Light on Lucrezia: A Novel of the Borgia - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,42

ran from the apartment shouting for help.

“The Pope is dead,” cried Gasparre. “The roof has collapsed and he in the chair is buried beneath the masonry.”

Guards and officials were running into the apartments; and it was not long before the news was spreading through Rome: “The Pope is dead. This is the work of God. He has been struck down because of his evil deeds. God has taken his life, as he and his son have taken the lives of so many.”

The people were preparing to riot, as they invariably did on the death of the Pope. The wise ones barricaded themselves in their houses; and guards were placed at the gates of the Vatican.

In the Pope’s apartment men worked hard to lift the fallen masonry.

“He cannot be alive,” they said.

They crossed themselves; they believed that what they saw was the work of God. They were astonished though that God had not taken Cesare with his father. Cesare’s rooms above the Pope’s had been hit; his floor had collapsed and it was under this that the Pope now lay buried; but Cesare had left his apartments only a few moments before the lightning had struck a chimney and a thunderbolt had crashed through the roof.

Cesare heard the news and came hurrying to his father’s apartment.

He was horrified. In those moments he realized that he needed his father as much now as he had needed him all his life. If the Pope died there would be a new Pope, and what of Cesare’s grandiose plans then? How could he carry them out without the help of the Holy Father? Who would respect him without the might of his father behind him?

“Oh my father,” he cried. “You must not die. You shall not die.”

Calling for shovels and axes, he tore at the masonry, his hands bleeding, the sweat pouring down his face.

“My lord,” gasped Gasparre, “His Holiness cannot be alive.”

Cesare turned and struck the chamberlain across the face.

“Work harder!” he shrieked. “He is under there and he is not dead. He is not dead, I tell you.”

Under his orders the men obeyed; sweating and panting they lifted the great beams and at length Cesare discovered a corner of the Pope’s cloak. He seized it with a shout of triumph and in a few breathless minutes Alexander, unconscious and bleeding from cuts, was exposed to their view. Cesare shouted orders. “Help me carry him to his bed. Send for physicians. Let no one delay. If my father dies, so shall you all.”

Alexander was very weak, but he was not dead and, when Cesare knelt down and called aloud his thanks to God and the saints for his father’s escape, he opened his eyes and smiled at his son.

“Oh my father,” cried Cesare, “you are still with us. You must not leave us. You must not.”

His voice had risen to a hysterical cry which the Pope seemed to interpret as a call for help; slowly he smiled, a beautiful smile of reassurance; and those watching said: “These Borgias are not human. They have powers of which we know nothing.”

The doctors said that the Pope had sustained a great shock, that he was suffering from an acute fever, and that there must be more bleeding.

“Then bleed him,” cried Cesare. His eyes glinted threateningly. “His life is in your hands. Forget it not, for I never will.”

He sent for Lucrezia and they sat together in the sickroom, their arms about each other, fearful for the life of the beloved man in the bed.

“You will nurse him, Lucrezia; you only,” insisted Cesare, his eyes wide with fear; for he believed that there might be some to seize this opportunity and attempt to do that to the Pope which he and his son had done to so many. Cesare put his face against his sister’s. “You, I … and our father … we are as one,” he went on. “We must be together … always. Therein lies our strength and our happiness.”

“Yes, Cesare,” she answered.

“Do not forget it, sister. We may be Pope … we may be General … we may be wife and mother … but first—always first—we are Borgias.”

She nodded, and she was afraid. She had seen lights in Cesare’s eyes which terrified her.

But at this time there must be no thought in her head but that of her father’s well-being. It would be her duty and her pleasure to nurse him back to health.

Alexander was a Titan. A few days after the accident, which would