“He is now firmly allied with the King of France, and the French have always wanted Milan and … Naples. We belong to Naples. Do not forget it, Alfonso. Cesare will never forgive our uncle for refusing him Carlotta. He will band with the French against Uncle Federico. I would not care to be in Naples when Cesare enters with his troops.”

“We are of Naples,” said Alfonso, “and are the son and daughter-in-law of His Holiness, who is our friend.”

“Alfonso, you fool … you fool!”

“I am weary, Sanchia.”

“Oh, go to your wife,” cried Sanchia. “Go … and revel in your love, for what little time is left to you. Alfonso, be warned. You must take great care when Cesare returns to Italy.”

“He has just got him a wife,” cried Alfonso, his brow wrinkling.

“All husbands are not as devoted as you, brother. Some have ambitions beyond making love.” She caught his arm suddenly. “You are my brother,” she said, “and we stand together, as we always have.”

“Yes, Sanchia, indeed yes.”

“Then … do not be lulled into false security. Keep your ears and eyes open, brother. There is danger near us … danger to our house … and do not forget, although you are Lucrezia’s husband, you are also a Prince of Naples.”


* * *

Goffredo, who was now seventeen, was aware of the tension and determined not to be left out. The Pope showed great delight in the marriage of Cesare and the pregnancy of Lucrezia, and it seemed to Goffredo that he had little time to be interested in his younger son. People were often less respectful to him than they had ever dared be to Cesare and the dead Giovanni. Goffredo knew why. It was because many declared he was not the son of the Pope, and Goffredo had an uneasy feeling that Alexander himself was inclined to take the same view.

Goffredo admired the Borgias with an intensity of feeling which he could feel for no one else. He believed that if he were not accepted as one of them, life would have no meaning for him.

He determined therefore to draw attention to the similarity between himself, Cesare and the late Giovanni, and took to roaming the streets after dark in the company of his attendants, entering taverns, seeking out women and causing brawls among the men. This had been a particularly favorite pastime of Giovanni before he had died, and Goffredo longed to hear people say: “Oh, he is going the way of his brothers.”

One night as he and his men were roystering on the Bridge of St. Angelo, the guard called to them to halt.

Goffredo, a little alarmed, but determined to acquit himself like a Borgia, swaggered forward, demanding to know what this low fellow thought he was doing in obstructing the pleasure of a Borgia.

The guard drew his sword and two of his soldiers came quickly to his side. Goffredo would have preferred to retire, but that was something which neither Cesare nor Giovanni would ever have done.

The guard, however, was a brave man; moreover it was well known throughout Rome that the Pope was not so fanatically devoted to Goffredo as he was to the other members of his family. Cesare was in France; Giovanni was dead; and the guards of the City of Rome had decided that they would not allow this youngest member of the family to strike terror into the hearts of good Roman citizens, and he should be taught a lesson.

“I ask you, my lord,” said the man civilly, “to go quietly on your way.”

“And I ask you,” blustered Goffredo, “to mind your manners.”

“I mind my duty,” retorted the guard, “which is to defend the citizens of Rome.”

Thereupon Goffredo had no alternative but to fly at the man in a rage which he hoped matched that so often displayed by Cesare; but the guard was waiting for him. His sword pierced Goffredo’s thigh and the young man fell groaning to the ground.


* * *

When Sanchia saw Goffredo carried home she thought he was dying. His wound was bleeding profusely as he lay inert on a hastily constructed bier, his face without color, his eyes closed.

Sanchia demanded to know what had happened, and was told that the guard had attacked her husband because he refused to go quietly on his way.

“Why,” declared one of his men, “had there not been so many of us to surround him and protect him he would doubtless have met the same fate as his brother, the Duke of Gandia, and we should have had to dredge the Tiber for his body.”

Sanchia was incensed. First she called the physicians to attend her husband, and when she was assured that his life would be saved she gave vent to her anger. None would have dared attack Cesare or Giovanni as they had Goffredo. It was a sign that her husband was not accorded the respect due to the Pope’s son.

She determined therefore that the guard who had attacked Goffredo should be severely punished as a warning to all who might think they could ill-treat her husband with impunity.

She sought an early audience with Alexander, and was immediately angered because of his lack of concern in the fate of Goffredo. He did not dismiss his attendants nor did he give her that warm and tender smile which he habitually bestowed on all beautiful women.

“Holiness,” cried Sanchia, “is nothing being done to bring this fellow to justice?”

The Pope looked astonished.

“I refer,” went on Sanchia, “to this soldier who dared attack my husband.”

The Pope looked sad. “I regret that little Goffredo is wounded. It is a sorry matter. But the guard who attacked him was but doing his duty.”

“Duty to strike my husband! To wound him nigh to death!”

“We know full well that Goffredo was acting in an unseemly manner, and that when he was politely asked to go quietly on his way, he refused and in his refusal made ready to attack the guard. To my mind there was only one thing for our man to do. He must defend himself … and the peace of Rome.”

“Do you mean he is to go unpunished?”

“Punishment has already been meted out. Goffredo was the offender; his was the punishment.”

“This is your own son!”

The Pope lifted his shoulders and allowed a doubtful expression to creep across his face, which infuriated Sanchia. That he should deny the paternity of her husband, here before others, was intolerable. She lost control of her feelings.

“He is your bastard!” she cried.

“It is a matter of which there has always been some doubt.”

“Doubt! How can there be doubt? He looks like you. He behaves like you. How like a Borgia to roam the streets in search of women to rape!”

“My dear Sanchia,” said the Pope, “we know you are only part royal, and that only as a bastard; but I pray you do not expose your base blood in unseemly brawling.”

“I will speak the truth,” cried Sanchia. “You may be Pope, but you are the father of countless children. It ill becomes you to deny the rights of any of them; but one as close to you as Goffredo …”

The Pope silenced her. “I ask you to go, Sanchia.”

“I’ll not go!” she cried, although she was aware of the amazement and acute interest, perhaps delight, of all those within earshot. “You did not despise my birth when you married me to Goffredo.”

“You are a fitting bride for Goffredo,” said the Pope. “I am uncertain who his father was. It may be that your mother was not certain who yours was.”

“I am the daughter of a King of Naples.”

“So says your mother. A little divergence from the truth has been known to take place on certain occasions, and from your conduct it might seem that this was one of them.”

Sanchia’s blue eyes blazed. This was an insult to her birth and her beauty. Never before had the Pope been known to show such anger toward a beautiful woman.

He said coldly now: “Will you leave me of your own accord?”

It was a threat and, looking round at the two stalwart men who were coming forward, and having no desire to further her humiliation by being hustled from the Pope’s presence, she bowed coldly and retired.

Feeling calmer in her own apartments she told herself that this was an indication of the acute danger in which her country stood. The Pope must intend to stand firmly with the French. She had been insulted; what fate was there in store for her brother? Even Lucrezia would not be able to save him. Had she saved Pedro Caldes?


* * *

Very shortly after her interview with the Pope, Ascanio Sforza came to see her.

News of her encounter with the Pope had reached him and he, like Sanchia, was filled with misgivings.

“It is certain,” he said, “that invasion is imminent.”

Sanchia agreed. “What should I do?” she asked.

“For yourself, stay where you are, discover all you can. Remain the friend of Lucrezia, for through her it may be possible to learn what is happening here in Rome. I shall leave as soon as possible for Milan. My brother Ludovico must begin his preparations immediately, and I will be there to help him. As for your brother …”

“Yes,” said Sanchia eagerly. “What of my brother?”

“It is difficult to guess what fate they have in store for him.”

“The Pope is full of affection toward him at this moment.”

“And ready to insult his sister before members of his suite.”

“It may be that I goaded him. I was very angry.”

“No, he would not have treated you as he did if he cared for the goodwill of Naples. Do not trust his friendship for your brother. When the French come Cesare will be with them, and when Cesare is in Rome they will seek to dispose of your brother. Cesare always hated Lucrezia’s husbands, and the fact that Lucrezia is really devoted to this one will not make Cesare hate him less.”