She had sat there seemingly serene, yet she was praying all the time: “Madonna, keep him safe. Holy Mother of God, do not let him be taken from me.”

Her prayers were answered. He killed his bull and came to stand before his sister, that all present should know that it was for her he fought.

She took his hand and kissed it and her eyes had lost their mildness as she raised them to his. She had never seen him look quite so happy as he did then. He had cast aside all resentment; he had forgotten that he was an Archbishop and Giovanni a Duke. The crowd was acclaiming him, and Lucrezia was telling him of the depth and breadth of her love for him.

Lucrezia planned a ball in honor of her brave matador.

“And what of the hero of the joust?” demanded Giovanni.

“For him also,” said Lucrezia fondly.

She wanted them to be together; it was only when she was conscious of their intense rivalry that she could feel she was back in her childhood.

So at the ball she danced with Giovanni while Cesare glowered, and with Cesare while Giovanni looked on with smoldering jealousy. Often the Pope would be present on such occasions and there was astonishment among the spectators that the Holy Father could look on smiling while his sons and daughter danced the strangely erotic Spanish dances, and that he could witness the jealous passion of these two brothers—and the sister’s pleasure in it—with such tolerant amusement.

Lucrezia would be seen riding between her brothers to Monte Mario to watch the noblemen trying out their falcons, laughing, laying wagers as to which of the birds would win the prize.

As for Giovanni Sforza, he lived like an outsider in this strange household. The marriage was not yet to be consummated. At that he shrugged his shoulders. He was not a man deeply interested in such pleasures, and his needs could be supplied by the occasional summoning of a courtesan. But there were occasions when he resented the continual presence of those two overbearing young men, and on one of these he ventured to protest to his wife. She had returned with her brothers from riding and when she went to her apartment he followed her there; he turned and waved a dismissal at her attendants. They obeyed the signal and did not enter the room.

Lucrezia smiled tentatively at him. Wishing to live on good terms with all, she was always polite to her husband.

Sforza then said to his wife: “This is a strange life you lead. You are constantly in the company of one of your brothers—or both.”

“Is it strange?” she asked. “They are my brothers.”

“Your conduct is talked of throughout Rome.”

Lucrezia’s eyes were wide with surprise.

“Do you not understand what is being said?”

“I have not heard it.”

“One day,” said Sforza, “you will be my wife in very truth. I would have you remember that that day must surely come. I would ask you to see less of your brothers.”

“They would never allow it,” said Lucrezia. “Even if I wished it.”

There was a sound of laughter from without and the brothers entered the room. They stood side by side, legs thrust apart, and it was not their obvious strength and vigor which sent a twinge of alarm through Sforza. He felt then that there was something to fear which was as yet unseen, and that any normal man who made an enemy of them must certainly go in fear of his life.

They were not scowling, and Sforza felt it might have been better if they were. They were smiling, and Lucrezia and her husband might not have been in the room, for all the notice the brothers took of them.

Giovanni said, as his hand rested lightly on his sword: “This man our sister has married … it has come to my ears that he resents our presence in her house.”

“He should have his tongue cut out if he has made such a monstrous suggestion,” drawled Cesare.

“And doubtless will,” added Giovanni, half drawing his sword from its sheath and letting it fall back again. “Who is this man?”

“A bastard son of the tyrant of Pesaro, I have heard.”

“And Pesaro, what is Pesaro?”

“But a small town on the Adriatic coast.”

“A beggar … little more, eh? I remember he came to his wedding in a borrowed necklace.”

“What should we do to such a one if he became insolent?”

Giovanni Borgia laughed softly. “He will not become insolent, brother. Beggar he may be, bastard he is, but he is not such a fool as all that.”

Then they laughed and turned to the door.

Lucrezia and Sforza heard them shouting and laughing as they went out. Lucrezia ran to the window. It was a strange sight to see the Borgia brothers walking together like friends.

Sforza was still standing where he had been when the door had opened. During the time when the brothers had been speaking he had felt unable to move, so strongly had he been aware of an overwhelming sense of evil.

Lucrezia had turned from the window and was looking at him. There was compassion in her gaze and the compassion was for him; for the first time since she had seen him Lucrezia was aware of some feeling for him, and he for her.

He knew that she too was conscious of that evil which had seemed to emanate from her brothers.


* * *

As the brothers walked away they knew that Lucrezia was at the window watching them.

Cesare said: “That will doubtless make the fool think twice before he speaks slightingly of us again.”

“Did you see him quail before us?” said Giovanni with a laugh. “I tell you, brother, it was all I could do to prevent myself drawing my sword and giving him a prick or two.”

“You showed great restraint, brother.”

“You also.”

Giovanni glanced sideways at Cesare. Then he said: “Strange looks come our way. Have you noticed?”

“We have rarely been seen walking thus amicably together. That is the reason.”

“Before you begin to scowl at me, Cesare, let me say this: There are times when you and I should stand together. All Borgias must do this sometimes. You hate me as my father’s favorite, for my dukedom and the bride I shall have. The bride is no beauty, if that is any consolation to you. She has a long horse-face. You would fancy her no more than I do.”

“I would take her and the dukedom of Gandia in exchange for my Archbishopric.”

“That you would, Cesare, that you would. But I will keep her, and my dukedom. I would not be an Archbishop even though the Papal throne was to be mine in the future.”

“Our father has a long life before him.”

“I pray Heaven that it is so. But, Archbishop … nay, do not glower so … Archbishop, let us continue this friendship just for one hour. We have our common enemies. Let us consider them as we did the Sforza a short while ago.”

“And these enemies?”

“The accursed Farnese. Is it not a fact that that woman, Giulia Farnese, demands what she will of our father and it is granted her?”

“ ’Tis true enough,” murmured Cesare.

“Brother, shall we allow this state of affairs to continue?”

“I agree with you, my lord Duke, that it would be well to put an end to it.”

“Then, my lord Archbishop, let us put our heads together and bring about that happy state of affairs.”

“How so?”

“She is but a woman, and there are other women. I have in my suite a nun from Valencia. She has beauty, grace and the charm of a nun. She has given me great pleasure. I think I shall put her to the service of my father. I have a Moorish slave also, a dusky beauty. They make a satisfactory pair—the nun and the slave; the one all vestal reluctance, the other … insatiably passionate. We will go to our father, you and I, and we will tell him of the virtues of these two. He will wish to share … and sharing, who knows, he may forget the beautiful Giulia. At least she will not be the sole playmate of his leisure hours. There is safety in numbers; it is when there is one—and rarely any other—that one sees danger ahead.”

“Let us visit him now. Let us tell him of your nun and your slave. He will at least be eager to see them and, if they are all you say … well, it might be that we can loosen the hold of the Farnese on our Holy Father.”

The two young men went across the square to the Vatican while many eyes followed them, marvelling at this new friendship.


* * *

It was said in the streets that one marriage begot another, and this was indeed the case. Giovanni was to make a Spanish marriage; Cesare was for the Church and could have no marriage; Lucrezia was married to Giovanni Sforza; now it was the turn of little Goffredo.

Vannozza, happy with her husband, Carlo Canale, was dizzy with joy. Often her children came to see her and nothing delighted her more than to give intimate little parties for their entertainment. Her talk was mostly of her children; my son, the Duke, my son, the Archbishop, my daughter, the Countess of Pesaro. And now she would be able to talk equally proudly of her Goffredo. He would be a Duke or a Prince very shortly as the Pope was to make a grand marriage for him.

This showed clearly, thought Vannozza, that Alexander no longer doubted that Goffredo was his son. But this was not so; Alexander continued to doubt. Yet he was of the opinion that the more brilliant the marriages he could make for his children, the better for the Borgias generally; he wished he had a dozen sons; therefore it was expedient to thrust aside all doubt and, at least in the eyes of the world, accept Goffredo as his.

The moment was propitious to arrange a new Borgia marriage. Ferrante, the King of Naples, had watched with concern the growing friendship between the Vatican and the Sforzas of Milan.