Light on Lucrezia - By Plaidy, Jean Page 0,82
of Urbino, the Duke and his wife Elizabetta were waiting to greet Lucrezia.
Elizabetta was filled with an anger which she could not entirely suppress. Her husband had assured her that it was necessary to do honor to Lucrezia Borgia; Cesare had turned his eyes on rich Urbino and any excuse would be enough for him to descend upon it. Therefore they must give him no opportunity for enmity, and must offer his sister all the honors they would give to a visiting aristocrat.
Elizabetta, who had been in close correspondence with her sister-in-law, Isabella d’Este, found it difficult to compose her features as she waited.
She thought—as she had a thousand times—of all the misery the Borgias had brought into her life. When her husband Guidobaldo had been called into service to go into battle with the Pope’s son, Giovanni Borgia, their troubles had begun. For one thing, Guidobaldo (acknowledged to be, with her brother Francesco Gonzaga, one of the greatest soldiers in Italy), had been obliged to serve under the Borgia. Of all the incompetent commanders who had ever dared command an army Giovanni had been the most incompetent, and as a result of obeying his orders, Guidobaldo had been wounded, taken prisoner by the French and kept in a dark dank prison while his family had strained all their resources to provide the ransom demanded for his release. The Borgia Pope could have paid that ransom, but he had been too busy slyly making his peace terms with the French and covering up the follies of his son.
And when Guidobaldo had returned home he was a different man from the husband Elizabetta had known. He was crippled with rheumatism and suffered piteously from gout. A young man had left his home in the service of the Papal armies; the wreck of that young man had returned. He walked slowly and there were days when he could scarcely walk at all; he was bent double, his face yellow and lined.
Elizabetta had grown bitter. Guidobaldo might forgive the Borgias, for he had a sweet and gentle nature which was the result of an inability to see evil until it was right upon him. Elizabetta would never forgive them.
She looked at him now crouched painfully on his horse, ready to bestow on the daughter of the man who was responsible for his present state that courtesy for which he was famous. He would be telling himself, if he even remembered past injuries: It was not this girl’s fault. It would be churlish of me to show by look or word that I remember her father’s ill-treatment of me.
But I, thought Elizabetta, shall do all in my power to show these upstarts that we accept them only because it is expedient to do so.
And here was the girl, looking fragile and very feminine, gentle and pretty, so that it was difficult even for one determined to hate her, to believe the evil stories concerning her.
The Duke bowed over her hand; his Duchess was gracious but Lucrezia, looking up into the prim face under the black broad-brimmed hat, at the black velvet garments which were not designed for decoration, was conscious of the Duchess’s dislike.
She realized then that this was but a foretaste of what might be waiting for her in her new home; she had to fight prejudice; she had to win the affection or at least tolerance of people who had made up their minds before they met her that they would dislike her.
Guidobaldo had put his castle at the disposal of Lucrezia, and he had planned masques, banquets and lavish entertainments; he was courteous and kind; but Lucrezia was constantly aware of the disapproval of Elizabetta; and it was with Elizabetta that she must travel to Ferrara, as it had been arranged (and it was the Pope’s urgent desire that this should be so) that she and Elizabetta should share the magnificent litter.
Alexander had warned his daughter that she must spend as much time as possible in the company of Elizabetta and Isabella. She must study their clothes, their manners, their gestures; she must remember that they were aristocratic ladies belonging to the most noble families in Italy.
“Nothing will delight me more,” Alexander had said, “since I cannot have my dearest daughter with me, than to think of her in the company of these Princesses. Do as they do. Speak as they speak. For, Lucrezia, my beloved, you have become a Princess even as they are.”
So Lucrezia, lying side by side with