could with his tongue.
Lucrezia, shut in her apartments in the castle of Nepi, bent over the cradle of her child. Each time she looked at him she must be vividly reminded of all the wonderful plans she and Alfonso had made together; and she would weep afresh, telling herself that this little one would never know his father.
Her women had given up trying to comfort her; they wished that Madonna Sanchia were with them. She had been stricken in her grief also; but the two ladies would have done much to comfort each other.
And then suddenly one of the pages came running to Lucrezia’s apartments to tell her that soldiers were approaching the castle.
Lucrezia threw back her hair which was less bright than usual (she had forgotten to wash it so frequently); her gown was black and plain; and she looked unlike the gay Lucrezia who had taken such pride in the elegant garments which she had worn in Rome.
She ran to her window that she might see who these soldiers were who had come to disturb the peace of Nepi.
A brilliant sight met her eyes as she looked down on the advancing men. They were singing as they came; and there was laughter in their ranks. Ahead of them were carried the yellow and red banners; and as she looked the heralds blew triumphal notes on their silver trumpets, and there was in those notes a joyous sound which seemed to shatter the melancholy of Nepi.
And then she saw him; he was riding at their head—the condottiere in his brilliant uniform—and her heart leaped with pride to behold him thus; and, for the first time in the six weeks since the most tragic day, Lucrezia smiled.
Then she hurried down to greet her brother.
He had leaped from his horse, throwing the reins to one of his men; he ran to her, picked her up in his arms and laughed into her face.
She looked at him for a moment; then she took his face in her hands and cried: “Cesare … oh, Cesare!”
But almost immediately it was as though Alfonso was with her, and she recalled that apartment in the Borgia Tower and Alfonso’s limp body lying across the bed.
“Cesare,” she said, “why have you come?”
“A strange question, sister. How could I pass within a few miles of your stronghold and resist the temptation of seeing you?”
“I had thought you would not come here,” she answered dully.
He had put her on her feet and, placing his arm about her, he said: “I am hungry. We are all hungry. Can you not feed us?”
“We are unprepared,” she said. She called to one of the dwarfs who stood watching the scene with astonishment. “Go to the kitchens. Bid them cook all they have. It would seem we have an army to feed.”
The dwarf disappeared, and Cesare turned to one of his captains and gave him orders to look after the men, and find suitable billets in the town. He would stay the night at the Castle of Nepi.
When his captain had departed, he asked her to take him to that room where she spent most of her time, and she did so. They stood side by side, looking out on the awe-inspiring scenery.
“How are you faring in your battles?” she asked.
“So well,” he replied, “that soon I shall be in possession of my kingdom.”
“Did I not always say you would achieve your desires?”
“You did, sister.”
“I remember so well how you railed against your Cardinal’s robes.”
“You see,” said Cesare earnestly, “all such irritations pass. Like grief they loom large when they are close; they are infinitesimal in the distance. Look at the Sabine mountains … nothing but a chain of blue mist from this window. But stand beneath those towering peaks; there is a different story.”
She smiled in agreement, and he put his hand under her chin and turned up her face to his.
“Thus it will be with you, sister.”
She shook her head and would not meet his eyes, and for a moment anger shone in them. “Are you still moping here, Lucrezia?” he demanded. “Oh, it is wrong of you.”
“I loved my husband,” she answered. “You, who have never loved a wife as I loved him, cannot understand why his death should affect me as it does.”
He laughed suddenly. “Before I leave here,” he said, “you shall be gay once more.”
“I heard you say you were staying but one night.”
“Nevertheless, before I go you shall cease to think of your husband. Stop thinking