Sanchia kicked prettily and ineffectually. Bernardina and Francesca clung together while their two prospective lovers seized them and Sanchia and Giovanni disappeared.

The room was small; its ceiling low; but it was as clean as could be expected.

“Not the couch I would have chosen for you, my Princess,” said Giovanni. “But it will suffice.”

“You should know who I am,” Sanchia told him.

He took off her mask. “I was as wise before,” he answered, “as you were. Why, sweet Sanchia, did you wish me to stage this pretty little show of rape? Mutual agreement to meet the inevitable would have been so much more comfortable.”

“Considerably less amusing,” she said.

“I have a notion,” he challenged, “that you are afraid of Cesare.”

“Why should I be?”

“Because you have been his mistress since you came into Rome, and he is reputed to be a jealous lover.”

“I am afraid of no man.”

“Cesare is unlike other men. Sanchia … insatiable Sanchia. You cannot look at a man without wishing to know him. I saw your looks … I saw your speculation. At the moment we first met I saw it. You were determined that we should be together thus, but you thought to play safe. ‘Let Giovanni take all the blame,’ you said. ‘Therefore let it be rape.’ ”

“Do you think I care what my old lovers think?”

“Even you are afraid of Cesare.”

“I will be dictated to by none.”

“There you are mistaken. In this room, the door locked behind us, I shall be your dictator.”

“You forget that a moment ago you accused me of arranging this.”

“Let us not argue about that. Sanchia … Sanchia!”

She laughed. “How masterful you are! Why, if you had shown the same determination against the Orsini as you do toward three defenseless women …”

He caught her by the shoulders and shook her, temporarily angered. Then he laughed at her. “You do not want a gentle lover, Madonna Sanchia. I understand.”

“I am thinking of Francesca and Bernardina.”

“They will be in their lovers’ arms by now. They have been watching each other for days; ever since you decided that you would change brothers, those four people have been waiting for this day. Come, why procrastinate?”

“Why, indeed!” she murmured.


* * *

Cesare was furious, for it was not long before his spies brought news to him that Sanchia and Giovanni were constantly together.

He went to Sanchia’s apartments while her women were combing her hair. Bursting in upon them he found them giggling over their adventures with their lovers. He strode to Sanchia, swept the dish of sweetmeats from the table and, waving his arms, shouted to her women: “Get out!”

They left her fearfully, for they thought they saw murder in Cesare’s eyes.

“So, you harlot,” he said, “I hear that you are my brother’s mistress.”

Sanchia lifted her shoulders reflectively. “And does that surprise you?”

“That you give yourself to any who asks, no! But that you dare to arouse my anger, yes!”

“It surprises me that you have time to be angry with me … you who waste so much of it being jealous of Giovanni’s dukedom, and Giovanni’s favor with your father.”

“Be silent. Do you think I shall allow you to insult and degrade me in this way?”

“I cannot see, Cesare, that you can do very much about it.”

She had turned and was smiling at him, her blue eyes blazing with desire for him. When he had this mad rage upon him she found him more interesting than she did when he was an affectionate lover.

“You will see, Sanchia,” he said. “I only ask you to have patience.”

“I am not a very patient person.”

“You are a harlot, I know, the most notorious harlot in Rome. One brother’s wife, and mistress of the other two. Do you know that the whole of the city talks of your behavior?”

“And of yours, dear brother … and of Giovanni’s … and of the Holy Father’s. Yes, and even of Lucrezia’s.”

“Lucrezia is innocent of all scandal,” he said sharply.

“Is that so?” she asked lightly.

Cesare strode to her and gave her a stinging blow on the side of her face, she caught his hand and dug her teeth into it, watching the blood spurt while she put her hand to her burning cheek.

It was as though the sight of blood maddened him. Anger leaped into his eyes as he caught her by the wrist, and she cried out in pain. “Do not think,” he said, “that you can treat me as you may have treated others.”

“Cesare, take your hands from me. You are causing me pain.”

“It delights me to hear it. It is exactly what I intend.” Again those sharp teeth were dug into his hand; he caught her by the shoulder and, as his grip on her wrist was released, she scratched his face. The excitement of battle was on them both. He tried to grasp her hands again; but she had him by the ear and was twisting it.

In a few moments they were rolling on the floor together, and inevitably, with two such people, desire and brutality mingled.

She resisted; not because she wished to resist but because she wished to prolong the battle. He called her bastard, harlot, every name that he could think of which would hurt one as proud as she. She retaliated. Was he not a bastard? she screamed. “Brute! Cardinal!” she sneered.

She lay panting on the floor, her eyes wild, her clothes torn, while she thought of fresh insults to hurl at him.

“All Rome knows of your jealousy of your brother. You … the Cardinal! You with your fine clothes and your mistresses.… I hate Your Eminence. I hate you, Cardinal Borgia.”

He bore down on her; she kicked him; he cursed her; and after a while they were silent together.

She laughed afterward, rising from the floor to stare at her appearance in the polished metal of her mirror.

“We look like two beggars on the Corso,” she said. “How shall I hide these scratches, these bruises you have given me, you brute? Ah, but you are well marked too. It was worth it though, was it not? I begin to think that the floor is as good a bed as any.”

He was looking at her with hatred. But she liked his hatred. It was more stimulating than affection.

“Now,” he said, “perhaps you will be more wary when you next meet my brother.”

“Why so?” she asked.

“Because you have discovered that I am a man of some temper.”

“I adore your temper, Cesare. You cannot ask me to forgo the pleasure of rousing it.”

“You mean then that you will not give him up?”

She appeared to be considering. “We find such pleasure in each other,” she said almost plaintively, longing to arouse him to a fresh frenzy.

But he had grown cold.

He said: “If you prefer one at whom all Italians are jeering, then continue to enjoy him.”

And he went out, leaving her stimulated but a little disappointed.


* * *

The Pope watched the growing antagonism between the two brothers with uneasiness.

Little Goffredo was bewildered. He had been delighted that both his brothers found his wife so attractive; but when he discovered that their admiration for his beautiful wife caused dissention between them which was greater than anything ever had before, he began to be worried.

Giovanni rarely left Sanchia’s side. He liked to ride out with her through the streets of Rome; he did his best to circulate rumors concerning their relationship and was very eager that they should reach Cesare’s ears.

Then suddenly Cesare seemed to lose interest in Sanchia.

His father sent for him because Alexander had some matter of importance to discuss, and he was finding that it was with Cesare rather than with his cherished Giovanni that he wished to discuss matters of policy.

“My dear son,” said Alexander, taking Cesare into his arms and kissing him, “there is a matter of some importance which I wish to discuss with you.”

It delighted the Pope to see the frown on his son’s face fade at such words.

“It is of Lucrezia’s husband, this man Sforza that I wish to speak,” said the Pope.

Cesare’s lip curled in disgust and Alexander went on: “Your opinion of the man coincides with my own.”

“It has caused me great grief,” replied Cesare, “to think of my sister’s spending her days in that remote town, far away from us all … and Your Holiness giving him orders which he does not obey. I would that we could rid Lucrezia of the oaf.”

“It is to discuss this matter that I have called you to me now. Cesare, I wish this to be a closely guarded secret.”

“Between us two?” asked Cesare eagerly.

“Between us two.”

“And Giovanni?”

“No, Cesare, no. I would not even trust Giovanni with this. Giovanni is light-hearted and not as serious minded as you are, Cesare. I wish this to be a matter closely guarded, so that is why I choose to confide in you.”

“Thank you, Most Holy Lord.”

“My dearest son, I am determined to rid my daughter of that man.”

“And the means?”

“There is divorce, but divorce is not beloved of the Church; and as the Head of the Church I am expected to frown on it except in special circumstances.”

“Your Holiness would prefer another method?”

Alexander nodded.

“It should not be impossible,” said Cesare, his eyes shining. He was thinking, it had been sad to know that Virginio must die, but there would be no such sadness where Giovanni Sforza was concerned.

“Our first move,” said the Pope, “would be to recall him to Rome.”

“Then let us make it.”

“Easier said than done, my son. The provincial lord entertains certain suspicions regarding us.”