She knew what he meant, and she laughed. “No, it was well enough.”

The Pope, watching them, laid his hand on Cesare’s shoulder. “Let her go now. Let her women dress her for our banquet. Then I shall see you two dancing together and I shall feel so happy because I have two of my dear ones under the same roof as myself.”

Lucrezia kissed her father’s hand and both men watched her as she left them.

“How enchanting she is!” said Cesare.

“I am beginning to believe she is the loveliest girl in Italy,” replied the Pope.

“I am sure of it,” Cesare said.

He looked at his father quickly. Giulia was losing her hold on the Pope, for he had not forgiven her since she had lived with her husband. He had made the grand gesture of riding out to greet her when he had paid her ransom, but Cesare was fully aware that Giulia was no longer the Pope’s favorite mistress, and he was glad. He had always been irritated by the rise to power of the Farnese family.

While he appeared to take frivolous pleasure in the revelries which were going on about him, Alexander was planning ahead. He now said to Cesare: “I hope it will not be long before we return to Rome. There is much we have to do if we are going to prevent near disasters arising such as that through which we have now passed. Cesare, we must concentrate on destroying the power of the barons who proved themselves to be so weak and feeble at the approach of the invader. I visualize a strong Italy.”

“A strong Italy under the Papacy,” agreed Cesare. “You need a strong army, Father, and good generals.”

“You are right, my son.”

Alexander saw the request rising to Cesare’s lips: Release me. See what a general I will make.

It was not the time, Alexander realized, to tell Cesare that as soon as he was in Rome he intended to bring back Giovanni from Spain. Giovanni should have charge of the Pope’s armies and he should go out and do battle against the Orsinis, who during the French invasion had shown themselves to be traitors to the Pope’s interest. When he had subdued them, rival families would see how powerful the Pope had become; they would conform to the wishes of the Borgia Pope or suffer likewise.

He would have enjoyed talking of these matters with Cesare, but clearly they could only lead to one subject: the recall from Spain of Giovanni.

It was so pleasant to have his dear Lucrezia with him; it made him happy to see Cesare’s delight in her and hers in him. Alexander did not want anything to spoil that pleasure, so deftly changed the subject.

“Our little Lucrezia …” he murmured. “I would we had found a husband more worthy of her.”

“It maddens me to think of that oaf … that provincial boor … near my sister.”

“We will arrange it so that he does not enjoy Perugia,” suggested the Pope.

Cesare was smiling again. “We must send him with all speed to the Doge,” he said. “Can it be arranged?”

“We must put our heads together, my son. Then we shall have Lucrezia to ourselves.”


* * *

Lucrezia lay on her bed, her hair damp about her. She felt a strange excitement as she recalled the pleasures of the previous night. It had been a grand banquet in the palace of Gian-paolo Baglioni, who as a fief-holder of the Church had deemed it his duty and pleasure to entertain the Holy Father.

Baglioni was a fascinating man, handsome and bold. There were stories in circulation about his cruelty, and his slaves and servants trembled at a stern look from him. Cesare had told her as they danced that in the dungeons below the palace those who offended Baglioni were tortured without mercy.

It seemed hard to believe that such a fascinating man could be cruel; he had shown nothing but kindness to Lucrezia. If she had seen anyone tortured at his command she would have hated him; but the dungeons were a long way from the banqueting hall, and the cries of victims could not reach the revelers.

Baglioni had watched her and Cesare as they danced, and his eyes were full of malicious amusement. So were those of others.

“The Spanish dances, Cesare,” she had whispered. “Our father would like to see us dance them.”

And they had danced, she and Cesare together, danced as she had danced with her brother Giovanni at her wedding. She had recalled those wedding dances, but had not referred to them; she did not want to make Cesare angry on such a night.

Baglioni had danced with a very beautiful woman, his mistress.

He was tender toward her and, watching them, Lucrezia whispered to Cesare: “How gentle he is! Yet they say that he inflicts terrible torture on those who offend him.”

Then Cesare had drawn her to him. “What has his gentleness toward her to do with his cruelty toward others?”

“Merely that it is difficult to believe that one who can be so gentle could also be so cruel.”

“Am I not tender? Am I not cruel?”

“You … Cesare … you are different from anyone else on Earth.”

That had made him smile; and she had felt his fingers gripping her hand so that she could have cried out in pain; but the pain inflicted by Cesare had always in some strange way delighted her.

“When we return to Rome,” he had told her, and the expression on his face had made her shudder, “I will do such things to those who violated our mother’s house as men will talk of for years to come. I will commit acts to equal those which take place in Baglioni’s dungeons. And all the time I shall love you, my sister, with the same fierce yet gentle love which you have had from me since you were a baby in your cradle.”

“Oh Cesare … have a care. What good can it do to remember what was done in the heat of war?”

“This is the good it can do, sister. It will show all those who took part that in future they must remember what they risk by daring to insult me or mine. Ah, you are right in saying that Baglioni loves that woman.”

“She is his favorite mistress, I have heard; and there can be no doubt of it.”

“Have you heard aught else concerning her, Lucrezia?”

“Aught else? I think not, Cesare.”

He had laughed suddenly, and his eyes had grown wild. “She is indeed his beloved,” he had said; “she is also his sister.”

It was of this Lucrezia was thinking as she lay on her bed.

Her husband came into the room and stood by the bed looking at his wife. Then he waved his hands to the woman who sat close by, stitching at one of Lucrezia’s gowns.

Lucrezia studied her husband through half-closed eyes. He seemed smaller, less imposing, here at Perugia than he had at Pesaro. There she had seen him as her husband and, being Lucrezia, she was ready to be contented with what life had given her; she had done her best to love him. It was true she had found him unsatisfying, cold, lacking in ardour. Her desires had been aroused, and she was constantly aware of their remaining unsatisfied.

Here at Perugia she saw him through the eyes of her brother and father; and it was a different man she saw.

“So,” he cried, “I am to go. I am to leave you here.”

“Is that so, Giovanni?” she asked languidly, making sure that he should not be aware of the faint pleasure which she was feeling.

“You know it!” he stormed. “It may well be that you have asked to have me removed.”

“I? Giovanni! But you are my husband.”

He came to the bed and took her roughly by the arm. “Forget it not,” he said.

“How could I forget such a thing?”

“You might well do so now that you are with your family.”

“No, Giovanni. We all talk of you constantly.”

“Talk of how you can rid yourselves of me, eh?”

“Why should we wish to?”

That made him laugh.

“What fine bracelets you are wearing! Whence came they? Do not tell me—I’ll guess: A present from the Holy Father. What fine presents for a father to give his daughter! He lavished nothing better on Madonna Giulia at the height of his passion for her. And your brother, he is equally attentive. He rivals his father, one might say.”

She lowered her eyes; she let her long slender fingers play with the jeweled ornaments on her wrists.

She remembered her father’s putting them there; the solemn kisses, the words of love.

“They do not want me here,” shouted Giovanni. “I am an encumbrance. I am a nuisance. Am I not your husband?”

“I pray you, Giovanni, do not make such scenes,” she said. “My brother might hear you.”

She looked at him then, and saw the lights of fear come into his eyes. The mention of Cesare’s name did that to many people, she knew.

His clenched fists had dropped to his sides. He took one look at the beautiful and seductive girl on the bed; then he turned away.

She was the decoy. He must be careful. He was like a careless fly who had flown into the Borgia web. The safest thing he could do was to escape while he had time. At the moment he was a mild irritation to them. Who knew what he might become?

He thought of her gentleness and of the first weeks in Pesaro when she had truly become his wife. She was young and seemingly innocent; she was also very beautiful, very responsive; indeed, perhaps too responsive; with his natural fear he had been a little afraid of something which had warned him of pent-up passion within that exquisitely formed yet frail body.

He wanted to say to her: Come away with me. Come secretly. Do not let them know, because they will never allow you to escape them.

But if she came with him, what would happen to the pair of them? They would never be allowed to escape. He understood that. He realized now why they would not let her go.