“Come,” said Isabella, leading the way into the castle, “I long to show you my treasures. I trust my husband entertained you in a manner suited to you?”

Isabella’s eyes were mocking and cruel, full of suggestions, hinting that she suspected Lucrezia of being her husband’s mistress.

Lucrezia replied: “The Marquis and his friends gave me a hearty welcome at Borgoforte. I fear my low spirits disappointed them.”

“Then I trust they were able to raise them a little.”

“It is always comforting to have good friends.”

“Alfonso was not pleased by your sojourn there as my husband’s guest, I gather. He is a jealous husband.”

“He has no need to be.”

Isabella’s laughter rang out.

“The Duchessa has had a long journey,” said Francesco, “and she has not yet fully recovered her health.”

“Forgive me,” said Isabella. “I am forgetful. We will refresh ourselves, and later I will show you my paintings and statues. I’ll swear you have rarely seen a better collection. I pride myself on it.”

Isabella would not leave Lucrezia’s side; she watched her husband’s two ex-mistresses waiting upon him, and Isabella had to admit that they seemed gross beside the newcomer.

It was clear to Isabella that Francesco either had made or determined to make the woman his mistress. Lucrezia with her air of innocence might suggest that she was unaware of this, but she did not deceive Isabella. She is a Borgia, thought Isabella, and therefore a monster.

The light of battle was in Isabella’s eyes. There shall be no love affair between those two, she told herself. I’d see Francesco dead first. He may have all the women in the world if he wishes to—but not that one.

It was a situation which was quite intolerable to Isabella. What was going on behind those sly meek eyes? Was the girl laughing at her? Was she thinking to take her revenge for what had happened at the wedding?

She took Lucrezia’s arm and with a party they toured the castle, for Isabella had a great longing to show Lucrezia the treasures she possessed. She wanted to accentuate the fact that she, Lucrezia Borgia, was no longer a power in Italy, and that even the possessions still left to her were held insecurely.

Francesco was in the party, so were the two women whom she had dressed in two of her most becoming gowns. They were chattering as coquettishly as they knew how, but Francesco was scarcely aware of them.

Lucrezia must gasp in admiration at the beautiful works of art which Isabella had to show her, and even Isabella gloating over them briefly forgot her enmity toward Lucrezia.

Isabella was a born collector with a sincere love of what was beautiful, and as she stood before the glorious Mantegna painting of the Triumphs of Julius Caesar her eyes filled with tears.

Lucrezia was similarly affected, and for a moment they were drawn together.

“It must be one of the finest paintings in Italy,” said Lucrezia.

Isabella nodded. “Painted for me by Andrea Mantegna when Francesco became Marquis of Mantua.”

Isabella had broken the spell; immediately she was herself once more. Painted for me. Arrogant and possessive, implying everything within this castle belongs to me—including Francesco.

There were the beautiful paintings by other artists of note; Isabella had made sure that all the greatest works of art should be housed in her palace. Here were works by Costa and Perugino; the rarest books were in her possession; ornaments finely wrought in gold and silver and decorated with precious stones. She had her grotto to which she took Lucrezia, and there, among the most exquisite sculpture in the world, Lucrezia discovered that which was perhaps the most beautiful of all.

Her eyes dwelt on Michelangelo’s Sleeping Cupid which had once been in the possession of the Duke of Urbino. To Lucrezia it represented more than a beautiful piece of work by one of the world’s most brilliant artists; it was a symbol of Isabella’s ruthless cupidity. Lucrezia remembered that, when those whom Isabella had called her great friends were in distress, her first thought had not been for their safety but for the Sleeping Cupid; and at Cesare’s request she had banished the Duke and Duchess of Urbino in exchange for the Sleeping Cupid.

Did Isabella think of this every time she looked at that exquisite statue? What was she thinking now? Isabella’s mocking eyes held those of Lucrezia briefly, as though to imply: Understand the sort of woman I am. Ruthless to my friends, how much more so should I be to my enemies!

But there was one treasure Isabella had kept to show her visitor, which she guessed rightly would cause her more pain than anything else she could show. This was the handsome young heir of Mantua, one of the most beautiful boys in Italy: Federigo, son of Francesco and Isabella; and Isabella made sure that Lucrezia, who had so recently lost the heir of Ferrara, should have plenty of opportunities to envy her the heir of Mantua.

She sent the younger of the ex-mistresses to her husband’s bedchamber that night, but the woman returned to Isabella and told her she had been dismissed. Isabella then sent the second of the women, and she too failed and returned to her mistress.

Lucrezia’s bedchamber was well guarded. She should not have the comfort of Francesco during her Mantuan nights, decided Isabella; and after a two-day visit of great strain and tension, Lucrezia re-entered her barge and sailed away from Mantua, leaving behind a regretful, unsatisfied lover and his bitter and revengeful wife.


* * *

The barge glided on its leisurely journey along the Po, turning from the main stream on the way to Ferrara, and so it came to rest at Belriguardo.

Here a pleasant surprise awaited them. Giulio was standing on the bank to welcome them.

Eagerly he kissed Lucrezia’s hand and even more eagerly his eyes sought those of Angela.

“But … Giulio!” cried Lucrezia. “Should you not be far away?”

“Have no fear,” Giulio reassured her. “I have not broken parole. Alfonso was in a benign mood when the baby was born. He gave me leave to return to court.”

“I am glad, and so will Angela be.”

Angela certainly was. She was a little anxious also; her pregnancy was drawing toward its end, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide her condition which by now several of the women had guessed. Therefore for Angela’s sake, Lucrezia was delighted to see Giulio and still more delighted that Alfonso had decided to forgive him.

Giulio explained that he had called at Belriguardo to welcome them, and was going to ride on ahead of them the very next day to warn the court of their imminent return.

Lucrezia arranged that he and Angela should be alone together, and when the lovers had embraced they began to discuss their plans.

“We must marry soon,” Giulio declared.

“If we do not,” grimaced Angela, “our baby will be born before we do.”

Giulio hesitated. He told her that he longed to marry her immediately, but at the same time he did not wish to offend Alfonso.

“You see, my beloved Angela,” he explained, “after this affair of the chaplain he warned me that there must be no more rash escapades. If there were, he said, he might not forgive me so readily next time.”

“We want no more banishments,” said Angela.

“No. But I will speak to Alfonso. He is not unreasonable, and I feel sure that had I not been banished I could have arranged our marriage before this. The menace is of course Ippolito. He hates me, largely because he knows you love me.”

“A curse on Ippolito!” murmured Angela. “He will do everything within his power to prevent our marriage. I know. But we’ll outwit him. The first thing is to get Alfonso’s consent.”

“Then I will ride to Ferrara tomorrow and consult him on this matter at once.”


* * *

True to his word Giulio left Belriguardo the next morning. He rode alone not wishing to be encumbered with attendants. He had not ridden many miles when he saw horsemen approaching, and he laughed to himself when he recognized his half-brother Ippolito at their head.

“Good day to you, Cardinal,” he called in insolent tones.

Ippolito pulled up sharply and gave his brother a look of hatred. He had never seen Giulio look so handsome, so sure of himself.

“You looked pleased with yourself,” cried Ippolito.

“As you would be, were you in my shoes.”

“You have just left the Duchessa?”

Giulio nodded. “And … Angela,” he added softly.

“I have heard news of that girl.”

“That she is to have my child?” said Giulio.

“You speak with pride of that which should fill you with shame.”

“Shame, brother? When you would give so much to be in my place?”

Ippolito was filled with a sudden rage. He thought of Angela, and how his desire for her had become important to him, because it contained more than a physical need; her rejection of him was the symbol of his brother’s superior attractiveness and powers with women. She had said that she cared more for Giulio’s beautiful eyes than all the Cardinal’s power and wealth. For the moment Ippolito’s fury was beyond control; and as Giulio was about to whip up his horse Ippolito shouted: “Seize that man. Put out his eyes!”

His grooms hesitated a second, but Ippolito snarled: “Obey, you knaves, lest that which I command you to do to him be done to you.”

That was enough. They fell upon Giulio; they had him spread-eagled on the ground while they jabbed at his eyes with their daggers and wild agonized screams came from Giulio.