Light on Lucrezia: A Novel of the Borgia - By Jean Plaidy Page 0,68

had refused to allow his daughter to marry a Borgia! It was a moment for which Cesare had yearned for a long time. Moreover there were many who were fascinated by him, and in the processions of victory more eyes were turned on Cesare Borgia than on Louis of France.

There were balls and banquets, and Cesare was the center of attraction at these. There were many women eager to be noticed by him, although news of the massacre of Capua had reached them, and it was said that there had never been such barbaric savagery as that displayed by Cesare Borgia in the Neapolitan campaign, and that many French Captains who had prided themselves on their chivalry had made it known that they did not wish to be thought of as allies of such a man.

Cesare was always at his most brutal when he believed his dignity had been insulted; and every cruelty he perpetrated during that campaign was meant to soothe those wounds inflicted by Princess Carlotta and her father, Federico.

At Capua he had ridden through the town forcing his way into houses wherever he had heard there were beautiful young girls. He was insistent that they should be virgins; therefore it was necessary that they should be of a tender age. He discovered forty of them and demanded that they be taken to Rome, housed in his palace, and kept there to form a harem for his pleasure. His rule was barbaric. Men whom he suspected of insulting him, even by a word, had their tongues cut out, hands cut off and were exposed to public view until they died.

He set about amusing himself but so promiscuously did he do this that it was not long before he was again smitten with that disease which he had contracted in his early youth, from which he suffered periodic attacks and which was known throughout Italy as the male francese.

This sickness, exhausting him physically as it did, never failed to have its effect on his mind. His wildness increased with it; his anger was even more easily aroused; suffering pain as he did, he seemed to be filled with a demoniacal desire to inflict it on others.

There was a shiver through the whole of Rome when Cesare returned to recuperate and join in the celebrations of his sister’s coming marriage.

Alfonso d’Este, working in his foundry by day and amusing himself with his countless mistresses by night, was the least disturbed member at his father’s court.

“All this fuss about a marriage!” he guffawed. “Let us get the matter done with.”

His brothers, Ippolito, Ferrante and Sigismondo who would travel to Rome to escort Lucrezia back to Ferrara, argued with him. He scarcely listened. There were continual arguments in the family, which was perhaps not so surprising when there were so many brothers, all of different opinions.

Ippolito, the fastidous Cardinal who longed to wear jewels and tasteful garments and had even designed a Cardinal’s robe of his own, declared that he was all eagerness to see the bride. He had heard such stories about her. She was reputed to be beautiful with wonderful yellow hair which was probably dyed or brightened in some way. He felt that a woman with such a history would be interesting.

Ferrante declared that he was longing to see her. An incestuous murderess would make life exciting in Ferrara!

Sigismondo crossed himself hastily and said that they should go down on their knees and pray that no harm should grow out of the marriage.

Alfonso laughed at them. “Have done,” he said. “This is a woman like ten thousand others.”

“There you are wrong, brother,” said Ferrante. “She is a seductress, and it is said that her brother, Cesare Borgia, murdered his brother and her husband out of desire for her.”

Alfonso spat over his shoulder. “I could find a dozen like her any night in any brothel in Ferrara.” He yawned. He was going back to his foundry.

Ercole called Ippolito to him. It was no use talking to Alfonso. Now more than ever he found it difficult to believe Alfonso was his son. It was distressing to witness his low tastes, his animal sexuality. Ercole had prided himself that the Este court was the center of culture. How could it continue so when he was dead and Alfonso ruled in his place? He himself had lived as chastely as a man of his time could have been expected to live. His wife, Eleanora of Aragon, had been virtuous; she had borne him