30

ALERT TO THE danger of being recaptured by Spanish militia combing the countryside, Cesare avoided all towns and rode only at night, sleeping in the woods during the day. Filthy and exhausted, he finally reached Navarre, in the north tip of the Iberian peninsula.

Cesare was expected by his brother-in-law, for Duarte had told the king of his coming. He was quickly passed through the gate and escorted to a spacious room overlooking the river.

By the time Cesare had bathed and dressed in the clothes provided for him, a soldier arrived to lead him to the royal apartments.

There, King Jean of Navarre, a large man with tanned skin and a trim beard, embraced him warmly.

“My dear brother, how good to see you!” Jean said. “I have heard all about you from Charlotte, of course, and you are welcome here. Oh, we have minor skirmishes with disorderly barons from time to time, but nothing that would threaten your safety or peace of mind. So rest, relax, and enjoy yourself. Stay as long as you like. And, for God’s sake, we must have the royal tailor make you some clothes!”

Cesare was immensely grateful to this man, whom he had never before met, and who was saving his life. He had no intention of leaving that debt unpaid, especially after leaving his dear Lottie in France so long ago.

“I thank you, Your Majesty, for your gracious hospitality,” Cesare said. “But I would like to assist you in these ‘minor skirmishes’ about which you have spoken. For I have experience in war, and would be pleased to put that experience at your service.”

King Jean smiled. “Well, of course you may. I know of your exploits.” He drew his sword and playfully touched it to Cesare’s shoulder. “I make thee commander of the royal army. I should tell you, however, that the previous commander was blown to bits last week.” The king laughed now, showing dazzling white teeth.

For two days Cesare rested, for he was completely exhausted. He slept around the clock, but as soon as he woke, after dressing himself in his new clothing—complete with armor and weapons—he went to inspect the army he was to command. Beginning with the cavalry, he saw that they were experienced professionals, well trained and well led. They would carry themselves well in battle.

Next Cesare inspected the artillery. There were twenty-four guns, clean and in fair shape. The gunners, like the cavalry, seemed to be battle-hardened veterans. They might not be the equal of Vito Vitelli’s unit, but they would serve.

The infantry was another story. Comprised mostly of local peasants reporting periodically for military service, they were willing enough, but ill equipped and apparantly ill trained. When trouble came, he would have to count on the cavalry and artillery to do the job.

The next few weeks passed peacefully. Strangely, they were the happiest times Cesare could remember, other than perhaps his time with Charlotte and the days at Silverlake. For once, his life was not in danger. There was no need to scheme against anyone, and no one was scheming against him.

King Jean was a charming companion, who seemed grateful for Cesare’s company. He was kind, and Cesare had no fear of betrayal. They spent virtually every day together, riding and hunting, and he felt about Jean as he would have liked to about his brothers. Evenings, after supper, they sat by the fire discussing books they had read, the methods of good government, and the responsibilities of leadership. They even had a wrestling match. But though Cesare won, it wasn’t a true victory, for he was certain that the muscular, chivalrous king had surrendered out of fondness for him.

Cesare felt secure for the first time in years. And so he told the king, “I believe it is finally time to send for my wife and child. For since we have parted I have written Lottie, and sent gifts for her and the child; but more than once I have planned to send for them, only to face some new crisis, some new peril that would put them at too great a risk.”

Jean, Charlotte’s brother and now Cesare’s as well, agreed with great enthusiasm. They toasted the time when she would arrive.

At midnight, in his quarters, Cesare picked up a quill and wrote to his wife at the Château de la Motte Feuilly in the Dauphine.

My dearest Lottie,

At last the news I’ve wanted to send you for so long. I believe that it is time for you to join me here in Navarre—with la petite Louise. Of course Jean has been a staunch friend, and the situation here permits all of us to be together—finally. I know the trip will be long and arduous, but once you are here we will never be parted again.

Yours in Love,

C.

Cesare sent the letter by royal courier the following day. He knew it would be months before Charlotte and the child could join him, but his heart filled with joy at the thought.

A few days later, as Cesare joined the king at supper, Jean’s mood was sullen and he was quiet with rage.

“What is it that troubles you, brother?” Cesare asked.

The King was so angry he could barely speak, but when he began he could hardly stop. “Count Louis de Beaumonte has been causing me trouble for months. His men steal the cattle and grain from our villages, which is a disaster for the people. His bishop pretends to be on a mission for the church but instead contacts my officers, offering them lands and money to betray me. Now he has gone further still. And now it is too far. Today his soldiers burned a village to the ground, slaughtered every man, and of course raped every woman. This was not some random escapade by an unknown drunk, Cesare. Beaumonte has designs on a significant portion of my lands. And his tactic is terror. He will terrorize the villagers until they desert me and support him, in order to save their own lives and homes.”

Again treachery, like a dragon from the depths, had reared its head. Cesare recognized it, and was afraid for Jean.

The king slammed his fist on the table, spilling his wine. “I will stop him! At once! As ruler of Navarre, I owe my subjects protection. They should not have to live in fear. Tomorrow I will lead a raid on his castle at Viana. There, I will drive him out or kill him.”

Cesare said, “You are a true king. You should order such a raid, Jean. But you must not lead it yourself. For it is too dangerous a battle, and you are much too important to your people to risk your person. I am truly grateful for all you have done for me, when I had no chance at life except for you. I beg that you allow me to lead the attack. For I have led many, and we will succeed.”

The king finally agreed, swayed by Cesare’s logic. That night the two men spent hours studying a map of Viana’s fortifications, and planning strategies for the following day.

It was before dawn when Cesare awoke. The king’s army had arrived, and was waiting. His mount, a spirited bay stallion, was impatiently stomping his foot at the gate. The army wound its way out of the castle, and with Cesare leading they crossed fields, climbed hills and streams, and finally arrived before the walls of Louis de Beaumont’s castle.

Cesare studied the fortress. The walls were high and well designed. But Cesare had seen higher, better walls. Compared to Forli and Faenza, this should be no difficult task.

Cesare deployed his men as he had so many times before, then donned light armor and prepared himself to fight once again. He himself would lead the charge of the cavalry; given the infantry’s condition, Cesare knew that charge would be critical—it could carry the day.

Recalling the lessons he had learned from Vito Vitelli, Cesare began by spreading his cannons around the perimeter of the walls and protecting them with units of cavalry and infantry. Once that was accomplished, he ordered them to fire initially at the ramparts. This behavior would kill or disable many of the defenders and reduce the ultimate risk to Cesare’s own forces. The artillery officers passed on his orders, and the bombardment began.

It went well. Time after time, as the guns fired, portions of the upper walls crumbled and fell on all sides of the castle. As the cannons continued their fire, Cesare could hear the screams of the defenders who had been mutilated or blown off the ramparts by the ceaseless attack.

But now, after more than an hour, it was time to change his tactics. Cesare instructed that all cannons be wheeled to one side of the castle. Then he ordered their fire directed to a single section of the wall no more than fifty feet wide. There, thought Cesare, is where my cavalry charge will strike.

This castle was not as well built as those Cesare had attacked in Italy. The walls began to sway with each barrage, and Cesare knew the end was near.

It was then he gave the command for the cavalry to prepare to charge. The cavalry officers passed on his command, and each of the mounted men placed a deadly-looking lance under his arm in the attack position. Each was wearing a sword as well, and even if dismounted would be a formidable foe.

Cesare himself mounted his bay charger, placing his own lance at the ready. He checked his sword and the spike-studded mace that hung from his saddle, ready for use if he were dismounted and lost his sword.

Cesare’s fighting spirit was aroused. But it was more than that. This was not just another battle for conquest. This king had been kind to him, had saved his life, had become a friend.

Moreover, Cesare knew all too well what a vicious baron like Beaumonte could do if left unchecked. He owed it to the king to put an end to Louis de Beaumonte.

Now Cesare heard the familiar cry: “A breach, a breach!” A huge, jagged hole had been opened in the wall, through which his cavalrymen could pass unimpeded and take the castle.

His heart beating mightily, Cesare turned and shouted at his troops to charge the wall. Pulling down the visor of his helmet, he spurred his charger straight ahead directly at the breach.

But as he raced toward the wall, he knew suddenly that something was terribly wrong. There was no sound of hooves beside him.

Without stopping, he turned in the saddle.

Behind him, where he had left them, the entire cavalry troop was standing motionless. With horror, he realized that not a man had followed him.

Any moment the castle reserve would rush to the breach, and without a cavalry charge, they would be difficult to dislodge.

Cesare slowed his charger. He turned again toward his cavalry unit, raised his visor, and bellowed, “Charge, you cowards!”

But once again the entire cavalry unit stood unmoving.

Now Cesare understood. These dastardly men had been bought and paid for. They were betraying their king . . . his friend, his savior, Jean of Navarre.

Well, he would not!

Cesare hesitated no more. He lowered his visor, secured his lance, and raced into the breach . . . alone.

There was dust and confusion everywhere. Immediately, hordes of reservists with pikes, spears, and swords rushed toward him. He rode into the pack, and they scattered. But he had slain only two with his lance. Now the enemy regrouped and swarmed around him again.

Instinctively Cesare fought, his sword in one hand, his mace in the other. One enemy after another fell, cut down by his sword or smashed to the ground by his mace.

Then, suddenly, Cesare’s horse went down, and he was on the ground, rolling to one side to avoid the sharp thrusts of the enemy pikes. He leapt to his feet, his mace gone now, but still he slashed out with his sword in all directions.

Yet there were too many of them—just too many. And suddenly they were all around him, stabbing and hacking at him. He felt the sharp pain of a spear thrust into his armpit. He felt weak; he was losing blood now. Then he heard a voice, a comforting sound: “In arms and by arms . . . ” He thought of Lucrezia. Then he slipped to the ground, and all thought ceased.

Cesare Borgia was dead.