The Tigress of Forli (41 page)

By the end of July, the harsh imprisonment, the hot Roman summer, and the pressure from her children took their toll; Caterina became seriously ill. The Mantuan representative in Rome wrote to the marquis that no further negotiations were going on to free her, that Caterina was suffering from a
passion de cuore,
a mixture of depression and debilitating illness, and that she had "released the doctor from her service."
¹⁰
It seemed that the Borgias would win, and she would die quietly in the castle, forgotten by all. After the Mantuan letter on July 30, 1500, silence surrounds Caterina. No letters in or out of prison have been preserved, nor were there visitors to offer updates on her condition.

Caterina, however, recovered both her health and her will to live. It would appear that the priests in her life, Don Fortunati and Abbot Lauro, ministered to her ailing spirit. Don Fortunati had ensured that the last written words from her sons offered pious encouragement while Abbot Lauro, sharing her imprisonment, strengthened her faith. Just as physical exercise had once made her strong, so this period of suffering tempered her soul. As she got better, Caterina took a little exercise on the ramparts. Looking over the prison walls, she could see thousands of men and women walking slowly across the Castel Sant'Angelo bridge. Cloaked in threadbare mantles and carrying staffs and pouches, these pilgrims were on their way to Saint Peter's for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Many had made the long, hard journey barefoot as penance for a lifetime of sin, certain that once they reached the basilica and prayed at the grave of Saint Peter, their souls would be cleansed. The Holy Year occurred only once every twenty-five years. While Cesare was bombarding Ravaldino, his father the pope had opened the bricked-up Holy Door in Saint Peter's, the symbol of repentance. In honor of this momentous occasion, the French cardinal Bilhères de Legraulas had commissioned a new statue for the basilica by a twenty-three-year-old Florentine sculptor named Michelangelo Buonarroti. It had been Cardinal Raffaello Riario who had brought the up-and-coming artist to the French cardinal's attention, but unfortunately for him, Riario had fled Rome before the work was done. Caterina herself was imprisoned in the Belvedere when the
Pietà
was placed in its chapel, and thus never got to see the work. She would have particularly appreciated Michelangelo's heroic representation of Mary and found inspiration in Mary's quiet acceptance of divine will. Although she would not cross through the Holy Door or pray before the
Pietà,
the spirit of the Holy Year permeated even the thick walls of the Castel Sant'Angelo. Caterina had been planning since 1498 to come to Rome for forgiveness and a chance to wash away her many sins. Now she was here, a stone's throw from Saint Peter's tomb, yet unable to kneel by the relics of the first pope. In her dark cell, the memory of those she had ordered killed after the death of Feo gnawed at her. Through the offices and counseling of her co-prisoner Abbot Lauro, Caterina found her own way to expiate her sins through acceptance of her own suffering. None of Caterina's letters written during her imprisonment have survived, for Ottaviano destroyed them out of fear and counseled her to do the same with his. But shortly after her transfer to the dungeon, Ottaviano quoted one of her letters, in which kindness and compassion emanate from her every line. "Do not sacrifice everything you have; be careful to not impoverish yourselves to free me from this prison: rather than see you ruined on my account, I am ready and patient to tolerate every discomfort and pain."
¹¹

For one long silent year, Caterina withstood the desolation of the Castel Sant'Angelo, uniting her pain to that of Christ, a crucifix the only ornament in her small cell. Her prayers bolstered her, sacraments sustained her, and hope buoyed her. In a magnificent paradox, the same pope who so desperately wanted her dead had given her the means to survive.

In the spring of 1501, a new prisoner joined Caterina in the castle. Astorre Manfredi, her would-be son-in-law, had lost the town of Faenza to Cesare after a brave defense. But unlike Caterina, the young nobleman had not earned the admiration of the French and was consigned to the lowest cells. In 1502, the unfortunate boy suffered the fate that Caterina escaped; he was strangled in the prison and his body dumped in the Tiber.

With spring there came a renewed hope of liberty. The French army was on its way south to continue Louis XII's interrupted campaign against Naples. They were expected to pass through Rome and would be angered upon hearing of Caterina's imprisonment. Caterina felt a stirring of anticipation that each day inside those dank walls would be her last. In thanks for Abbot Lauro's extraordinary services and in expectation of their imminent release, Caterina wrote a promissory note for four hundred ducats on May 23, to help the cleric upon his return to the world.
¹²
The month of June passed slowly, each day bringing the scorching summer heat closer. The Borgias threw parties, executed enemies, and reveled in their good fortune, while Caterina waited for a miracle.

On June 20, Yves D'Allegre rode unannounced into Rome, accompanied by only three horsemen. Dismounting at the Vatican palace, the captain of the French army demanded to be taken immediately to the pope. The chivalrous captain had not forgotten the bold and beautiful countess, and he was furious to find she was being held under considerably worse conditions than when he had left her. Before Pope Alexander, Captain D'Allegre expounded the whole agreement under which Caterina had been released into his custody, every word underlining their affront to the king of France. In vain did the Borgia protest that she had tried to escape and had been accused of attempting to murder the pope. D'Allegre delivered an ultimatum: if she was not liberated immediately, the French soldiers quartered a few miles away at Viterbo would come and do it themselves. Alexander gave in; Caterina would be freed if she would formally renounce any claims on her states of Imola and Forlì. Yves D'Allegre strode out of the papal apartments and took the long
passetto
into the castle. The captain must have been shocked at the sight of Caterina; the stunning warrior had become a pale wraith. No sword and cuirass hung from her shoulders; instead the white robe of the penitent billowed around her wasted form. To Caterina's eyes, the sight of Yves D'Allegre filling the doorway to her cell must have seemed like an archangel arriving to liberate her. With kindness, respect, and a personal guarantee for her safety, D'Allegre accomplished what a year and a half of Borgia torment and imprisonment could not: Caterina renounced her states, agreeing to sign the document once she was safely outside the castle.

On the morning of June 30, while the rest of Rome lay sleeping after a long festive night, the heavy wooden drawbridge to the Castel Sant'Angelo lowered over the moat, and a small group of riders emerged from the dark cavernous opening into the morning light. Seventeen years earlier, Caterina had emerged from this same passage proud and triumphant as she sat high on her horse, radiant in her seventh month of pregnancy and applauded by a crowd of admiring Romans. Now Caterina rode slowly, head high, but her body frail. The little party crossed the small bridge, which had been packed with pilgrims the year before, and then turned right toward the Via dei Pellegrini. Although Caterina happily filled her lungs with the fresh morning air, free from the reek of the castle, every nerve alerted her to the presence of danger. The company of men escorting her was led by the Spaniard Troccio, Cesare's chief assassin. As one of the most intimate members of Alexander's Spanish coterie, he was entrusted with the tasks that required both ruthlessness and discretion. Each time the horses turned down a dark narrow alley, Caterina wondered if this would be the moment she would be strangled and her corpse discarded in the Tiber. She felt no safer as they passed the palaces of her friends and family and traveled past the ghostly ruins of the Coliseum to an unfamiliar door. The coat of arms of Cardinal Giovanni Serra told her that she had been delivered to the home of another of Alexander's Spanish cronies.

Inside the palace, Alexander's notary greeted her with the documents of Caterina's renunciation of Imola and Forlì and a few extra conditions imposed by Pope Alexander VI, but she also found a friendly face in Don Fortunati, her faithful Florentine retainer. Although Caterina was liberated from her prison cell, she could not yet leave Rome. Furthermore, the pope demanded a two-thousand-ducat reimbursement for the expenses of keeping her for the year and a half. Accompanied by Don Fortunati, she signed the papers and sent various letters to gather the funds for the pope. Caterina was gladdened by the release of Abbot Lauro and wrote to the Milanese priest, offering him the permanent position of chaplain in her household.
¹³

Once the Borgia demands had been met, Caterina and Fortunati returned to the heart of the city, stopping at the front door of Cardinal Raffaello Riario's house. The cardinal wasn't home; both he and Cardinal Giuliano, as nephews of Sixtus IV, had prudently opted to remain far out of range of the Borgia claws, but Caterina was given a warm welcome. Cardinal Riario lived in one of the most beautiful palaces in Rome, with all the finest amenities of its age. After a hot bath, a good sleep in a comfortable bed, and a hearty meal, Caterina began to resemble her former self. Now looking more like the Italian amazon of legend and song, Caterina was ready to receive her savior, Yves D'Allegre. The contents of the long interview were never revealed, but it seems that the French captain counseled Caterina on her next moves. The Borgia reach was long and their memory longer. At the time, the stories of the Borgia excesses were whispered only among the Italian courts. Many of their misdeeds became public only after their deaths, when the court insiders vented their rage and earned some extra cash by publishing tell-all books. Caterina was a firsthand witness to the corruption in the family; if she chose to recount her story, she warned that she would "shock the world."
¹⁴
As long as Troccio dogged her footsteps she would not find safety. Most likely Caterina's French guardian angel helped plan the most secure route for her return to Florence.

Over the next two weeks Caterina regained her strength as a steady flow of well-wishers streamed in and out of the Riario palace. The Orsinis, old allies of the Riarios, stopped by, as well as many who had known her during her happier years as the favorite of Pope Sixtus IV. Outside, Romans gathered in the piazza in front of her house, hoping for a glimpse of one of Italy's most famous daughters. Letters poured in from Florence, containing news of how eagerly her friends awaited her arrival at her new home. Caterina announced that she would soon leave for Florence, taking the Via Flaminia on horseback. Pope Alexander, now all effusive affection, wrote to the Florentines on July 13, committing to their care "his beloved daughter in Christ" whom "he had been forced to detain for reasonable motives."
¹⁵

One warm morning in late July, Caterina took a little boat trip on the Tiber. She sailed down to the sea at Ostia, a frequent pleasurable pastime for Romans. Once at the port, however, Caterina got off the flat-bottomed barge, climbed aboard a seafaring ship, and headed north toward Livorno, at the moment under French control. Besides giving her weakened body a more restful journey than she would have had on horseback, she avoided all papal territory. This escape plan was probably devised during Caterina's long discussions with D'Allegre. At Pisa, she was given a horse and escort and she rode the last fifty miles to Florence. The dramatic Tuscan terrain rose and fell; soft, fertile valleys shot into high craggy mountains that had been split open to quarry the precious marble inside. She picked her way slowly through thick forests where she could barely see a few feet ahead, then galloped across wide plains. At long last, the walls of Florence came into view, surmounted by the high russet dome of Santa Maria del Fiore. From the city gates a group of riders came toward her. The hot July sun formed a haze around them, rendering them unrecognizable. As the riders moved closer she recognized her firstborn, Ottaviano, alongside Cesare and Galeazzo, with Sforzino and nine-year-old Carlo,
¹⁶
her son by Giacomo Feo, bringing up the rear. Dismounting, she fell into the embrace of her children. She had found her new home.

T
HE CITY WHOSE
wonders had captivated ten-year-old Caterina now welcomed the formidable countess as one of its own. Florence in 1501 was an even greater hub of activity than at the time of her childhood visit. After ousting the Medicis, the republic had been reorganized under a skilled administrator, Piero Soderini. All in all, the city had passed through the political upheavals of the past decade relatively unscathed.

Caterina passed through the municipal gates as a Florentine citizen, surveying the landmarks of her new home as her horse carried her through the narrow, bustling streets. The stern stone blocks of the Palazzo Vecchio, the seat of the Florentine government, loomed above as she crossed the Piazza della Signoria; the dungeons of the Bargello stirred painful memories as she rode along the Via del Proconsolo. At last, the street opened into light and color as the marble-sheathed apse of the cathedral, Santa Maria del Fiore, came into view. Here she turned right toward the road of the Borgo Pinto, where her children had been lodged in the house of a family friend.

There, awaiting her mother's arrival, was Bianca, Caterina's only daughter, holding the sturdy and rambunctious Ludovico. Finally, after almost two years of separation and countless days of worry and fear, she was able to embrace her beloved youngest son. The twenty-year-old Bianca had cared for her brother during her mother's imprisonment, when she and Ludovico were in a similar predicament. Their elder siblings Ottaviano and Cesare had also resented the duty to maintain their unmarried sister and had exploited the Medici influence at court in an effort to unload her, soliciting Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici to help them find a suitable husband for their sister, who was "no longer of an age to be kept at home." Old enough to be mother to her brother, Bianca had remained unmarried, but Caterina would soon put that right.