to see you. You
must
show yourself, you know.”

And Lucrezia, who had hoped to enter quietly into Pesaro of many memories, must leave the litter, and ride her mule, so that all might see her.

Elizabetta rode beside her, maliciously hopeful. If she could have incited those people to shout abuse at Lucrezia she would have done so.

But here was Ramiro de Lorqua, the Spaniard whom Cesare had set up to rule Pesaro in his absence, and Ramiro, knowing the esteem in which Lucrezia was held by his master, was determined that such a welcome should be given her as was never before seen in Pesaro. He could count on the cooperation of the people, for Ramiro was the most brutal of overlords and they dared not oppose him.

It may have been fear of Ramiro, it may have been because the slender girl with her long golden hair falling about her shoulders seemed to them so gentle and so charming, but there was no abuse; there were only cries of “Duca! Duca! Lucrezia!”

And although Lucrezia’s misgivings did not abate during the time she was in Pesaro, Elizabetta was disappointed.

It was Ramiro’s
duty to escort Lucrezia through the territory of Romagna, and this he did, making certain that in her brother’s domain she should be fêted wherever she went. Banquets were arranged in her honor; in the captured towns the citizens displayed banners of greetings. Cries of welcome followed her wherever she went.

The Duke of Ferrara was growing uneasy, for the journey was taking longer than he had anticipated and as many of the wedding guests were already at Ferrara he was groaning at the expense of feeding and entertaining them.

He sent instructions that the journey must be speeded up. There must not be these long halts at various towns. He was all impatience to receive his daughter-in-law.

But Lucrezia showed a certain determination. She would not hurry. Every few days her hair must be washed, and she felt too fatigued to spend day after day in the saddle or even in the litter.

So the Duke fumed and counted the cost of entertaining his guests, while Lucrezia continued with her slow progress.

Ferrante was enchanted by her; he was writing the most eulogistic letters which were dispatched by special messenger to his sister Isabella, throwing that lady into a passion of jealousy.

“She and I opened the ball last night, sister. I have never seen her look more lovely. Her hair was more golden than ever. She had washed it that day. It was necessary that it should be washed every few days to preserve its gold. Her dress was of black velvet, and she looked more slender, more fair than ever before; on her head was a small gold cap, and it was difficult to see which was cap and which was hair; on her forehead there was an enormous diamond. Her Spanish dwarfs are amusing creatures. They dance in the ballroom when she dances, following her round, calling attention to her beauty. They are quite vain and like to parade in brilliant clothes to match those of their mistress. They gesture obscenely and make bawdy jokes—even about their mistress. No one seems to object. The manners of Rome are different from those of Ferrara or Mantua. I wonder, my dear sister, what you would say if your dwarfs made such jokes and gestures as they followed you round the ballroom. Lucrezia accepts it all in the utmost good humor, and since we left Pesaro—where I confess she seemed somewhat depressed—she has been full of high spirits.”

When Isabella received that letter she was furious.

“Idiot!” she cried. “The young fool writes like a lover. From what we know of her reputation, mayhap he already is.”

She would show the letter to Alfonso, try to rouse some indignation in his sleepy mind.

While Lucrezia was at Rimini, that town where she had opened the ball with Ferrante, one of the servants rode into the castle with disquieting news.

Ferrante was the first person he saw, and he fell at the young man’s feet, declaring that Madonna Lucrezia was in terrible danger.

“How so?” asked Ferrante.

“Because, my lord, outside the town a company of men are waiting for her. These are led by Carracciolo.”

“Carracciolo!” cried Ferrante.

“May I refresh your lordship’s memory? Carracciolo was betrothed to Dorotea da Crema who was abducted by Cesare Borgia and has never been heard of since.”

“You mean that this man seeks to abduct Madonna Lucrezia?”

“It would seem so, my lord. Aye, and do to her what Cesare Borgia did to
his
betrothed.”

Ferrante lost no time in hurrying to Lucrezia, and telling her what he had heard. Lucrezia was terrified, for the thought of violence alarmed her.

Ferrante threw himself on his knees and declared that he would protect her with his life. She was not listening; she was thinking of Dorotea, who had set out on a journey very similar to this one she was making, and who had never reached her destination. She thought of Cesare, and she shivered.

She understood the feelings of this man Carracciolo. She knew what would happen to her if she fell into his hands.

Elizabetta came in, startling Ferrante from his knees.

He at once blurted out what he had heard.

Elizabetta shrugged her shoulders. “Doubtless it is merely some tale,” she said.

But she could not hide the expression of pleasure which briefly flitted across her face. She hates me, thought Lucrezia. She hopes I shall fall into Carracciolo’s hands.

She was horrified as much by the malice of this woman as by the fears this story had conjured up.

She thought then: I am a Borgia. The sins of my family are my sins. Can it be that now … they are catching up with me, that there is no real escape?

Lucrezia had spent
a sleepless night. All through those hours as she tossed and turned she had expected to hear shouts of triumph from below, harsh voices demanding her surrender.

A thick fog lay over the town in the early morning, and she insisted that they slip away under cover of it. She was terrified of this place and could not bear to spend another hour in it.

So they left as quickly and as silently as they could, traveling along the Via Emilia toward Bologna.

When the fog lifted they were able to see the open country for miles round and there was no sign of a pursuing force.

Lucrezia’s relief was apparent, but Elizabetta was determined that she should not enjoy it.

“I have news for you,” she said. “Giovanni Sforza is coming to the wedding.”

“Oh, but he can’t do that!”

“He can. He has announced his intention of so doing. I have heard that he has already set out for Ferrara.”

Lucrezia looked sharply at her companion, and she believed then that Elizabetta and her friend Isabella, whom she had now realized was also an enemy, had arranged that Giovanni Sforza should be at the wedding so that she would be embarrassed.

Looking forward to her new life she saw that it would be peopled with those who wished to destroy her.

They came to
Bologna where members of the reigning family, the Bentivoglio, set out to meet her; and she was led in triumph to their beautiful house on the outskirts of the town.

Great fires were burning, and it was with immense relief that Lucrezia and her entourage warmed themselves. Entertainments had been prepared, but Lucrezia had begged that they should be postponed. She and her fellow travelers were very fatigued and longed to rest for this first day.

It was pleasant to be within these frescoed walls, to stretch out before a blazing fire, to call for hot water, that the dust of the journey might be washed from her hair.

Angela and Girolama helped with her toilet, chatting excitedly, reminding her that they were on the very borders of Ferrara and very soon would reach their journey’s end.

Angela had been a little subdued since her encounter with Ippolito, but she was no less lovely for that.

They were talking of the receptions they had received, of the banners in morello and gold which had been hung out by the people, who knew how she favored these colors.

“It would seem, Lucrezia,” said Angela, “that the whole of Italy loves you. Surely only love could inspire such enthusiasm.”