The Marlowe Conspiracy (53 page)

“Juan, you can’t go out tonight! Something terrible has happened!” I stopped and caught my breath. “There was a fight at Campo de’ Fiori. An Orsini guard attacked me. Cesare killed him with a sword!”

Juan arched his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Is that right?” he replied in his sharp, nasal tone. “Well, it’s no major loss to the world. The Orsini deserve it. Thanks for the news, I’ll make sure to keep my wits about me.”

I tried not to feel hurt that he showed no concern over my welfare. Although he was several years older than me, I still felt the need to protect him. With growing frustration, I grabbed his arm: “You don’t understand. The Orsini will take revenge. Why put yourself at risk? Carnival’s already over–”

“It’s not over! I haven’t finished celebrating yet, for heaven’s sake! There’s a whorehouse in the ghetto that I’ve never been to before.” He pulled his arm away and gestured for the groom to bring his horse out to the yard. “My friends are waiting across the river. I’ll have a valet with me, anyhow.”

Cesare swaggered up to us. “Don’t be such an idiot. She’s right. It’s too dangerous to go out – any fool can see that.”

“And who are you to question me?” Juan replied, his angular face turning pink. “Did you forget your place in this family? I don’t take orders from people like you.”

Cesare stared back, eyes glittering. He towered over Juan.

“Get out of my way,” Juan said. “I’m leaving.”

Cesare didn’t move. Juan waited, then stepped closer, his cheeks burning a deeper shade of red: “Out of my way. I won’t tell you again. By god, I’ll have you whipped!”

Before the argument could escalate, I jumped between them: “Let him go, Cesare. There’s been enough fighting tonight already. We can’t force him to stay.”

Cesare paused, sneered at him, and slowly moved aside. In response, Juan narrowed his eyes triumphantly and strode into the yard.

“Will you at least return before dawn?” I called out.

There was no reply. I stood at the stable house entrance and watched as Juan and the valet rode through the palazzo gates and charged away to meet their friends…

Cesare and I soon returned within the Vaticano and sat together in the Sala dei Misteri. This hall was part of the larger Appartamento Borgia, the private living space of my father, my two brothers, and me. With a damp cloth, I tended to a small wound scored on Cesare’s left forearm, the only damage he sustained from the fight. He didn’t wince as I ran the cloth over his cut. Now without his mask, his face displayed a thin auburn moustache and beard. Many women considered him the most handsome man in Rome, and more than one artist had modeled a vision of Jesus on his looks. Nevertheless, I always felt there was something vaguely dangerous in his face and body that prevented him from appearing Holy.

“There,” I said, wiping away the last of the blood. “No real harm done. You’ll live a few years more.”

“Not many,” he replied seriously.

“What? Why do you always say such things? You’re only twenty-two years old.”

“I won’t see my thirtieth year. I know it.”

“Nonsense! You don’t know anything. I’ve never seen anyone as strong as you. You’ll outlive us all.”

He seemed not to hear my answer. His gaze remained pensive and he shifted awkwardly in his seat. “The Orsini guard… he didn’t… did he?”

My eyes dropped to the floor with embarrassment. I shook my head. He took a breath and relaxed again.

“Cesare, I’m grateful for what you did tonight. And I know it was unavoidable. Only, I wish you hadn’t killed–”

He stood up and pulled his shirt down over his wounded arm. I peered towards the window and immediately changed the subject.

“Juan will be safe tonight, won’t he?”

He paced around the edge of the room. “Who cares?”

“You’re not still angry about what he said in the stables? He doesn’t mean to treat you so badly, you know.”

“He’s a spoiled fool. He has no talents or interests, except in the whores of Rome.”

“That’s not true. Why would father give him a dukedom, then? Or the control of the papal army? I’m sure that Juan has a few redeeming features. He must deserve at least some of his titles.”

“And what about me? Do I deserve to be nothing in this world? A mere cardinal?”

“I didn’t say that, but father knows what’s best for the family. Perhaps he’ll give you more responsibilities one day?”

Cesare glanced above at the semi-circular vaults, each one adorned with murals painted by the artist Pinturicchio. One of the scenes depicted the Resurrection and it showed our father kneeling at Christ’s tomb. At last, he replied firmly:

“Impossible. Father has chosen to honor Juan, and he can’t change that now. We’d look weak to our enemies.” He sighed loudly. “Juan will always have power, as long as he lives.”

I frowned at his unsettling tone. “The city isn’t too dangerous tonight, I hope? We’ve already lost our mother. The family is small enough already, no?”

I waited for him to agree, but instead he laughed grimly. My hands fidgeted in my lap.

“Your mood’s peculiar this evening. What’s so amusing now?”

“Not you, sister.” His eyes again swept across the murals in the room. With a quieter voice, he said: “It’s just… there are things about this family you don’t know… things you should never know.”

I waited for him to continue, yet he said no more.

“What things?” I said, with growing concern. “Cesare, what things?”

He refused to answer. I stood up urgently, ready to press him further on the topic. Before I could speak, an unwelcome noise interrupted us.

Footsteps pattered down the corridor outside and echoed into the hall. Within a few moments, a small herd of giggling courtesans filled the doorframe. They turned and parted the way. Behind them, his pace slow and steady, appeared the most powerful man in the world: my father, Pope Alexander VI.

III

The Troublesome Night

A
s he drifted into the hall, a robe of crimson brocade covered my father’s body in vast, shapeless folds, obscuring the lines of his rotund belly. A white night cap concealed his bald crown. Despite his age, Alexander still carried his weight firmly, and his mind had never been sharper or more adroit. Indeed, he was now over sixty years of age, the time when Aristotle says men are at their wisest.

He raised his hand deliberately to his courtesans and they retreated from the room. Approaching Cesare and me, he said in a rich melodious tone: “My dear children, why do you speak with raised voices at this late hour? You know how such noise disagrees with my nerves.”

“Forgive us, father,” I replied. In my tiredness, I forgot to address him formally, the etiquette he required even from his own children. “I mean ‘your Holiness’.”

He glided over to a chair, settling himself onto the plush velvet seat. “I didn’t expect to find you home so early from the Carnival. Tell me, where is Juan this evening?”

I crept up to his chair. “Out in Rome. But the city isn’t safe for him. There was a skirmish and Cesare’s hurt. It happened as we passed by Campo de’ Fiori…” I stopped and wished I’d not spoken the last few words.

“Campo de’ Fiori?” said Alexander, his face darkening. “And why, of all the splendid places in our city, were you at that specific piazza tonight?”

“I didn’t talk to her. You have nothing to fear. I promised you I would never do that, and I haven’t.”

He tilted his head doubtfully and regarded me with an unblinking stare. Above all else, his eyes were his most impressive feature – dark, magnificent, and hypnotic.

“She didn’t speak with Vannozza,” Cesare grumbled from the corner. “She was only trying to tell you there was a fight. I killed an Orsini.”

“A disturbance with our rivals?” said Alexander, his voice fluttering.

I put my hand on his shoulder. “Yes, and Juan’s still out there, your Sanctity. I warned him to stay home, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Alexander leaned on the gilded arms of the chair. He twisted his head toward Cesare and studied him closely. I felt he looked at my brother with the slightest hint of fear. His fleshy chin wobbled and he seemed a little older. For the briefest of moments, some source of hostility seemed to pass between them. Cesare’s jaw looked so taught it could snap.

“It’s late and I’m tired,” said Cesare. “Goodnight.”

Alexander offered his hand formally. Cesare stepped forward, kissed my father’s golden Pescatorio ring, then stalked out of the room.

The hall fell silent and I remained at my father’s side. Ever since I’d mentioned the Orsini guard, a terrible question had pestered my thoughts. I didn’t want to voice it now, but the issue wouldn’t leave me alone.

“Your Holiness,” I said. “I want to ask a question, but you must promise not to be angry.”

“Very well,” he replied, stroking the ends of my hair.

Before I began, my throat felt dry, and I gave a tiny cough.

“Lucrezia!” he said with annoyance. “My nerves, please! Not so loud.”

I waited a moment, then spoke quietly. “You see, the Orsini guard that Cesare fought with earlier, he said something unpleasant to me. He said our family was full of murderers. That was a lie, wasn’t it?

“It’s always correct to defend the honor of our name.”

“Yes, I know, but that wasn’t entirely my meaning.”

“My child, are you asking if the charge is true? If so, I must remind you that we are from Valencia; we are not of Roman or Italian blood; we are outsiders to this state. In consequence, there will always be villains who seek to destroy the name of a foreign pontiff. I warn you, pay no attention to their charges.”

“So, the answer is…”

“I’ve already given the answer.”

I held the breath in my lungs. I didn’t want to ask again, since it wasn’t wise to keep pushing the issue. “But we’re not murderers, are we?”

He stopped running his fingers across my hair. “Surely, I didn’t hear that question come from my own daughter?” He raised himself from his seat with enormous effort. “I’m an old man, Lucrezia, but I carry a power of singular importance. I am God’s Supreme Vicar on earth, ruler over all spheres of Christendom, heir to the spiritual authority of St. Peter, and successor to the temporal command of Emperor Constantine. This burden is enough to break the back of any man, but it soothes me to know that I’m supported by the strength, love, and loyalty of all my family. My spirits would be crushed if this were not true.”

I sighed. “I’m a loyal daughter, your Sanctity.”

“I hope so,” he said slowly, turning away to leave.

As he reached the door, I thought of something to impress him. “I’ll wait to make sure Juan gets home safely. I couldn’t sleep if I thought someone in our family might be in danger.”

He paused, nodded his head without looking at me, then continued out of the hall.

True to my word, I stayed in the Sala dei Misteri for the rest of the night and waited for a sign that Juan had returned from the city unharmed. The hall’s arched windows overlooked a small courtyard commonly used to access the Appartamento Borgia. If Juan returned that night, and I managed to stay awake long enough, I should see him pass below the window on his way to his bedchamber. I drew a chair over to the window and settled in for a long wait.

Hour after hour passed, but there was no sign of Juan. He often stayed out late, carousing across the city, escaping the pressure of his daily duties with wine and women. I was sure tonight would be no exception. Time dragged onwards and my eyelids drooped. To keep alert, I resorted to playing at word games, my usual source of amusement whenever I was bored and alone. I sat back and thought of anagrams, discovering that ‘sword’ could be reshuffled into ‘words’; that ‘listen’ could become ‘silent’; and that ‘stifle’ was a transformation of ‘itself’. I yawned and my eyes grew small and tiny beneath my lids and my chin touched my chest. ‘Please’ was an anagram of ‘asleep’…

Something screeched in the darkness.

I jolted awake in the chair. A metallic screech sounded again, arising from outside.

At the window, I peered down into the courtyard and expected to find Juan walking across to the Appartamento. Instead, from a cellar door at the base of the Torre Borgia – a tower adjoining our quarters – it was Cesare who stepped out into the courtyard. He carried a small torch and it cast his shadow on the wall. The hinges of the cellar door screeched again as he shut it, turned a key in the lock, and attached the key to a ring on his belt. I tipped my head closer to the glass. He still walked about in full dress. His spurs tinkled on the flagstones as he strode away swiftly and vanished into the darkness. I waited for his return, but he didn’t reappear.

Why on earth was he still awake at this hour? There was no reason for him to be fully dressed. And what business did he have in the cellar? I’d seen the door a thousand times: small, plain, and uninteresting. Presumably, it led to a storage chamber below the tower, the type of place that only servants would visit. I knew he was probably going out now. Yet where would he go to, and who would he meet at such a time? He had several favorite courtesans in the city whom he frequented, but somehow I didn’t feel convinced. The haste of his movements, the speed of his gait across the courtyard, the strange door and the lateness of the hour, it all held something rather furtive. He didn’t move like a man expecting a pleasurable encounter.