chair. That was what Cesare was to do.”
“Well, there is Goffredo.”
“The Cardinals will never agree.”
“Do you not know your family yet, Lucrezia?”
Lucrezia shivered. She did know them: she knew them too well, for the murderers of her lover had been her father and her brother.
Sanchia stretched herself like a cat in the sunshine, and the gesture was erotic and expectant.
Lucrezia, watching, felt renewed fear of the future.
In his apartments at the Vatican the Pope received his son Cesare, and when his attendants had bowed themselves out and father and son were alone, Alexander laid his hand on Cesare’s shoulder and, drawing him close, murmured: “My son, I think our little plan is going to work out in a manner which will be pleasing to you.”
Cesare turned and gave his father a dazzling smile which warmed the Pope’s heart. Since the mysterious death of his son Giovanni, Alexander had redoubled his devotion toward Cesare. Giovanni had been Alexander’s favorite son, yet, although Alexander knew that Cesare was his brother’s murderer, this son of his had been given that affection which had previously been Giovanni’s, together with the honors which had substantiated it.
There was a bond between these Borgias which seemed incomprehensible to those outside the family. No matter what its members did, whatever suffering they brought on one another, the bond was not slackened. Between them all was a feeling so strong—in most cases it was love, but in that of Giovanni and Cesare it had been hate—that all other emotion paled before this family feeling.
Now Alexander looked at this son of his who was known as the most vicious man in Italy, and had no wish to please him. Cesare was handsome—all the Pope’s children were handsome—and his hair had the auburn coloring which was shared by Goffredo. His features were bold, his body graceful, his manners those of a king; his skin at this time was slightly marred—the aftermath of an attack of the male francese.
Cesare wore his Cardinal’s robes with an arrogant disdain; but there was now a light in his eyes because he had great hopes of discarding those robes before long. And Alexander was happy because he was going to make Cesare’s wish come true.
“Well, Father?” said Cesare, the faintest hint of impatience in his voice.
“I am beginning to feel that it was a happy event when French Charles decided he would watch a game of tennis after his dinner.” The Pope smiled. “Poor Charles! I picture him with his Queen at Amboise. Who would have thought that such an innocent diversion as watching a game of tennis could have been so important to him … and to us?”
“I know,” said Cesare, “that he went into the fosses of the castle at Amboise and passed through the opening in the gallery and that it was very low—that opening—and our little Charles struck his head against the arch.”
“Such a little blow,” went on the Pope, “that he scarce felt it, and it was only afterward when he was returning to his apartments in the castle that he collapsed and died.”
“And now Louis XII is on the throne, and I hear he is as determined to win back what he calls French claims in Italy as his predecessor was.”
“We have rid ourselves of Charles. So shall we of Louis if need be,” said Alexander. “But Louis, I believe, is going to be very useful to us. I have decided that Louis shall be our friend.”
“An alliance?”
The Pope nodded. “Speak low, my son. This is a matter to be kept secret between us two. King Louis XII wishes to divorce his wife.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“Oh come, she is a pious woman, a good creature, and the people of France revere her.”
“Hump-backed, ugly and barren,” murmured Cesare.
“But pious withal. She is ready to denounce her throne and retire to a convent at Bourges. That is, of course, if a divorce is granted King Louis.”
“He’ll need a dispensation from Your Holiness if he is to gain that,” said Cesare with a grin.
“He asks much. He would marry his predecessor’s wife.”
Cesare nodded. “I have heard Anne of Brittany is a pretty creature, though a little lame, but they say that her wit and charm more than make up for her lameness.”
“Her estates of Brittany are vast and rich,” added the Pope. “So … Louis hungers for them—and for her.”
“And how does Your Holiness feel regarding the granting of his requests?”
“That is what I wish to discuss. I shall send a message