gaudy coronation arches – revealed now as painted wood – had long since flaked and cracked and the streets were as filthy as ever. On the way to the river they passed the remains of the Colosseum and the Forum, under grey winter skies, their appearance more ragged than he remembers. No doubt a few more ancient treasures had been dug out of the ground since he left; the fashion for new learning has sparked a rising market for old Rome, though Cesare himself has little time for such artistic snobbery.
At the western edge of the Forum gangs of men were hauling fallen masonry on to carts. What isn’t worth saving is ripe for reuse. Except that, thanks to his father’s new decree, every stone dug up and used for building will now yield a separate tithe to the Church: a pope who has been a vice-chancellor half his life still has a few new revenue tricks up his sleeve. No – there is not a lot going on in Rome that Cesare has missed in his months of exile. Except perhaps the chance to show his father how much he knows.
‘But it wasn’t only Naples who defied you over those castles, Father. You said in your letters that della Rovere negotiated the deal.’
‘Negotiated it and witnessed the signatures on the contracts in his own house, the Judas prick.’ Alexander snarls. ‘Still, since our enemy’s aim is to make us angry…’ he takes a long theatrical breath, ‘we will be sanguine instead. To hold the balance, we will bind Milan fast with the thread of Lucrezia’s marriage and Naples a little looser with another alliance. I thank the Blessed Virgin that I have been gifted with not one but three fine children ready for wedlock.’
‘Take me out of the Church and you can have a fourth.’ The words spill out so fast that it seems Cesare might not have given them permission.
‘This is an old conversation, my son,’ Alexander counters carefully. ‘You know it cannot be done. We need a Borgia in the Church.’
Juan. The name hangs, unspoken, in the air. God damn it, the worse his brother behaves, it seems, the more his father’s favourite he becomes. Well, there is no point in revisiting it now. ‘So let it be Jofré instead.’
‘Ah! Your brother still sleeps with his thumb in his mouth.’
‘Yet you say you are ready to marry him off.’
The doubt slides in again, but Alexander pushes it away. ‘The betrothal will last for years. And the organ he needs for that job will mature faster than his mind. Enough now. You are like a dog that will not let go of the bone on this. It is already decided. Lucrezia will marry Giovanni Sforza who, while he may be a puppet, will become our puppet, and bring with him the city of Pesaro and, if we handle him right, an insight into whatever Milan does before she does it. And then, after we have clawed back some recompense for the castles, Jofré will take a wife from Naples.’
‘And Juan?’
‘Ah! There are also talks in hand with Juan. I will discuss them with you both when he comes. First, I want you to see the new apartments.’
‘What talks? Is it Spain, Father? Will he marry into Spain?’
‘I said enough, Cesare!’ And now his tone says it too. Cesare bows his obedience. He has pushed too hard too quickly and he knows it. He offers a hand to help his father down the steps from the great chair, but it is brushed away impatiently.
‘I am not so old I need your help yet. Come. I have things to show you. I know painting is of little interest to you, but a modern pope must impress with art as well as politics or we will be damned as philistines as well as foreigners. You will use some charm in place of muscle now, please.’
It is true that Cesare, like his father, is not much moved by art. For him the greatest excitement in Rome now is the work being done on Castel Sant’ Angelo, the great fortress on the river with an imperial mausoleum deep in its bowels where the architect and engineer Giuliano da Sangallo is carving out new rooms, reinforcing the outer fortifications and repairing the upper-storey walkway between the castle and the Vatican palace.
Cesare has a lot of time for men like da Sangallo. He identifies with the way they look at the world: seeing what could