Light on Lucrezia - By Plaidy, Jean Page 0,105

wine he wondered where this would end. Would it happen, as some prophesied, that as the territory of Il Valentino grew so would his longing to make it bigger? Would he rest content until the whole of Italy was his?

Wretched thoughts. There had been too much war. The old soldier was weary, no longer being fit for battle. Thus he could enjoy the good wine, the pleasant shade and the thought that Elizabetta was away in Mantua.

He dozed and was awakened by the clatter of horses’ hoofs. He heard voices in the distance.

“The Duke! He is here? Then I pray you take me to him at once.”

Did he guess during those brief seconds before the messenger reached him?

Elizabetta was right when she said a man was a fool to trust a Borgia. He had laid his territory open to the Borgia, and at this moment Il Valentino and his ruthless troops might be in the city itself.

The messenger was kneeling before him. “My lord, there is not a moment to lose. Il Valentino has entered Urbino. He has taken possession of the city. He is sacking the palace. He is sending his soldiers to find you, and he knows that you are here. To horse … my lord Duke. Fly for your life!”

So Guidobaldo di Montefeltre, twice deceived by the Borgias, took horse and rode toward Mantua with all the speed his crippled body would allow.

He found that the news had preceded him. Elizabetta had retired to her apartments worn out with grief and worry. Isabella and Francesco consoled him, making him very welcome and insisting that he must rest.

“A curse on these Borgias!” cried Isabella.

But when she was alone with her husband, Francesco saw the speculative look in her eyes.

“Guidobaldo was a fool to allow Il Valentino free entry into Urbino,” she declared. “What has come over him?”

“He is war-weary. He is no longer young. That is what has happened to Guidobaldo.”

Isabella stalked up and down the apartment. She was visualizing the Urbino palace and Elizabetta’s wonderful collection of statues which she had always envied. She had asked Michelangelo to make something similar to his Sleeping Cupid for her, but artists would not work to order. It was the same with Leonardo da Vinci; he could not be induced to produce anything beautiful at this time, being concerned with a new drainage system which he was sure would be the means of disposing of many of the causes of periodic plague. At least, thought Isabella, the Borgia would not destroy anything which was beautiful.

Francesco watched her, that wise expression in his sleepy eyes.

She turned on him in her rage. “How can you smile? Do you not realize what this means to Guidobaldo and Elizabetta?”

Francesco became serious. “Too well,” he said. “I smiled because I thought of what it might mean to you.”

“I do not understand you. What could it mean but a share in their grief?”

“It could also mean a share in their treasures.”

She wanted to slap his face. He was too clever, with his habit of reading her thoughts.

She was loud in her denunciation of Cesare Borgia, but at the same time she secretly dispatched messages to Urbino, and her attitude would appear to be friendly. She had heard—she wrote—that Cesare had taken possession of the Urbino palace, and there was a statue there which she coveted beyond all others. She had longed to possess it and now, if Il Valentino were kind, she had a hope of doing so. It was the Sleeping Cupid which Michelangelo had made. She and Cesare were related since his sister’s marriage to her brother. If he could find it in his heart to grant her this request, she doubted not that they could be friendly as relations should be.

The message was dispatched; she set about comforting Elizabetta and poor Guidobaldo, and her denunciation of the Borgias rang through the Castle.

Cesare was not one to give friendship lightly. He found the Sleeping Cupid and its beauty moved him deeply; it surely was one of the most exquisite pieces of workmanship in Italy, and it was small wonder that Isabella wanted it. Should he send it to Lucrezia? That would infuriate Isabella.

Cesare laughed aloud. His first impulse was to despatch the cupid to Ferrara, but he hesitated. He was the ruler of his own dominion now, and he dreamed of extending that dominion. He must not therefore give way to stupid whims. Isabella of Mantua was important in his schemes because she was