“They are my friends,” said Sanchia. “I hope they will be yours. They admire you. Do you not?” she demanded of the trio.

“We all agree that Madonna Lucrezia is quite lovely,” said Loysella.

“Now tell me about Cesare,” insisted Sanchia. “He is angry … a very angry man. I know it.”

“Cesare will always succeed in the end,” said Lucrezia. “He will always do what he sets out to do.”

“You are very fond of your brother?”

“It is impossible not to admire him more than anyone on Earth, as he excels all others.”

Sanchia smiled knowledgeably. Now she understood. There was something in these rumors she had heard, of the strange and passionate attachments which existed in the Borgia family.

She knew that Lucrezia was suspicious of her, jealous because she feared Sanchia might attract the Pope and Cesare so that they ceased to be so eager for Lucrezia’s company. It was a novel situation and one which appealed to Sanchia.

Moreover it was comforting to think that Cesare Borgia did not have all his own way. He hated the robes of the Church yet he was forced to wear them, and that was why she had seen that smoldering anger in his eyes. She, as the illegitimate daughter of the King of Naples, forced to take second place to her half-sister, understood his feelings. It drew her closer to Cesare, and his vulnerability intrigued her.

As they set out for St. Peter’s she felt almost recklessly gay; she put her arm lovingly through Lucrezia’s as they entered the church. How long the ceremony was! There was the Holy Father, seeming quite a different person from the jovial father who had been so affectionate during last night’s banquet. She had been right about the Spanish prelate; his sermon went on and on.

“I am tired,” she whispered to Lucrezia.

Lucrezia’s pale face turned slightly pink. The Princess from Naples seemed to have no understanding as to how to conduct herself during a solemn ceremony.

Lucrezia said nothing.

“Will the man never end?”

Loysella smothered a giggle, and Bernardina whispered: “For the love of the saints, Madonna, be quiet!”

“But it is too long to stand,” complained Sanchia. “Why should we not be seated? Look, there are empty pews.”

Lucrezia said in an agonized whisper: “They are for canons when they sing the gospel.”

“They shall be for us now,” said Sanchia.

Several heads turned on account of the whispering voices, so many saw this beautiful young woman climb into the pews with a rustling of silk and the exposure of very shapely legs. Loysella, Francesca and Bernardina, who followed their mistress in all things, did not hesitate. Where Sanchia went, so did they.

Lucrezia, watching them for a second, was aware of a rising excitement within her. She knew that these girls lived colorful lives, and she herself longed for the sort of adventures which she knew to be theirs; she wanted to identify herself with them.

Without hesitation, she followed, climbing into the pews, settling down beside them with a rustle of garments, an unusually mischievous smile on her lips, the laughter rising within her.

They had settled down in their pews and Sanchia had forced a look of mock piety on to her face. Loysella dropped her head hurriedly to hide her mirth, and Lucrezia needed all her willpower to stop herself breaking into hysterical laughter.


* * *

They had shocked the Papal Court.

Never, complained the Cardinals, had such behavior been seen during a solemn service. The woman from Naples was clearly nothing more than a Court harlot. The glances she distributed confirmed the reputation which had preceded her.

Girolamo Savonarola declaimed long and loudly from the pulpit of San Marco in Florence that the Papal Court was a disgrace to the world, and the Pope’s women behaved with great impropriety and were the disgrace and scandal of the people.

The Cardinals tentatively approached the Holy Father.

“Your Holiness will have suffered great sadness,” said one. “The spectacle of those young women’s behavior during the Whitsuntide ceremonies horrified all who beheld it.”

“Is that so?” said Alexander. “I noticed many an eye glistened as it turned in their direction.”

“With disgust, Holiness.”

“I saw no disgust, but I did see some delight.”

The Cardinals looked grim. “Your Holiness will doubtless deal adequately with the offenders?”

“Oh come, come, what offense is there in the pranks of girls? Young girls are by nature high-spirited. I for one would not have them otherwise. And who among you was not a little bored by our worthy preacher?”

“Nevertheless, to bring the manners of Naples to Rome!”

The Pope nodded placatingly. He would speak to the girls.

He did. He put an arm about Sanchia and another about Lucrezia, and composed his features into an expression of mock reproach. He kissed them tenderly and smiled benignly at Loysella, Bernardina and Francesca who stood before him, their heads bowed—but not so low as to prevent their glancing upwards occasionally at the Holy Father.

“You have shocked the community,” he said, “and if you were not so beautiful, I should be forced to scold you, and so I am sure bore you as thoroughly as did your Spanish prelate.”

“But you understand, Most Holy Lord,” said Sanchia, looking at him from under her dark lashes with those bluest of blue eyes.

“I understand this,” said the Pope, giving her a passionate look. “It gives me the greatest pleasure in the world to see so much brightness and beauty at my Court; and should I as much as frown on you I should be the most ungrateful man on Earth.”

Whereupon they all laughed, and Sanchia said they would sing for him, for he was not only their Holy Father but their greatly beloved one.

So Sanchia sang to the accompaniment of Lucrezia’s lute, and the girls ranged themselves about him, Loysella, Bernardina, Francesca on stools at his feet, raising wondering and admiring eyes, while Sanchia and Lucrezia leaned against his knees.

Scold these lovely creatures! thought Alexander. Never! Their little pranks could only amuse such a benevolent father.


* * *

That night Sanchia danced with Cesare. His eyes held hers and she was conscious of that smoldering resentment against the world which had afflicted herself. She was of a different temperament, and it was because of this that she had been able to shrug aside the slights and enjoy her life. But there was a bond between them.

For all his demonstrations of affection the Pope had not assigned to her that position at the Papal Court for which she longed. She was merely the wife of Goffredo, himself suspected of having a father other than Alexander; it would have been different had she been the wife of Cesare.

But her sensuous nature made it possible for her to forget all else in the pursuit of sexual satisfaction. That satisfaction dominated her life. It was not so with Cesare. He craved carnal pleasures but he had other desires as insistent. His love of power was greater than his desire for women.

She, who had known so many men that she read them easily, was aware of this, and she determined now to make Cesare forget his ambitions in his pursuit of her. They were both experienced, and they would find great pleasure in surprising each other by their accomplishments. Each was aware of this as they danced; and each was asking: Why delay longer? Delay was something which neither of them would tolerate.

“You are all that I heard you were,” Sanchia told him.

“You are all that I hoped you would be,” he answered her.

“I wondered when you and I would be able to talk together. This is the first time it has happened, and all eyes are on us now.”

“They were right,” said Cesare, “when they said you were the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“They were right when they said there was something terrifying about you.”

“Do you find me terrifying?”

She laughed. “No man terrifies me.”

“Have they always been so kind?”

“Always,” she said. “From the time I was able to talk, men have been kind to me.”

“Are you not weary of my sex, since you know it so well?”

“Each man is different from all others. That is what I have found. Perhaps that is why I have always discovered them to be so fascinating. And none that I have ever known has been remotely like you, Cesare Borgia; you stand apart.”

“And you like this strangeness in me?”

“So much that I would know it so well that it ceases to be strangeness and is familiar to me.”

“What tales have you heard of me?”

“That you are a man who will never take no for an answer, that men fear your frown, and that when you beckon a woman she must obey, in fear if not in desire. I have heard that those who displease you meet ill fortune, that some have been discovered in alleys, suffocated or with knives in their bodies. I have heard that some have drunk wine at your table and have felt themselves to be merely intoxicated, only to learn that they are dying. These are the things which I have heard of you, Cesare Borgia. What have you heard of me?”

“That you practice witchcraft so that all men whom you desire fall under your spell, and that having once been your lover none can ever forget you.”

“And do you believe these tales of me?”

“And do you believe the tales of me?”

She looked into his eyes and the flame of desire in hers was matched by that in his.

“I do not know,” she said, “but I am determined to discover.”