six children, and four of these had been sons. His daughters had been a credit to him—his dear Isabella, who now ruled in Mantua, and Beatrice who had been the wife of Ludovico of Milan but was unfortunately now dead. He himself had only two mistresses (having fewer he would have been suspected of impotence) and one of these had borne him a daughter named Lucrezia, and the other—beautiful Isabella Arduino—had presented him with his beloved son Giulio who was admired throughout the court for those wonderful flashing dark eyes of his, so like his mother’s that he was a continual reminder of past passion.
Ercole was a cultured gentleman; Alfonso, apart from his one talent for playing the viol, was a boor.
So it was to Ippolito that he must talk of this marriage, and as he talked, regretted, as he had so many times before, that Ippolito was not his eldest son.
“I do not despair altogether,” he said, “of foiling the Pope’s plans.”
Ippolito was surprised. “At this late stage, Father?”
“Until the woman is actually here, there is hope. The Pope is urging that you set out for Rome at once. Thus you will reach the city before the winter.” Ercole laughed. “I am delaying. I am telling him that the dowry must be paid in large ducats and not chamber ones, and he is protesting.”
“You think that will hold up matters?”
Ercole chuckled. “I do indeed. Then the winter will be upon us, and who knows what will have happened by the spring?”
“Father, what arrangements are you making for the traveling of Sister Lucia’s nuns?”
Ercole’s face lengthened. Ippolito had introduced a subject which involved the spending of money, and such subjects always upset Ercole.
“It will be an expensive matter to transport them from Viterbo to Ferrara,” went on Ippolito. “And I fear, my dear father, that you will be asked to pay for the journey.”
Ercole was thinking of Sister Lucia da Narni whom he cherished here in Ferrara. Being very interested in theological matters he had been always impressed by miracles, and any who could provide them was sure of a welcome at his court. Some years ago Sister Lucia, who was in a Dominican convent in Viterbo, had begun to see the stigmata forming on her hands. This phenomenon appeared every Friday, and Ercole had been so impressed by what he heard of this miracle and so certain that Sister Lucia must be a very holy woman, that he had wished her to leave Viterbo and come to Ferrara.
Sister Lucia was not unwilling, but her superiors would not allow her to leave them, for they saw that she would bring much gain and glory to them. However, the sister was put in a basket, smuggled out of the convent, and brought to Duke Ercole who, delighted with his acquisition, installed her in a convent of her own, visited her frequently, looking upon the stained rags which she produced on Fridays as holy relics.
But she wished to have those nuns about her with whom she had lived at Viterbo, and after many negotiations it was agreed that certain of the nuns should come to share the Ferrara convent with Sister Lucia.
It was the transportation of these nuns which was now causing Ercole some concern. And Ippolito, watching his father slyly, said suddenly: “The nuns would have to pass through Rome. Why should they not travel with the bride and her company?”
Ercole was looking at his son speculatively.
Ippolito went on: “Why then, Father, they could travel at her expense.”
“It is a good idea, my son,” said Ercole.
“And think, Father, if you successfully oppose the match, in addition to all those ducats you will lose, you will have to pay for the nuns’ journey yourself. You stand to lose, my father, if you do not accept Lucrezia.”
Ippolito was filled with secret laughter as he watched avarice and family pride grapple with one another.
Cesare sought his sister. She was surrounded by her women, and there were rolls of beautiful material in the apartment. Lucrezia was draping some of this about one of them and indulging in one of her favorite occupations—designing her own dresses.
The brocade of that shade of deep crimson, which had a hint of blue in it and which was called morello, fell from her hands as she saw Cesare. She felt the blood leave her face and she appeared to be without life, unable to move. Every time she saw him, she seemed to sense change in him. She was moved