The household heard her laughing and singing, and they smiled among themselves. It was pleasant to live in the household of Madonna Lucrezia; it was comforting to know that she had given up all thought of going into a convent. A convent! That was surely not the place for one as gay and lovely, as capable of being happy and giving happiness, as Lucrezia.

They knew in their hearts that the peace of the household was due to the absence of one person, but none mentioned this. Who could doubt that an idle word spoken now might be remembered years hence? And Il Valentino would not remain forever abroad.

The days passed all too quickly, and when in December Lucrezia knew that she was going to have a baby, she felt that her joy was complete.


* * *

Alfonso was ridiculously careful of her. She must rest, he declared. She must not forget the precious burden she carried.

“It is soon yet to think of that, my dearest,” she told him.

“It is never too soon to guard one’s greatest treasures.”

She would lie on their bed, he beside her, while they talked of the child. They would ponder on the sex of the child. If it were a boy they would be the proudest parents on Earth; and if a girl, no less proud. But they hoped for a boy.

“Of course we shall have a boy,” Alfonso declared, kissing her tenderly. “How, in this most perfect marriage could we have anything else? But if she is a girl, and resembles her mother, then I think we shall be equally happy. I see nothing for us but a blissful life together.”

Then they loved and told each other of their many perfections and how the greatest happiness they had ever known came from each other.

“One day,” said Alfonso, “I shall take you to Naples. How will you like living away from Rome?”

“You will be there,” Lucrezia told him, “and there will be my home. Yet …”

He touched her cheek tenderly. “You will not wish to be long separated from your father,” he said.

“We shall visit him often, and perhaps he will visit us.”

“How dearly you love him! There are times when I think you love him beyond all others.”

Lucrezia answered: “It is you, my husband, whom I love beyond all others. Yet I love my father in a different way. Perhaps as one loves God. He has always been there, wise and kind. Oh Alfonso, I cannot tell you of the hundred kindnesses I have received at his hand. I do not love him as I love you … you are part of me … I am completely at ease with you. You are my perfect lover. But he … is the Holy Father of us all, and my own tender father. Do not compare my love for him with that I have for you. Let me be happy, in both my loves.”

Alfonso was reminded suddenly of the loud sardonic laughter of Cesare, and he had an uncanny feeling that the spirit of Cesare would haunt him all his life, mocking him in his happiest moments, besmirching the brightness of his love.

But he did not mention Cesare.

He, like Lucrezia, often had the feeling that they must hold off the future. They must revel in the perfect happiness of the present. It would be folly to think of what might come, when what was actually happening gave them so much pleasure. Did one think of snowstorms when one picnicked on warm summer evenings in the vineyards about the Colosseum? One did not spoil those perfect evenings by saying: “It will be less pleasant here two months hence.”


* * *

Sanchia was restless. She missed her passionate meetings with Cesare. She assured herself that she hated him, and she had taken many lovers since his departure, but none satisfied her.

She constantly thought of him in France, courting Carlotta, the legitimate daughter of her uncle; and the humiliation she suffered was intense. She, who had been accused of witchcraft because of her power over men, she who had never yet been deserted by a lover, was insulted, and openly so because everyone had known that at one time it had been the intention of Cesare to marry her.

Now with his French dukedom and his French estates and riches, he found himself too important for marriage with an illegitimate princess, and sought a higher prize.

She might rage before her women; in the secrecy of her apartments she might at midnight stick pins into his waxen image, but at the same time she wept for a lost lover, knowing that no other man could so enthrall her.

Sanchia might feign gaiety in public, seeking to hide her chagrin, but many at the Papal Court were aware of her feelings, and there was one who sought to turn the situation to his advantage.

Cardinal Ascanio Sforza, brother of Ludovico, Duke of Milan, and cousin of that Giovanni Sforza from whom Lucrezia had been recently divorced, watched Sanchia closely and believed that he could use her in the political game he intended to play. The Sforzas had been very uneasy since it had become apparent to them that the bonds between France and the Papacy were being made more secure. The Sforzas had never trusted Alexander, and now with Il Valentino a French Duke hoping to marry a Princess who, although she was the daughter of the King of Naples, had a French mother and was being brought up at the French Court, it seemed that before long there would be an alliance between France and the Papal State. It was only logical to suppose that French ambitions had not abated with the death of King Charles, and that one day there would be another French invasion. If this happened, Milan—to which the French believed they had a claim through the House of Orléans—would be the first target. Ludovico had lost his kingdom once and was eager not to do so again; therefore the Sforzas were uneasy to see Cesare Borgia going to France as the guest of their foremost enemy.

Women had a great influence on the Pope. It was inevitable in the case of a man who, shrewd diplomatist though he was, had been known as the most carnal man in all Italy. He had always found feminine appeals irresistible, so with Cesare away, it seemed to Ascanio Sforza that the Pope might be reached through the women of his Court.

He therefore called on Sanchia and was soon able to test to the full the measure of her rancor against Cesare.

“I understand,” he began slyly, “that your uncle is overwhelmed by the honor about to be done to him by Il Valentino!”

Sanchia was unable to control her anger. “Honor!” she cried. “My uncle will not look upon his aspirations as such. He may ask for Carlotta’s hand, but he’ll not get it.”

“The Borgias have a way of asking which can be irresistible.”

“Not when it comes to the marriage of my uncle’s daughter.”

“But it is a mighty alliance—this of France and the Papacy.”

Sanchia’s eyes blazed. “An unholy alliance!” she cried. “It is not long since the French were invading Italy. I remember well how they took possession of Naples and turned my father off his throne. He went mad because of it. I remember how we had to take refuge on the island of Ischia. It seems a strange thing that there should be this friendship between Il Valentino and those who brought so much misery to Italy.”

“A very strange thing, a very unhappy thing,” murmured Ascanio. “It is something which those who are most affected should do all in their power to hinder. Do you not agree?”

“I agree with all my heart,” said Sanchia.

“We Sforzas of Milan are uneasy.”

“And well you may be!”

“And you of Naples have suffered also from the French.”

Sanchia agreed.

“Naples and Milan have been enemies in the past,” said Ascanio, “but old differences should be forgotten when a mighty enemy threatens both.”

It was true. Sanchia wanted to fill her days with intrigue, and that intrigue was to be directed against her faithless lover. She was excited, realizing that Ascanio Sforza could do more toward bringing about the downfall of Cesare Borgia than those incantations she muttered while sticking pins into a figure of wax.

She had a new interest. Ascanio Sforza was a constant visitor.


* * *

Lucrezia and Alfonso now had their own little court, and there was gaiety in the apartments in Santa Maria in Portico. Alfonso and Lucrezia had discovered a mutual love of music and poetry, and their encouragement of poets and musicians meant that an intellectual group was beginning to form about them.

One day Sanchia came to their soirée bringing Cardinal Ascanio Sforza with her.

Lucrezia received him graciously but she was surprised to see him in the company of Sanchia, for the enmity between Milan and Naples was of long standing. Lucrezia, however, gave no indication of her feelings, and, while she was playing the lute for the Cardinal’s pleasure, Alfonso took his sister aside and asked her what had possessed her to bring Cardinal Sforza to them, for the Sforzas were not only the enemies of the Aragonese but one of them had been Lucrezia’s first husband, and in view of the slander he had spread about her, it seemed tasteless to bring a relative of his here as a guest.

Sanchia smiled affectionately at her brother, as she explained: “Alfonso, you love Lucrezia dearly, and Lucrezia loves you. You are happy and at peace. Have you forgotten your feelings as you rode into Rome not so long ago?”

“That was before I knew Lucrezia.”

“It was not only Lucrezia you feared.”

“The Pope has been my good friend, and Cesare is no longer here.”

“The Pope’s moods are variable, brother, and Cesare will not remain forever in France. He plans to marry our cousin Carlotta. And when he has done so, he will return.”