even as he embraced her, as it reminded him of Alfonso, her husband, and all the rumors he had heard of the affection between these two.
“It has been so long, Cesare, so very long,” she cried.
He took her face in his hands and studied it intently. Her face at least had changed little.
“You had your husband and this child to think of,” he told her.
“Do you think anything would stop me thinking of you?”
It was the answer he expected; the sort of answer she had learned to give in nursery days.
The Pope was ready to greet him, taking him in his arms, kissing him fondly, his face quivering with emotion.
“My beloved son, at last … at last!”
“Father, I would it had been earlier.”
“No matter, now you are here, and we are contented.”
Cesare had nothing more than a curt greeting for his brother-in-law; Alfonso was taken aback, the smile of welcome freezing on his face. He glanced quickly at Lucrezia, but Lucrezia, with whom he had shared all emotions since he had rejoined her at Spoleto, was unaware of him. He was conscious of the pride shining in her eyes, pride in this brother of hers.
The Pope and Cesare were closeted together. They bent over maps as they sketched in the kingdom of Romagna.
“One by one these towns should fall to us,” said the Pope. “No doubt some, terrified of war, will surrender without a fight.”
“I shall know how to terrify them,” Cesare told him.
“The Italians are a pleasure-loving people,” went on the Pope. “Charles’s invasion taught us that. They like to parade in fine uniforms; that is beauty and color, and they are great lovers of beauty and color. They love carnivals, mock-battles; they like the parade of conquering heroes … but the true battle … no! I do not think our task will be difficult.”
“I shall accomplish it with ease.”
“You are confident, my son.”
“Should not all generals be confident before the battle? To believe in defeat is to court disaster.”
“You are going to be a great general, my son.”
“Did I not always tell you so? Do not forget, Father, that I have much time to make up for.” His gaze was accusing, and the Pope flinched, feeling suddenly old, as though he had given over the reins to this headstrong son of his and bidden him drive their chariot.
Alexander looked down at the map and traced a line with his finger.
“We shall subdue all the Roman barons,” he said. “They shall all come under Papal authority. You are Gonfalonier of the Church, my son.”
Cesare’s brilliant eyes looked into those of his father. Yes, Romagna would be under Papal control and, as the Pope would be under the control of his son, Cesare would soon be ruler of those States. Nor would his ambition end there.
Cesare intended to unite all Italy and rule as King.
In their bedroom at Nepi Alfonso and Lucrezia lay together. It was early morning and Lucrezia was conscious of the restlessness of her husband.
“Alfonso,” she whispered. “What ails you?”
“I cannot sleep,” he answered.
“Why not, Alfonso?”
He was silent; she raised herself on her elbow and, although she could not see his face, she touched it lightly with her fingers. He took her hand and kissed it passionately. His was trembling.
“What ails you, Alfonso?” she asked again.
He hesitated. Then he lied. “I know not. It must have been some nightmare.”
She kissed him again and lay down beside him.
He knew how deeply she loved her brother—too deeply, so many had said—and he could not bring himself to say to her, “It is the presence of your brother here at Nepi. While he is here I find it impossible to be at peace. It is as though the castle is full of shadows—fantastic, grotesque and horrible—that hang over me. There are warning shadows and threatening shadows. And I dream of Cesare, standing over me with the naked sword in his hand and that half-smile on his face which mocks me and is so cruel.”
There was rejoicing throughout the Vatican, for Lucrezia had come safely through childbirth and the baby was a boy.
He was to be called Roderigo after the Pope, and no one seemed more delighted than the child’s grandfather, who immediately inspected the baby and declared that the little one resembled him in more than name. Pacing up and down Lucrezia’s chamber with young Roderigo in his arms he seemed to have regained all his lost youth. He was already making plans for the boy’s future, and demanded of