That is it, I told myself. And perhaps she had drunk more wine than I realized. Perhaps she was not as sober as she seemed.
This thought calmed me to a degree; by the time I arrived at the Palazzo Santa Maria, I was convinced that Lucrezia had resorted to outlandish behaviour out of childishness, and that Alexander had certainly been too intoxicated to realize he nuzzled at his own daughters bosom.
The guards recognized me at once and permitted me entry. The ground floor loggia was well-lit, but the upstairs corridors were another matter, and I wandered in confusion until at last I found the entry to my suite.
I extended my hand to open the antechamber door. At once, my wrist was seized with brutal force.
I whirled. Beside me in the shadows loomed Rodrigo Borgia. Even the dim light could not hide the crudeness of his features-the receding chin that disappeared into folds of aging flesh, the prominent, slightly bulbous, irregular nose, the thick lips stretched now in a leer. His eyes were heavy-lidded with drink. The golden mantle was gone; he wore only his red satin robes and a velvet skullcap.
It is true, then, I thought with an odd detachment. A secret passage between Santa Maria and the Vatican exists. How else could His Holiness have left the celebration so quickly and be waiting here for me?
Standing next to him, I could not deny his physical advantage: I was not a large woman, and unlike his son Jofre, Rodrigo was a tall man, still powerful at sixty. My head did not come as high as his broad shoulders. His bones were large and thick, mine fine: his great hands together could encircle my waist, and he could easily snap my neck if he chose.
Sancha, my darling, my dream, he whispered, dragging me to him; the pressure on my wrist increased to the point of great pain, but I did not cry out. His words were slurred. I have waited all day for this encounter, all evening-nay, for years, since the first instant you were described to me. But the war kept us apartuntil now.
I opened my mouth to rebuke him. Yet before I could utter a word, he encircled me with an arm, placed a palm against the back of my skull, and forced my face to his. I struggled, but to no use. He kissed me, lips pressed to my teeth; the smell of foetid meat, mixed with wine, made me gag.
He let go my wrist and drew back, his expression that of the young lover hopeful for a reaction. I gave him one: with all my strength, I landed a blow on his cheek.
He took a staggering step back before regaining his uncertain balance. His eyes narrowed with surprise and rage; he touched the offended area, then dropped his hand and laughed derisively. You are too confident of your own worth, darling Sancha. You may be a princess-but do not forget, I am the Pope.
I will call for my servants! I hissed. They are just beyond the door.
Call for them. He smiled. And I will dismiss them. Do you truly think they will refuse to obey me?
They are loyal to me.
If they are, they will suffer for it. He said this with surprising pleasantness and ease.
How can you not be ashamed? I demanded. I am the wife of your son!
You are a woman. On his face, in his voice, was a sudden hardness, a meanness I had seen before only in his daughters eyes. And I rule here. So long as you live in my household, you are my property, to do with as I please.
To prove his words, he moved with surprising swiftness for one so full of wine, slipped a hand inside my bodice, and took my breast in his palm.
Sancha, my darling, he said, with pure petulance, am I so old, so hideous, that you cannot imagine loving me? I would adore you beyond words; there is nothing I would deny you. Only name what you would have. Only name it! I am forever good to those who love me.
Before he could finish his utterance, I seized his hand and pulled it from my bosom. He, in turn, grasped both my arms and, with a movement so powerful the wind was knocked from my lungs, shoved me backwards against the wall. His bulk pinned me; I flailed, I kicked, but his strength held me fast. In each fist, he held my wrists, forcing my arms out and against the wall at shoulder height-in a barbarous parody of the crucified Christ-then smothered my face with his.
I coughed, hurling spittle on him; I choked as he forced his tongue upon me, into me. And then he raised my wrists overhead, taking one of his great paws to pin them both against the wall. With his other hand, he reached to lift my skirts, bending down as he did. Given his intoxication, the movement made him dizzy, and he swayed.
I used the opportunity to tear one hand free. In a flash, I reached for my stiletto, hidden just beneath my stomacher. I was thinking to discourage him, not to wield it. But when he realized I had broken away and reached up to correct the matter, his hand found the tip of the blade.
He shrieked, and at once recoiled. My eyes had adjusted quite well to the dim light by then, and I could see the hand he held aloft, thick fingers fanned out tautly. We both stared up at it in amazement. The stiletto had nicked the palm, a perfect stigmata, and blood already trickled down to his wrist. The injury was minor, the effect dramatic.
He directed his gaze at me. I saw there, in full hellishness, the hatred that had only glinted in Lucrezias eyes. He let go a long hiss. Yet despite his fury, a second emotion played upon his features: Fear.
He is a bully but also a coward, I thought swiftly, just as Father was. I took advantage of this knowledge and advanced toward him, holding the stiletto threateningly aloft.
Rodrigo suddenly smiled, the intoxicated diplomat; his tone turned wheedling as he clasped his wounded hand in the other. So. It is true what they say: you are fearless. I had heard that you saved the King of Naples by killing a man.
With this very weapon, I averred flatly. I slit his throat.
All the more reason to love you, he proclaimed, with false good humour. Surely, Sancha, you are not so foolish a woman as to turn down such an opportunity
I am, Holiness. Each time you come to me, you will receive the same response. I glared at him. You are a father who claims to love his children. How would Jofre feel, to see us like this?
I am, Holiness. Each time you come to me, you will receive the same response. I glared at him. You are a father who claims to love his children. How would Jofre feel, to see us like this?
Rodrigo bowed his head at my words, and stood in silence a time, swaying slightly. To my astonishment, he burst into tears and knelt. I am an evil man, he said, his tone maudlin. Old and drunk and foolish. I am helpless around women; it is the curse of my life. Donna Sancha, you do not understand-your great beauty has made me lose my senses. But now you have won my respect, for you are not only comely, but brave. Forgive me. His weeping intensified. Forgive me for dishonouring you, and my poor son so
His remorse, though abrupt, seemed sincere. I lowered the stiletto and took a step towards him. I forgive you, Holiness. I will never speak of this incident. Only let it never happen again.
He shook his great head. I swear it will not, Madonna. I swear
I drew closer, thinking to extend a hand, to lift him to his feet.
He reared upwards suddenly, his head and shoulders delivering a blow that knocked me to the cold tile floor and sent the weapon flying. Where it went, I could not see; tangled in my skirts, I struggled to rise, realizing my vulnerability.
Yet my heavy skirts and velvet slippers allowed me no purchase. Rodrigos bullish figure loomed before me and reached out
In the same instant, a second figure appeared, equally tall but leaner, more proportionately built, and caught one of the Popes arms.
Father, Cesare said, his manner easy and calm, as if he were rousing the old man from sleep rather than interrupting a rape.
Disoriented, Rodrigo whirled on his son, still ready to fight. He struck out-but Cesare, with a strength much greater than his fathers, caught Rodrigos arm, then laughed, as if it were all a splendid joke. Father! You have had too much wine-you know that if you wished to beat me, you could do so handily when sober. Come, Giulia has been asking for you.
Giulia? The Pope looked back at me uncertainly. He had been all too sure of himself when accosting me, but suddenly he seemed no more than a confused old man.
Cesare jerked his head cursorily in my direction. You have no need of this one. But Giulia will grow jealous if you do not go to see her soon.
The Pope scowled at me, then turned and began ambling down the corridor. Cesare watched him for a heartbeat-then, certain his father was well on his way, hurried over and knelt by my side.
Madonna Sancha, are you injured? His concern was urgent.
I shook my head. My shoulder and ribs ached, and my wrists were bruised, but I had not been seriously damaged.
I will go and make sure His Holiness arrives at the correct destination. I must apologize for him, Madonna; he is drunk. He extended both his hands, and helped me to my feet. With your indulgence, I will call upon you shortly, to make a better apology. Now I must tend to him.
And he was gone.
I found the stiletto on the marble floor and replaced it; once more, my brothers gift had proved its worth. When I arrived at my chambers, the maids met me, wide-eyed and silent; only when I glanced in my mirror did I realize that my breasts had almost fallen out of my bodice, my skirt was torn, and my hair had spilled halfway out of its gold netting onto my shoulders.
Cesare made good his promise. Within moments after disappearing after his father-not even time enough for my maids to remove the golden net and completely brush out my tousled hair-a discreet knock came at my antechamber door.
I righted my bodice, dismissed my maids to their rooms and went to the door myself. I was still shaking from the physical exertion of the struggle, a fact I found highly annoying.
Cesare, sober, yet troubled after a controlled, dignified fashion, stood waiting. I bade him enter, and he stood, refusing an offer to sit.
Madonna Sancha, are you quite certain you are unhurt?
I am certain. I did my best to reflect his own dignity back to him. In truth, I cared not so much about the violation his father had just committed against my person as I did about what Cesare thought of me.