The Borgias had a new weapon; all Rome knew what it was: Poison. They had their special apothecaries working for them, compounding and perfecting from their poisons recipes, it was said, which they had brought with them from Borja, their native town on the borders of Aragon, Castile and Navarre; and these secrets they had learned from the Moors. Spanish Moors and subtle Italians, a formidable combination, and from it was concocted Cantarella, that powder which was becoming feared by all whose daily life brought them into contact with the Borgias.
Ferninando d’Almaida, the Portuguese Bishop of Ceuta, was the next victim of note. He had been with Cesare in France, and it was said that he had seen Cesare humiliated more than once. He died mysteriously in camp with Cesare.
Meanwhile Cesare’s military operations were going forward with the utmost success, and he was now ready to turn his attention to Forlì which was in the hands of the Countess of Forlì, Caterina Sforza, reputed to be one of the bravest women in Italy.
She was fully aware that she could not hold out against Cesare. Imola, Caterina’s first stronghold, had already fallen to his troops, and she sent messengers from Forlì to Rome imploring the Pope for mercy.
The Pope had no intention of granting mercy since Forlì must fall to Cesare, and was chosen to be an important part of the Kingdom of Romagna; so he had the messengers arrested, and when they were tortured they “confessed” that the letter they brought to the Pope had been treated with a poison which was intended to bring about his speedy death.
There was consternation in the Vatican. When Lucrezia heard the news she ran to her father and burst unceremoniously into his presence. She flung herself into his arms and kissed him again and again.
“There, there!” soothed Alexander, stroking the long golden hair. “What is there to feel so excited about?”
“They might have killed you!” cried Lucrezia.
“Ah,” said Alexander, “it is worth the risk to see how much my beloved daughter cares for her father.”
“Father, life without you would be intolerable.”
“And you a wife! And you a mother!”
His eyes were alert, watching. The desired answer was: What are these to me without my beloved, my sacred Holy Father, my affectionate earthly father?
She kissed his hands and he felt her warm tears on them. Such tears did not displease him.
“All is well, my dearest,” he murmured. “All is well. We are too wily for them, we Borgias.”
“That they should dare!” she cried.
Then she stopped, as she remembered the rumors she had heard of how men supped at the Borgia tables and said good-bye to life. She thought of poor Juan Cervillon, who had been so gay and happy one day, anticipating his return to his family, and whose body was in the grave less than twenty-four hours later.
Cesare marched on Forlì, determined to revenge the threat to his father’s life. He would have no mercy on Forlì, whose Countess had dared attempt to give the Borgias a dose of their own medicine. She must understand the might of the Grazing Bull.
From the battlements of her castle Caterina watched the soldiers encamped below. Her case was hopeless but she was not going to give way until she had inflicted great damage on the enemy. It was not in Caterina’s nature to give way without a fight. She was the illegitimate daughter of Duke Galeazzo Maria Sforza, and thus her ancestor was the famous condottiere, Francesco Sforza. She had been only sixteen when she was married to Gerolamo Riario, nephew of Pope Sixtus who made him Count of Forlì. This man had been notorious for his cruelty and, shortly after his marriage to Caterina, the people had risen against him, entered his castle, stripped him and thrown his naked body from the towers. She was afterward married to Giacomo de Feo who met a similar fate at the hands of the mob; but this time Caterina was older and, determined on revenge, assembled her soldiers and pursued her husband’s murderers to their village, where she ordered that every man, woman and child in that village should be hacked to pieces; and this was done. That was the sort of woman Caterina had become.
Now she stood in the forefront of the battle directing her soldiers, fighting till the last, extracting every sacrifice from Cesare and his men, knowing that in the end, because of their superior weapons and numbers, they must defeat her.
When Cesare broke through and forced his way into the castle she was waiting for him, her long hair falling in disorder about her shoulders, a mature woman but a tempestuous and beautiful one.
“I surrender,” she said with dignity.
“Having no alternative,” Cesare reminded her.
Cesare came close to her and stood watching her; their eyes met and his were full of latent cruelty.
This was the woman who had attempted to poison his father, so her messengers had said when the Question was applied to them. He would let her see what befell those who thought they could oppose the Borgias.
Caterina measured her opponent. She had heard stories of the chivalry of the French, and she remembered that when Giulia Farnese had fallen into the hands of Yves d’Allegre, that gallant French captain, she had emerged unscathed.
“I demand,” she went on, “that I be handed over to the French.”
“Why so?” said Cesare. “Are you not my prisoner? Do not imagine that I shall let you go.”
Caterina thought in that moment how glad she was that she had sent her children away. For herself, she was a woman who had enjoyed many adventures and it had been said with some truth that since the death of her husbands she had surrounded herself with men who would work wholeheartedly for her, their only reward being a share of her bed.
She understood the meaning in those eyes of his. She was not alarmed; in fact she was excited; although she would not let him know this. His very cruelty and the rumors she had heard of his barbarism made an appeal to her wild nature.
“What would you have of me?” she asked, putting out a hand to ward him off.
He struck down the hand and she winced.
“I demand the droit de seigneur.”
Caterina’s eyes flashed. “Not content with the rape of my city you would rape my person?”
“I see you understand your predicament perfectly,” said Cesare.
“I ask you to leave me.”
“It is not for you to ask, but to submit,” said Cesare, his eyes glowing with sudden lust as he seized her by the shoulder. She would fight, this wild woman, and he would enjoy an encounter such as those he had shared with Sanchia.
He called aloud: “You may all leave me with the Countess.”
She sought to evade him, and the struggle began.
Cesare’s laughter was demoniacal. She would fight, and she must surely be the loser. She should remember that he had stormed the castle; she should know that every stronghold must fall before him.
It was more than a sexual adventure, this; it was a symbol.
Cesare was returning to Rome. He came as a conquering hero, and the Pope was preparing a magnificent ceremony that all might realize his pride in his son.
In truth Cesare was returning in a far from triumphant mood. It was merely to raise money and change his plans that he had been forced to return to Rome, for unexpectedly, Ludovico, being helped by Maximilian of Austria, had reconquered Milan and the French had found it necessary to recall all their troops to the troubled area of Lombardy. As Cesare had been fighting his battles with the help of his French allies he suddenly found his armies so denuded that he had scarcely enough men to leave guarding the towns which he had conquered. Accordingly there was nothing he could do but return to Rome.