The Apis bull, Alexander explained. In ancient Egypt, it was worshipped as an incarnation of the god Osiris. The bull appears on our family crest. Before I could react, he once again moved close to me and wrapped an arm about my waist. It is a symbol of masculine strength and virility, you know. Abruptly, he pressed a hand to my breast and attempted to kiss me; I slipped from his grasp and once again, walked quickly away. I understood why the pious Savonarola had called Alexander the Antichristfor in the Popes apartments, pagan symbolism took precedence over Christian.
The Pope let me go with a little laugh. You are a coy one, my dear. No matter; I enjoy the chase.
Your Holiness, please, I said candidly. I wish only to be a faithful wife to your son. I do not desire to be a favourite; and you have your choice of so many women
Ah, he said, but of none so lovely.
I am flattered, I countered. But please, let me remain simply your loyal daughter-in-law.
He smiled smugly and nodded, but did not appear to change his plans for me. He gestured broadly. As you wish. Let us continue with the tour.
We walked through different chambers, each as glorious as the first, each with a different theme: the Room of the Creed, the Room of the Faith, with a large mural showing the Adoration of the Magi, the Hall of the Sibyls, with paintings of Old Testament prophets announcing Gods wrath, accompanied by stern-faced sibyls, pagan seeresses. I had never seen such a display of magnificence and wealth; I was in fact glad that I had visited the other chambers before we went to dine, so that I could avoid gaping at my surroundings like an awestruck peasant.
His Holiness made no further attempt to seduce me, and we at last joined the others for dinner in the Room of the Liberal Arts. Beneath a painting of The Arithmetic-a blond woman draped in green velvet, holding a golden tome-the Pope gestured to me. You will sit beside me.
As he led me to the long dining table, covered with sconces and a great feast-roast fowl, venison, and lamb, wine and grapes, cheeses and breads-I passed by several cardinals, all of them Borgias, all of them clad in the traditional scarlet robes. I scanned their faces and failed to find my handsome man among them.
At the head of the table was the Popes chair, taller and more ornate than the others; to his right sat Lucrezia. I curtsied; she gave me a prim little nod, her fine, small lips pressed tightly together, her eyes narrowed and managing, cleverly, to convey only to me the intensity of her contempt. Jofre noticed none of this subtlety, but kissed his sister and sat beside her.
My empty chair waited directly to the Popes left; once again, I had been cast as Lucrezias direct opposition. I moved to take it-and was stopped at once by the Popes hand, firm yet affectionate, upon my shoulder.
But wait! Our darling Donna Sancha has not yet met her new brother!
My gaze followed the Popes gesture to the chair beside mine. The young man sitting in it had already risen: a man my age. A strikingly handsome man, with a fine, straight nose and a strong chin, covered by a full beard.
Cesare! Cesare, kiss your new sister, Sancha!
He had his mothers features, and hair dark as jet, so I had not recognized him as a Borgia. Unlike the other cardinals, he had changed into the black frock of a priest-one of plain but elegant design. The gaze we exchanged was no less powerful than it had been earlier that morning, when I had looked down at him from my seat beside the papal throne.
I had known that Jofre had an older brother, Cesare, the Cardinal of Valencia, called by some Valentino. Yet I had not made the connection that morning at the papal audience, when Jofre had gone to stand beside him.
I had known that Jofre had an older brother, Cesare, the Cardinal of Valencia, called by some Valentino. Yet I had not made the connection that morning at the papal audience, when Jofre had gone to stand beside him.
We turned to each other and performed a courteous but familial embrace, each clasping the others arms above the elbows. I turned my cheek upwards towards him, and was startled when he bent down to plant a firm, single kiss upon my brow. His beard was full, thick, a mans, and I trembled as it brushed against my skin.
You must hear my confession, Holiness, he said, without taking his gaze from me. I envy my brother; he has captured a truly beautiful woman. Everyone laughed politely.
You are too kind, I murmured.
Alexander took his seat-which allowed everyone to resume theirs-and smiling, gestured at Cesare. Is he not witty? he said, with honest love and pride. I am blessed with the most beautiful and intelligent children in all Christendom; I thank God each one of you is now here with me, and safe.
I had been repelled by the Popes inability to control his lust-but now I noticed how his sons and his daughter bloomed beneath his heartfelt praise. Obviously, Alexander was a man of generous emotion, despite his flaws, and I wondered wistfully what it must be like to have a father so affectionate and kind.
I said and ate little during dinner, though the others laughed and spoke freely; I spent the time listening to Cesare. I remember little that he said, but his voice, his manner, were like velvet.
The feast was limited to family-an extended one, with many names to be committed to memory. I already knew Cardinal Borgia of Monreale, who had witnessed the consummation of my marriage to Jofre.
Long after the moon had risen, the Pope set his massive hands upon the table, and pushed himself up-which prompted everyone else at the table to stand.
On to the reception, he announced, his voice thick with wine.
Out we went, into the largest room in the apartments, where a small crowd waited. At the sight of us, musicians began to play their lutes and reeds. Though I had not been introduced, I recognized at once she whom Rome called La Bella-the infamous Giulia, with features as fine and fair as an ancient marble statue, and light brown hair braided, coiled, and covered by a net of gold, save for the fine, serpentine tendrils that framed her face. She wore a pale rose silk gown, with folds so numerous and of material so sheer that they rippled with her every movement. Her eyes were large and heavy-lidded, filled with an odd shyness and timidity for one who held the heart of such a powerful man. I sensed no malice in her, no pretence. His Holiness favour had apparently been bestowed upon her without any effort or manipulation on her part; she gave the impression of a child overwhelmed by a too-magnificent toy.
With her was her husband, Orsino Orsini-he with a distracting monocular gaze, for he had lost an eye some years ago. Orsino was short, stocky of build, morose of expression and resigned in manner. He and his wife were closely watched by his mother, the Popes niece, Adriana Mila, a stout matron with a shrewd, assessing glance and constant furrows of worry upon her brow. Adriana was a skilled tactician; she had earned a great deal of the Popes favour not only by procuring Giulia for him, but also by raising Lucrezia in the Popes household. Surely, no one brought up in this womans care could learn the art of trust.
There were others there as well-nobles and their wives, attendants of the papal court, more cardinals, and suspiciously unattended women to whom I was not introduced. The event was supremely informal, not at all what I was accustomed to in Naples or Squillace, where Jofre and I took our thrones and nobles and family were carefully placed and served according to rank. A throne was carried in for His Holiness and placed where he might best watch the proceedings, but otherwise, everyone moved about freely, from time to time taking cushions or chairs whenever they wished, and vacating them just as easily, to be filled by another.
This did not trouble me; custom varies in all royal households. But then a chair was brought for Giulia, that she might sit directly next to the Pope; and when he first caught sight of her, he went to her, and in front of the entire company, kissed her without modesty, then bade her sit beside him.
I was mildly scandalized. My mother was a princes mistress, but my father would never have sat beside her or kissed her at a public affair; and this was, after all, the Vatican. I found it repugnant, too, that only a few hours before, the hands that now caressed Giulia had reached so easily for me. Still, I permitted myself no reaction; Jofre was my guide. He accepted his fathers behaviour as quite natural, so I tried to, as well.
In the interim, wine flowed. I took mine mixed with water, and only a couple of glasses of that.
I have been to Naples, and know something of it, Lucrezia addressed me conversationally, but never to Squillace. Tell me of it. Like me, she had taken care not to be affected by the wine; she was too busy judging me, assessing the potential for rivalry between us.
Squillace is quite beautiful in its own way. It lies upon the coast of the Ionian Sea, and though the shoreline is not as scenic as Naples-it has no Vesuvio, after all-the harbour is lovely. The city has many artists, many craftsmen known for their pottery and ceramics.
It is not as large as Naples?
No, indeed. Jofre snickered a bit.
Cesare, up to this point silent, offered graciously, But nonetheless charming, I have heard. Size and beauty are not related.
Lucrezia tilted her head; her eyes narrowed slightly. Ah. There are times I yearn for the simplicity of the provinces; Rome being so vast, and the demands on our time so great, it can be overwhelming. Still, we have the responsibility to impress the populace at all the social functions. Here, I am afraid, the people are far more jaded than those in Squillace, and expect more.
I lifted my chin at the subtle insult: did she refer to my attire, deliberately matronly and sedate, that she might better shine at our first meeting? If so, I would not make the same mistake again.
Lucrezia! the Pope called, obviously quite tipsy from the wine. Dance for us! Dance with Sancha! He had an arm around Giulia; she giggled as he drew her to him, nose to nose, and kissed her.