“It may well be,” said Alfonso to Albanese, “that this time next week we shall no longer have to make these journeys. My wife will be with me in Santa Maria.”

“I rejoice, my lord,” answered Albanese.

They had moved a little nearer to the group of pilgrims. Alfonso scarcely glanced at them because they were such a common sight; but as he walked on there was a sudden movement, a rustle, the sound of quick footsteps and, startled, Alfonso and his two men suddenly found themselves surrounded.

It happened in a few seconds. The pilgrims had thrown back their ragged cloaks, and their swords were poised ready for action. Alfonso realized that he had been ambushed and that his life was in imminent danger. But he was young and strong, and expert with the sword.

“On guard,” he shouted, and drew his sword, but even as he gave the order his shoulder was pierced, and the hot blood was streaming down the gold embroidery of his doublet.

Albanese and the Squire had drawn their swords and were giving a good account of themselves against the attackers; but the latter had the advantage in numbers, and Alfonso was already faint from loss of blood.

A sword of one of his assailants pierced his thigh, and with a groan he fell fainting to the ground. Two of the “pilgrims” then tried to pick him up and hustle him to a waiting horse, but the gallant Albanese and the Squire, while calling loudly for the Papal Guards, threw themselves into an attack against those who were seeking to remove Alfonso.

There was a shout from the precincts of the Vatican followed by the sound of running feet.

“Disperse!” cried one of the attackers, and they all leaped on to their horses and galloped away as the first of the Papal Guards made his appearance.

“We have been attacked!” cried Albanese. “Our master is in urgent need of attention.”

They picked up Alfonso and, with the help of the guards, carried him into the Vatican.

“My wife …” murmured the fainting Alfonso. “Take me to my wife … and no other.”

Lucrezia was with her father, sitting on one side of his bed while Sanchia sat on the other, and thus it was into the Pope’s bedchamber that Alfonso was carried.

Lucrezia gave a cry of horror as they laid Alfonso on the floor, and then with Sanchia she rushed to him and knelt beside him.

“Alfonso … my dearest!” cried Lucrezia.

Alfonso’s eyes were glazed. He looked appealingly into Lucrezia’s face. “Save me, Lucrezia,” he murmured. “Do not let him come near me …”

Sanchia gave orders to the men: “Call the physicians without delay. Some of you help us to get him to a bed. Bring hot water and bandages! Oh my brother, have no fear. We will save you.”

But he kept his eyes on Lucrezia as he said distinctly so that all could hear: “I know who has sought to kill me. It is your brother … Cesare!”

Then he closed his eyes; and all those in the room believed that he would never open them again.


* * *

Alfonso lay in the Borgia Tower, in a room the walls of which had been decorated by Pinturicchio. Sanchia was with him; so was Lucrezia; they had cut away his doublet and staunched the flow of blood while they waited for the physicians to come and dress his wounds.

“Together and alone we will nurse him,” said Sanchia to Lucrezia. “It is the only way if he is to live.”

Lucrezia agreed. She was conscious now of the reality of that terror which had overshadowed Alfonso’s happiness and she was determined to nurse him back to health. She knew against whom she had to protect him, and she was determined to do this.

“I will have beds made for us in this room,” she said.

“Beds for both of us,” added Sanchia. “Lucrezia, if he lives after this night’s outrage, we alone must prepare his food, and we must not leave the room together. One of us must always be here.”

“It shall be so,” said Lucrezia.

They were interrupted by the arrival of the Neapolitan ambassador.

“How fares my lord?” he asked.

“We cannot say yet,” answered Sanchia.

“His Holiness is insistent that I remain while the physicians dress his wounds.”

Sanchia nodded.

“Why are the doctors so long in coming?” cried Lucrezia. “Do they not understand that delay is dangerous?”

Sanchia put her arm about Lucrezia. “My dear sister,” she said, “you are overwrought. They will be here soon … and if he lives through this night … we will save him. You and I together.”

When the physicians came Sanchia drew Lucrezia to a corner of the room while Alfonso’s wounds were dressed and the ambassador looked on.

Sanchia’s voice was cold and angry as she whispered: “Lucrezia, you understand what this means … all that this means?”

“I heard his words,” Lucrezia replied.

“We have to fight him! We have to fight your brother and my lover for Alfonso’s life.”

“I know it.”

“They would have taken him to the Tiber, as they did your brother Giovanni. It is the same method … so successful before. Thank God it failed this time.”

“Thank God,” whispered Lucrezia.

“There will be other attempts.”

“They shall not succeed,” declared Lucrezia fiercely.

“The Pope understands. That is why he insists on the Neapolitan ambassador’s watching the dressing of the wounds. He does not want it said that poison was inserted into his blood by the Papal doctors. You love him, do you not? He is your husband and should be more to you than any other. Can I trust you with my little brother?”

“Can I trust you with my husband?”

Then they began to cry and comforted each other, until Sanchia said: “It is not the time for tears. If he recovers we will have a stove brought into this room, and all that he eats shall be prepared by us. We will stand guard over him, Lucrezia … my little brother, your beloved husband.”

“It is wonderful, Sanchia,” said Lucrezia, “at such a time to have someone whom one can trust.”

“I feel that too,” answered Sanchia.


* * *

In the streets the people stood in little groups, discussing the attempt on the life of Alfonso of Bisceglie. In the Vatican there was much whispering and hurrying to and fro.

In the sick-room Alfonso hovered between life and death, and two women with a fierce fanaticism in their eyes stood guard over him. In a corner of that room two beds had been placed, although they were not occupied at the same time. When Sanchia slept Lucrezia was on guard and Lucrezia slumbered while Sanchia watched Alfonso. They had had a field-stove brought into the apartment in readiness, to prepare his food.

Sanchia had demanded that the guards placed outside the apartment should be those whom she was sure she could trust—members of her own household and her brother’s. She sent messages to her uncle, King Federico, telling him what happened, and as a result Messer Galeano da Anna, a noted Neapolitan surgeon, arrived in the company of Messer Clemente Gactula, Federico’s own physician.

By this time it seemed almost certain that Alfonso would live, and now that he was well enough to realize that either Lucrezia or Sanchia was constantly with him and that his doctors were those sent by his uncle, he felt a new confidence and with this came a new strength.

The Pope was a little irritated by his daughter’s desertion of his own sick-room for that of her husband. He hinted that it was a little melodramatic of the two women to watch over Alfonso as though his life were still in danger.

But Alexander was worried. He was fully aware who was responsible for the attack, and this meant that he could only pretend that he wanted his son-in-law’s would-be murderers brought to justice.

It was said in the Vatican and in the streets that if Alfonso recovered from this attack it would not be long before he met with another, for it was clear that Cesare Borgia, the dreaded Il Valentino, was behind this attempt on his life.

They were very anxious days for Lucrezia. How could she help recalling that period of great anguish when she had learned that her lover’s body had been found in the Tiber? She knew who had arranged poor Pedro’s death. It was the same one who had tried to strike down Alfonso.

Sometimes Alfonso would call out in his sleep and she would rush to his bedside to soothe him. She knew that his nightmares were always of threatening danger, and there was one name which he never failed to whisper—Cesare!

Lucrezia decided that she must see her brother; she must make him understand how devotedly she loved Alfonso. Cesare loved her. Had they not always been close? Surely he could not continue to plot Alfonso’s death if he understood how much she loved her husband.

She left Sanchia with Alfonso and went to Cesare’s apartments.

Her brother’s eyes shone with mingled affection and speculation. “My dearest sister, it is rarely that you have given me this pleasure of late.”

“I have been nursing my husband.”

“Ah, yes. And how fares he?”

“He will live, Cesare, if his attacker does not make another and successful attempt.”

“How could that be while his two guardian angels watch over him?” said Cesare lightly. “You look tired, my beloved. You should rest. Or better still, ride with me. What say you … out to Monte Mario?”

“No, Cesare. I must go back to my husband.”

He took the back of her neck in his hands and squeezed gently. “Have you no time for your family?”

“Our father is well again,” she said; “you do not need me, and my husband has been wounded nigh to death. Oh Cesare!” Her voice broke suddenly. “There is a great deal of scandalous talk. People say …” She faltered, and his hands on her neck tightened. He put his face close to hers, and the gleam in his eyes frightened her.