Jeanne Kalogridis - The Borgia Bride

A docile year passed; summer went swiftly, and winter came again, too soon. The boy thrived and grew. Cesare, fortunately, spent all of his time with his army; I did my best to be patient.

Christmas passed, then the New Year. One night in early January, Jofre appeared for supper. On this particular occasion he lingered in the doorway, pale and shaken, unsmiling; even when Rodrigo came running to greet him, he did not bend down to lift the child, as was his wont, but absently laid a hand upon the disappointed boy’s head.

‘Husband,’ I asked, concerned, ‘are you unwell?’

‘I am fine,’ he said, without conviction. ‘I need to speak to you in private tonight.’

I nodded, and quickly arranged for Donna Esmeralda to take the child early to bed, and for the other attendants, who usually served us at table and removed the platters, to set out the food and wine for us, then depart.

Once everyone had gone, Jofre opened the front doors and curtly dismissed the guards, then stood staring after them a time into the empty corridor; he returned and peered at the balcony, to make sure we were truly alone. Only then did he go to the table and sag down into a chair. The candlelight glinted off his closely-trimmed copper-gold beard, which failed to compensate for his weak chin.

He held out his goblet for wine; his hand was so unsteady that when I poured the ruby liquid into it, it sloshed over the rim. Once the goblet was full, he took a long drink, then set it down and groaned.

‘My brother is the Devil Himself.’ He leaned forward, elbow on the table, and clutched his forehead with trembling fingers.

‘What has he done now?’

‘He and Father are no longer satisfied with simply the Romagna. Cesare has moved down into the Marches, and taken Senigallia.’ I had never been to Senigallia, but I had heard of it-a beautiful town south of Pesaro, on the eastern coast, with such soft, fine-grained sand the beaches were said to be made of velvet.

‘Why are you surprised?’ I interrupted acidly. ‘Surely you have always known your brother’s ambition is boundless. He would never be satisfied with only the Romagna.’

Jofre stared glumly down at his plate without touching the golden-brown leg of roasted fowl and chestnuts there. ‘You have not heard, then, how he took the city.’

I shook my head.

‘He called on all the condottieri of the Romagnol cities to ride with him.’ These were the heads of the noble houses which had been defeated; they had been forced to serve as commanders in Cesare’s army, leading their own men to do the Borgias’ bidding. They had all sworn fealty-at the point of a sword. ‘So they marched on Senigallia,’ Jofre continued. ‘The papal army was so mighty, the city opened its gates and surrendered without a struggle. But it is then that the tale turns ghastly…’ He shuddered. ‘I cannot believe I share the same mother as this man; he is more treacherous than the Turks, more bloodthirsty than the one in Wallachia they called the Impaler.

‘Cesare wanted more than the city as his prize. He invited all the condottieri inside the city walls, saying he wished for them to inspect the castle and sup with him, to celebrate the great victory.

‘The commanders obeyed; they had no cause to expect anything but reward for their loyalty. But my brother…he ordered his men to surround them. The city gates were then closed, shutting them off from their own men.

‘By morning, Cesare had killed every single one of them. Some strangled, others stabbed, or smothered…’ He laid his arm upon the table and rested his brow upon it.

I sat stone-faced across from him, trying to fathom the horror of what I had just heard. Proud, noble families who had ruled for centuries had been abruptly rendered powerless, broken. The Borgias truly controlled the Romagna at last.

He murmured into the crook of his arm, ‘Father and Cesare had already selected new rulers; they were all simply awaiting word to seize command of each city.’ He lifted his face and added miserably, ‘cardinals die almost daily in Rome. Their wealth is being added to the Church’s coffers, and all of it goes to fund the wars. Father will talk of nothing else. He is proud of Cesare, proud of the victories…I cannot bear it.’ He began to shiver so violently that the plate beside him clattered. ‘Now they are both so filled with arrogance, nothing will stop them. With Lucrezia gone to Ferrara, they cannot manipulate her anymore…and so their eyes have turned to me. Father made a comment to me yesterday about needing some of our wealth…for the wars. He spoke about Squillace, and other properties I have in Naples, and my gems and gold-how they might be of use to Cesare, and the Church. His tone was quite threatening. I have begun to fear for my own safety…Outside of my money, I am useless to them. What is to stop me from being their next victim?’

At his cowardice, I could no longer hold my tongue. ‘Why do you tremble now, Jofre? Why do you show such surprise? Surely you have not been such a fool all these years, yet you chose to remain blind and deaf to all that has occurred around you! You know as well as I that Perotto and Pantsilea were innocents, slaughtered because they knew too much. You witnessed without comment the hanging of Don Antonio, Cardinal Sforza’s guest, with your own eyes. You know the Tiber has been filled to overflowing for years with the victims of your father and brother. Worst of all, you let Cesare murder your brother Juan, and my Alfonso, and did nothing to protect either! Do not complain to me, your wife-I live within the walls of a prison, with women who all were violated by Cesare!’

He let go a tortured groan. ‘I am sorry, so sorry for all that has happened…but what can I do?’

‘Were you a man, you would free me of this,’ I said softly, harshly. ‘Were you a man, you would long ago have taken a blade to your wicked family’s throat.’

His brow was furrowed with worry, but his gaze was fierce; and his voice was very low as he confessed, ‘Then I want to be a man now, Sancha. I want to be free to go to Squillace, and spend the rest of my days there in peace.’

So clear was his intention, so vehement his words that I fell silent. Here was the means I had been awaiting; but I had to be sure of Jofre’s steadiness. I would have chosen a more strong-willed accomplice. Yet the longer I gazed into his determined eyes, the more certain I became that this was my opportunity.

At last I said quietly, ‘I can help you, husband. I know of a way to stop the terror. But you must forsake the Borgias and swear your loyalty to me alone, to the death.’

He rose from his seat, moved swiftly to my side, then knelt and kissed my slipper. ‘To the death,’ he said.

Jofre and I agreed that he would have to steel himself, and wait for Cesare’s return from the wars. Were Cesare to hear of his father’s death, he would ride into Rome and appoint his own pope, one that would yield to his bidding even more easily than his father had. We could not strike at Alexander alone.

Our wait seemed interminable, as Cesare slowly continued his campaign in the Marches.

One morning, however, brought hope. I woke to the distant sound of thunder; but when I rose and threw open the shutters, I looked out upon a cloudless, sunny sky.

The thunder sounded again. It was not, I realized, an approaching storm, but the echoes of faraway cannon. I left Donna Esmeralda asleep-she was beginning to grow a bit deaf-and dressed myself. Then I lifted Rodrigo from his cot and set him down.