8

CESARE, RIDING WITH the French cavalry, watched the well-disciplined troops chew up vast chunks of territory, stopping only to conquer hostile castles as they carved a path toward Naples with the military precision of a gigantic scythe.

Although Cesare was meant to be a hostage, he was treated with great respect by the soldiers and loosely guarded even at night. During the long days his love of the field was apparent, and he watched the French commanders plan their military tactics and studied their strategies. Here on the battlefields he was not a cardinal but a warrior, and for the first time in his life Cesare felt at home.

If Cesare’s only interest was his own, he could have been content to ride with the French until they had conquered Naples. But both as a son and as a prince of the Holy Church, he had other matters to consider. He knew that despite Pope Alexander’s pact with King Charles, his father did not want the French or any foreign power to control even the smallest fiefdom of Italy. He was certain that as he rode through these fields on his way to Naples, Alexander was meeting with the ambassadors of Spain, Venice, Milan, and Florence, attempting to put in place a Holy League of city-states to resist foreign aggression in Italy.

He also knew that even as he rode with the French to Naples, Spain was preparing ships and readying troops to stop them. And if by some chance French troops did reach Naples, and Charles’s army managed to withstand the attacks by the ferocious and bloodthirsty Neapolitan troops long enough to conquer Naples and overthrow King Masino, Pope Alexander, backed by King Ferdinand of Spain with the help of Venice, could recover the crown and force the French to withdraw.

But there was one very difficult consideration. All of this could be accomplished if—and it was a troubling if—if Cesare’s life was not at stake. Now that he was a hostage, he felt that his father might hesitate, might even refuse to consider taking action against the French because of him. Of course, the solution was obvious. He must escape. But the question of Djem still remained. Could he take him? Would he agree to go?

Over the last several days, Djem himself had appeared to be enjoying his situation as a French hostage. In fact just the night before Cesare had heard him talking to the troops, drinking with them and excitedly planning to help overthrow his own brother, the sultan. It would not be an easy task to convince Djem to return with him to Rome, and it would be a danger to confide in him.

Now, Cesare examined his options: a double escape would double the danger, and he could not afford to fail. Djem was in no danger from the French, for alive he had value as a means to compromise the Pope, and if Alexander and Spain failed in their plan, he would certainly be a help to Charles in his Crusade. Dead, of course, he would have no value at all. And so Cesare made his decision.

That night, near midnight, he stepped outside his tent. Two guards—young men he was familiar with, for they had spent many nights together—were sitting on the ground around a small campfire.

Cesare greeted them. “It is a beautiful night. Clear and crisp, is it not?” When they agreed, he pretended to study the skies. “A full moon,” he said, “and yet I hear no howling . . . ” Then he laughed so they would understand he was being playful.

One of the young men held out a flask and offered it to him. But Cesare shook his head. “I have something better,” he said. And he stepped back into his tent, returning with a bottle of fine red wine and three silver goblets.

The eyes of the soldiers glimmered in the moonlight as he handed them each a goblet and poured one for himself.

The men toasted each other in the dark, outside the tent, gazing together at the stars. But within a short time the two young men began to yawn. Cesare bade them good night and walked inside his tent, where he returned the small brown sack Noni had given him to its hiding place and sat to wait.

Within twenty minutes Cesare peered outside the tent to find both guards in a deep sleep.

Then, fully dressed, he slipped silently through the long row of tents to the place the horses were tied. There another guard sat with his back toward Cesare, watching the sleeping troops. Cesare silently slipped behind him, putting his hand over the guard’s mouth to make certain no sound escaped. Then he quickly applied a headlock, and with his forearm placed heavy pressure on the soldier’s throat and neck. Within moments the young man lost consciousness.

Cesare found his horse, a swift, strong black stallion, and carefully walked him to the edge of the encampment, trying not to make a sound. There he mounted the stallion, riding bareback as he had done so many times before at Silverlake. Once he reached the roadway, Cesare flew through the night toward Rome.

The following day, after a bath and change of clothes, Cesare was led into his father’s study. Alexander rose to greet him with tears in his eyes. And when the Pope embraced him, it was with such strength that Cesare found himself surprised.

Alexander had true affection in his voice. “Cesare, my son, you can’t imagine my torture these last days. You saved me from the most terrible choice of my life. Once I had gathered the members of the Holy League, I knew that Charles would consider it a breach of our agreement, and so I feared for your safety. For one of the few times in my life, I was tormented by indecision. Was I to stop my plans for the league and sacrifice our territories and the papacy? Or was I to move forward, at the risk of my dear son’s life?”

Cesare had seldom seen his father so distressed, and he found himself amused. “And what did you decide?” he asked playfully.

“It hardly matters now, my son,” Alexander said, smiling gently. “For you are safe and so have solved my dilemma.”

King Charles’s reaction to Cesare’s escape was milder than the Pope had expected. And once Alexander learned the outcome of the king’s Neapolitan campaign, he understood why.

The French troops had succeeded in occupying Naples; King Masino, without a struggle, had abdicated and fled. King Charles had won. He had overcome the first obstacle to his conquest of Jerusalem and the overthrow of the Infidel. And he had little interest in dampening his mood by worrying over Cesare’s escape. All he wanted now was to enjoy the beauty of Naples, the food, the women, the wine.

But with Cesare free, Alexander moved quickly to put in motion his plans for the Holy League. Now that King Ferrante was dead, and there was no longer any threat of Naples invading Milan, Il Moro was willing to align with Rome again. Troops from Milan and Venice began to gather in the north: they had plans to join the Spanish, whose ships would land below Naples, and move up the Italian peninsula.

Alexander, seated on his throne, called Cesare and Duarte Brandao to his chambers to review his military strategy and plans for the Holy League.

“Are you not concerned, Father,” Cesare asked, “that King Charles will consider it a terrible offense that you have broken your word about Naples?”

Alexander looked puzzled for a moment, then frowned. “Broken my word?” he said. “What are you speaking of, Cesare? I vowed not to interfere with his conquest of Naples. Not once did I say I would allow him to keep it.”

Duarte smiled. “I doubt the young king is able to grasp that subtlety.”

Cesare continued. “So it is your plan that the forces of the Holy League should cut off the escape route, so that the French army will be crushed between the Spanish in the south and the troops from Venice and Milan in the north? Father, that is to be caught between a hammer and an anvil.”

Duarte asked, “And if the French army makes it past the Spanish and Neapolitan troops to Rome?”

Alexander was thoughtful. “If they escape our troops in the south and find their way to our city—if only for a few days—they could still do considerable damage. They would certainly sack the city . . . ”

Duarte said, “And, Holy Father, this time I have grave doubt that King Charles would stop them . . . ”

Cesare thought a moment, then made a suggestion. “Charles must realize that if he wishes to reclaim Naples, he must convince you to break your alliance with the Holy League. He also must be crowned by you and receive your blessings, for you are the suzerain.”

Alexander was impressed by his son’s analysis, yet he felt there was something Cesare was not saying. “And, my son, your strategy would be?”

Cesare smiled slyly. “If the French king finds Your Holiness here in Rome as he retreats, he might seize the opportunity to force you to make concessions. But if you are elsewhere . . . ”

When the French advance guard entered the city, they reported back to Charles that the Pope had gone north to Orvieto. King Charles, determined to convince the Pope to do his bidding, ordered his army through Rome and on to Orvieto. But when Alexander’s scouts spotted the French advance guard approaching Orvieto, Alexander was ready. Before long he and his envoy were on the road, racing to Perugia, where he would meet with Lucrezia.

From Orvieto, Alexander had already sent Don Michelotto to accompany his daughter back across the mountains, for he had not seen her in several months and needed to reassure himself of her well-being and talk to her about her husband. The Pope felt it would be pleasant to have Lucrezia’s company; it would help pass the time while he waited for the outcome of the French invasion.

King Charles entered Orvieto anxious to convince Alexander to sign another treaty. But frustrated by the news that the Pope had moved on to Perugia, Charles angrily ordered his army out of Orvieto and on to Perugia.

Suddenly on the road ahead he recognized one of his advance guards. The soldier, breathless, stammered with the news that troops of the Holy League, in serious numbers, were concentrated in the north. Charles had to change his plans. Then he received another piece of bad news. His new ally, Virginio Orsini, had been captured by Spanish troops. They were now moving south, right behind Charles.

Charles could waste no more time in pursuit of this elusive Pope. The trap he had feared was about to be sprung, and his army was its prey. With not a moment to spare he pushed his troops mercilessly toward the Alps in a series of forced marches. They arrived just in time. As it was, his troops had to fight Holy League infantrymen with pikes in order to cross the border to safety.

King Charles, badly shaken and defeated, was going home to France.