Alexander, sensualist though he was, was also a clever diplomat. He preferred to be on good terms with the rival houses of Milan and Naples. Moreover, Spain was naturally favorable to the ruling house of Naples, which was Spanish in origin and maintained the Spanish customs at the Court.

Ferrante was aware of the Pope’s desire for friendship and had sent his son, Federico, to Rome with proposals to lay before the Holy Father.

Ferrante’s elder son, Alfonso, who was heir to the throne of Naples, had a natural daughter, Sanchia, and Ferrante’s suggestion was that Sanchia should be betrothed to the Pope’s youngest son. That Goffredo was but eleven years and Sanchia sixteen was no handicap; nor was her illegitimacy, for illegitimacy was not considered an important stigma in fifteenth-century Italy, although of course legitimate children took precedence over natural ones. Goffredo himself was illegitimate; therefore it seemed a good match.

Little Goffredo was delighted. He came hurrying to Lucrezia, as soon as he heard the news, to impart it to her.

“I, sister, I too am to be married. Is not that great good news? I am to go to Naples and marry a Princess.”

Lucrezia embraced him and wished him happiness, and the little boy ran about the apartment dancing with an imaginary bride, going through the ceremony which he had seen Lucrezia perform with her husband.

Cesare and Giovanni called on their sister, and Goffredo ran to them and told them the news. Lucrezia knew that they had already heard; she was aware of this because of Cesare’s sullen looks. This was another reminder that he was the only one of them who must remain unmarried.

“What a bridegroom you will be!” said Giovanni. “An eleven-year-old bridegroom of a sixteen-year-old bride who is, unless rumor lies … but no matter. Your Sanchia is a beauty—a great beauty, my brother—so whatever else she may be she will be forgiven.”

Goffredo began to walk about the apartment on his toes to make himself look taller. He stopped suddenly, his eyes questioning; then he looked toward Cesare.

“Everybody is pleased,” he said, “except my lord brother.”

“You know why he is ill-pleased, do you not?” cried Giovanni. “It is because as a holy man of the Church there can be no bride for him.”

Goffredo’s face puckered suddenly, and he went to Cesare. “If you wish for a bride, my lord,” he said, “I would give you mine; for I should find no pleasure in her if by possessing her I should cause you pain.”

Cesare’s eyes glinted as he looked at the boy. He had not known until that moment how firmly Goffredo admired him. The little boy standing there clearly implied that he thought Cesare the most wonderful person in the world; and with Lucrezia and his young brother, to admire him thus, Cesare felt suddenly happy.

He did not care for Giovanni’s taunts. He gloried in his rivalry with Giovanni because he had made up his mind that one day Giovanni was going to pay for every insult, just as any other man or woman would.

“You are a good boy, Goffredo,” he said.

“Cesare, you believe I am your brother … entirely your brother, do you not?”

Cesare embraced the boy and assured him that he did; and Lucrezia watching saw all the cruelty and the hardness leave her brother’s face. Like that, she thought, my brother Cesare is surely the most beautiful person in the world.

Lucrezia longed for peace between them all. They were all together now, and Cesare was delighted by the artless words of the boy. If Giovanni would only join then in their happy circle, they could dispense with rivalry; they could be as she longed to see them, in complete harmony.

“I will play wedding songs on my lute, and we will sing,” she cried. “We will pretend we are already at Goffredo’s wedding.”

She clapped her hands and a slave brought her lute; then she sat on cushions, her golden hair falling about her shoulders; and as her fingers touched the lute she began to sing.

Goffredo stood behind her, and laying his hands on her shoulders sang with her.

The brothers watched them, listening; and for a short while peace was with them all.


* * *

Now there was more merrymaking at the Vatican in honor of the formal betrothal of Goffredo and Sanchia of Aragon which took place in the Pope’s apartments, Federico, Prince of Altamura and uncle of the bride, taking her place. This was conducted in the presence of the Pope with all the ceremony of a true marriage.

There was a great deal of merriment because little Goffredo as the husband looked so incongruous beside the Prince who was taking the place of the bride, and ribald comments soon broke out; nor were these checked by the presence of the Holy Father who in fact laughed more heartily than anybody and even added to the quips.

There was nothing Alexander liked better than what he called a good joke, and by good he meant bawdy. Federico, finding himself the butt of all the amusement and being something of an actor, then began to amuse the company by playing the part of bride with such fluttering of eyelashes and coy gestures that what took place in the Vatican was more like a masque than a solemn ceremony.

Federico continued with his acting at the feasting and balls which followed; it was a joke of which no one seemed to tire, and the fun was increased when a member of Federico’s retinue took an opportunity of whispering to the Pope that he would be even more amused if he had seen Sanchia.

“How so?” asked Alexander. “I have heard she is a beauty.”

“She has beauty, Holiness, to make all others seem plain beside her. But our Prince behaves as a coy virgin. There is nothing coy about Madonna Sanchia … and nothing of the virgin either. She has had a host of lovers.”

The Pope’s eyes glistened with merriment. “Then this makes the joke even better,” he said. He called Cesare and Giovanni to him. “Did you hear that, my sons? Did you hear what was said of Madonna Sanchia, our coy virgin?”

The brothers laughed heartily at the joke.

“I deeply regret,” said Giovanni, “that young Goffredo is to go to Naples, and that Sanchia will not join him here.”

“Ah, my son, I should not give much for poor Goffredo’s chances if she set eyes on you.”

“We should be rivals for the lady,” said Cesare lightly.

“A pleasant state of affairs indeed!” said the Pope. “Mayhap since she is such an obliging lady she would be wife to three brothers.”

“And to their father mayhap,” added Giovanni.

This amused the Pope immensely, and his eyes rested fondly on Giovanni.

Cesare decided then that if ever Sanchia came to Rome she should be his mistress before she was Giovanni’s.

Then his eyes narrowed and he said sharply: “So our little Goffredo is to be a husband. I myself am to be denied that pleasure. It is strange that Goffredo should be married before you, brother.”

Giovanni’s eyes flashed hatred, for he immediately understood Cesare’s meaning.

Alexander was saddened. He turned to Giovanni. “Alas,” he said, “you must soon return to Spain for your marriage, my dear son.”

“My marriage will wait,” said Giovanni sullenly.

“Ah, my son, time does not stand still. I shall be well pleased when I hear that your wife is the mother of a fine boy.”

“In time … in time,” said Giovanni shortly.

But Cesare was smiling secretly. Alexander’s mouth was set along firm lines. When his ambition was concerned he could be adamant, and as Cesare had been forced to the Church so Giovanni would be forced to go to his Spanish wife.

It seemed to Cesare an even better joke than Federico’s miming of Madonna Sanchia. Once he had longed to be in Giovanni’s shoes that he might go to Spain to receive great honors including a Spanish dukedom; he had been forced to stay behind and enter the Church. Now Giovanni wanted nothing so much as to stay in Rome, and he would be forced to leave as certainly as Cesare had been forced into the Church.

Cesare laughed inwardly as he watched his brother’s sullen looks.


* * *

Giovanni was angry. Life in Rome suited his temperament far better than the Spanish mode of living. In Spain a man of rank was stifled by etiquette; and Giovanni had no fancy for the pallid, long-faced bride, Maria Enriques, whom he had inherited from his dead brother. It was true that Maria was a cousin of the King of Spain and that marriage with her would forge a strong link with the Spanish Royal house and secure for him royal protection. But what did Giovanni care for that? He wanted to be in Rome, which he thought of as home.

He would rather be recognized as the son of the Pope than cousin, by marriage, to the King of Spain. He had felt homesick while he was away. He had imagined himself riding about Rome, and, cynic though he was concerning most things, tears would come to his eyes when he thought of entering the Porta del Popolo and watching the races to the Piazza Venezia in Carnival week. There seemed nothing like it in Spain—the Spanish were a melancholy people compared with the gay Italians. He had found great pleasure and sadness in thinking of the crowds, in the grand stand in the Piazza del Popolo, who had assembled to watch the race of riderless horses. How he had enjoyed those races, how he had shouted with glee to see the frightened beasts let loose, with pieces of metal tied to them to make a noise and frighten them still further as they galloped, the devilish type of spurs fastened midway between withers and shoulders, leaded and pear-shaped, the heavy end having seven spikes which prodded the horse at every step! The terrified horses, as they thundered along the Corso, provided a sight not to be missed. Yet in Spain he had sadly missed it. He had longed to wander along the Via Funari where the rope-makers lived, and the Via Canestrari where the basket-makers lived, to the Via dei Serpenti; to gaze at the Capitol and think of the heroes of Rome who had been crowned with glory there, and to see the Tarpeian Rock from which guilty men were thrown; to laugh at the old saying that glory was but a short way from disgrace, and to answer it with: Not for a Borgia; not for the son of the Pope!