5

ON THE DAY that Lucrezia’s husband-to-be, Giovanni Sforza, duke of Pesaro, was to arrive in the city of Rome, Pope Alexander arranged for a large procession in celebration. For he knew that Giovanni’s uncle, Il Moro, would consider this gesture a sign of respect; proof of Alexander’s sincerity in his alliance with Milan.

But Alexander also had other considerations in mind. As the Holy Father he understood the hearts and souls of his people, and he knew they enjoyed pageantry. It reassured them of his benevolence, as well as the benevolence of their Heavenly Father, and helped relieve the torpor of their drab, dull lives. Any cause for celebration brought new hope to the city, and often kept the more desperate among his citizens from murdering each other over minor disputes.

The lives of his less fortunate citizens were so devoid of pleasure that he felt responsible for providing them with some small happiness in order to feed their souls. For what else could ensure their support of the papacy? If the seeds of jealousy were repeatedly sown in the hearts of men who were forced to watch the pleasures of those less worthy but more fortunate, how could a ruler ask for their loyalty? Pleasure must be shared, for only in that way was it possible to keep the desperation of the poor at bay.

It was on this warm, balmy day, a day filled with the scent of roses, that Cesare, Juan, and Jofre Borgia rode to the high stone gates of Rome to greet the duke of Pesaro. Accompanying them was the entire Roman senate and the regally adorned ambassadors of Florence, Naples, Venice, and Milan, as well as the representatives of France and Spain.

The procession would follow this envoy on its return, past the palace of his uncle, Ascanio Sforza, the vice-chancellor, where the young duke would stay until his wedding night. It would then continue through the streets until it reached the Vatican. Alexander had instructed his sons to ride past Lucrezia’s palace in order to allow her to see her future husband. Though her father had tried to allay her fears by promising her that she could stay in her own palace at Santa Maria of Portico with Julia and Adriana after her marriage, and not be required to travel to Pesaro for a year, Lucrezia still seemed upset. And Alexander was never at peace when his daughter was unhappy.

The preparations for the procession had taken many weeks, but now everything was in place. There were jesters in green and bright yellow velvet suits, jugglers twirling gaily colored sticks and tossing gaudy papier-mâché balls into the air while the intoxicating tempo from the fife and trumpet brigades rang out musical notes to brighten the spirits of the crowds of Roman citizens who had gathered along the route to see this duke of Pesaro who was to wed the Pope’s young daughter . . .

But early that morning Cesare had awakened in a foul humor, with an ache that made his head throb wickedly. He tried to excuse himself from greeting his future brother-in-law, for he thought it an unpleasant obligation, but his father would hear none of it. “As a representative of the Holy Father, you will not be released from your duty unless you are on your deathbed from plague or malaria,” the Pope had said sternly. Then he stormed out.

Cesare would have argued had not his sister come into his room to plead with him. She had run through the tunnel from her own palace as soon as she heard he was ill. Now she sat on his bed, rubbing his head gently, and asked, “Chez, who but you will tell me the truth about this man I am to marry? Who else can I trust?”

“Crezia, what difference can it make?” he asked. “You are already promised, and about that I can do nothing.”

Lucrezia smiled at her brother and ran her fingers through his hair. She bent to kiss his lips tenderly and smiled. “Is this as difficult for you as it is for me?” she asked. “For I hate the idea of another man in my bed. I will weep and cover my eyes, and though I will not be able to keep him from the contract, I will refuse to kiss him. I swear I will, my brother.”

Cesare took a deep breath and resolved to do as his sister wished. “I hope he is not a beast, for both our sakes,” he said. “Or I shall have to kill him before he ever touches you.”

Lucrezia giggled. “You and I will begin a holy war,” she said, pleased by Cesare’s reaction. “Papa will have even more to do than he does now. He will have to pacify Milan once you’ve killed Giovanni; then Naples will come to beg for alliance. Il Moro may capture you and take you to the dungeon of Milan to torture you. While Papa is using the papal army to try and save you, Venice will surely have something up their sleeve in order to conquer our territories. And Florence will have their finest artists paint unflattering portraits of us, and their prophets curse us with eternal damnation!” She laughed so hard she fell backward onto the bed.

Cesare loved to hear his sister laugh. It made him forget all others existed, and even soothed his anger toward his father. Now the throbbing in his head seemed to subside. And so he agreed to go . . .

As soon as Lucrezia heard the music of the approaching procession, she ran up the stairs to the second floor, to the main room of the castle from which the loggia, or balcony, extended like the hand of a great giant, fingers curled. Julia Farnese, who had been the Pope’s mistress for more than two years now, helped Lucrezia choose a gown of deep green satin with cream-colored sleeves and a jeweled bodice. Then she dressed Lucrezia’s hair and pulled her blond curls atop her head, allowing a few wisps to fall on her forehead and at her neckline to enhance her look of sophistication.

Julia had tried for months to instruct Lucrezia about what to expect on her wedding night, but Lucrezia paid little attention. As Julia explained in great detail how to please a man, Lucrezia’s heart and mind went straight to Cesare. Though she never said a word to anyone, her love for him filled many of her thoughts each day.

Now, as Lucrezia Borgia walked out onto her balcony, she was surprised to see the crowds awaiting her. Her father had provided guards to protect her, but they could not save her from the petals of flowers that blanketed her and carpeted the grand balcony. She smiled and waved at the citizens.

As Lucrezia watched the procession approach, she laughed at the jester who passed before her, and joyfully clapped as the trumpeters and flutists played their merriest tunes. Then, from behind, she saw them.

First her brother Cesare, handsome and noble astride his white horse, his back straight and his expression serious. He raised his head to look at her and smiled. Juan followed, taking no notice of her, leaning down on his horse to gather the flowers from ladies of the street who called to him. Her younger brother, Jofre, waved to her with a dull but happy smile.

Behind them she saw him: Giovanni Sforza. He had long, dark locks and a well-trimmed beard, a fine nose and a shorter, stockier build than any of her brothers. She felt self-conscious and embarrassed when she first saw him, but when he looked toward the balcony, reined in his horse, and saluted her, she curtsied back as she’d been taught.

In three days she would be married, and as the procession passed her on its way to her father’s house, she couldn’t wait to hear what Adriana and Julia had to say about her betrothed. Though Adriana would console her and tell her all would be fine, she knew Julia would tell her the truth.

Once inside her palace again, Lucrezia asked them, “What did you think? Do you think him a beast?”

Julia laughed. “I think he’s good-looking enough, though quite a large man . . . maybe too large for you,” she teased, and Lucrezia knew just what she meant. Then Julia hugged her. “He’ll be fine. It’s only for the Holy Father, and the Heavenly Father, that you must marry. It has little to do with the rest of your life.”

Once Alexander had established official residence in the papal palace, he had taken a suite of bare rooms built and abandoned long before, and made of them the fabulous Borgia apartments. The walls of his private reception room, the Sala dei Misteri, were covered with great murals painted by his favorite artist, Pinturicchio.

In one of these murals, Alexander himself was painted as part of the Ascension, one of the chosen few who watched Christ’s ascent to heaven. Attired in his great jewel-studded cloak, he has placed his golden tiara on the ground beside him. He stands with eyes raised upward as he is blessed by the ascending Savior.

In other murals, likenesses of other Borgia were shown as the faces of long-dead saints, martyrs, and other religious figures: Lucrezia strikingly beautiful as a slender, blond Saint Catherine, Cesare as an emperor on a golden throne, Juan as an oriental potentate, and Jofre as an innocent cherub. And throughout the murals there roamed the charging red bull that was the symbol of the Borgia family.

On the door of the second Borgia room, Pinturicchio had painted a portrait of the Madonna, the Virgin Mary, in all her serene beauty. The Madonna was Alexander’s favorite among the holy figures, so the artist had used Julia Farnese as his model, satisfying two passions of Alexander’s with one painting.

There was also the Hall of Faith, a thousand yards square. This room was vaulted, with frescoes filling the lunettes and medallions on the ceiling. There was one fresco for each apostle, every one of them reading a scroll to the eager prophets who would spread the word of the divinity of Christ. The faces of the prophets were Alexander, Cesare, Juan, and Jofre.

All of these rooms were richly decorated with elaborate tapestries and gold trim. In the Hall of Faith was the papal throne, on which Alexander sat to receive important persons. Alongside the throne were ornate footstools on which the nobles knelt to kiss his ring and his feet, as well as divans on which those in power could sit for longer audiences while making plans for future crusades or discussing who should rule the cities of Italy and how.

Now the duke of Pesaro, Giovanni Sforza, was led into the Pope’s chambers. He bent to kiss the holy foot, and then the Pope’s sacred ring. He was enormously impressed by the beauty of the Vatican, and by the riches he would soon possess. For with his young bride had come a dowry of thirty thousand ducats, enough for him to beautify much of his home in Pesaro and provide him with other luxuries.

As Pope Alexander welcomed him into the family, Giovanni thought about his new wife’s brothers. Of the two oldest, he was drawn much more strongly to Juan than to Cesare; Jofre was too young to consider. Cesare did not seem at all welcoming, but Juan had promised the duke a good time in the city before his wedding, and so he came to believe it might not be as bad as he had imagined. Whatever the circumstances, of course, he could never have argued with his uncle, Il Moro, or Milan would take back Pesaro and he would lose his duchy as quickly as he had gained it.

That afternoon, once everyone had arrived at the Vatican for the beginning of the celebrations, Cesare quickly disappeared. He left the palace on horseback and galloped out of Rome into the countryside. He had spent almost no time with Sforza, and yet he already hated the bastard. He was a lout, a braggart, an ass. Duller than Jofre, if that was possible, and more arrogant than Juan. What would his sweet sister do with such a husband? And what could he tell her when he saw her again?

As intensely as Cesare objected to his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Juan was drawn to him. Juan had few friends at the court; his only constant companion was the Turkish Prince Djem, who was being held hostage by the Pope at the request of Djem’s brother, the reigning sultan.

Sultan Bayezid had made an arrangement with Pope Innocent when he feared the Christian Crusades were planning to overthrow him under the pretext of restoring his brother, Djem. In exchange for keeping Djem hostage in the Vatican, the Pope was paid forty thousand ducats a year. Once Innocent had died, Pope Alexander upheld the promise, treating him as an honored guest of the palace. For how better to fill the coffers of the Holy Roman Catholic Church than by taking the money of the Infidel Turks?

The thirty-year-old Djem, dark-skinned and surly-looking to the Roman citizens, with his turban and dark curled mustache, insisted on wearing his oriental costumes about the Vatican, and soon Juan, when not at official occasions, began to dress as he did. Though Djem was almost twice the age of Juan, they began to go everywhere together, and the prince exerted a great deal of influence on the spoiled and protected son of the Pope. Alexander tolerated their friendship not only because of the revenue Djem brought to the Vatican, but because the companionship of the prince seemed to bring a smile to Juan’s otherwise sullen face. But Cesare found being in their company unbearable.

The night before the wedding, Juan invited Giovanni Sforza to accompany him and Djem into the city of Rome in order to visit the local inns and bed some bawdy whores. Giovanni agreed immediately. Djem and the duke of Pesaro seemed to get along well, exchanging stories and chatting amiably as they ate and drank in abundance. The citizens of Rome stayed as far away as possible, and did not invite the trio into their shops or houses.

The prostitutes were a different matter. Juan was familiar to them, and many placed small bets on who could bed him most often. There were rumors he was Djem’s lover, but the courtesans who earned their daily bread by bedding men of high rank didn’t care, for when he visited them for his pleasure he paid them generously.

One of the girls Juan most frequented was about fifteen years old, with long dark hair and curly lashes. Her name was Avalona. The daughter of one of the innkeepers, she was truly fond of Juan. But on the night the three young men from the Vatican came to the city, Juan offered Avalona first to his brother-in-law, then to Djem. Both men took her upstairs to bed her while Juan looked on, but he was too drunk to consider how she felt. Instead, when he came to her expecting her familiar warmth and affection, she turned away and refused to kiss him. Juan, with his usual prickly sensitivity, was enraged at the thought that she enjoyed his brother-in-law better than himself. He slapped her for this insult, and she refused to speak to him. Juan sulked the entire return to the palace. But both Giovanni Sforza and Prince Djem had a fine evening, and hardly noticed that Juan was offended.

The day of the wedding arrived quickly. Lucrezia looked regal in a gown of red velvet trimmed with fur, her white-blond hair spun gold and ornamented with rubies and diamonds. Julia Farnese wore a simple rose-colored satin gown, which illuminated her pale beauty. And Adriana had chosen a deep blue velvet gown, unadorned, so as not to compete with the ruby-jeweled bodice of Lucrezia’s gown. Only the bridegroom, Giovanni Sforza, wearing a thick borrowed gold collar, her brother Juan, and his friend Djem were dressed in clothes more richly fashioned than her own. The three wore turbans of cream satin and golden brocade stoles, ornate enough to outshine not only the garments of the bride, but the Pope’s ecclesiastical vestments as well.

Alexander had chosen her brother Juan to accompany her down the aisle, and she knew Cesare was angry. But Lucrezia thought it better, for she knew that Cesare never could give her away gracefully. She wondered now if he would even attend, though orders from their father would leave him little choice. If there was a disagreement, she knew Cesare would gallop away again and ride into the country. But she prayed this time he wouldn’t, for it was Cesare she wanted there most; it was him she loved above all.

The wedding took place in the Great Hall of the Vatican over the objections of the traditional church leaders and the other princes of the church, who believed the holy halls should be peopled only by men concerned with official church business. But the Pope wanted Lucrezia married at the Vatican, and so it was.

On a raised platform placed at the very front of the hall stood the throne of the Pope, with six burgundy velvet seats on each side for the Pope’s twelve newly elected cardinals. In the Pope’s private chapel, which was smaller and sparser than the Main Chapel of Saint Peter, he had instructed there be placed rows and rows of tall silver and gold torches, to burn before statues of enormous marble saints which graced the sides of the altar.

The presiding bishop, dressed in flowing ceremonial vestments, his silver miter crowning his head, chanted his prayers aloud in Latin, and offered the bride and bridegroom holy blessings.

The incense burning during the benediction seemed especially pungent. It had arrived from the East just a few days before, as a gift from Prince Djem’s brother, the Turkish Sultan Bayezid II. The thick white smoke burned Lucrezia’s throat, compelling her to hide a cough with her lace handkerchief. The vision of the crucified Jesus on the huge wooden cross seemed as ominous to Lucrezia as the great sword of fidelity the bishop held above her head as the young couple exchanged their vows.

Finally, she caught a glimpse of her brother Cesare at the entrance of the chapel. She had been troubled that his seat at the altar alongside the other cardinals had been conspicuously empty.

Lucrezia had spent the night before on her knees in prayer to the Madonna, asking for forgiveness, after sneaking through the tunnel into her brother Cesare’s room to have him claim her once again. She wondered why she felt such joy with him, and such dread at the thought of another. She didn’t even know this man who was to be her husband. She had seen him only once, from her balcony, and when they had been in the same room the day before, he had not spoken a word to her, or in any way acknowledged her existence.

Now, as they kneeled on small golden stools in front of the altar and she heard the first words from her bridegroom—“I will take this woman as my wife”—she thought his voice a graceless and unpleasant sound.

As though in a trance, Lucrezia agreed to honor him as her husband. But her gaze and her heart were fixed on Cesare, dressed in solemn priestly black, now standing alongside her brother Juan. He never looked at her.

Afterward, in one of the great halls of the Vatican—the Sala Reale—Lucrezia Borgia sat in splendor at the special raised table. Alongside her were her bridegroom, Giovanni, her governess, Adriana, and Julia Farnese, whom she had chosen as her maid of honor. The granddaughter of the late Pope Innocent, Battestina, also shared her table, as did other bridesmaids, but her three brothers sat at a table across the room. Many of the guests were seated on the hundreds of pillows placed on the floor. Around the perimeter of the hall there were several huge tables filled with food and sweetmeats, and once the guests had eaten the center of the hall was cleared so that they could watch the theater players perform. Later, there would be dancers and singers to entertain them.

Several times Lucrezia looked at her bridegroom, but he ignored her and spent much of his time stuffing food and spilling wine into his mouth. Disgusted, she looked away.

On this day that was meant to be a great celebration, Lucrezia, for one of the few times in her life, missed her mother. For now that Julia was the mistress of the Pope, there was no place for Vanozza at the palace.

As she glanced again at her new husband, she wondered if she might ever get used to his grim expression. The thought of leaving her home in Rome to live with him in Pesaro filled her with despair, and she was grateful for her father’s promise that she would not have to leave for a year.

Surrounded by the gaiety and laughter of the guests, Lucrezia felt incredibly lonely. She wasn’t hungry, but she did take several sips of the fine red wine that had been poured into her silver goblet, and soon felt giddy. She began to chatter to her bridesmaids and finally she began to have a good time. For after all it was a party, and she was thirteen years old.

Later, Pope Alexander announced there would be a dinner that evening in his private apartments, where the gifts for the bride and groom could be presented. Before he left the Vatican hall for his own chambers, he instructed his servants to toss the remaining sweets from the balcony to the crowds of citizens in the piazza below so that they could share in the festivities.

It was well past midnight when Lucrezia had a chance to speak to her father. He was sitting alone at his desk, for most of the guests had gone and only her brothers and a few of the cardinals were left waiting in the antechamber.

Lucrezia approached the Pope hesitantly, for she did not want to offend him, but this was far too important to wait. She kneeled in front of him and bent her head waiting for permission to speak.

Pope Alexander smiled and encouraged her. “Come, my child. Tell Papa what is on your mind.”

Lucrezia looked up, her eyes glistening but her face pale from the events of the day. “Papa,” she said, in a barely audible voice. “Papa, must I go to the bedchamber with Giovanni this very night? Must you witness the contract so soon?”

The Pope raised his eyes to the heavens. He too had been thinking about the bedchamber, for more hours than he cared to acknowledge. “If not now, when?” he asked the child.

“Just a little while longer,” she said.

“It is best to get unpleasantries over with as soon as possible,” he said, smiling gently at his daughter. “Then you may continue your life without the sword hanging over your head.”

Lucrezia took a deep breath and sighed. “Must my brother Cesare be present?” she asked.

Pope Alexander frowned. “What does it matter?” he asked. “As long as your papa is there. For the contract to be valid, any three witnesses will serve.”

Lucrezia nodded then and said with determination, “I prefer he not be there.”

“If that is your wish,” the Pope said, “that is how it shall be.”

Both Giovanni and Lucrezia were reluctant as they made their way into the bridal chamber: he because he still missed his first wife who had died, and she because she was embarrassed to be watched, and loath to allow anyone but Cesare to touch her. Now, she was so dizzy nothing seemed to matter. She had looked for her brother, but he had slipped away, and so she had quickly swallowed three more goblets of wine before she could avail herself of the courage to do what she knew she must.

Inside the chamber she and Giovanni undressed with the help of their servants, and both slipped under the white satin sheets, being careful not to allow their flesh to touch before the witnesses arrived.

When the Pope entered he sat on the velvet chair, facing a large tapestry of the Crusades on which he could focus and pray. In his hands he held jeweled rosary beads. The second seat was taken by Cardinal Ascanio Sforza and the third by Julia’s brother, Cardinal Farnese, who had suffered the humiliation of being called the “petticoat cardinal” after his investiture by Alexander.

Giovanni Sforza didn’t say a word to Lucrezia; instead he just leaned over, his face too close to hers, and grabbed her shoulder roughly to pull her toward him. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her face away and hid in his neck. He smelled like an ox. And when he began to run his hands over her, she felt her body shiver with revulsion. For an instant she was afraid she would be sick to her stomach, and hoped someone had thought to place a chamberpot alongside the bed. When suddenly she felt an overwhelming sadness, she thought she might weep. But by the time he mounted her, she felt nothing. She had closed her eyes and willed herself away, to a place in her mind where she ran through tall reeds and rolled in a meadow of soft green grass . . . to Silverlake, the one place she felt free.

The following morning, when Lucrezia rushed to greet Cesare as he walked from the Vatican Palace to the stables, she could see at once that he was upset. She tried to reassure him but he couldn’t listen. And so she stood silent and still as she watched him harness his horse to leave.

It was two days before Cesare returned. He told her he had spent time in the country thinking about his future, and her. He had forgiven her, he said, but that made her angry. “What is there to forgive? I did what I must, as you do. You are always complaining about being a cardinal,” she said. “But I would rather be a cardinal than a woman!”

Cesare shot back, “We must both be what the Holy Father wishes us to be, for I would rather be a soldier than a cardinal! So neither of us has what we want!”

Cesare understood that the most important battle he must fight would be the exercise of his own free will. For love can steal free will using no weapon but itself. And Cesare did love his father. Yet he had studied his father’s strategies long enough to know what Alexander was capable of, and he knew that he himself would never stoop to such treachery. In Cesare’s mind, to take from a man his possessions, his riches, even his life, was a far lesser crime than to rob him of his free will. For without that he is a mere puppet of his own need, a beast of burden yielding to the snap of another man’s whip. And he swore he would not be that beast.

Though Cesare understood what his father had done by asking him to bed Lucrezia, he thought himself equal to the task of loving her. After that first claim, he tricked himself into believing that it had been his choice. And yet there was a hidden card. Lucrezia loved with a heart full enough to tame the wildest beast, and so, without knowing it, she became the whip used by her father.

Lucrezia began to cry, and Cesare hugged her then, and tried to comfort her. “It will be all right, Crezia,” he said. He stood for a long time, smoothing her blond curls, holding her. Finally, he dried her tears and said, “Don’t concern yourself with that three-legged quail Sforza. For despite all, we’ll always have each other.”