Light on Lucrezia: A Novel of the Borgia - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,33
that the Pope demanded that he return at once, he refused to do so; nor would his uncle, King Federico, give him up.
This infuriated the Pope who knew that the whole of Italy would be aware that Alfonso had good reason for being afraid, since he was prepared to leave a wife with whom, it was common knowledge, he was deeply in love.
Alexander had been suffering from fainting fits more frequently during the last year, and there were occasions when the purple blood would flood his face, when the veins would knot at his temples and he would find it difficult to regain that composure which he knew was one of his greatest assets.
This was one of the occasions when he found it impossible to remain calm.
He sent for Sanchia and told her that she might prepare to leave at once for Naples; since the King was determined to retain her brother he could have her also.
Sanchia was astounded. She had no wish to leave Rome, and she immediately made this clear to the Pope.
He did not look at her, and his voice was cold. “We are not discussing your wishes, but mine,” he told her.
“Holiness, my place is here with my husband.”
“Your place is where I say it shall be.”
“Most Holy Lord, I beg of you, consider this.”
“I have already considered, and this is my decision.”
Sanchia lost her temper. “I refuse to go,” she said.
“Then,” reiterated the Pope, “it will be necessary to remove you by force.”
Gone was the urbane charmer of women. Her beauty meant nothing to him. She had never believed this would be possible.
She cried out in humiliated rage: “If I go, I shall take Goffredo with me.”
“Goffredo remains in Rome.”
“And Lucrezia!” she cried. “I shall take Lucrezia and Goffredo with me. They’ll come. Lucrezia longs to join her husband. If my place is in Naples, then so is hers.”
And with a certain satisfaction, for she saw that she had alarmed him, she left him.
Outside the Palace of Santa Maria in Portico a brilliant cortège was preparing to leave. There were forty-three coaches, and among them a splendid litter with embroidered mattresses of crimson satin and a canopy of damask. This was to carry Lucrezia, and had been designed by the Pope himself to afford the utmost comfort to a pregnant woman during a long and tedious journey.
Now Lucrezia was reclining in the litter, and Goffredo had mounted his horse; together at the head of the cortège they would ride out of Rome for Spoleto.
Standing in the Benediction loggia was Alexander himself, determined to see the last of his daughter before she left Rome; his smile was tender and full of affection and he raised his hand three times to bless them before they departed.
Lucrezia was glad to leave Rome. The past few days had been very uneasy. Sanchia had been forced to return to Naples very much against her will, and Lucrezia was aware that this journey to Spoleto was being undertaken because her father feared that Lucrezia and Goffredo might escape him and join their husband and wife in Naples.
They were in benign and tender custody; there was no doubt of it. Surrounding them were attendants who had sworn they would not let them out of their sight, and who would have to answer to the Pope if they escaped.
The Pope had told Lucrezia of this journey she was to make to Spoleto. She was his beloved daughter, he said, and he wished to do honor to her. He was going to make her Governor of Spoleto and Foligno, a position which usually fell to the lot of Cardinals or high-raking priests. But he wanted all the world to know that he respected his daughter as deeply as he loved her; and that was why he was going to invest her with this duty.
Lucrezia knew that this was but half the reason. He was afraid she would run away, and he could not have borne that; he did not wish to make her his prisoner in Rome. So he made her his prisoner in Spoleto. There she would live in what was tantamount to a fortress, and Spoleto—being a hundred and fifty miles north—put a greater distance between Lucrezia and Alfonso than there would have been had she remained in Rome.
She knew too that her continual tears wearied him. He wanted her to laugh a great deal, to sing to him, to amuse him; he could not endure tears.