Marcus van Heller - The House of Borgia, book1

Cardinal Roderigo idly flicked the pages of a book as he allowed his imagination to flow where his ambition prompted. As Pope he would immediately start a system of alliances which would increase the power of the pontifical troops; he would create fresh cardinals to insure his personal strength and he would force the proud barons to pay the taxes which for so long they'd ignored. That would be but a start. In the process, of course, he would clean up Rome of its lawlessness. It was indeed scandalous and dangerous for the authorities that the present Pope had allowed such lawlessness to scourge the streets. Every morning there were fresh corpses in the streets and it was dangerous to be abroad at night without an escort. Such a step should certainly gain him a certain immediate favor with the common people…

But then he realized that he was sitting in his library, that he was simply Cardinal Roderigo Borgia and that the Pope, weak and near-helpless, was still hanging stubbornly onto his life.

However, the possibility of ridding Rome of the old man seemed rather nearer to the Cardinal today, for an idea had come to him.

He had in the past considered ways and means of doing away with Innocent, but a practicable method had never presented itself to him. There was always some snag either in the form of the Pope's vigilant attendant or the old man's own suspicious nature. Recently, however, he had been turning over in his mind the knowledge that Innocent was the toppling monument to grasping sensualism within himself. The only reason the old man was no longer visited by his courtesans was because his enfeebled state made him fear a fatal stroke if he indulged in the excitement of sexual intercourse. But, the Cardinal smiled to himself, supposing he were forced into it by a seduction he could not resist. In his present state that could well bring about the end of him-and then the way would be clear.

Several hours later Cardinal Roderigo was ushered into the Pope's chamber in the Vatican. Officially he was paying a duty call, to offer his hope of a quick improvement in the old man's health; in actual fact his thoughts were bent on quite a different path.

The Pope raised a weary hand from his bed. He was thin and pale. He looked worse every day.

“Ah, my dear Cardinal Roderigo, I am happy to be able to tell you I feel considerably better today.” His voice belied his words with its thin, scraggy tone. The Cardinal sometimes felt that the old man divined his wishes and enjoyed trying to annoy him with declarations about his improved state of health.

“That is very pleasing news, your Excellency. May it be God's will that you are soon risen from your bed and with us in body as in spirit without delay.”

“Ah, you are too kind. But I trust your earnest hopes may be granted.”

The Cardinal proceeded to sketch recent events within the Church as well as various communications which had passed through the embassy, notably from the King of France who had his eye on the acquisition of Naples. Finally he discreetly described items of scandal which had come to his ears. These he knew the Pope loved to hear most of all while pretending to be shocked and scandalized. Had he been hale and hearty he would have retained in his memory the names of women involved in doubtful intrigues in the hope of procuring them for his own pleasure at some future date.

“And that seems to be all that I can report at present. I trust that before I come again you will be even farther on the road to recovery.”

The Pope made a sign of thanks and settled back in his bed when, as if in afterthought, Cardinal Roderigo added:

“Oh, by the way. I have a niece who has been with me of late-home from her studies-a very beautiful girl. She begged me to crave audience with you for her, saying that just to touch the foot of your bed would be a divine experience for her. For her, your Excellency embodies all that is great and of any consequence in any sphere.

“I told her that in view of your indisposition such an audience was out of the question, but I promised to beg that you might receive her at such time as you felt able.”

The Pope stared up from his bed, his dull eyes alight a little with interest.

“The girl is only a virginal eleven years old, but her mind and body are those of a mature woman,” the Cardinal continued. He smiled. “So-if I might use a worldly term in a spiritual sense-infatuated is she with your holiness that she has said to me, 'Did he bid me go to a convent I would go without a thought, did he bid me sink into a slime of carnality, likewise I would obey him.' Truly a remarkable devotion in one so young-and so beautiful that a worldly career would be easily within her grasp. In fact I almost wonder if such passion in things spiritual doesn't go a little too far.”

The Pope had sat up again, resting against his pillows. His eyes were sparkling more than they had since his illness had begun.

“Indeed she is a child of God by all accounts,” he declared. “And is she really so much a woman at such a tender age?”

“Modesty forbids me to describe how lovely is her form and face,” the Cardinal replied. “But Helen of Troy would have recognized her peer.”

“Ah, you go too far, you go too far,” the Pope chuckled. “But I should like to see her. Her audience is granted whenever she would wish it.”

“I will communicate with her,” the Cardinal said. “At present she is away from Rome in pursuance of her studies, but within a few days she may be again in the city.”

“Excellent,” the Pope murmured. “Tell me, what is the child's name?”

“Her name, your Excellency, is Lucrezia.”

While Cardinal Roderigo was meditating in his library, Lucrezia and her younger brother, Giuffredo, were on their way back to continue their studies in the Orsini Palace, Monte Giordano.

They rode on horseback, as usual, with their attendants and men at arms-for the highway could be a dangerous spot, particularly toward nightfall-strung out around them. They were both excellent horsemen. Giuffredo, who was almost two years younger than his sister, had shown particular promise almost the first time he was put on a horse some years previously. The horse had, for some reason, suddenly and unexpectedly bolted from under the eyes of the lad's teachers, but he had clung grimly on with his young, sturdy arms and, white as death, but determined, had still been seated when the horse was overtaken at the end of a furious five-minute chase.

Like his brother and sister, he looked older than his years and his body had been strengthened with continual exercise in archery, wrestling and swimming. His character was already taking a determined turn which brought him the respect of those elders who came into close contact with him.

He glanced over at his sister. He was very proud of her and her beauty and he hoped she would soon be tired so that he could take her in front of him on his own horse as was their established custom. Nothing made him feel more male and protective than to know that his sister was tired and dependent on him while he manfully guided their horse forward along the trail.

Lucrezia glanced back at him and smiled. He was rather like Cesare though his nose was slightly retrousse and his hair had faint tints of red in it. She had found, during the journey, that her thoughts, so much centered now on the sexual events of the past few days, wandered to Giuffredo and imagined what it would be like with him. Of course he was younger. But he was always so masculine that she was sure he'd be quite commanding if led. She rubbed her crotch along her saddle. The soreness had almost disappeared, but its traces left the strongly intangible memory of Cesare and her father, both with part of their bodies actually inside her body, crushing wetly, deliciously into her. The memory made her feel suddenly chill in her belly and she pressed down hard on the rough saddle.