Light on Lucrezia: A Novel of the Borgia - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,22
Cardinal’s robes.
In France Cesare had had to learn restraint, and that was not easy for one of his temperament.
He knelt before the King, and he fancied that Louis took a sly delight in keeping him on his knees longer than he would another.
At length he was bidden to rise. Then Louis said: “The news is not good, my lord Duke, and deeply I regret that it should be my task to impart it.”
Louis’ expression was commiserative but Cesare could not rid himself of the idea that behind it was a certain pleasure.
“It’s from Naples,” he went on. “Federico stubbornly refuses to consent to your marriage with his daughter.”
“Why so, Sire?” demanded Cesare, and the imperious tones sent the royal eyebrows up a fraction.
There was silence, then Cesare added: “I pray Your Majesty, tell me on what grounds the King of Naples objects to my marriage with his daughter.”
“On the grounds of your birth.”
“My birth! I am the son of the Pope.”
Louis’ mouth lifted slightly at the corners. “It is a sad but nevertheless logical conclusion, my lord, that the sons of Popes must be illegitimate.”
Cesare clenched his right fist and banged it into the palm of his left hand. He found it difficult to refrain from taking this man by the shoulders and shaking him, King though he was.
“This is folly,” he cried out.
The King nodded sadly.
“And,” went on Cesare, “I doubt not, in Your Majesty’s power and determination to fulfill your contract with my father, you will ignore the objections of this petty monarch.”
“My lord Duke, you forget that I have carried out my part of the bargain. I gave you your estate and title and my consent for you to woo the lady. I cannot take a father’s place when she has a father living.”
“We could be married here, Sire, and then what could her father do?”
Louis allowed a profoundly shocked expression to cross his face. “You would ask me to come between a daughter and her father? No, not even for my friends could I do it. Moreover I have received protests from all over Europe. There is one here from my brother of England—King Henry VII. He sends word that he is deeply shocked that there is a possibility that bastardy should be linked with royalty, and that a son of His Holiness should marry with the legitimate daughter of a King.” Louis smiled. “I fancy our brother of England is a little shocked that His Holiness should even possess a son—but that is beside the point.”
“And he a Tudor!” cried Cesare, his rage refusing to be controlled. “Can the Tudors feel so certain of their own legitimacy?”
Again the King’s eyebrows were raised, and his expression was so cold that Cesare was immediately made aware that he might be a hostage in a foreign land.
“I could not discuss my brother’s affairs with you,” said Louis sharply. He waved his hand to indicate that the interview was over.
Cesare angrily left the apartment. His attendants, who had been waiting for him at a respectful distance, followed him. He looked at them sharply. Did they know that he had been humiliated?
He resisted an impulse to take one of the men by the ear, to drag him to his apartments and there order that his tongue be cut out. He was determined that none should carry tales back to Rome of what he had suffered in France. First to be flouted by that foolish girl; then to be treated as a man of no account by the King! And what the King did today his friends would do tomorrow.
But caution restrained him. A moment ago he had had a glimmer of understanding as to what his position was. What if he decided to leave France at once? Would he be allowed to go? Was he going to marry Carlotta when it seemed that the whole of France and Europe was against him? Was he going to return to Rome, a laughing stock?
He had to be careful, never forgetting for an instant that he could not behave in France as he did in Italy.
Therefore he noted the face of that man who he fancied had been amused to see his master humiliated. He would remember; but the man must be allowed to keep his tongue while they remained on French soil.
Now that she was to have a child, Lucrezia told herself that this was the happiest time of her life. She refused to look back; she refused to look ahead. The