“My poor Lucrezia, how she must suffer!”

“I am not sure of that, Cesare. Her letters would seem to grow more distant. Sometimes I feel that the Lord of Pesaro is taking our Lucrezia away from us, that she is becoming more of a wife to him than a daughter to me or a sister to you.”

“It shall not be. He will rob her of her charm. He will make her dull … insipid as he is. We must bring her back, Father.”

The Pope nodded. “And Sforza with her. And when they come …” The Pope hesitated, and Cesare prompted him: “And when they come, Holiness?”

“We will disarm him with our friendship. That will be the first step, Cesare. We will tell him by our words, gestures and deeds that we are no longer estranged from him. He is the spouse of our dearest one, and as such we will love him.”

“ ’Twill be a hard task,” said Cesare grimly.

“Not when you remember to what it is leading us.”

“When we have his confidence, we will ask him to a banquet,” mused Cesare. “He will not die at once. His shall be a lingering death.”

“You shall introduce him to the embrace of cantarella.”

“With the utmost pleasure,” said Cesare.


* * *

So to Rome came Lucrezia and with her rode her husband. Giovanni Sforza was reluctant; he grumbled continually throughout the journey.

“What do your family plan now? Why have they become so friendly toward me? I do not trust them.”

“Oh, Giovanni, you are too distrustful. It is because they have so much regard for me, because they are delighted to see me as a happy wife, that they offer you their friendship.”

“I warn you I shall be wary,” declared Giovanni.

He was surprised by his reception.

The Pope embraced him, called him his beloved son, and said that as the husband of Lucrezia he was entitled to a high position at the Papal Court. Never had Giovanni enjoyed such prestige as he did during those weeks. He began to lose his fears. When all is considered, he told himself, I am Lucrezia’s husband, and Lucrezia is well satisfied with me.

He confided in a certain retainer of his whom he liked to take with him wherever he went, for he felt that Giacomino, his handsome young chamberlain, was one of the few people whom he could trust.

“My lord,” said Giacomino, “it appears that you are well received here, but have a care, oh my lord. They say that it is unwise to eat rashly at the Borgia table.”

“I have heard such rumors.”

“Remember the sudden death of Virginio Orsini, my lord.”

“I think of it.”

“My lord, it would please me if you ate food prepared only by me.”

That made Giovanni laugh; but there were few people who had such a true affection for him as Giacomino had, and he knew it; he laid an affectionate arm about his servant’s shoulders.

“Fret not, Giacomino,” he said. “I can take good care of myself.”

He told Lucrezia of Giacomino’s anxieties.

“They are groundless,” Lucrezia assured him. “My father has taken you into the family circle. He knows that you and I can be happy together. But Giacomino is a good fellow, Giovanni; and I am glad he feels so deeply for you.”

And in the weeks which followed, Giovanni Sforza acquired a new air of confidence.

I can make Lucrezia happy, he thought; and the Pope loves his daughter so dearly that he is ready to bless any who can do that. He began to believe that he had exaggerated rumor and that the Borgias were merely a family who, with the exception of Giovanni and Cesare, were particularly devoted to one another.


* * *

Carnival time came round again, and the Borgias found the revels irresistible. The Pope, watching the scenes from his balcony, called his applause for the lewdness, and gave his blessing at the same time. There had never been a man who was able to mingle his love for the lewd and the pious so happily together; there was never a man more ready to take his religion in a merry way. At carnival times, more than any other, the people were satisfied with their Holy Father.

Giovanni Sforza disliked the carnival, was embarrassed by the lewd scenes which were enacted and, finding no pleasure in the coarse jokes, he was already homesick for Pesaro.

He did not want to go out and mingle with the crowds in the streets, so Lucrezia went with her brothers and Sanchia, some of their men and Sanchia’s and Lucrezia’s women.

It was Giovanni Borgia’s idea that they should dress as mummers and mingle more freely with the crowds.

This seemed great fun to Lucrezia who, unlike her husband, delighted in the gaiety of Rome and certainly did not sigh for quiet Pesaro.

Sanchia had decided to give her attention to Giovanni in order to arouse Cesare’s anger, and Giovanni was nothing loth; in their mummers’ dresses, masks hiding their faces, they danced through the streets, Sanchia and Giovanni leading the troupe, dancing in the Spanish manner, suggestively, and going through the motions of courtship to an end which seemed inevitable.

But Cesare was not thinking of Sanchia at this moment; he had plans which concerned Giovanni, but he was shelving those, for more pressing ones concerning another Giovanni obsessed him at this moment. Moreover Lucrezia was with him, and his lust for Sanchia had never been as great as his love for his little sister.

He could lash himself into a fury now, not because Sanchia was behaving amorously with Giovanni, but by thinking of Lucrezia’s life with Sforza.

“Lucrezia, little one,” he said, “you love the carnival.”

“Oh brother, yes. Did I not always? Do you remember how we used to watch from the loggia of our mother’s house and long to be among the revelers?”

“I remember how you clapped your hands and danced there on the loggia.”

“And sometimes you lifted me, so that I could see better.”

“We share many happy memories, beloved. When I think of the times we have been parted, I feel murderous toward those who parted us.”

“Do not talk of murderous feelings on such a night as this, Cesare.”

“It is such a night that takes my thoughts back to those weary separations. That husband of yours has deliberately kept you from us too long.”

She smiled gently. “He is Lord of Pesaro, Cesare, and as such has his duties to Pesaro.”

“And what think you, Lucrezia—will he soon be carrying you back to his dreary home?”

“I think that before long he will be impatient to return.”

“And you want to leave us?”

“Cesare! How can you say so? Do you not realize that I miss you all so sadly that I can never be happy away from you?”

He drew a deep breath. “Ah! That is what I wished to hear you say.” He put his arm about her and held her close to him. “Dearest sister,” he whispered, “have no fear. It will not be long now before you are free of that man.”

“Cesare?” She spoke his name in the form of a question.

The excitement of the dance was upon him. His hatred of Sanchia and his brother was overlaid by his love for this little sister. He felt a great longing to protect her from all unhappiness and, believing that she despised her husband, even as he and their father did, he could not lose another moment before telling her that she would soon be free of him.

“It will not be long, sweet sister,” went on Cesare.

“Divorce?” she asked breathlessly.

“Divorce! Holy Church abhors it. Have no fear, Lucrezia. There are other ways of ridding oneself of an undesirable partner.”

“You cannot mean …” she cried.

But he silenced her.

“Listen, my dearest. We’ll not talk of these matters here in the streets. I have plans concerning your husband, and I can promise you that before next carnival time you will have forgotten his very existence. There, does that please you?”

Lucrezia felt sick with horror. She did not love Giovanni Sforza, but she had tried to; when she was in Pesaro she had done her best to be the sort of wife he wished for, and she had not been unhappy in her efforts. He was not the lover of whom she had dreamed, but he was her husband. He had feelings, aspirations; and if he was full of self-pity, she too had pity for him. He had been unfortunate so many times.

“Cesare,” she said, “I am afraid.…”

His lips were close to her ear. “People watch us,” he said. “We are not dancing with the others as we should. I will come to your apartment to-morrow in the afternoon. We will make sure that we are neither overlooked nor overheard. Then I will explain my plans to you.”

Lucrezia nodded mutely.

She began to dance, but now there was no gaiety in her. Those words of Cesare’s kept drumming in her ears. They are going to murder Giovanni Sforza, she told herself.


* * *

Afraid and unsure, that night she was sleepless, and next day disturbed.

Never in her life had she felt so closely bound to her family; never had she had to face such an important decision.

To her father and her brother she believed she owed complete loyalty. To betray their confidences would be to commit an unforgivable act. And yet to stand aside and allow them to murder her husband—how could she do that?

Lucrezia discovered that she had a conscience.

She was aware of her youth and inexperience of life. She realized that like her father she longed for harmony all about her; and unlike him she could not achieve it ruthlessly. She did not love Sforza; she understood now that she would not greatly care if she never saw him again; but what horrified her was that he should be led to violent death or even quiet death, and that she would be among those who led him there, which she must be if she did not warn him.