Виктория Холт - Madonna of the Seven Hills

“And Father, I may marry Pedro? We want to go away from Rome to live quietly and happily somewhere together, where no one concerns themselves with us and what we do; where we can live peaceful happy lives, as ordinary people may.”

The Pope smoothed her hair from her hot face. “My beloved,” he said, “you must leave this matter in my hands. The world shall know that the ordeal through which you have passed has been a trying one. You will stay in your apartments at Santa Maria in Portico and, until you have regained your health, none shall wait on you but the faithful Pantisilea. In the meantime we will discover what can be done to make you happy.”

Lucrezia lay back on her pillows, and the tears slowly ran down her cheeks.

“In truth,” she said, “Alexander VI, you are not a man; you are a god.”

Madonna Lucrezia wasill. For two months since she had left the convent she had been confined to her apartments, and only her maid Pantisilea and the members of her family were allowed to see her.

The citizens of Rome laughed among themselves. What did this mean? What had Madonna Lucrezia been doing during her stay in the convent? They remembered that she was after all a Borgia. In a few months’ time would there be a child at the Vatican, a little infant whom the Pope in his benevolence had decided to adopt?

Cesare heard the rumors, and declared he would be revenged on those who repeated them.

He went to his father’s presence and told him what was being said.

“It is inevitable,” said the Pope. “There are always such stories concerning us. The people need them as they need their carnivals.”

“I’ll not have such things said of Lucrezia. She must come out of her seclusion. She must show herself.”

“Cesare, how could she do that?”

The Pope was looking at his son, marvelling at the egoism of Cesare, who was waiting for that day when he would be released from the Church to marry Carlotta of Naples and take charge of the Papal armies. That image in his mind was so big that it obscured all others. Thus it must have been when he arranged for the murder of Giovanni. The grief of his father was as nothing beside his own grandiose ambitions. Even Lucrezia’s predicament was not known to him, which seemed fantastic because, had he given the matter a moment’s thought, it would surely have been obvious.

“By appearing among them,” Cesare replied.

It was time he realized the true state of affairs. At the end of the month, or the beginning of next, Lucrezia’s child would be born. He would have to know.

“That,” said Alexander, “would be but to confirm the rumors.”

Now Cesare was really startled. The Pope watched the hot blood rush into his handsome face.

“ ’Tis true enough,” went on Alexander. “Lucrezia is with child. Moreover the birth is imminent. Cesare, I wonder you did not realize this.”

Alexander frowned. He understood how terrified Lucrezia would be of Cesare’s discovering her condition. She and little Pantisilea would have been doubly careful when Cesare visited her.

“Lucrezia … to have a child!”

The Pope lifted his shoulders. “These things happen,” he said lightly.

“While she was in the convent!” Cesare clenched his fists. “So that was why she was so contented there. Who is the father?”

“My son, let not our tempers run high. This is a matter wherein we need all our cunning, all our calm. It is unfortunate, but if this marriage we are planning for Lucrezia is to be brought about, it will not help us if it should be known that, while she stood before the Cardinals declaring herself virgo intacta , she was in fact six months pregnant. This must be our little secret matter.”

“Who is the father?” repeated Cesare.

The Pope went on as though he had not spoken. “Listen to my plan. None shall attend her but Pantisilea. When the child is born it shall be taken away immediately. I have already been in contact with some good people who will take it and care for it. I shall reward them well, for remember, this is my grandchild, a Borgia, and we have need of Borgias. Mayhap in a few years’ time I will have the child brought to the Vatican. Mayhap I will watch over its upbringing. But for a few years it must be as though there was no child.”

“I wish to know the name of this man,” insisted Cesare.

“You are too angry, Cesare. I must warn you, my son, that anger is the greatest enemy of those who allow it to conquer them. Keep your anger in chains. It was what I learned to do at an early age. Show no anger against this young man. I shall not. I understand what made him act as he did. Come, Cesare, would not you and I in similar circumstances behave in exactly the same manner? We cannot blame him.” The Pope’s expression changed very slightly. “But we shall know how to deal with him when the time comes.”

“He shall die,” cried Cesare.

“All in good time,” murmured the Pope. “At the moment … let all be peaceful. There is my little Pantisilea.” The Pope’s tone was regretful, and his smile tender. “She knows a great deal. Poor child, such knowledge is not good for her.”

“Father, you are wise. You know how to deal with matters like this, but I must know this man’s name. I cannot rest until I do.”

“Do nothing rash, my son. His name is Pedro Caldes.”

“Is he not one of your chamberlains?”

The Pope nodded.

Cesare was shaking with rage. “How dare he! A chamberlain, a servant … and my sister!”

The Pope laid a hand on his son’s shoulder, and was alarmed by the tremors which shook Cesare.

“Your pride is great, my son. But remember … caution! We shall know how to settle this matter, you and I. But at the moment our best method is caution.”

Caution! It wasnot in Cesare’s nature to be cautious. The rages which had come to him in boyhood were more frequent as he grew older, and he found it becoming more and more difficult to control them.

His mind was dominated now by one picture: His sister with the chamberlain. He was obsessed by jealousy and hatred, and there was murder in his heart.

The Pope had urged caution, but he no longer obeyed the Pope. After the death of his brother he had learned his father’s weakness. Alexander did not remember to mourn for long. He forgot the misdeeds of his family; he ceased to regret the dead and gave all his attention to the living. The great affection of which he was capable—evanescent though it might be—was intense while it lasted; and it had to be directed toward someone. Cesare had taken the affection his father had given to Giovanni, as though it were a title or estate. Cesare knew he need not fear the loss of his father’s affection, no matter what he did. That was the great discovery he had made. That was why he felt powerful, invincible. Alexander was lord of Italy, and Alexander would bend to the will of his son.

So when Alexander said Caution, why should Cesare heed that warning unless he wished to?

One day he came face to face with Pedro Caldes in one of the ante-rooms leading to the Papal apartments, and Cesare’s anger flared up to such an extent that he was drained of all memories of his father’s warning.

“Caldes, halt!” cried Cesare.

“My lord …” began the startled chamberlain, “what would you have of me?”

“Your life,” said Cesare, and he drew his sword.

The startled young man turned and fled toward the Pope’s apartments. Cesare, grasping his sword, followed.

Pedro, breathless and terrified, could hear the cruel laughter of Cesare close behind him; once Cesare’s sword touched his thigh and he felt the hot blood run down his leg.