Light on Lucrezia - By Plaidy, Jean Page 0,124
myself if I added to those sufferings.”
“You must not stay too long away from me,” Lucrezia implored. “You know how I rely on you now.”
Strozzi watched them with interest. This love affair, which he had planned, was ripening, he fancied. It had outgrown the Platonic stage, he was sure; and he would be interested to see what effect it had on Pietro’s work.
He must certainly make sure that Alfonso was not so irritated that he forbade the two to be together. Therefore it was wise for Pietro to disappear.
Alfonso arrived almost immediately after Pietro had left.
He was shocked by his wife’s appearance. Even her hair had lost its luster.
He remonstrated with her. “Why, it was many months since you had seen your father. Why should you make all this fuss now?”
“Can you not understand that I shall never … never see him again?”
“I understand it perfectly well. But you might not have done so in any case.”
She began to weep silently, because his reference to her father had brought back more tender memories.
“I did not come here to listen to your lamentations,” said Alfonso, who could not bear the company of weeping women.
“Then you should have left me to mourn alone,” she told him.
“Were you mourning … alone?” he asked.
“There is no one … no one … who can really share such grief with me.”
Alfonso, who was practical in the extreme, could not begin to understand the nature of the love which had existed between Alexander and Lucrezia. He knew that that mighty influence had been withdrawn and he imagined her grief to be partly due to fear for her own future. He could understand such alarm. The King of France had already hinted that if Alfonso wished to repudiate the marriage he would put no obstacle in the way. Ferrara had been forced to accept the Borgia as a bride but Ferrara should not be forced to keep her.
Did she know that the friendship of France for her family was a fickle thing? Was she weeping for the loss of that Apostolic mantle which had protected her so firmly all her life? To practical Alfonso it seemed that this must be so.
He sought to comfort her. “You need have no fear,” he said, “that we shall repudiate the marriage. We shall not take seriously the hints of the King of France.”
“What hints are these?” she asked.
“Is it possible that you do not know? Are you so shut away here at Medelana?”
“I have heard no news since I heard that which so overwhelmed me with grief that I could think of nothing else.”
He told her then of French animosity toward her family. “But have no fear,” said Alfonso; “we shall not repudiate the marriage for we should have to pay back the dowry if we did, and that is something my father would never do.”
He laughed aloud at the thought of his father’s parting with all those ducats which he loved so well. He placed an arm about Lucrezia and tried to jolly her toward an amorous mood, but she was unresponsive. She repeated: “The King of France would not dare.… Though my father is dead I still have my brother.”
“Your brother!” cried Alfonso.
She turned to him suddenly; she was vital again, her eyes suddenly brilliant, not with joy, but with a terrible fear. “Cesare!” she cried. “What of Cesare?”
“It was a sad thing for him that he fell sick at such a time. He needed his strength. But he was lying sick almost to death while your father’s enemies rioted in the streets, ransacked the Papal apartments and made off with jewels of great value—which, it seems, your brother’s servants had failed to put into safe keeping.”
“Where is he now?” asked Lucrezia in anguish.
“He went to Castel Sant’ Angelo for safety.”
“And the children?”
“They went with him. Your son Roderigo and the Infante Romano.” Alfonso burst out laughing. “Do not look so downcast. He had his ladies with him. Sanchia of Aragon was there and Dorotea, the girl he abducted. I wonder how they liked each other.”
“My brother … a prisoner!”
“Your brother a prisoner. How else could it be? He conquered many towns, and the whole of Italy feared him. He strutted about like a conqueror, did he not? But he took his power from the Papal standards, and suddenly … he finds himself a sick man and the Papal influence withdrawn from him.”
Lucrezia had taken her husband’s arm and was shaking it in her distress.
“Oh, tell me everything …