were rarely separated. We loved each other … dearly.”
“I know it.” He looked at her quickly, thinking of all the rumors he had heard concerning that love; and again he was deeply moved by her look of innocence.
“I feel,” she said, “that nothing can ever be the same for me again.”
“You feel thus because the loss is so recent. Your sorrow will moderate as time passes.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “My brother said that once.… when I was unhappy about another death.”
“It is true,” he answered.
When she had mentioned her brother’s name there had been a tremor in her voice, and Francesco knew then that her fears for her brother exceeded the misery she felt on account of the death of her father. What was the truth concerning this strange family relationship which had provoked more scandal than any other in Roman history?
Francesco longed to know; he wanted to understand every detail of her life. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, make her gay, as he felt she was intended to be.
Then he realized that through this family relationship he might win her confidence.
He said softly: “You are anxious on account of your brother?”
She turned to him appealingly. “The news I have heard of him frightens me.”
“I readily understand that. He trusted the new Pope too well, I fear. He seems to forget that Julius has always been an enemy of himself and your father.”
“Cesare has been sick … sick almost unto death. I have heard disquieting rumors that his sickness has such a hold upon him that it has deadened his judgment.”
Francesco nodded. “He is a man deserted by his friends. I understand full well your fears, now that he is a prisoner in the Vatican.”
“I picture him there … in the Borgia Tower.… I remember every detail of those rooms.”
Haunted by ghosts! she thought, seeing Alfonso—dear and most loved of husbands—lying dead across his bed, Cesare’s victim. And now Cesare, weakened by sickness, humiliated by defeat, was a prisoner in those very rooms.
Francesco laid his hand on her arm, and whispered in that tender voice which had so delighted her women attendants: “If there were aught I could do to ease your anxieties, gladly would I do it.”
An expression of joy flitted temporarily across her face, so that he was immediately aware of that latent gaiety within her. He wanted to arouse it; he wanted to make her joyous. Was it at that moment that he began to be in love with her?
“There might be something I could do for your brother,” he went on.
“My lord …”
“Say ‘Francesco.’ Need we stand on ceremony, you and I?”
He took her hand and kissed it. “I mean to earn your gratitude. There is nothing I crave more than to bring back the laughter to your lips.”
She smiled. “You are so kind to me, Francesco.”
“And there has been little kindness. Listen, I beg of you. Pope Julius and I are the best of friends, and I will tell you a secret. He is asking me to take command of the Papal army. You see, these are not idle promises I make. I shall devote my energies to making you smile again. And if you saw your brother restored to health, and once again Lord of Romagna, would you be happy?”
“I should still think of my father, but I believe that if I could know all was well with Cesare I should know such relief and pleasure that I must be happy again.”
“Then it shall be so.”
There were more delightful walks, more tender conversations, more promises, but eventually Francesco found it necessary to depart for Mantua, and this he did with the utmost reluctance.
Lucrezia missed him when he went; she told herself that she longed for the sight of Pietro Bembo; but she did enjoy hearing her ladies discuss the charms of Francesco Gonzaga.
As for Francesco, he rode into Mantua marveling at himself. What were these promises he had made? Was it possible for him to advise Julius to pardon the son of his oldest and most bitter enemy? Should not the heads of states such as Mantua be greatly relieved to have Cesare under lock and key?
But he had told the truth when he had said that above all things he wished to please Lucrezia.
Cesare lay on his bed, his drawn sword by his side.
In this room little Alfonso of Bisceglie had waited for his death. They had put him here, Cesare knew, hoping to unnerve him,