Jeanne Kalogridis - The Borgia Bride

The instant Louis had what he desired, Cesare lost all advantage, and the French King would hear no more about Carlotta.

In frustration, Cesare turned again to Carlotta’s father, Federico of Naples-who, after being evasive for a great deal of time, finally flatly rejected Cesare’s offer. Typically outspoken, Uncle Federico commented disgustedly that he would not have his daughter wed to a man with a reputation as an ‘adventurer’. In other words, he was saving his daughter for a legitimate suitor, not a pope’s bastard who had so lightly freed himself of priestly vows, and certainly not a man with a rumoured penchant for murder.

Cesare’s appeals to Louis were ignored. By this time, months had passed. Cesare threatened to return to Italy, and the Pope made noises about finding him an Italian wife-but the Duke of Valencia was not given leave to depart France, or even the King’s court.

Instead, he was offered the hand of one French princess, then another; in time, a whole procession of French beauties was offered to him, and he must have finally realized the truth. While he was being treated well, he was the King’s prisoner until he relented to Louis’s plan: a French wife for Pope Alexander’s son.

In late spring Don Garcia, Cesare’s personal messenger, arrived in Rome from France. The news was of such import that His Holiness invited Garcia to join us at the family table at supper-although Garcia stood to recite his piece.

Cesare was betrothed, and the King of France had given his approval. The bride was Charlotte d’Albret, the King of Navarre’s daughter, and Louis’ cousin.

Beside me, Alfonso listened carefully, his expression revealing no sign of his inner distress; on my other flank, Jofre let go a cheer on behalf of his brother. It did not occur to him that his bride and brother-in-law were now in grave political danger.

With Juan dead, Lucrezia was Alexander’s favourite child; but a son always takes precedence over a daughter, so the Pope’s first loyalty-and his fear-was owed to Cesare. And Cesare had chosen to ally himself with France-out of spite and a desire for revenge on me, and perhaps the entire House of Aragon, after the all-too-public sting of Carlotta’s refusal.

As for His Holiness, he showed a maudlin pleasure. ‘At last, all my children shall be wed,’ he sighed, ‘and perhaps I shall soon be a grandfather.’

Lucrezia directed at me a complicitous little smile, one I could barely return, for I was heartsick.

After supper, I contrived a moment alone with Alfonso in his chambers, before he went to Lucrezia for the night. Such was my level of unease and suspicion that I demanded Alfonso dismiss all his servants-including the most trusted men who had served him for years in Naples. I insisted we retire into his bedchamber after locking the door to the outer suite, for I worried that someone might press an ear there and listen to any conversation held in the antechamber.

I spoke first, before Alfonso had the opportunity.

‘If Cesare goes through with this, a French invasion is inevitable-and we are doomed. You know how easily Lucrezia rid herself of her first husband.’ I sat on a tufted ottoman and shivered, drawing my fur wrap tightly about me.

Alfonso stood with his back to me in front of his balcony. He had thrown open the shutters, and took in the warm spring air as he stared out at the night. The darkness framed his golden head and his square, muscular shoulders, clad in the palest green brocade. He appeared strong and resolute, invincible, but as I studied his pose, I read the concern in his posture, saw a tension not there before supper.

Alfonso most deliberately closed the shutters, and turned away from the balcony-movements that revealed a rare anger rising in him. His face showed strain; I knew my comment had provoked him, but I also knew I was not the sole source of his ire.

‘That was not her doing. She fought the divorce as best she could, and is still deeply shamed by it. Her father coerced her.’

‘Nevertheless, she does as she is told.’

His manner turned uncharacteristically cool. ‘Do not be so certain. We love each other, Sancha. Lucrezia has been misused by her father for far too many years, and her loyalty to him is strained. But she knows I would never hurt her, never betray her.’

‘I can only hope you are right. But there are others whose fates I dare not speak of-’ I was thinking of Perotto, of Pantsilea…and mostly of Juan, whose relation by blood could not save him.

Alfonso flared. ‘I will not hear such talk. Lucrezia is my wife. And she is incapable of even the mildest cruelty.’

I turned conciliatory. ‘I love Lucrezia as a sister and friend. I am not accusing her of anything. But Cesare…’ I lowered my voice at once. ‘If he decides to ally the papal army with France…’

Alfonso’s anger fled, replaced by sombreness. ‘I know. We must take great care from now on. There will be spies; we dare not take the chance of speaking freely, even in front of our own servants, and we must watch everything we put into writing.’ He paused. ‘I will meet privately with the Spanish and Neapolitan ambassadors. There are cardinals with strong ties to Spain and Naples who can be trusted, and have the Pope’s ear.’ He forced an encouraging smile. ‘Do not fret, Sancha. The deed is not yet accomplished; I will do everything in my power to stop this marriage. And I will have Lucrezia speak to her father as well; she has more influence over him than anyone.’

‘Lucrezia!’ I exclaimed. ‘Alfonso, you dare not speak to her about any of this.’

He looked at me, his hurt tempered by indignation. ‘I speak to Lucrezia about everything,’ he stated simply. ‘She is my life, my soul. I could hide nothing from her.’

Despair settled over me like instant nightfall. ‘You must understand, little brother. Lucrezia’s first loyalty will always be to her family.’ And as he opened his mouth to protest, I raised a hand for silence. ‘That shows no weakness in her character, but rather a strength. Confess, Alfonso: to whom are you more loyal? The House of Borgia, or the House of Aragon?’

He sighed. ‘You have a point, my sister. I will be discreet in what I discuss with my wife. In the meantime, have faith: I will lobby with all my ability against this French marriage.’

I tried to have faith. Alfonso performed as promised, and the representatives of both the Spanish and Neapolitan Kings warned the Pope of dire consequences should Cesare’s marriage to Louis’ kinswoman be allowed. Alexander seemed to listen.

But one morning in mid-May, as Lucrezia and I sat on our velvet cushions, flanking Alexander’s throne as he heard petitioners, the arrival of a visitor was announced. Cesare’s messenger, Don Garcia, had just dismounted his horse after a hard four-day ride from Blois in France.

He had news for His Holiness, happy news, the page reported, but he begged Alexander’s forbearance: he had scarcely slept and could not stand. He wished to make his report after some hours of rest.

Alexander, in his excitement, would not hear of it. He dismissed the petitioners, summoned Jofre, Alfonso, and the exhausted rider to his throne. The family arrived, followed by Don Garcia-leaning heavily on a servant, for he could not walk unaided.

‘Your Holiness, forgive me,’ Garcia begged. ‘I will tell you this: that your son, Cesare Borgia, the Duke of Valentinois, is now four days’ happily wed to Charlotte d’Albret, Princess of Navarre, and the marriage was consummated before King Louis himself.’

I listened woodenly. Alexander clasped his hands, ecstatic. Later, I learned he had helped seal the marriage months before, by granting Charlotte’s brother a cardinal’s hat-even as he had pretended to listen to the Spanish and Neapolitans.