amused?” asked Alfonso.
“It would seem I am a cow … brought to the bull.”
Alfonso grunted. He was ready now. He blew out the candle and got in beside her. She felt his heavy body suffocating her, and she wanted to cry out in protest.
But there was no one who would heed her cries.
The next day when the Spaniards left Ferrara, she did not protest. She accompanied the Duke and his court on a hunting expedition, which he had had the good taste to arrange for her so that she should not see the actual departure of the Spaniards.
She was docile, and Ercole, watching her, believed that he had discovered how to treat his daughter-in-law.
When the Spaniards reached Rome they went straight to the Vatican where Alexander received them immediately.
“What news of Ferrara?” he cried. “What letters do you bring me from my daughter?”
While they gave him letters, they warned him that life was not as glorious for his daughter in Ferrara as he would wish.
He listened eagerly to the tales of Lucrezia’s first days there, of the arrogance of Elizabetta and Isabella and the serenity of Lucrezia which had astonished all who beheld it.
The Pope’s face darkened. “None shall insult her with impunity,” he declared. “So the Duchess of Urbino received her coldly. That was a foolish thing to do. My son Cesare will not be pleased when he hears of that, and his temper is quick. He lacks his father’s calmer and more forgiving nature.”
He listened to an account of the festivities, of how Lucrezia had shone at them, her beauty dazzling all who beheld it, with everywhere women desperately trying to copy her dresses.
“We were dismissed, Holiness, and the Lady Lucrezia wept at our going.”
“It must have been sad, and I am sure she misses you, but tell me—what of her husband?”
“Holiness, he spends his nights with Madonna Lucrezia—at least part of his nights. His mistresses are numerous, and he has not deserted one of them even now that he has a wife.”
The Pope laughed. “But he visits his wife’s bed every night?”
“Every night, Holiness.”
“Then I swear she’ll be with child by Easter.”
“Yet, Most Holy Lord, her husband spends much time with other women.”
“Ah, youth!” said the Pope regretfully. “What a glorious thing is youth. So Alfonso has mistresses, eh, many of them. Well, that is as it should be. I would not want another impotent husband for my daughter. Why, as soon as Lucrezia is with child, Alfonso must come to Rome. I will make him very welcome.”
And the Spaniards went sorrowfully away, realizing that the Pope did not attach much importance to their dismissal from Ferrara.
Lucrezia had refurnished the little rooms, and they were now charming, opening as they did on to the balcony in which beautiful flowers were growing. There were three rooms—her bedroom, another room in which she entertained, and a third which was for her ladies. Here they seemed cut off from the rest of the castle; and if Lucrezia did not quarrel with the Ferrarese in her suite, she let them know that their allegiance, first to Isabella and then to Duke Ercole, had been noted by her and she did not trust them as her friends.
There were whole days when she would not emerge from the little apartments, and the sound of laughter and singing would be heard coming from them. Spanish customs prevailed in the little rooms, it was said. Lucrezia rarely left her bed until noon. Then after Mass she would eat a leisurely meal and chat with her women about the dresses she possessed and the new ones she would have. They sang songs and read poetry. There was of course her hair to be washed; and she liked to bathe her body in scented water. Often when she, Angela, Nicola and Girolama found themselves alone they could call to the little maid, Lucia, to bring in a great bath of scented water; then they would undress, put their hair into nets and leap into the bath, laughing and splashing each other, washing each other’s backs, while little Lucia kept heating more water which she perfumed and added so that they could lie in the bath in scented comfort for as long as they wished.
Then they would get out, vigorously dry each other’s bodies and put on silk shirts of the Moorish fashion which had been made for this purpose. They would stretch themselves out on couches and talk of poetry and love, of fine materials, of new