Light on Lucrezia (41 page)

Lucrezia confined herself to her apartments. She would see no one, and there was no longer music or laughter in the little rooms. She was ashamed and unhappy.

Angela, Adriana, Girolama and Nicola all sought to comfort her.

“They are safe at least,” they repeated. “They reached Mantua. There they will find refuge.”

They had not yet heard that the Duke and Duchess of Urbino were being requested to leave Mantua for Venice. They did not know that the little heir of Mantua was being betrothed to Cesare’s daughter.

Meanwhile Isabella stood looking at the exquisite work of art, and its beauty brought tears to her eyes.

Francesco watched her and murmured: “It is indeed beautiful. It should give you great pleasure. You paid a very big price for it, Isabella.”

It was the
middle of July and the heat was intense.

There was plague in Ferrara and, to the horror of all within the palace, one of the maids went down with it. Angela Borgia caught it, but mildly, and Lucrezia was in great fear. They might isolate the patient but the damage was done.

Ceccarella, one of Lucrezia’s maids, died shortly after taking it and another, Lisabetta, was smitten with a serious attack.

Then Lucrezia caught it.

When the news reached Rome there was panic throughout the Vatican. The Pope became hysterical with fear. He paced up and down his apartment calling to the saints to watch over his beloved child and swearing to take a punitive expedition into Ferrara if she did not survive. He also sent her several physicians in whom he had great confidence.

He dispatched further messages to Cesare, begging him to add his prayers to those of his father that the greatest calamity which could befall them both might be averted.

Lucrezia’s condition was aggravated by her pregnancy which had already given some cause for alarm, and the doctors shook their heads over her. They feared the worst would happen.

“The burden of the child will be too much for her to bear,” was their verdict. “The best thing that could happen would be a still-birth; then we might reduce the fever.”

Lucrezia herself, tossing on her bed, was barely conscious. The old Duke visited her and wept over her condition. If she would recover, he declared, he would meet her wishes as to her income. She should have her 12,000 ducats a year. “But part of it shall be in goods,” he added quickly.

Lucrezia smiled vaguely at him; she was not fully aware who he was.

Furious messages came from Rome.

“The Duke of Ferrara has brought about my daughter’s low condition by his meanness,” cried the hysterical Alexander. “If aught happens to my beloved daughter I shall know whom to blame.”

The Duke grew anxious. The recent conquest of Urbino had been alarming; where would Cesare Borgia turn next? everyone was asking.

Alfonso had been on a mission to Pavia where Louis of France was installed. The heir of Ferrara had gone there as his father’s ambassador in order to placate the French King; and, Francesco Gonzaga had said, they must placate the French and with the French, Louis’ ally, Il Valentino, for if they did not they would be hanged one after another and be unable to do anything about it. They could only hope that their territory was not the next on the list for invasion.

Duke Ercole sent an urgent message to Alfonso that his wife was near to death and he must return at once; and as soon as Alfonso arrived in Ferrara he hurried to the bedside of his wife.

Alfonso was ill at ease in the sick room. The sight of Lucrezia, pale and wan, her eyes glazed and unrecognizing, filled him with dismay.

He could think of nothing to say to her. He knelt by the bed and took her hands in his. Hers were dry and feverish.

“You’ll be well,” said Alfonso. “You’ll get better. We’ll have a big family … handsome boys … even if you lose this one.”

But Lucrezia only looked at him with unseeing eyes, and Alfonso rose hopelessly to his feet.

She was dying, it was whispered throughout the castle. Her pregnancy had been a difficult one from the start, and now she had contracted this fever, what hope was there for her?

Furious and sorrowful messages came from the Pope. He was imploring them to save his Lucrezia’s life and at the same time threatening them.

My daughter’s death will not suit the Borgias at all, he wrote; and the Este family should be very careful how they acted, for he, Alexander, did not think it was going to suit them very well either.

The old Duke harangued his doctors. They must save his daughter-in-law. It was imperative that they do so. They must take every precaution, apply every cure—no matter how expensive—but they must not let her die.

In the draughty corners of the castle men and women whispered together. If she dies, the Borgias will come against us. More than all their possessions the Pope and Il Valentino love this girl.

But each day Lucrezia’s condition worsened, and it was said: “She cannot last the night.”

As she lay unconscious, half dead, unaware of what was going on about her, there was suddenly heard the sound of galloping horses.

A little band of riders was seen, and at the head of them rode a tall and elegant man who leaped from his horse, flung the reins to a groom and called: “Take me at once to the Duchess of Ferrara.”

One of the servants ran out to this man and cried: “It is impossible, my lord. The Duchess lies near to death and there is plague in the castle. If you value your life you should not come here.”

“Stand aside,” was the answer, “and if you value
your
life conduct me with all speed to the bedchamber of your Duchess.”

Others came running forward, and there were some who recognized the newcomer. One man threw himself on his knees and cried: “My lord, there is plague in the castle.”

He was brutally kicked aside and a voice of thunder cried: “Must I fight my way to my sister?”

Then all fell back, and the man who had been kicked now whined: “My lord Duke, follow me; I will take you to her with all speed.”

A shiver of fear ran through the castle. Voices shook as they whispered one to another: “Il Valentino is here!”

He knelt by
the bed and took her into his arms.

“My love, my dearest, I am here. Cesare is here … come to cure you.”

And she, who had recognized none, now opened her eyes; and those watching saw the change which came to her face as she whispered: “Cesare … Cesare … my beloved … so it is you.”

He had his arms about her. He called for pillows that she might be propped up; he smoothed the damp hair back from her face.

“I am here now.” His arrogant voice rang through the apartment. “You will be well now.”

“Oh Cesare … it has been so long.”

He had taken her hands and regardless of the risk was covering them with kisses. “Too long … too long, my precious one.”

She was almost fainting on her pillows, but all were aware of the new life in her.

He shouted to them: “Leave us. Leave us together.”

And none dared disobey.

They waited outside
the room. It was a miracle, they whispered; she had been close to death, and he was bringing her back to life.

He called for wine—wine to revive her—and when it was brought, those who saw her marveled at the change in her, for it was as though this vital man breathed new life into her.

It is not natural, was the verdict. These Borgias are something more than human. They have power over life and death. They deal death and they raise from the dead.

The strange incomprehensible words which passed between them—for they spoke in the Valencian tongue—sounded like incantations to those listening ears. They remembered all the slights they had inflicted on Lucrezia since her arrival in Ferrara, and they trembled lest Il Valentino knew of these.

Lucrezia was saying: “You should not have come to me, Cesare, you who are so busy with your victories.”

“Too busy to come to my dearest one when she is sick unto death! Never that, beloved. We must send a message at once to our father.”

“He will be overjoyed when he knows you have been here.”

“He will only be overjoyed if I can tell him that you are well again. Lucrezia, you must not die. Think of it! What would life mean to us … our father and myself … if we lost you!”

“But you have
your
life, Cesare. All your ambitions are being realized.”

“They would be of no account to me if I lost you.”

He embraced her and she wept a little. “Then I must get well. Oh Cesare, I have thought so much of you … and our father. I have thought of you and your conquests. I have thought of you in Urbino.”

He was quick to sense the tremor in her voice and, because there were
times in their lives when they were so close—and this was one of them—that they read each other’s thoughts, he was aware of her unhappiness on account of his conquest of Urbino.

“Lucrezia, dearest,” said Cesare. “It is necessary that I establish my kingdom. Do not think that I work for myself alone. Everything I have gained belongs to us all. Do not think I ever forget that. You … our father … our children … shall all benefit from my conquests. I will give one of my new towns to your little Giovanni. What say you to that? The little
Infante Romano
is a Borgia, and he must not be forgotten.”

“You comfort me,” she said. “Often I have thought of my children.”

“Grieve not, dearest. You have nothing to fear on their account while our father and myself are alive to care for them.”

He could see that he had comforted her. He laid his hand on her hot forehead. “It is time you slept, beloved,” he said. “I will remain at your bedside and, although I must leave you soon, it shall not be for long. I must go, Lucrezia, but I shall return.”

So she slept and he remained on watch. When he left, the next day, all were talking of the miracle, for it now seemed that Lucrezia would recover.

A few weeks
later when Lucrezia, still weak, was reclining on her bed surrounded by her women, she cried out in sudden fear. “My pains are beginning,” she said; and as the child was not expected for another two months there was consternation throughout the palace.