Alfonso shook his head impatiently. He was loath to have his pleasure spoilt, and the thought of Cesare’s return could spoil it. “He’ll not be allowed to marry Carlotta.”

“No,” cried Sanchia. “But he’ll be back, and when he comes, mayhap he’ll bring the French with him. Alfonso, have you forgotten our flight to Ischia? Do you remember our return to Naples? Do you remember what we saw … the tales we heard? If the French come, that will happen again and Cesare Borgia might well march with them, the ally of the French.”

“The Borgias against Naples …”

“Against Naples and Milan, and all Italy. They are treacherous, and Cesare does not love you, brother.”

“Oh, forget him. Mayhap he’ll have an accident in France. I cannot believe the French will love him.”

“You are not a child, Alfonso. Face the truth. We have to stand against Cesare. Naples, Milan … and as many states as we can find to help us. That is why Ascanio Sforza comes to these apartments. He is our new friend and there will be others. Alfonso, this shall be their meeting place. Here, while there is dancing and music and reading of poetry, we shall gather our friends together and we shall be firm and ready should the time come when it is necessary to break the Borgian and French alliance.”

“These are politics,” murmured Alfonso. “I dislike them. Why should there be this talk of war and fighting when there are poetry and music and love?”

“Idiot brother!” chided Sanchia. “If you will continue to enjoy the good things of life you must learn to protect them.”

Alfonso was frowning. He did not want to think of unpleasantness, yet Sanchia’s words reminded him of all he had feared as he had ridden along the road to Rome.

“And what think you His Holiness will say when he knows that men and women assemble here, not to talk of music and poetry, but of politics … dangerous politics?”

“Why should he know?”

“Because he might be here when such things are talked of.”

“We would not be so foolish as to talk of them when he was here.”

“His spies would carry tales to him.”

“That is where we shall outwit him. We shall tell our secrets only to those who are with us. That is why we must be careful with Lucrezia. She would be loyal always to the Pope and her brother. That family have a devotion to each other which would be past belief if we did not see it every day. We must be careful of Lucrezia.”

“But this is her palace. I am her husband. You are asking me to have secrets from her!”

“Come out of your lover’s dream, foolish brother. Do you want them to take Lucrezia from you? They will, if you are of no use to them; and if there should be a French invasion and the Pope were friendly with the French, what do you think would happen to you? They would scarcely say your marriage had not been consummated. You have made it obvious how you spend your nights. No, you would not escape with divorce, brother.”

Alfonso began to tremble; she was bringing back all his terrors. At the beginning of his marriage he had suffered from nightmares, waking in a cold sweat to clutch Lucrezia and beg for comfort. He had dreamed that the naked sword which had been held over them during their wedding was slowly descending, and that the hand which held it was that of Cesare, and that the Pope looked on smiling his affectionate and benign smile which in its strange way was commanding Cesare to murder him.

Sanchia was bringing back all his fear of the Borgias.

“But Alfonso, my dear brother, we have a period in which to work. If we stand together, we can defeat the French. They would never have come against us if the whole of Italy had been united. They were victorious because the small kingdoms stood aloof while, one by one, each was swallowed up by the French monster. We are going to work together; we shall make a strong party and we will follow closely all that happens between France and Rome. We will have our spies in the Vatican who will keep us informed. And Milan and Naples shall stand together against this alliance which, to gain French estates and our cousin Carlotta, Cesare Borgia is making with the French.”

“But what am I to do?” asked Alfonso in despair.

“Work with us. Talk to Lucrezia when you are alone. Gradually make her one of us, lightly, subtly, so that she does not know she is working against her father. She might be induced to ask certain favors of His Holiness. You know he can deny her nothing.”

Alfonso winced, and Sanchia laughed at him.

“We’ll be bold, Alfonso. Life is good, eh? But remember how quickly it can change, how quickly it once changed for us. We will not let it change again. We will keep that which we have. You are beginning to understand, I think?”

Alfonso nodded.

Lucrezia was calling him. She wanted him to sing to her accompaniment on the lute; and as he smiled and went to her Sanchia was pleased to see how he was able to hide his uneasiness.

Alfonso realized the wisdom of his sister’s words; in the weeks which followed he talked now and then with Lucrezia, touching very lightly on the excellent qualities of Ascanio Sforza who was not to be blamed for the shortcomings of his relative Giovanni. He talked of the desirability of friendship between Naples and Milan, and the possibility of union, so that, should there be another French invasion, they would stand together.

“There will be no French invasion,” Lucrezia had said, “because my brother Cesare is the friend of the French King, and it is to prevent such a calamity that he has primarily gone to France.”

Alfonso repeated then what Ascanio had whispered.

Cesare had been long in France and there was no news of his marriage. It would be well not to say such things to the Pope, for all knew how he doted on his son, but might it not be that the French looked upon Cesare as a hostage as, although he was apparently fêted in France, the wily French King seemed as though he wanted to keep him there.

Lucrezia was truly alarmed, and Alfonso felt a rising resentment because of her immediate preoccupation with her family.

Now she would be worrying about Cesare, thinking of her brother perhaps held against his will in France, instead of the love and passion which they shared.

Was Cesare always to be a shadow across their married life?

But she had seen his point about not alarming the Pope and she, who loved peace all around her, was very ready to believe that friendship between Naples and Milan would be advantageous.

It was thus that during those months Lucrezia’s apartments became the focus of a new party, the main object of which was to unite the states of Milan and Naples against the French—while the Papacy was the friend of France.


* * *

In the great hall the marriage festivities were in progress. At the head of the table sat the King of France, content because the woman he had desired to marry was at last his wife. Beside him was Queen Anne herself, young, beautiful, her shrewd eyes showing her satisfaction.

She, the widow of dead King Charles, had shown no great desire to become the wife of reigning King Louis; but all were aware of the satisfaction she must be feeling at finding herself twice Queen of France.

She was a rich woman, and some might say that her estates of Brittany were the prize Louis sought. But that was not all. Poor humpbacked Jeanne had not only been plain and dull but—unforgivable sin in royalty—infertile.

Anne knew herself for a prize and was proud of it. At twenty-three she was in the full flush of her charms and hoped to give Louis the sons he needed. She was optimistic about their future, for Louis, although he seemed older, was but thirty-seven, and there were many years before them for the begetting of children.

Among the guests was that strange man, Cesare Borgia, known in France as the Duc de Valentinois. He was a dangerous man, this Valentinois; and perhaps because of this Louis had decided to treat him with caution. Louis was a cautious man; he was often jeered at for what was called his miserliness, but Louis said that he would rather make his courtiers laugh at his stinginess than his subjects weep for his extravagance. Thus it was that even at his wedding he had scarcely the look of a King, and the most magnificently clad and bejeweled man in the company was the Duc de Valentinois.

Cesare was hopeful on this night, more so than he had been since he had begun to understand the French attitude toward him, for Carlotta was at the ball tonight and when he lifted his eyes he could see her—young, adequately pretty with something about her to remind him of Sanchia. Brought up at the court of Anne of Brittany she was prudish according to Cesare’s standards, but he found that aspect of her intriguing. He had little doubt that once he was allowed to meet the girl he would sweep her off her feet; he would marry her no matter what opposition he was called upon to meet.

He distrusted the French. They were subtle, clever people, and it was a new experience to be among those who showed no fear of him. He had been made to realize as soon as he had stepped ashore at Marseilles that he was in a country where the emblem of the grazing bull did not strike immediate terror into all who beheld it. His reputation had gone before him; these people knew him as a murderer and a politically ambitious man; but they did not fear him.

Now as he watched the shabby King, contented with his newly married wife, he remembered again the journey into this country, himself so splendid with his magnificent retinue and silver-shod horses, with his dazzling clothes—brocade and velvet slashed with satin, his cloth of gold and jewels, each of which was worth a fortune. More than all this splendor he had carried with him the Bull of Divorce, which he in person was to hand to Louis—a gift from his Holiness. No, not a gift, a favor for which Louis must pay dearly.