the hooded lids.
“It seems many years since I said good-bye to you in Mantua,” he said. “Did Isabella hurt you badly, Lucrezia?”
Lucrezia smiled. “No,” she answered. “At that time nothing could hurt me. You had made me so welcome.”
“I mean to put a shell about you … a protective shell to guard you from her malice. She hates you because I love you.”
“She hated me when you were scarcely aware of my existence.”
“I have been aware of your existence since the day we first met. Nothing shall come between us now. Not Alfonso nor all of Ferrara. Not Isabella with all her malice.”
“We could not be lovers, Francesco,” she told him. “How could we? It is impossible.”
“Love such as I bear you can conquer what may seem impossible to conquer!”
“Come, we must dance,” she told him. “We are watched, you know. All will be wondering of what we talk so earnestly.”
“They must know that I love you. How could any man do otherwise?”
“I have my enemies,” she said. “But dance, I pray you. Alfonso watches.”
“A plague on Alfonso,” murmured Francesco.
Lucrezia’s dancing had always been of the utmost grace and charm. It had delighted her father and her brothers, and Alexander had been wont to have the floor cleared when Lucrezia danced. Here in Ferrara it attracted attention, and many watched as she circled the floor.
She seemed inspired on this night. She radiated happiness. She was full of such spirits as had been hers before the death of her father, and those watching her marveled.
“Madonna Lucrezia is happy this night,” people said to one another, and they laughed behind their fans. Had it anything to do with her attractive partner? Francesco Gonzaga could not be called a handsome man, but he was known to appeal to women.
“How can we meet … alone?” demanded Francesco passionately.
“We cannot,” she told him. “It would never be allowed. We are watched closely. My husband watches me, and I wonder too how many in your suite are Isabella’s spies.”
“Lucrezia, in spite of all, we must meet.”
“We must plan with care,” she told him.
There was another matter which she did not forget even as she danced with Francesco and allowed her senses to be exhilarated by his desire for her: the need to help Cesare. Who could be more useful to Cesare than the powerful Marquis of Mantua, the great soldier whom the Pope had made Captain-General of his armies?
“You know of my brother’s escape?” she asked.
He nodded. “It was one of the greatest sorrows in my life that my efforts on his behalf should have failed with the King of Spain.”
“You did your best to help. Do not think I shall ever forget that.”
“I would give my life to serve you.”
There was nothing they could do but dance together; only thus could they touch hands and whisper together. So they danced and danced until the early morning, and Lucrezia seemed like a child again.
She did not realize how exhausted she was until her women helped her to her bed. Then she lay as in a dream, her eyes shining, recalling everything he had said, the manner in which he had looked at her.
I am alive again, she told herself. Cesare is free, Francesco Gonzaga loves me, and I love him.
She awoke. It was not yet light. Something was wrong, and as she tasted the salty sweat on her lips, she was suddenly aware of acute agony.
She called to her women and they came running to her bedside.
“I am ill,” she said. “I feel as though I am near to death.”
The women looked at each other in alarm. They knew.
The doctors were brought; they nodded gravely. There was whispering throughout the apartment.
“She was mad to dance as she did. It is certain that by so doing she has lost the heir of Ferrara.”
Alfonso stormed into her apartment. He was too furious to contain his anger.
“So,” he cried, “you have lost my son. What good are you as a wife, eh? You dance through the night to the danger of our heirs. What use are you to me?”
Weak and ill she looked pleadingly at him. “Alfonso …” she began, “I beg of you …”
“Beg … beg …! You will indeed be a beggar if you do not do your duty, woman. This is the third child we have lost. I tell you, you have no notion of your duty here. You bring frivolous Roman customs to Ferrara. We’ll not endure it, I am warning you.”
Lucrezia wilted, and the