brother.”
Goffredo’s eyes shone with pride, as they always did when he was called Borgia. The greatest insult that could be hurled at him was to suggest that he did not belong to that family.
“Who is that in the shadows, brother?” asked Cesare.
“Your good servant, Don Micheletto Corella.”
“Ah,” said Cesare, “bid him come forward.”
Micheletto Corella knelt by the bed and took Cesare’s hand. “My lord, I am yours to command.”
“How fares my father?” said Cesare. “Come, I would have the truth. Do not seek to soothe me. This is no time to soothe.”
“He is very sick.”
“Sick unto death?” demanded Cesare.
“Were he an ordinary man, one would say so. But His Holiness is superhuman. It is said there is a slight hope that he will throw off the effects of the poison.”
“God grant he will. Oh my father, you must not die.”
“He’ll not die,” cried Goffredo. “Borgias do not die.”
“If it is humanly possible to survive, he will do it,” said Cesare. “But we must be ready for whatever should happen. If my father dies, you must immediately get possession of the keys to the vaults, and my father’s treasure must be carried to a safe place. Brother, my friend, if my father should die, you must get those keys before the people know. Once they have stormed the Vatican there will be no hope of saving my father’s treasures.”
“I will do that, my lord,” answered Corella.
“And in the meantime my father and I must appear to be recovering. Do not tell any how sick we are. Say that we have had a slight attack of fever, probably due to the poisonous August air.”
“Many who were at the Corneto party have taken to their beds. The Cardinal is saying that it is due to the poison in the air, and that the sooner Leonardo da Vinci, your fortress engineer, can do something about his drains, the better.”
“Let them say that. So other guests are afflicted, eh? But not as my father is … not as I am. I find that very suspicious. But say nothing. Tell all that we are recovering. Listen! Who is that coming?”
“Some of the Cardinals from the Sacred College; they come to ask after you and the Pope.”
“Prop me up,” said Cesare. “They must not know how sick I am. Come … we will laugh and chat together. It must be as though in a few days I shall leave my bed.”
The Cardinals came in. They had visited the Pope, and the disappointed expressions on their faces made Cesare feel exultant; it seemed that Alexander too had realized the importance of impressing them with the belief that he and his son were suffering from a slight malaise from which they would soon recover.
Such was Alexander’s strength of mind and body that, only two days after he drank the poisoned wine, he was able to sit up in his bed and play cards with members of his household.
Cesare in the rooms above heard the laughter below and exulted.
Never before had he realized the greatness of this father of his; and the sweetest sound in the world, to Cesare that day, was the laughter which came from the Pope’s bedchamber as the cards were played.
Corella and Goffredo came to him to tell him what was happening.
“You should see the faces of some of them,” cried Goffredo. “They can’t hide their disappointment.”
“I trust you noted who they were,” said Cesare. “When I rise from this bed they shall be remembered.”
Cesare lay back and, ill as he was, he smiled.
None can overcome the Borgias, he was thinking. No matter who comes against us, we will always win.
It occurred to him that the poison had not affected the Pope as much as it had himself. Yet the Pope had drunk the wine undiluted, and he had weakened his with water. Perhaps this foul disease, which had dogged him since his early youth, was largely responsible for his condition.
When he was well enough to visit his father—although it seemed that his father would probably be the one to visit him—he would show him more tenderness than he had of late. He would insist that the Pope must take greater care of his health. Alexander was that strong stem from which the Borgia power had grown. That stem must not be broken yet.
He could have made merry with his brother and his trusted captain if he did not feel so ill.
Alexander woke in the night.
He cried out: “Where am I?”
His attendants hurried to his bed.
“In