Jeanne Kalogridis - The Borgia Bride

Cesare , I thought, in an instant of wild fear, and instinctively laid a hand upon the stiletto always hidden in my bodice. Cesare, my heart…My black, evil heart. I cannot let you destroy my brother .

Jofre made a complete recovery, and gave up his foolish night-time raids. Alfonso and I stayed in Rome even in July, after Ascanio Sforza left for Milan to support his brother, Duke Ludovico Sforza. The French army had already crossed the Alps and were massing for an attack on that northern city.

My concern was for Alfonso alone: he was male, considered capable of political influence. I was only a woman, and therefore seen as an inconvenient spouse, but not a direct threat. We both tried to reassure ourselves that we were safe, especially since Lucrezia was four months pregnant, and Alexander was excitedly awaiting the birth of his first legitimate grandchild-heir to the Houses of Aragon and Borgia.

The Pope constantly repeated the claim that King Louis would never invade Naples; the French King was interested only in the region of Milan, he insisted, and nothing more. Once Louis had Milan firmly in his grasp, he and his army would leave.

We were desperate to believe Alexander’s tales.

But Alfonso was able to believe them only so long. He was hiding a secret from me, one I can still not forgive him for, even though I know he kept it only to protect me.

King Louis took control of Milan easily; the citizens, concerned for their necks, poured out into the streets to welcome him. As for Duke Ludovico and his cousin, Cardinal Sforza, they were unable to mass sufficient support to repel an invasion. Realizing this, they fled even before the city opened its gates to the French army.

Riding with the King was Cesare Borgia.

We were only two days into August, and the mornings were still pleasantly cool, when Lucrezia invited me to join her for a luncheon on the loggia of the palazzo. We were indulging in the happy talk of women when one of them is soon to deliver a child, when our conversation was interrupted by the appearance of papal attendants, then His Holiness.

He strode across the loggia with an uncharacteristic speed and intensity, his broad shoulders hunched forward. I was reminded of the Borgias’ family crest, for Alexander resembled nothing so much as an angry, charging bull.

He neared; the whiteness of his satin robes accentuated the ruddiness of his round face, the darkness of his narrowed eyes. His gaze pierced like a blade, and it alternated between me and Lucrezia; clearly, we had both done something to foster his fury and contempt.

We rose to our feet, Lucrezia struggling because of the burden she carried; but Alexander signalled at once for us to retake our seats.

‘No!’ he called. ‘Sit-you will need to.’ His tone was harsh, his expression thunderous. He arrived at our table and hurled a missive down next to Lucrezia’s plate. I sat, wooden, scarcely daring to draw a breath.

Lucrezia paled-perhaps she suspected what I was too startled to intuit-picked up the letter, and began to read. She let go a gasp, then a strange, nervous laugh of disbelief.

‘What is it?’ I asked, softly lest I further provoke His Holiness’ rage.

She gazed up at me, dazed; I thought she might faint. But she composed herself and spoke; I heard the approach of tears in her tone. ‘Alfonso. He says he is no longer safe in Rome. He has gone to Naples.’

‘And he beseeches you to join him!’ Alexander bellowed, sweeping a great hand toward the letter; Lucrezia cringed, as if fearing he might strike her. ‘You had best swear, before God, that you knew nothing of this.’

Lucrezia blinking rapidly, whispered, ‘I knew nothing. I swear.’

Alexander continued his ranting. ‘What kind of traitorous man is this, who accuses his own family-accuses me- of disloyalty, then leaves his poor, expectant bride? Even worse, what kind of cur puts his wife in such a position, asking her to desert her own blood, knowing of her familial and political responsibilities?’

I wanted to strike him myself then. I was furious at him for insulting my brother, a man more decent than Alexander could possibly fathom; and I was likewise furious at Alfonso for fleeing Rome without telling me.

At the same time, I understood why he had remained silent; such a secret put my own neck at risk. By leaving me behind, obviously not privy to his plans, Alfonso had ensured that I would be regarded by the Borgias as harmless.

‘You will of course not respond,’ Alexander ordered his daughter harshly, entirely unmoved by the tears that spilled down her cheeks, onto the parchment that lay next to her half-eaten luncheon. ‘Your movements in this house will be watched carefully from this moment forward, for you will be going nowhere without my permission, I assure you!’

He turned on me. ‘As for you, Donna Sancha-you can begin packing your trunks this very instant. Clearly, King Federico does not wish to leave behind any of his belongings here, so you will be following your brother to Naples.’

My cheeks flushed hot. I rose, my voice cold but shaking with anger. ‘I will do as my husband tells me to do.’

‘Your husband’-Alexander loomed threateningly close-‘has no say in this household, as you well know. I expect you to vacate the palazzo no later than tomorrow, and take your Aragonese temper and arrogance with you.’ He wheeled about and stalked off with the vigour of a much younger man, his pages scrambling to follow.

Lucrezia was left to sit, stunned, staring down at the letter written by the man closest to her, who was by now so far away. I went to her, knelt, and threw my arms around her. I closed my eyes, for I could not bear to look on her face, where one could see her very heart breaking.

‘Sancha,’ she said, drawing in a breath. ‘Why can I not simply have a happy life with my husband? Am I such a wretched, awful woman, such a horrible wife that men should flee me so?’

‘No, my darling,’ I told her truthfully. ‘These are political matters that have everything to do with your father and Cesare, and nothing to do with you. I know how greatly Alfonso loves you. He has told me so many times.’

This only made her more sorrowful. ‘Ah, my Sancha, do not tell me you are leaving me, too.’

‘Dear Lucrezia,’ I murmured into her shoulder. ‘Sometimes, we are forced to do what we least desire.’

Jofre argued with his father, but we understood that it would do no good. Unlike Alfonso, I did not entreat my spouse to follow me: I do not believe Jofre felt confident enough to leave behind the only privilege he ever enjoyed-that of being a Borgia, if in name only.

That morning, I commanded all my servants to commence packing.

At nightfall, Jofre came to me in my chamber and sent Esmeralda and the servants away. ‘Sancha,’ he said, his voice trembling with emotion. ‘This is a horrid thing Father has done to you. I can never forgive him. And I will never be happy without you. I have been a pitiful husband; I am not ambitious or handsome, or strong of will, like Cesare-but I love you with all my soul.’

I flushed at the mention of Cesare and wondered whether Jofre had known of our affair. It would have been impossible to have lived in Rome without hearing the rumours, but I had hoped my husband-always wanting to believe the best of people-had ignored them.

‘Oh, Jofre,’ I replied. ‘How is it you have remained such a guileless soul in the midst of such deceit?’ I took him in my arms, and that night, he bedded me, for what might well have been the last time.

Jofre left before dawn. By noon of the following day, my servants had stored in trunks all I wanted; most of my finery and elaborate gowns I abandoned.