Marcus van Heller - House of Borgia,book 2

“It was as well, Sire, that we didn't enter for everything or they'd have nothing to show in the village except a mass of long faces tomorrow,” Rossano Erfredi said.

“Oh, they'd have had time to recover their good spirits in the dark corners tonight,” Cesare said with a laugh. “Nothing like a good orgasm or two for a relaxed view of life.”

It was the Duke of Alfaro's privilege and duty to present the awards?hogsheads of wine, great hams and sides of bacon with little silver cups?and the successful competitors, donning jerkins, lined up in the last rays of the sun, with a cool night air beginning to freshen, at the foot of the stand.

Cesare took his place in the queue, smiling at his role of prizewinner in a local fete. And when he looked for Dorotea Caracciolo, he found her eyes were on him.

She was standing next to the Duke of Alfaro, helping him to present the trophies, but her glance had risen from the immediate presentation and traveled along the line of waiting men to Cesare. With a twinge of pleasurable excitement he met her gaze and smiled slowly at her. She pulled her eyes from him and he suddenly remembered that he was a simple rustic. Hardly the thing to be making advances to the wives of captains in the service of Venice. But maybe she liked country pleasures. He chuckled quietly.

The line dwindled and Cesare found himself face to face with the aristocrat of the district and his lovely guest. Now that he saw her close up he felt a flush of eagerness to get on intimate terms with her, to get in intimate postures with her. Her figure, well draped in her dress, was nonetheless visibly exciting and her face was alive with a vivacious fire which sprang out of her eyes in twin points like mischievous children. What an excellent carnival companion she would make.

Solemnly the Duke of Alfaro handed him two cups: one for the wrestling, one for the archery. At his side were a ham and a hogshead of wine, the supplementary, gastronomic prizes. The Duke had not meant to address this rustic. It seemed quite enough to him that the man had already given rise to some conversation?rather uncalled for. But when confronted by Cesare he was reluctantly impressed by the man's presence?and made hostile by it.

“Tell me, my man?you don't belong to the village?” he asked.

“No your Grace. I'm an infantryman with the Duke of Valentinois' troops?on leave at the moment, so please your Grace.”

“You see?he speaks,” Dorotea cut in, laughing lightly and looking first at Cesare's muscular, uncovered forearm and then raising her eyes to his handsome, commanding face.

“Did you think me to be a deaf mute, Madame?” he asked.

The Duke of Alfaro began to expostulate, but Dorotea cut him short.

“We were simply wondering whether such a splendid physique could really be crowned by any brain at all,” she said, with another little laugh.

“It's not unknown for the two to go together,” Cesare said with a smile. “You, Madame, are, I'm sure, a fair example of such.”

“Why you…” the Duke of Alfaro began to splutter, but Dorotea put a restraining hand on his arm while her eyes continued to smile at Cesare.

“I thank you for a very nice compliment,” she said. “I have heard that the Duke of Valentinois is an iron-willed man of great physical strength. If he could out-wrestle and out-shoot you, it would be worth the seeing.”

“Madame, I owe all I know to His Grace,” Cesare replied. “A finer man never lived.”

“Yes, indeed, they say all his men would die for him. Are you visiting all the carnivals and sports you can reach on your leave?”

“No, Madame, I have a feeling that this area has something really delightful to offer. I shall probably stay for a while if I and my friends can find a suitable inn.”

“Well, I hope you are able fully to enjoy the delights of which you speak.”

During their conversation, the Duke of Al-faro had not hidden his annoyance and his obvious irritation that Dorotea should talk so easily with a mere infantryman. But he had restrained his anger not to appear ridiculous in front of the villagers who had gathered in a great throng around the stand, and some of whom could hear the words which were being spoken. Also he didn't want to offend Dorotea, although he was certain she was doing this just to tease him. He still wanted to fuck Dorotea. Fuck Dorotea! Fuck Dorotea! He repeated the words to himself, fiercely and then blushed with desire at the images and sensations they brought forth in his mind.

He refused to have anything further to say to the lout, however, and simply began to lift the hogshead.

“Your Grace,” Cesare said, “if it would not displease you I'd like the village to have the hogshead and the ham?a gesture of friendship from strangers in their midst.”

This sign of gentle manners somehow annoyed the Duke even more. There was something disturbing about this stranger. He actually felt a little afraid of the man although he wouldn't admit it to himself in such terms.

“All right,” he said curtly, “as you wish.”

“Come Benvenuto?a very fine gesture, too,” the Duchess chided from his side.

The Duke of Alfaro was about to add a reluctant word in agreement when his voice was drowned out by a great gust of cheering which thundered out through the quietening night air. The word had been passed back that the carnival victuals of the village were to be reinforced through the generosity of this stranger who had fought so well.

Cesare bowed slightly to the Duke and Duchess and then to Dorotea, whose eyes, glinting with what might have been a light amusement, or something else, continued to watch him as he withdrew.

“What a charming fellow,” the Duchess whispered to her companions. “He hardly seemed like a peasant. Manners and speech are improving in the country.”

“No, he didn't, did he?” Dorotea mused.

“Well, I think he was damned insolent speaking that way to our guest.”

“Oh come, Benvenuto, he was just paying a bold compliment. No lady really minds. Yes, he struck me as a bold man?quite strange.”

A bold compliment? the Duke was thinking. What could have been bolder than my compliment? God! I nearly had her. Just a towel between us?and not even that between parts of us. His loins cringed at the thought of what had been so near and now seemed so far away.

Night had now fully fallen. The stars were on a high, dark, mellow ceiling and there was a reflection below from a huge fire which had been built in the center of the field. It cast a broad, bright glow over the faces of the nearest rank of the people who were gathered in a great, loose mob around it. It was hot, too, and those who had sat, cross-legged on the ground near it, had, several times, to get up and move back a little.

Over the fire on an enormous spit an ox was slowly roasting. The deflated hogsheads of wine were lying in the small clearing formed by the crowd and illuminated by the fire. The wine was now either smoldering in lustful bellies or swishing in the water-bottles which the villagers had brought with them. Bread had been distributed and bits of it, broken and dusty, lay around the field. The hams, the sides of bacon had already been privately eaten or taken home to fill the larder for a few days. Now everyone was waiting for the distribution of the ox which the Duke of Alfaro ritually provided for this occasion.

The Duke, himself, was basting the animal with ponderous, self-important deliberation, drawing back from the heat of the fire every so often when it became too much. For the moment, concentrating on his official task, he had allowed lustful thoughts of Dorotea to slip into the recesses of his mind. Which was just as well. For Dorotea, standing with the aristocrats' group, a little within and away from the main sprawling mob, was gazing at Cesare, who, from the front ranks of the crowd, was returning her look just as meaningfully.