Infinite Devotion (11 page)

Lucrezia dear,
I am so ecstatic to hear you are better and making a full recovery. If I had not been so sick myself, I would have made my way to be at your side through it all. I’m sure Cesare gave you much comfort, and I heard much of your doting husband who barely left your side. It was a great loss to hear of your premature delivery and of the little angel’s passing. The only condolence that can be offered is that at least it was not male.
Always,
Your father

He always has a way of almost making me feel better but then says the wrong thing, leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Alfonso made a promise to God that if I lived, he’ll make a pilgrimage by foot to the Madonna di Loreto shrine, but as soon as I’m well, he decides to take a comfortable boat there instead.

My vow to God is that I’ll only wear grey. I do so faithfully for two months, but once Christmas arrives, I give in to indulge in my red velvet dress. I know Isabella’s getting far too much enjoyment out of my dreary attire.

Christmas morning, the news comes to Ferrara of how the former governor of Romagna is found decapitated and displayed in the piazza, his head impaled on a lance. Cesare proclaims that he carried this act out due to the improper treatment of the people of Romagna, but he writes to me another story:

Dearest Sister,
You have probably heard by now about my generous present to Romagna. Though disliked by the people, I have done away with him for personal reasons. I have found that he was plotting against me along with others, including the Orsini that plagues our lives.
I enticed the conspirators to me, closed up all ways out of my city, and locked the gates behind them. I brought the Orsini into a house where Michelotto seized and tied them up and killed them one by one, the Spanish way. I spit in each of their faces as they were turning blue, and said, “This is for Juan.”
Your faithful and devoted brother,
Duke Valentino

I try hard to believe him.

Chapter 13

Light emerges red over the dingy city as stiffened corpses float sleepily down the putrid river, mouths frozen agape with death. A gasping rattle escapes my lungs as warm little arms furiously try to keep hold of me, their terrified cries fade into the background. A ribbon-tied braid spills out of a man’s hand and falls slowly like a feather to the stone floor.

I awake with beads of sweat upon my brow and fumble for my pearl rosary in the dark. The only thing that squelches the persistent nightmares is saying a Hail Mary for each bead, and then I can return to slumber. These nightmares have cropped up just as the plague reached Ferrara, along with the knowledge of many people dying in the streets. There’s little I’m afraid of, but the Black Death makes my heart race at the very mention of it.

The only way I can sleep uninterrupted is to flee to the countryside to the Este Villa of Medelana. I bring only my household and forbid them to see anyone from outside the villa. I miss Fia, but I know she will take care of herself. One morning, my maid comes in and says that although they tried to explain to a messenger from the Vatican that we aren’t taking messages in this dreadful time of plague, he persists that he has dire news. Immediately, my thoughts go to Father.

“Let him up,” I say quickly. It feels like hours until he comes to my room.

Lady Lucrezia d’Este,
I am sorry to have sent this news out so late, but the Vatican was sealed for days due to the delicacy of the pope’s illness. Malaria has been consuming Rome this hot summer, and even though his advisors all warned His Holiness to leave to the cool hills of Alban, he dutifully said he had pressing matters to attend to in Rome. Even your corpulent nephew, Juan Borgia, died of malaria, and at the funeral, your father commented rather prophetically, “This month is fatal for fat men.”
That night, Cesare and your father dined with the Cardinal Adriano da Corneto. Late that night, your father had fits of vomiting and a high fever. At the very same time, your brother Cesare also fell extremely ill, and the two of them were in separate rooms, both fighting for their lives. His Excellency’s stomach became swollen and turned to liquid, while his face became wine-colored. Finally his stomach and bowels bled profusely. After six days of suffering, his last rites were given, and he expired on August 18th. He uttered his last words, “Wait a minute,” before expiring.
Thankfully the Duke Valentino recovered, and I am happy to deliver some good news.
Your father was entered in the crypts of St. Peters, but after Pope Pius III was sworn in, he had your father removed after his short stay and forbade the saying of mass for him, telling the public it was blasphemous to pray for the damned. Your father now lies in Santa Maria in Monse.
I know this is terrible news, and I regret to tell you in such a way, but your father requested that I inform you of all the details.
Your friend,
The Cardinal Cosenza

I wave the messenger away and fall to the floor. To know that the last two weeks he was dying a horrible death without me there ripped my heart. I hadn’t seen him in so long, and I should’ve tried to go to him more. I sit in the dark for two days, turning away all food and drink. On the third day, I bring out my black dress again and ready myself to go to Rome to fight to put Father back in St. Peter’s, where he belongs. But another messenger interrupts my packing.

Dear Sister,
I know you must be heartbroken and grieving as I am. Cardinal Cosenza has informed me that he has sent you a messenger with the news, and knowing you, I bet you are packing to come to Rome. Do not come here; it is not safe. While I was struggling to live, I got word Father was passing and his servants were already robbing his dying body. May they all go to Hell.
Too ill to go myself, I sent Don Michelotto to salvage whatever he could of Father’s treasured possessions. There was a wild scene of disorder that ensued. I scrambled to save anything I could and had to flee the Vatican to the protection of the cardinals at the Castel Sant’Angelo. Promise me you will not come to pay respects to Father. You will be in jeopardy if you do so.
Your brother,
Cesare

I send back a message.

Dearest Brother,
I am so glad that you are well, but I am distraught at the suddenness and brutality of Father’s death and burial. I will not go to Rome, but promise me you will be careful. I have raised as many ducats as I can in such short notice and will be sending you my cavalry to aid you. I will send more money as I can procure it when I get back to Ferrara.
Love and prayers for you,
Lucrezia

Alfonso is on his way home from a campaign when he hears the news. I decide to return to Ferrara, and my only solace is that Fia hasn’t given up in my absence. She’s there, preening her feathers, and peeps happily as I offer her some rabbit. I run my hand down her scale-like back and say, “Thank God I have you, my little flame.”

After declining to go to a dinner party that night with the Estes, I creep to the balcony above the dining room to hear what news people have from Rome. After some small idle chatter, my name is mentioned, and my ears perk up.

“Where is Lady Lucrezia tonight? I hear she has returned.”

“She is grieving in her room,” Ercole answers.

“I understand she must be beside herself with all of the horrors she must have gotten wind of.”

“Do tell, what kinds of horrors are you referring to?” Isabella inquires.

“Well, Pope Alexander VI’s terrible death, to start. People who went to his viewing said they had never seen such a terrible state of decomposition only days after death.”

“Some have said his face was a ghastly color of over-ripened mulberry, and his tongue was doubled its size and not able to fit within his also swollen lips,” another chimes in.

I fight back the bile rising in my throat in order to continue listening to what everyone’s talking about behind my back.

“That’s nothing compared to unusual swelling of his already opulent belly. They say he swelled as wide as he was long!”

“Yes, I’d heard that the swelling caused great trouble for the undertakers, since they couldn’t fit him into the largest coffin. They had to jump on the bloated body to jam it into the coffin, which made it spew sulfurous gasses out of every orifice!”

Isabella as well as a few of the others speaking laugh at this part, and I turn to leave, not wanting to hear any more about my father’s end.

Yet Ercole changes the subject slightly. “I have heard a rumor that they thought, due to the strange decomposition and parallel illness of Cesare, it might have been poison.”

Whomever he had been speaking to laughs. “Indeed, there has been discussion of poison since they got ill after dining, but many are suspecting that Duke Valentino and Alexander mistakenly poisoned each other while attempting to poison the cardinal!”

Some gasp at this idea, and I know it’s lies, and I walk back to the comfortable isolation of my room. When news comes of Pius’s death, I know things will worsen for Cesare when I hear who has replaced him.

A messenger comes from Sancia.

Dearest Lucrezia,
I wish this was another letter about how Rodrigo is growing and becoming handsomer by the day, but unfortunately I have more bad news to deliver. Pope Julius II’s army captured Michelotto and Cesare’s cavalry on December 1st. He wrote to Cesare that he couldn’t wait to torture his infamous henchman to derive such “political skills” to gain for his own personal use. Cesare, enraged by his threat, promised that he would negotiate, but once his messenger arrived, he had him beaten and dangled from one of the fortresses’ turrets. Furious, Julius had Cesare locked in the same tower Cesare had my poor brother murdered in. A week later, he was sent to a prison in Spain.
Even though I will always harbor a deep hatred for Cesare and feel that this is what he is due for all of the harm he has done to so many, I know you love him and would want to hear of his imprisonment.
Rodrigo is thriving and wants me to tell you he loves you as do I. Please write me back. I have written five letters without word of how you are faring and will only be able to rest when I receive word that you are well.
Your sister,
Sancia

I decide I’ll be of no help to Cesare if I wallow in my room, and I know I need to try to get him freed. Alfonso makes it clear he will not support me when it comes to Cesare, so I write to everyone I can, begging for help. In the meantime, I’ve yet another failed pregnancy and worry that if I don’t provide Alfonso with an heir, I can be removed and replaced. I know now, with no protection from Father or Cesare, I’m extremely vulnerable, and know I have to keep trying to carry a baby to full term. I get pregnant right away, and I’m happy to see Alfonso never showing any signs of dissatisfaction with me.

Ercole reveals signs of illness around Christmas, and by January twenty-fifth, he passes on, making Alfonso and me Duke and Duchess of Ferrara. I dress in crimson velvet with gold fringes with matching headdress and go down to hundreds of Ferrarians gathered outside our palace in the frigid cold. I watch as Alfonso rides his adorned horse through the crowd, waving, and as he comes up to the palace plaza, I go down to meet him.

It’s a powerful moment as I look down on all of the happy faces in the crowd calling out our names, and I realize all that Father and Cesare had hoped for me. With Father buried in an unknown grave and Cesare imprisoned, here I am standing as the Duchess of Ferrara. Alfonso looking the handsomest I’ve ever seen him, smiles with dimple showing and holds his hand out to me. As I bend to kiss it, he shakes his head, pulls me into him, and kisses my forehead instead. The people cheer.

I try to keep my mind off of my pregnancy by throwing myself into patronizing the arts. I enjoy dining with the poets, artists, and courtiers of Ferrara and hearing of the world in their fresh and observant eyes. Everything I lack with Alfonso I find at these dinners. Ferrara quickly begins a thriving center for the arts, thanks to my attention.

September nineteenth, I give birth finally to a son that we name Alexandro. I know something is wrong, though, when I hear a weak and low cry, not the strong cries I remember hearing from Giovanni and Rodrigo. Not only is the child not well, but my legs feel ice cold. The doctors attending me try to warm them with hot towels, and a fever comes and burns for five hours. I pull the fragile Alexandro to my breast, and he will not nurse, only sleeps in my arms. I send for the best doctors, and I’m angered when Isabella, who was having a sickly pregnancy, requests me to send my doctors to her.