27

JOFRE AND SANCIA lay sound asleep in their apartments in the Vatican when, without warning or explanation, several papal guards entered and pulled her from their bed. As Sancia kicked and screamed, Jofre shouted his resistance.

“This is an outrage!” Jofre said to one of the young lieutenants. “Have you spoken to my father about this?”

“It was the Holy Father himself who gave the order,” the soldier confessed.

Jofre rushed to the Pope’s quarters, where he found Alexander sitting at his desk in his study. “What is the meaning of this, Father?” he asked.

The Pope looked up and answered crossly. “I could say it was due to the looseness of your wife’s morals—for she is a spicy little clove—or your inability to help her keep her temper,” Alexander said. “But it is far less personal this time. I seem to be unable to impress upon the good king of Naples, who is aligned with Ferdinand of Spain, the importance of French interest in Naples. Louis has requested that I do something, and so to prove my allegiance I have.”

“What has this to do with Sancia?” Jofre asked. “She is but a girl, and she has done nothing in regard to France.”

“Jofre. Please! Don’t be a hairless eunuch!” Alexander said impatiently. “Your brother’s welfare is at stake; the papacy rests on its ability to support its alliances. And at this moment, our strongest alliance is with France.”

“Father,” Jofre said, his eyes lit with fire. “I cannot allow this, for Sancia can never love a man who cannot, at the very least, protect her from the dungeons.”

“She may send a message to her uncle, the king, and explain her need for assistance,” the Pope said.

In that moment Jofre had to look away from his father, for he feared the Pope would see the hatred written on his face. “Father,” Jofre said, “I will ask this one more time, as your son. You must free my wife, for otherwise you will cause the end of my marriage. And I cannot allow that.”

Alexander seemed puzzled for a moment. What was this son saying? His wife, Sancia, had been trouble from the day she had arrived, and he had done nothing to harness her or even rein her in. What insolence now made him dare to tell his father—and the Holy Father as well—how to run the Holy Mother Church?

But the Pope’s voice held to reason, devoid of all emotion, when he answered this son. “Because you are my son, I will forgive you this trespass,” he said. “But if ever you speak in this way again, for any reason, I will have your head upon a pike, and I myself will swear to your heresy. Do you understand?”

Jofre took a deep breath. “How long will my wife be imprisoned?”

“Ask the king of Naples,” Alexander said. “For it is all up to him. The moment he agrees that Louis shall wear the crown is the moment your wife goes free.”As Jofre turned to go, the Pope added, “From this day forward, you will be guarded day and night to keep you from temptation.”

All Jofre asked was, “May I see her?”

Alexander looked surprised. “What kind of father would I be if I would keep my son from his wife?” he asked. “Do you think me a monster?”

Jofre could not keep the tears from streaming down his face, for on this night he had lost not only his wife, but his father as well.

Sancia was taken to the cellar of the fortress at Sant’ Angelo, and placed in a dungeon alone. From the cells around her she could hear the cries and screams of the others, who moaned and shouted obscenities to the papal guards.

Those who recognized her taunted her, and those who didn’t wondered how such a fine-fashioned young woman could have placed herself in such a situation.

Sancia herself was livid, and raging mad. This time he had done it. The Pope who had once before sent her away had now sealed his fate; for she would make certain, even from this place, that she helped take him down. He would sit on the throne of the Holy Father no longer, she vowed; if she had to give her life to that one mission, it would be worth more than all the ducats in the world.

When Jofre came, Sancia had already overturned the cot and dumped its straw onto the dungeon floor. She had taken the water and food she had been brought, and even the wine, and tossed it against the small wooden door, leaving pieces of her dinner stuck to it.

Jofre was surprised to find that when he greeted her, she came to him and embraced him. “Husband, you must help me,” she told him. “If you love me, you must get a message to my family. You must let my uncle know what has become of me.”

“I will do that,” Jofre said, holding her and smoothing her hair. “I will do more than that. And in the meantime, I will spend as many hours in this dungeon as you wish me to.”

Jofre lifted the cot then and both of them sat upon it, his arm around her shoulders, comforting her. “Will you bring me paper at once, and make certain the message goes quickly?” she asked.

“I will,” Jofre said, “for I cannot bear being without you.”

Sancia smiled then, and he felt hopeful.

“We are as one,” he said. “And therefore what they do to you, they do to me as well.”

“I know it is a sin to hate another,” Sancia said. “But for the hate I hold against your father, I am willing to stain my soul with sin. No matter that he is the Holy Father: he is as evil in my eyes as the greatest of the fallen angels.”

Jofre had no desire to defend him. “I will write to my brother, Cesare,” he said. “For I have no doubt he will help us as soon as he returns.”

“Why? I have not seen this side of him that makes him so endearing,” Sancia said.

“I have my reasons,” Jofre said. “My brother Cesare will understand, and I trust he will release you from this hell.”

When he kissed her good-bye, he held her longer than usual. And she allowed it.

But that night, once he had gone, one guard after another entered her cell and ravished her. They stripped her of her clothes, they kissed her lips and breathed their ugly breath into her face, and they pushed themselves inside her without any regard for her resistance. For once she had been placed among the prostitutes and thieves she was no longer under the protection of the Borgia Pope, and so they feared no punishment.

By the time her husband came to visit in the morning Sancia was dressed and washed again, but she had ceased to speak. And no matter what Jofre said to her she did not notice, for the light that had once shone so brightly in her sparkling green eyes had been extinguished, and now they were merely a muddy gray.

Cesare Borgia controlled the Romagna now, at last. But there were other cities still to be conquered before he could accomplish his vision to unify all of Italy. There was Camerino, run by the Varano family, and Senigallia, where the della Rovere ruled. And there was Urbino, where Guido Feltra ruled as duke. Urbino seemed too powerful for Cesare’s army to attack; still, it blocked his route to the Adriatic, and could cut off communication with Pesaro and Rimini, if nothing were done to alter the situation in the Borgia’s favor.

And so Cesare’s campaign continued . . .

His first objective was the small city-state Camerino. Cesare assembled an army to strike north from Rome. There they would link up with one of Cesare’s Spanish captains and his troops that remained in the Romagna.

In order to accomplish his goal, however, he was forced to request that Guido Feltra allow the passage of his captain, Vito Vitelli, and his artillery through Feltra’s Urbino. Now, it was known throughout Italy that Feltra had little affection for the Borgia. Feltra, whose reputation as a condottiere was greater than his skill and intelligence, was eager to avoid an immediate confrontation, and so he granted Cesare permission—in order to disguise his true intention, which was to help Alessio Varano defend Camerino.

Unfortunately for the duke, Cesare’s spies discovered his plan, and Vitelli’s powerful artillery moved on Urbino. Without warning, both Cesare’s force from Rome and his army from the north arrived at the gates of the city.

That view of the entire papal force, with Cesare in his black battle armor riding his spirited charger back and forth before them, was enough to persuade Guido Feltra to flee.

The city quickly surrendered to Cesare—to the amazement not only of Italy but of all Europe, since the powerful duke of Urbino had before this day been considered invincible.

And so, as he had planned, Cesare moved on to Camerino. Without the help of Guido Feltra, that city also surrendered with little resistance.

Once Urbino and Camerino had been conquered, it appeared that nothing could stop Cesare from imposing his will—and papal rule—on any town or city in Italy.

In Florence that summer the afternoon sun hung high in the sky, a steaming red disk that burned hot on the city below. The windows of the Palazzo della Signoria opened wide to the square outside inviting flies, but no breeze cooled the stifling room. There the men of the Signoria sweated and fidgeted, anxious for the difficult session to be completed, so that they could rush home to a cool bath and a glass of chilled wine.

The most important matter to consider was the report of Niccolò Machiavelli, special emissary to the Vatican. That could foretell the future of their city.

The situation in the Papal States was a matter of growing concern. Cesare Borgia had threatened Florence itself on his last campaign, and they feared that the next time he might not be bought off so easily.

Machiavelli rose to address the Signoria. Despite the heat he wore a doublet of pearl-gray satin, and his gleaming white blouse remained dry and crisp.

“Excellencies,” he said, in a dramatic and eloquent voice, “you all know that Urbino has fallen, that the duke was taken by surprise. Some say by treachery, but if so it was not undeserved. Guido Feltra was clearly plotting against the Borgia, and they duped him in return. It would seem to be a case of frodi onorevoli—honorable fraud.” Machiavelli paced in front of them as he continued.

“Where does Cesare Borgia stand? Well, his army is large and well organized, and his men are loyal. It is known throughout all the cities and towns he has conquered that Cesare’s soldiers adore him. He has subdued the Romagna, and now Urbino. He terrified the Bolognese—and, if the truth be known, he has terrified us as well.” He placed his hand over his eyes in a theatrical gesture, to impress upon the members the severity of what he was about to say. “We cannot rely on the French to interfere with Cesare’s plans. It’s true, the French were suspicious of the Borgia in the revolt of Arezzo, and they were quite displeased by Cesare’s threatening Bologna and our own great city. But remember, Louis still needs the Pope’s support in dealing with Spain and Naples—and given the strength and skill of Cesare’s army, their position seems quite sensible.”

Machiavelli lowered his voice. “Now, I will share with you a confidence. Cesare has paid Louis a secret visit, traveling in disguise without guards. By placing himself totally in the power of the French king, and begging his forgiveness for Vitelli’s erroneous adventure in Arezzo, Cesare has healed whatever breach may have existed between France and the papacy. Therefore, this time, if Cesare attacks Bologna, I predict that the king will support him. If he attacks Florence, the French may or may not interfere.”

A perspiring signor rose, mopping his forehead with a white linen handkerchief, his brow furrowed with worry. “What you seem to be telling us, Machiavelli, is that Cesare Borgia is unstoppable, and that those of us lucky enough to have villas in the mountains should flee.”

“I doubt it’s that bad, Excellency,” Machiavelli reassured. “So far our relationship with Cesare is amicable, and he has a genuine fondness for our city.

“But there is something else to consider, which may shift the balance of this equation. Cesare Borgia has defeated and humiliated a number of dangerous men by driving them from their territories, and though it is true that his army is loyal and his soldiers adore him, I am far less certain of his condottieri—for they are violent and unpredictable men, capable of jealousy and worse. I fear they will someday turn and seek to overthrow him. You see, while becoming the most powerful man in Italy, Cesare Borgia has built up a list of formidable enemies . . . a list not one of us would wish to share.”

In Magioni, at a castle in Orsini territory, the conspiracy began to take shape. Giovanni Bentivoglio of Bologna was determined to lead the conspiracy. A large, athletic man with crinkly peppered hair and coarse features, he smiled readily, and spoke in a voice rich with persuasion. But he had a dark side as well. Before he reached full manhood he had killed a hundred men, as part of a group of bandits. He had reformed to become a good ruler of Bologna, and all his fierce and bloodthirsty urges seemed to have fallen aside—that is, until he was threatened and humiliated by Cesare.

Bentivoglio held a meeting at his castle in Bologna and invited the short, stocky Guido Feltra, the displaced and outraged duke of Urbino. Feltra spoke so softly that one had to listen carefully to each word he said—unless one knew, of course, that with Guido Feltra each sentence held a threat.

Joining the conspiracy were key condottieri from Cesare’s army: Paolo and Franco Orsini, one a madman and the other the aging prefect of Rome and duke of Gravina, who had made his reputation as a ruthless soldier by displaying the head of one of his victims on the tip of his spear for days after a conquest. The Orsini were always eager to conspire against the Borgia.

It was no surprise that those men were enemies of Cesare’s; of greater note was the participation of commanders who had once served Cesare well. Oliver da Fermo—and, even more shocking, Vito Vitelli himself—rode up to the castle. Vitelli was enraged that he had been forced to return Arezzo. These men, who were close enough to Cesare to know that his military strategies had put him in serious danger, still commanded a great part of his army.

Together, now, they formulated a plan. First they agreed they would need other allies. Once that was accomplished, they would meet again to organize their troops, and more important to decide where and when they would attack Cesare. And so it appeared that Cesare Borgia’s days were numbered.

Unaware of the dangers he faced, Cesare sat by the fire in his new Urbino headquarters, enjoying a fine port wine from Guido Feltra’s cellar, when his aide announced a gentleman from Florence had ridden out to see him: Signore Niccolò Machiavelli.

Machiavelli was ushered into the room. As he threw off his long gray cloak, Cesare noticed his pale and tired countenance, offered him a comfortable chair, and poured him a cup of port. “So what brings the brilliant star of Florentine diplomacy to Urbino in the dark of night?” the gracious host asked with a smile.

Machiavelli’s face showed his concern. “Critical business, Cesare. I’ll be blunt. Florence has been asked to join a massive conspiracy against you. Some of your own best commanders are involved. Many whom you would suspect, but one that you would not, Excellency: your commander, Captain Vito Vitelli.” Machiavelli also named the others who had met at Magioni.

Cesare was stunned, but did not show it.

“Why have you told me this, Niccolò?” Cesare asked. “Wouldn’t it be in the best interest of Florence if my campaign were stopped?”

“Cesare,” Machiavelli said, “we have debated that very question. Are the conspirators a less dangerous devil than the Borgia? It was not an easy decision, and it was made not by the Signoria, but in an emergency session of the Council of Ten.

“I told them you are quite rational, and at least your objectives, the ones that you have confessed, are reasonably sound. And I believe that you would abide by the preference of France that Florence not be attacked.

“The conspirators, on the other hand, are not altogether rational men. Paolo Orsini is half mad. The whole Orsini family despises the government of Florence, and your friend Vito Vitelli simply despises the city itself. Who knows why? We do know, for example, that Orsini and Vitelli were the ones who urged you to attack Florence on your last campaign, and that you refused. That show of loyalty was an important consideration for us.

“If these men succeed in destroying you, they will depose your father, and we will have a militant Pope of their choosing. In that instance, their power would be catastrophic. They, unlike you, would not hesitate to attack—and even sack—Florence.

“Besides, I told the council that you would learn of the conspiracy—these men cannot keep a secret—and that, knowing of their treachery with your superior tactical skill, you would defeat the conspirators.” A look of amusement crossed Machiavelli’s face. “So I simply said, ‘Let’s warn him ourselves. We may buy some goodwill.’ ”

Cesare laughed, and clapped the Florentine on the back. “By God, Machiavelli, you are matchless—simply matchless. Your candor is breathtaking, and your cynicism a delight,” he said.

Although in an almost impossible position, Cesare moved with great speed. He pulled his loyal forces out of Urbino and Camerino, concentrating them farther north in the well-protected fortresses of the Romagna.

Moreover, he sent delegates riding in all directions throughout the day and night, to search for replacements for the condottieri who had betrayed him. He wanted skilled new captains, and veteran mercenary troops, hopefully with cannons, and he also wanted to mobilize the vaunted Val di Lamone infantry—the best infantrymen in the whole of Italy—from the area near Faenza, a place that had been well treated and governed since his occupation. He even contacted Louis seeking French troops.

Within a week Machiavelli sent a report to the Council of Ten. “There is a firm conviction held here,” he wrote, “that the king of France will help Borgia with men, and the Pope will provide him with money. The delay of his enemies in closing in on him has given Cesare an advantage. Now I judge that it is too late to do Cesare Borgia much harm, for he has provided all the important cities with garrisons and has adequately stocked all the fortresses.”

The conspirators soon saw the same thing Machiavelli had. And so the conspiracy began to unravel.

Bentivoglio was the first to approach Cesare, to ask forgiveness and swear his allegiance. Then the Orsini expressed a willingness to establish peace—or, if the other conspirators were unwilling, to betray them. Only Guido Feltra stayed away.

Finally, Cesare met with and offered all his enemies generous terms: First, he assured them there would be no punishment. But on Camerino and Urbino, which had been occupied by the conspirators, unfortunately, he could not budge. They must be returned to him. Yet he reassured Bentivoglio that he could keep Bologna, for the Pope had signed a treaty with Bentivoglio at the urging of the king of France. In exchange, Bentivoglio agreed to provide both lances and horses, with soldiers for the next campaign.

The condottieri—Orsini, Vitelli, Gravina, and da Fermo—would resume their positions as commanders in Cesare’s armies.

For six weeks, peace reigned. When the French army arrived, Cesare sent them back to Louis with his thanks.

The conspiracy had ended.

In Rome, however, without Cesare’s knowledge, Alexander had also taken it upon himself to help his son. He knew that Franco and Paolo Orsini could not be punished as long as Cardinal Antonio Orsini remained alive—for as the patriarch of the family the cardinal would see to it that there was brutal retaliation, and the Pope was unwilling to risk the loss of another son.

And so, in a friendly manner, Alexander invited the cardinal to the Vatican, telling Antonio that he was considering another of his nephews for a position in the church.

Antonio Orsini accepted the invitation to the Vatican not without misgivings, though feigning humility and gratitude.

Once seated in the Pope’s quarters, the cardinal was served a sumptuous dinner, with countless delicacies, and several varieties of wine. They disputed each other good-naturedly on political issues, and joked with each other about certain courtesans they had both known. To all appearances they seemed to enjoy each other’s company, and an onlooker could not have guessed what lay in the heart of either holy man.

But the cardinal, always alert and wary of the Borgia, refused to drink the wine for fear it had been poisoned. Still, noting that the Pope ate with gusto, he also ate heartily, only requesting fresh water in the place of wine, for water was clear and any cloudiness of intention could not be hidden from him

After the dinner was finished, just as the Pope was inviting the cardinal to join him in his study, Cardinal Antonio Orsini grabbed for his stomach, crumpled over in his chair, and fell straight to the floor, his eyes rolling around in his head like the martyrs in the frescoes on the walls of the Pope’s apartments.

“I drank no wine,” the cardinal whispered hoarsely.

“Yet you ate the inky black squid,” the Pope said.

That very night Cardinal Orsini was carried away by papal guards from the Vatican to be buried. During a Mass in the chapel the following day, the Pope himself offered prayers for the soul of the cardinal, and sent him off to heaven with his blessings.

Alexander then sent the papal guards to confiscate Cardinal Orsini’s possessions—including his palace, for Cesare’s expanding campaign needed increased funds. But when the guards arrived they found Orsini’s gray-haired crone of a mother living there, and so they put her out into the streets of Rome.

“I must have my servants,” she cried, frightened, as she stumbled along, steadying herself with her cane. And so they sent her servants with her.

It was snowing that night in Rome, and the wind was cutting and brutally cold. But no one would give the old woman shelter, for they feared the Pope would be displeased.

Two days later, in the Vatican chapel, the Pope offered another Mass—this time for Cardinal Orsini’s mother, who had suffered misfortune and been found dead, curled in a doorway, her cane frozen to her withered hand.

In December, on the way to Senigallia, Cesare stopped in Cesena to inquire about its governor, Ramiro da Lorca. He had been placed in charge, but now word had reached Cesare of a certain discontent among his citizens.

The latest rumors of da Lorca’s brutality forced Cesare to call a hearing in the town square, before the townspeople, in order that da Lorca might defend himself. “I hear you have used extreme cruelty to punish the townspeople. Is this true?” Cesare asked.

His wild red hair a ring of fur around his head, his thick lips pursed tight, da Lorca spoke in a voice so high it was almost a shriek. “I hardly think I have been unduly cruel, Excellency,” he said. “For no one listens, and fewer behave as I order.”

Cesare asked, “I am told that one young page was thrown into a raging fire in the square on your orders, and that you held your foot upon him as he burned alive?”

Da Lorca hesitated. “But of course it was with reason . . . ”

Cesare stood stiffly, his hand on his sword. “Then I must hear it . . . ”

“The boy was insolent . . . and clumsy,” da Lorca said.

“Governor, I find your defense inadequate,” Cesare responded sternly.

Cesare had also heard that Ramiro had plotted with the conspirators to trap him. But the goodwill of the people of Cesena was of greater import to him. Any undue cruelty would undermine the Borgia control in the areas of the Romagna Cesare ruled, and so da Lorca must be punished.

On Cesare’s orders, da Lorca was immediately thrown into the dungeon of the fortress. Afterward, Cesare sent for his loyal friend Zappitto, made him the new governor of Cesena, and gave him a purse full of ducats, along with detailed instructions.

To the surprise of the citizens, once Cesare left the town Zappitto released the ruthless and brutal Ramiro da Lorca from the dungeons. And though the townspeople were displeased that he had been set free, they felt fortunate—for they realized Zappitto was a governor with the ability for mercy.

But the morning after Christmas, Ramiro da Lorca was discovered speeding headless through the marketplace, still dressed in his bright red and gold Christmas cape and finery, tethered to his horse.

Then everyone agreed it was a great misfortune for da Lorca that he had been set free from the dungeons.

Cesare prepared for the attack on Senigallia, ruled by the della Rovere family. He had long planned to occupy this port city on the Adriatic, and so he gave the order to move his loyal troops to the coast, where he would be joined by the former conspirators and their own forces. The loyal condottieri and those who had conspired were pleased to be working in harmony again, and both groups moved toward the coast as directed.

As these forces approached Senigallia, the town quickly surrendered. But Andrea Doria, commander of the fortress, insisted on surrendering only to Cesare.

As Cesare waited for the time of this meeting, he ordered his most loyal troops placed nearest to the city, while those of the other commanders occupied an area farther from the city gates.

At Cesare’s order, his loyal commanders met with a small group of infantrymen outside the gates of Senigallia in preparation for accepting the surrender of the citadel. This group also included Paolo and Franco Orsini, Oliver da Fermo, and Vito Vitelli.

At Cesare’s direction, the party entered the gates to meet Commander Andrea Doria in a local palace, where the terms of surrender were to be worked out.

As they passed into the city and the massive gates closed behind them, Cesare laughingly remarked that the suspicious citizens were taking no chances on the papal army sacking the city while the talks went on.

Entering the small palace, they were led by Cesare to an octagonal, peach-colored reception room with four interior doors, a large conference table, and peach-colored velvet chairs.

The conversation was relaxed while they drank from goblets of local wine the servants had poured. There would be no fighting here, and Paolo and Franco Orsini, Oliver da Fermo, and Vito Vitelli, the former conspirators, were glad to be accepted again, especially to be a part of a campaign that was already successful.

Cesare walked to the center of the room. Removing his sword, he suggested to his commanders that, this being a peace parley, they join him in disarming before the arrival of Commander Doria. They readily followed his lead, handing their weapons to one of Cesare’s aides. Only Vito Vitello looked concerned—for the city gates were closed and their own troops were hundreds of yards outside the city walls.

“Gentlemen, please be seated,” Cesare commanded. “Senigallia has always been a significant port, but it will, I believe, be far more significant after today. You have all richly deserved your rewards and you shall have them. Now!”

On the word, “Now,” two dozen heavily armed men burst into the room from all sides. And in less than a minute Paolo and Franco Orsini, Oliver da Fermo, and Vito Vitelli were tied securely to their chairs.

Cesare, his eyes black with intensity, said, “So, gentlemen. For your reward allow me to introduce my good friend Don Michelotto.”

Michelotto bowed and smiled. He detested treachery. Taking his garrote from an aide, he moved from one disloyal commander to the next, strangling each one in turn as the others watched in horror.

Upon his return to Rome Cesare was greeted warmly by both the citizens and the Pope, who was waiting with his envoy at the gates for his arrival. Since his conquest of the Romagna, Cesare smiled more readily; he seemed as pleased with himself as his father was, and had no doubt that all of Italy would soon be under his rule.

Secretly, the Pope and he had even spoken of turning over the tiara to him, or at the very least crowning him as king of the Romagna. But first he must take Tuscany, which until now his father had refused to allow.

In his apartments that night, as Cesare relaxed and enjoyed the memory of his victories, he was brought a box with a note from Isabella d’Este, the sister of the duke of Urbino, whom he had deposed.

When Cesare was staying at her brother’s palace in Urbino, he had received a message from her, begging him to return to her two precious statues he had confiscated with the castle—one of Cupid, the other Venus. They held sentimental value for her, she had explained, and mentioned nothing of her penchant for collecting antiquities.

But now that she was Lucrezia’s sister-in-law, he had been taken by her pleading, and immediately had some of his men carry the statues to her. In this note she thanked him for his kindness, and sent a little something in return.

It was a large box, wrapped with silken ribbons and tied with golden bows. As he opened it, he found himself as excited as he had been as a child whenever he had opened an unexpected gift. Lifting the cover carefully, he slowly lifted the parchment that covered it, and discovered within one hundred masks—of all kinds. Carnival masks of gold and jewels, satin masks of red and yellow, mysterious masks of black and silver, and others formed like faces of dragons and demons and saints.

Cesare laughed aloud as he examined each and every one, taking the time to look in the mirror as he placed them on his face, enjoying the many different images that appeared before his eyes.

A month later Cesare and Alexander met in the Borgia apartments, awaiting Duarte, who had just returned from Florence and Venice.

Alexander enthusiastically told Cesare of his new plans for beautifying the Vatican. “With much difficulty I have persuaded the artist Michelangelo to draw up plans for a completely new Basilica of St. Peter. I wish to create something magnificent, a glory to the Christian world.”

“I don’t know about his skill as an architect, but the Cupid I purchased tells me this Michelangelo is a great artist.”

At that point Duarte entered the room and greeted Alexander, kissing the papal ring.

Cesare asked, “So Duarte, did you find the villains in Venice? And do the good people of Florence again consider me an ogre, a devious strangler of the innocent, because of the events at Senigallia?”

“No, Cesare, they tend to believe that you did what you had to, and did it with cleverness and skill. It was, as they put it, scelleratezzi glorioso, glorious trickery. The people love revenge—the more dramatic the better.”

Now Duarte’s expression became serious, and he turned to Alexander. “Your Worthiness,” he said, “in the present circumstance, I believe true danger remains.”

“What is it that concerns you, Duarte? Serious gossip, or some fateful truth you have discovered?” asked Alexander.

Duarte said, “The conspirators may be dead—but their families are not. Now they are more angry, and will no doubt seek vengeance.” He looked at Cesare. “They cannot match your strength, Cesare, but they will never forgive you. And because the papacy supports you, the Pope too is in danger.”