“Oh, Cesare, you will make him so unhappy.”

“And what of the unhappiness he causes me?”

“It is for your own advancement.”

“You listen to him rather than to me. I see that, sister.”

“Oh no, Cesare, no. I would have you know that if there were aught I could do to free you from the Church, willingly would I do it.”

“Yet you grieve for your father. You say with such sympathy: ‘He would be made unhappy.’ Not a word about my unhappiness.”

“I know you are unhappy, dearest brother, and I would do everything in my power to put an end to that unhappiness.”

“Would you, Lucrezia? Would you?”

“Anything … anything on Earth.”

He took her by the shoulder and smiled down at her. “One day I may ask you to redeem that promise.”

“I shall be waiting. I shall be ready, Cesare.”

He kissed her ardently.

“You soothe me,” he said. “Did you not always do so? Beloved sister, there is no one on Earth whom I could love as I love you.”

“And I love you too, Cesare. Is that not enough to make us happy, even if we have other trials to bear?”

“No,” he cried, his eyes ablaze. “I know my destiny. It is to be a King … a conqueror. Do you doubt that?”

“No, Cesare, I do not. I see you always as a King and a conqueror.”

“Dear Lucrezia, when we were riding with Fiametta you looked at those old ruins and you thought of days long ago. There is one man glorious in our history. He conquered great countries. He lived before the Colosseum was built and he is the greatest man who—as yet—has come out of Rome. You know of whom I speak.”

“Of Julius Caesar,” she said.

“A great Roman, a great conqueror. I picture him, crossing the Rubicon and knowing that all Italy lay at his feet. That was forty-nine years before Christ was born, and yet there has never been another like him—as yet. You know what his motto was, do you not? Aut Caesar, aut nullus. Lucrezia, from this moment I adopt that as mine.” His eyes were brilliant with megalomania; he was so certain of his greatness that he made her believe him. “But see, did they not call me Cesare! That was no mere chance. There was one great Caesar. There shall be another.”

“You are right!” she cried. “I am sure of it. In years to come people will talk of you as they do of great Julius. You will be a great general.…”

Now his expression was ugly.

“And my father will make a Churchman of me!”

“But you will be Pope, Cesare. One day you will be Pope.”

He stamped his foot with fury. “A Pope rules in shadow; a King in the full light of day. I do not wish to be Pope. I wish to be King. I wish to unite the whole of Italy under my banner and rule … myself and none other. That is the task of a King, not a Pope.”

“Our father must release you.”

“He will not. He refuses. I have begged. I have implored. But no, I am for the Church, he insists. One of us must be. Giovanni has his long-faced mare in Barcelona. Goffredo has his harlot of Naples. And I … I am to be wedded to the Church. Lucrezia, was there ever such crass folly? I feel murderous when I contemplate it.”

“Murderous, Cesare! Against him!”

Cesare put his face against hers. “Yes,” he said grimly. “I feel murderous … even toward him.”

“He must be made to understand. He is the best father in the world, and if he but knew your feelings … oh Cesare, he would understand them. He would see that something was done.”

“I have explained my feelings until I am weary. He loses all his benign looks then. I never saw a man so set on one thing as our father is when I talk of leaving the Church. He is determined that I shall stay.”

“Cesare, what you have said causes me much pain. I cannot be happy knowing that you harbor such thoughts of our father.”

“You are too soft, too gentle. You must not be so, child. How do you think the world will use you if you continue so?”

“I had not thought of how the world would use me. I think of you, dear brother, and how it has used you. And I cannot bear that there should be ill-feeling between you and our father. And Cesare … oh, my brother … you spoke of murder!”

Cesare laughed aloud. Then he was tender. “Set your fears at rest, bambina. I would not murder him. What folly! From him come all our blessings.”

“Do not forget it, Cesare. Do not forget it.”

“I am a man who is full of rage, but not of folly,” he answered. “I revenge myself in my own way. Our father insists that I go into the Church, and I insist on showing how unsuitable I am for that calling. That is why I roam the streets with my red-headed courtesan—in the hope of making our father realize that he cannot force me to continue this life.”

“But Cesare, what of the rumors we have heard concerning your marriage with a Princess of Aragon?”

“Rumors,” he said wearily. “Nothing more.”

“Yet our father seemed to be considering this at one time.”

“It was diplomacy to consider it, child. Naples suggested it in order to alarm the Sforzas of Milan, and our father encouraged it for political reasons.”

“But he gave such a warm welcome to the ambassador, and everyone knew that he had arrived here to discuss a possible marriage between you and the Princess.”

“Diplomacy. Diplomacy. Waste no time on considering it. I do not. My only hope is to show our father how unsuitable I am for the Church, or to find a way of forcing him to release me. But there is little hope. Our father has determined to make me a Cardinal.”

“A Cardinal, Cesare! So that is the reason for your anger.” She shook her head. “I am thinking of all those who bring presents to me and to Giulia because they hope we will influence our father in giving them the Cardinal’s hat. And you … on whom he longs to bestow it … want none of it. How strange life is!”

Cesare was clenching and unclenching his hands. “I fear,” he said, “that once I am in my Cardinal’s robes there will be no escape.”

“Cesare, my brother, you will escape,” she told him.


* * *

“I am determined,” said the Pope, “that you shall become a Cardinal.”

Cesare had once more broached the subject of release and because he felt that his sister might have a softening effect on their father, he had insisted that she accompany him into his presence.

“Father, I implore you to release me from the Church before you take this step.”

“Cesare, are you a fool? What man in Rome would refuse such honors?”

“I am as no other man in Rome. I am myself and myself alone. I refuse this … this questionable honor.”

“You can say this … before Almighty God!”

Cesare shook his head impatiently. “Father, you know, do you not, that once I am a Cardinal it will be more difficult to release me from my vows?”

“My son, there is no question of releasing you from your vows. Let us discuss this no more. Lucrezia, my love, bring your lute. I should like to hear you sing that new song of Serafino’s.”

“Yes, Father,” said Lucrezia.

But Cesare would not allow her to sing and, although the Pope regarded his son with mild reproach, he did nothing more.

“You cannot make me a Cardinal, Father,” said Cesare triumphantly. “I am your son, but your illegitimate son, and as you know full well no man can become a Cardinal unless he is of legitimate birth.”

The Pope brushed aside his argument as though it were not more than a wasp which provided a temporary irritation.

“Now I understand your anxiety, my son. It is for this reason that you have been reluctant. You should have spoken of your fears earlier.”

“So, Father, you see that it is impossible.”

“You … a Borgia to talk of the impossible! Nonsense, my dear boy, nothing is impossible. A little difficulty, I’ll admit; but have no fears, I have thought of ways of overcoming such.”

“Father, I implore you to listen to me.”

“I would rather listen to Lucrezia’s singing.”

“I will be heard! I will be heard!” shrieked Cesare.

Lucrezia began to tremble. She had heard him shout thus before, but never in their father’s presence.

“I think, my son,” said the Pope coolly, “that you are overwrought. It is due to riding in the sun in company unfitted to your state. I would suggest you refrain from such conduct which, I assure you, my dearest boy, brings distress to those who love you, but could bring greater harm to yourself.”

Cesare stood, biting his lips, clenching and unclenching his hands.

There was a moment of fear when Lucrezia thought he was about to strike their father. The Pope sat, smiling benignly, refusing to accept this as a major difference between them.

Then Cesare seemed to regain his control; he bowed with dignity and murmured: “Father, I crave leave to depart.”

“It is granted, my son,” said Alexander gently.

Cesare went, and Lucrezia stared unhappily after him.

Then she, who was sitting on a stool at her father’s feet, felt his hand on her head.

“Come, my love, the song! It is a pleasant one and sounds best on your sweet lips.”

As she sang, the Pope caressed his daughter’s golden hair, and they both temporarily forgot the unpleasant scene which Cesare had created; they both found it very easy to forget when it was comforting to do so.


* * *

In the Pope’s private apartments Cardinals Pallavicini and Orsini sat with him.

“A simple matter,” said the Pope, smiling benignly, “and I am sure it will present no difficulty to you … this little formality of proving that he who is known as Cesare Borgia is of legitimate birth.”