He enjoyed telling the story. He repeated it again and again to any who had not heard, and often to those who had, embroidering here and there, multiplying the jewels and the splendor and never leaving out that “six times”; and laughing aloud until the tears came to his eyes.
It was wonderful, thought Lucrezia, to see him so contented. It was but a month since the conception of her child, but she was feeling completely happy again. Her father was delighted; Cesare had a wife; and she had her beloved Alfonso, and they were to have a child. What more in the world could she want?
Sanchia was uneasy. She waylaid her brother as he came from his wife’s apartments.
Alfonso was humming a gay tune which Lucrezia often played on her lute, and the sight of his contented—almost ecstatic—expression irritated Sanchia.
“Alfonso,” she cried, “come into this little room where we can be quiet. I must talk to you.”
Alfonso opened his beautiful eyes, so like her own, in surprise, and said: “You sound disturbed, Sanchia.”
“Disturbed! Of course I’m disturbed. So would you be if you had any sense.”
Alfonso was a little impatient. Sanchia had changed since Cesare had gone away. None of her lovers pleased her and she was continually dissatisfied.
“Well,” said Alfonso stubbornly, “what ails you?”
“The French are planning an invasion.”
Alfonso wanted to yawn; he suppressed the desire with an effort.
“It is no use turning away from what I have to say because you find it unpleasant, Alfonso. You must listen to me. Ascanio Sforza is alarmed.”
“He is always alarmed.”
“Because he is a man of sound sense with his ears attuned to what is going on about him.”
“What goes on about him?”
“Intrigue.”
“Of a truth, Sanchia, you were always a lover of intrigue. I confess it was more amusing when they were intrigues of love.”
“What is going to happen when Cesare comes back?”
“I’ll swear he’ll be your lover in spite of his French wife.”
“He is now firmly allied with the King of France, and the French have always wanted Milan and … Naples. We belong to Naples. Do not forget it, Alfonso. Cesare will never forgive our uncle for refusing him Carlotta. He will band with the French against Uncle Federico. I would not care to be in Naples when Cesare enters with his troops.”
“We are of Naples,” said Alfonso, “and are the son and daughter-in-law of His Holiness, who is our friend.”
“Alfonso, you fool … you fool!”
“I am weary, Sanchia.”
“Oh, go to your wife,” cried Sanchia. “Go … and revel in your love, for what little time is left to you. Alfonso, be warned. You must take great care when Cesare returns to Italy.”
“He has just got him a wife,” cried Alfonso, his brow wrinkling.
“All husbands are not as devoted as you, brother. Some have ambitions beyond making love.” She caught his arm suddenly. “You are my brother,” she said, “and we stand together, as we always have.”
“Yes, Sanchia, indeed yes.”
“Then … do not be lulled into false security. Keep your ears and eyes open, brother. There is danger near us … danger to our house … and do not forget, although you are Lucrezia’s husband, you are also a Prince of Naples.”
Goffredo, who was now seventeen, was aware of the tension and determined not to be left out. The Pope showed great delight in the marriage of Cesare and the pregnancy of Lucrezia, and it seemed to Goffredo that he had little time to be interested in his younger son. People were often less respectful to him than they had ever dared be to Cesare and the dead Giovanni. Goffredo knew why. It was because many declared he was not the son of the Pope, and Goffredo had an uneasy feeling that Alexander himself was inclined to take the same view.
Goffredo admired the Borgias with an intensity of feeling which he could feel for no one else. He believed that if he were not accepted as one of them, life would have no meaning for him.
He determined therefore to draw attention to the similarity between himself, Cesare and the late Giovanni, and took to roaming the streets after dark in the company of his attendants, entering taverns, seeking out women and causing brawls among the men. This had been a particularly favorite pastime of Giovanni before he had died, and Goffredo longed to hear people say: “Oh, he is going the way of his brothers.”
One night as he and his men were roystering on the Bridge of St. Angelo, the guard called to them to halt.
Goffredo, a little alarmed, but determined to acquit himself like a Borgia, swaggered forward, demanding to know what this low fellow thought he was doing in obstructing the pleasure of a Borgia.
The guard drew his sword and two of his soldiers came quickly to his side. Goffredo would have preferred to retire, but that was something which neither Cesare nor Giovanni would ever have done.
The guard, however, was a brave man; moreover it was well known throughout Rome that the Pope was not so fanatically devoted to Goffredo as he was to the other members of his family. Cesare was in France; Giovanni was dead; and the guards of the City of Rome had decided that they would not allow this youngest member of the family to strike terror into the hearts of good Roman citizens, and he should be taught a lesson.
“I ask you, my lord,” said the man civilly, “to go quietly on your way.”
“And I ask you,” blustered Goffredo, “to mind your manners.”
“I mind my duty,” retorted the guard, “which is to defend the citizens of Rome.”
Thereupon Goffredo had no alternative but to fly at the man in a rage which he hoped matched that so often displayed by Cesare; but the guard was waiting for him. His sword pierced Goffredo’s thigh and the young man fell groaning to the ground.
When Sanchia saw Goffredo carried home she thought he was dying. His wound was bleeding profusely as he lay inert on a hastily constructed bier, his face without color, his eyes closed.
Sanchia demanded to know what had happened, and was told that the guard had attacked her husband because he refused to go quietly on his way.
“Why,” declared one of his men, “had there not been so many of us to surround him and protect him he would doubtless have met the same fate as his brother, the Duke of Gandia, and we should have had to dredge the Tiber for his body.”
Sanchia was incensed. First she called the physicians to attend her husband, and when she was assured that his life would be saved she gave vent to her anger. None would have dared attack Cesare or Giovanni as they had Goffredo. It was a sign that her husband was not accorded the respect due to the Pope’s son.
She determined therefore that the guard who had attacked Goffredo should be severely punished as a warning to all who might think they could ill-treat her husband with impunity.
She sought an early audience with Alexander, and was immediately angered because of his lack of concern in the fate of Goffredo. He did not dismiss his attendants nor did he give her that warm and tender smile which he habitually bestowed on all beautiful women.
“Holiness,” cried Sanchia, “is nothing being done to bring this fellow to justice?”
The Pope looked astonished.
“I refer,” went on Sanchia, “to this soldier who dared attack my husband.”
The Pope looked sad. “I regret that little Goffredo is wounded. It is a sorry matter. But the guard who attacked him was but doing his duty.”