EPILOGUE

CESARE BORGIA, WHO had been a cardinal, a duke, and a gonfaloniere, was honored in an elaborate ceremony in Rome conducted by his brother, Cardinal Jofre Borgia, and Pope Julius himself. Afterward, his ashes were placed beneath a huge monument in the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore. It was said that Pope Julius wanted Cesare where he could keep an eye on him even after death.

But Lucrezia Borgia had arranged for her brother’s ashes to be stolen by Michelotto and placed in a golden urn. Michelotto, who had by some miracle stayed alive, then rode through the night to bring them to her in Ferrara.

The following day, Lucrezia set off with a retinue of three hundred nobles and men at arms, and led the funeral cortege on the long journey to Silverlake.

Tents were pitched along the shore. There were the usual penitents from the Tolfa mines only ten miles away and mistresses of some of the high-ranking clergymen shedding their repentant tears into the waters. Lucrezia’s men cleared them away.

From the hilly ground above, she could see the spires of Rome. And it brought back memories of when she had been a carnal sinner, when she had suffered pangs of fear for her brother and her father because of what she knew of them. Like many other sinners, she had come to this lake to be cleansed of her sinful desires, truly believing that the magical waters would wash away her temptations, for the lake had a reputation for providing solace, for reforming evildoers.

But her father, the Pope, with his sly yet good-humored smile, reminded her that there was nothing as treacherous as the evildoer seeking redemption. After all, such a person was a proven example of weakness of character, prone to shifting winds.

Now, Lucrezia sat by the lake in her golden tent and felt those silvery waters bring her a peace she had never really known before. Her father and her brother were dead. And her destiny was settled. She would give birth to more children; she would help rule Ferrara; she would be just, and above all merciful, for the remainder of her life.

She would never rival her father and brother in worldly achievement, but that was of no consequence, for she would be what they never were. Sadly, she acknowledged in her heart that they were never truly merciful. She remembered how Cesare had punished the Roman satirist Filofila, who had composed the scurrilous verses about the Borgia clan. What did all that matter now? What was the harm in words? Would anyone ever truly believe them?

And so she had brought Cesare’s ashes to Silverlake, as if his mortal remains could be tempted to sin even yet. Or as some sort of pilgrimage to atone for her own sins of the flesh, the only sins of which she was guilty and of which she would be guilty no more. Finally, she would be redeemed.

And that brought her back with fondness to the memory of her father. A cardinal of the Holy Church when she was born, a loving and dutiful father when he was Pope and the Vicar of Christ. Did his soul roast in hell forevermore for his sins? If she could feel mercy, how could not an all-powerful God? She remembered then what her father had said when she wept over Cesare’s murder of her husband.

“God will forgive them both,” he had told her. “Otherwise there is no reason for His being. And one day, when our worldly tragedy is done, we will all be together again.”

Near nightfall, the lake had taken on a silvery glow. Lucrezia walked slowly out onto the small dock from which they had swum and dived as children. And in her mind, she could hear her brother Cesare’s voice as it sounded when she was a child. “No, Crezia, it’s too shallow.” “Don’t worry, Crezia, I’ll save you.” And later, when they were older, with more of their lives lived and some dreams destroyed, his voice again, promising, “If that is what you want, Crezia, I’ll try to help.” Then, when she had seen him for the very last time, his plea: “If I’m ever killed, Crezia, you must live for me.” And she had promised she would.

As she walked to the end of the dock the night began to envelop her in its shimmering darkness, and she saw the pale moon rise just over the cedars. It was then Lucrezia removed the cover from the urn, and slowly scattered Cesare’s ashes into Silverlake.

Later, as she reached the shore again, several of the penitents walking back through the hills after their day of prayer and penance noticed her.

One beautiful young woman turned to the young man she was with and pointed to Lucrezia. “Who is that lovely woman?” she asked him.

“Lucrezia d’Este, the good and merciful duchess of Ferrara,” he said. “Have you never heard of her?”