their opinions?”
“It is always better to lay a cloak of benevolent intentions and sound good sense over one’s actions, my son. Alfonso was a foolish boy but he was a Prince of Naples.”
Cesare snapped his fingers. “That for Naples and their bastard princelings!”
“We have the future to think of, Cesare. Do not let it be said that a Prince of Naples … or Milan … or Venice … may visit us here in Rome, displease us in some way, and then lose his life. That may mean that, when we wish to receive such Princes in Rome, they will be chary of coming … which could be an inconvenience. No. These people must understand that Alfonso was plotting here against you … and you merely had him killed before he could kill you. You have imprisoned members of his household?”
“They are in Castel St. Angelo now.”
“There let them stay. Now you must make an inquiry into these plots and send some account of it to Naples … to Milan. Circulate it throughout Italy.”
“The matter is done with,” growled Cesare.
“Nay. No such matter is ever done with while there are men and women to remember that it took place.”
“Very well. I will do it … in good time.”
“That is well, my son. And do it promptly, for before long you will be leaving us to rejoin your armies.”
Cesare stood up suddenly and began hitting the palm of his left hand with the clenched fist of his right. “And to think,” he said, “that my own sister should be making this more difficult for us!”
“She is a wife who loved her husband.”
“She loved our enemy!” cried Cesare.
“It is sad to contemplate that she can forget our interests in her grief for his loss,” admitted the Pope.
Cesare looked artfully at his father. A short while ago Lucrezia was his favorite child, and Cesare could have sworn that she had enjoyed more favor at the Vatican than any. Now the Pope was less pleased with his daughter. It was strange that Cesare should have had to commit a murder in order to oust his sister from first place in their father’s esteem. Foolish Lucrezia! She had ruled by her love for her father—her gentle disinterested love. Now she had been unwise enough to show that her grief in the loss of her husband overshadowed her love for her father; and Alexander, who always turned from the unpleasant, disliked to see the grief of his daughter, and was irritated at the signs of tears on her face.
“This husband of hers, it seems, bewitched her,” went on Cesare. “We were of little consequence to her when he was alive. Now that she has lost him she mourns him so bitterly that all Rome knows it. She has not appeared in public since it happened, but servants carry tales, and it may be that passers-by have seen her in loggias or on the balconies—a white-faced grieving widow. The people—the stupid sentimental people—are ready to weep with her and cry vengeance on those who rid Rome of a traitor because in so doing they brought tears to his widow’s eyes!” Cesare’s voice had risen to a scream. “Sanchia and she … they are together all the time, talking of his perfections, lashing each other to more displays of grief, crying out against his murderers. And this, oh my father, is Lucrezia Borgia—my sister, your daughter—so far forgetting that she is one of us that she—if only in her secret heart—calls down vengeance on her brother.”
“She would never cry for vengeance on you, Cesare. She loves you dearly … no matter what passing fancies afflict her.”
“I tell you at this time she has no thought for any but her dead husband. Separate them, Father, because they brew mischief. Send Sanchia back to Naples. And Lucrezia—send her away from Rome. No good can come of keeping her here.”
The Pope was silent for a few seconds.
He was thinking: There is good sense in this. Let her go away from us. Let her quietly brood on her sorrow. She is a Borgia at heart. She is one of us. She will not long mourn him who cannot be brought back, however many tears are shed. A short stay in a quiet place, and she will pine for the pleasures of Rome, the affection of her family. Has she ever been happy for long without them?
Then he spoke: “You are right, my son. Sanchia shall go back to Naples. As for Lucrezia, she