Marcus van Heller - House of Borgia,book 2

It was nearing Dorotea's time to conceive and she was feeling the lack of intercourse which her trip had deprived her of. She was full of honest, animal appetites. Her husband would have done, although in truth she was not in love with him. But this athletic rustic who didn't seem to be a rustic had captured her imagination and would do much better. He was the only man she could recall having come across since her arrival. What a pity he wasn't one of the Duke's entourage. It would be so much less complicated.

She saw him smile at her and gave a sideways glance with the corners of her eyes before returning his smile quickly, briefly. He was so handsome and he had a sort of fire in him, a controlled fire that was quite obvious. She just knew that he hadn't been the slightest concerned about the Duke of Alfaro's ill-concealed anger. She believed that for two pins he could have snapped his fingers in the Duke's face. There was something very strange somewhere.

“Done, done, I think,” the Duke called, red-faced and sweating beside the crackling, delicious-smelling ox.

The distribution began?a hunk of ox for everybody and bread and wine flowing liberally. The power of the grape was, indeed, stalking in the crowds and with the fireworks and main carnival to come, some young couples were already so fired that they were creeping off for a quick, ecstatic embrace before the public displays. Before the night was out there were going to be some very exhausted, very satiated bodies in this corner of Italy.

The Duke of Alfaro had rejoined his party and was now looking once more at the object of his desire as he munched a fat piece of meat. Cesare saw his look and understood. It was very understandable, after all. His own feelings were identical.

Dorotea, unable to go where she felt inclined to, unwilling to put up with the Duke of Alfaro's verbally amorous advances, engaged one of the Duchess' waiting women in conversation. The Duke withdrew, hurt and cross, to watch her curvaceous movements from a slight distance. Cesare took a long swig of wine from a bottle passed by one of his men and settled down to wait.

While the big fire was still blazing there was a fizz of color and noise from the direction of the village and a long-tailed rocket swooped into the air, scattering a confetti of varicolored sparks and stars through the dark sky and fizzled away into darkness and silence again.

There was a short hush of surprise which was shattered almost immediately by whoops and roars of delight from the crowds. The sign for the festivities had been given. As the crowds began to stream away toward the village a whole cluster of rockets soared into the air with tails like birds of paradise and then exploded into a rainbow of colors which filtered into a disappearing rain of particles of color.

The skeleton of the ox was left gently charring over the still blazing fire. The field, littered with pieces of discarded food, began to clear. Caught in the crowd, trying to remain dignified aloof from it, the Duke of Alfaro's party also made its way toward the lanes which led from the field to the village square.

Cesare, with his officers, followed close in their wake.

Outside the field in the narrow lanes with their crumble-walled cottages and houses and cobbled surfaces, the crush became severe. People pushed, some fell and struggled to their feet shrieking, women were felt by men they couldn't even turn to scold, many a pert buttock was pinched and held, many a masculine loin rubbed and ground impudently against feminine asses as the mob, like a single moving entity, hustled toward the square from which more and yet more rockets were being launched into the still air.

Cesare, who had kept close to the local dignitaries' party, elbowed his way still closer as the mob became less and less controlled. There was a great din of cries and a great strife of falling and pushing and fighting and protesting. Every man for himself, and nobody was very concerned about what his neighbor was doing.

The Duke of Valentinois was slowly separated from his lieutenants, who tried in vain to keep up with him. Shortly he had pushed through to the fringe of the Duke of Alfaro's party which was trying to maintain a semblance of decorum in the crush. Peasants flocking around were trying desperately and often vainly to stop those behind from shoving them into the ladies-in-waiting.

Dorotea was in the midst of the party. Often she looked around until at last she was able to see Cesare. They both knew what they were up to, both accepted that they were working toward each other.

Gradually Dorotea fell back, imperceptibly at first and then more boldly, until she was at the very fringe of her group, all occupied in keeping their own feet, and only a pace or two in front of Cesare. He battled and elbowed a fraction more and he was next to her and had taken her hand, his movement hidden in the crush of bodies. Her fingers clasped and interlaced with his immediately, although she didn't look at him any more.

Gently, but as swiftly as possible, before her disappearance was discovered, he edged her through the crowd toward the side of the line. Nobody noticed them. Sauve qui pent.

As they approached the main square, narrow, arched alleyways gave off from the lane, corridors between rows of large houses. It was into one of these that Cesare eased Dorotea and then quickly through another archway into the deserted gloom of a mansion courtyard. There he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely on the lips, feeling her response, her lips which softly opened and her hands which moved and dug against his shoulders. He released her a little later and saw her pale face looking up at him in the gloom. “Who are you?” she whispered. “The champion wrestler and archer of the Duke of Alfaro's lands,” he replied with a chuckle.

“You're no infantryman?you don't look like one, you don't speak like one.”

The noise of the crowds, interpolated with the fizz and bang of the rockets and fireworks came to them from a little distance. Within the walls of the empty courtyard it was quiet as if in a glass house. At frequent intervals the flame of a rocket seared the sky, lightly dispersing the gloom surrounding them for a few seconds. Cesare stepped back from her a little and bowed, a vague shape in the darkness.

“Allow me to present myself, Madame,” he said softly. “The Duke of Valentinois.”

He heard her sudden intake of breath in the darkness. A short silence followed in which he heard her breathing heavily. Then she came in toward him and he felt her whole body fuse along his own as he put his arms around her. “One might have known,” she whispered. “They say he's the most handsome man in Italy.”

He kissed her again, forcing her lips apart, edging them away from each other with his own. Her tongue darted into his mouth, smooth and slippery and enticing.

“My disguise is not very good if you almost saw through me so easily,” he whispered.

“No disguise would hide you,” she whispered back. “Even my pompous old host noticed. I think he was afraid of you and certainly envious.”

“He obviously desires you.”

“Yes?he's an old lecher.”

“Then I am a younger lecher.”

For answer she laughed softly and kissed him again, running her hands through his hair. Her breath came heavily and he could feel her breasts heaving crazily against his chest. She pulled away from him suddenly, a little wildly.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Not now. They'll find I'm missing in no time and search the whole place to find me.”

He ran his hands over her breasts, richly draped in her velvet dress, as he spoke. Her body shivered under his touch.

“Where then?when?” he asked.

“I leave tomorrow,” she said. “Must you stay here?”