Light on Lucrezia - By Plaidy, Jean Page 0,169

she must go to him. She would not lose a moment. She called to her attendants and told them that they were leaving next day for Mantua.

She could scarcely sleep that night, so eager was she for the journey. She lay restlessly waiting for the dawn.

Daylight brought visitors to the castle—important visitors, she knew, for there was a great commotion below and, as Lucrezia started up from her bed, Alfonso himself strode into the room.

He stood, legs wide apart, laughing at her.

“What’s this I hear?” he said. “You plan to travel to Mantua?”

“Our brother is sick,” she answered him, although her voice shook with fear. “As I am not far distant I thought it but courteous …”

Alfonso’s laugh was louder. “You thought it courteous! The reason for your intended courtesy is well known. You are not going to Mantua to visit your lover.”

“I have made my arrangements.”

“Then we will unmake them.”

“Alfonso, what can it matter to you?”

“It matters this,” he said. He came to the bed and taking her by the shoulders shook her angrily. “You are my wife and Duchess of Ferrara. We have an heir, but we should have many children. Ercole needs brothers.”

“That … that he may … bury them alive?” she cried with a show of spirit.

He swung his heavy hand across her face. “That is for your insolence,” he said. And he repeated the action. “And that is for thinking to cuckold me and bring flat-nosed bastards into my house.”

She cowered back in the bed. Alfonso’s sudden burst of anger had passed. “No nonsense,” he said. “Daylight is here. You will dress, and we shall return to Ferrara without delay.”

“I have sent word that I am visiting our brother’s sick-bed.”

“Sick-bed! He’s in no sick-bed. He tells you so, hoping to excuse himself for not coming to you now. There is nothing wrong with Francesco Gonzaga. He is a man of good sense. He knows when it is unwise to continue a flirtation.” He put his face close to hers. “And that time has now come,” he added.

She leaped out of her bed. “Alfonso,” she cried, “I will not be treated thus. I am not one of your tavern women. I am not the bonnet-maker’s daughter.”

“Nay,” he said, “you lack their freedom. You are the Duchess of Ferrara, and in future you shall never forget it. Prepare yourself. I am in a hurry and impatient to return.”

“You forget that I am Lucrezia Borgia, and when I married you …”

“I forget nothing. Yours was a name which carried some weight in Italy. It was no credit to you. Your glory came from your father. Now he is dead, and your brother is dead, and the power of the Borgias is broken forever. So subdue that pride which cries ‘I am a Borgia!’ Be wise, woman. Cultivate modesty. Bear me children and I shall then have nothing of which to complain.”

So she came to Ferrara; and as she rode beside her husband she seemed to hear his words echoing in her ears. Alexander is dead, and with him died the power of the Borgias; Cesare is dead, and with him died all hope.

As they came near to the castle she looked up at the highest tower and she thought of the two young men who were prisoners and would remain there for the rest of their lives.

She rode with Alfonso into the castle, and she felt as the walls closed about her that she too was a prisoner, sharing their fate.

There was a pain in her heart and a longing to see a loved face again; and the cry which rose up within her was not Francesco, but Cesare.

EPILOGUE

Lucrezia was pregnant. How many times in the last ten years had she been pregnant! And each one left her a little weaker and a little less able to endure the next. Yet never had she felt so ill as she did now. She was growing old, although at times she still looked like a girl, for she had remained slender and her face had never lost its look of innocence. She had remained serene, accepting her fate since the day Alfonso had brought her back to Ferrara and had told her so clearly that her future depended on her ability to do her duty.

Little Ippolito had been born after that, and Alfonso was not displeased. Two sons now for Ferrara. Young Ercole had continued healthy.

What pleasure there had been in the children! They had provided all the happiness of