“But Cesare, what of the rumors we have heard concerning your marriage with a Princess of Aragon?”
“Rumors,” he said wearily. “Nothing more.”
“Yet our father seemed to be considering this at one time.”
“It was diplomacy to consider it, child. Naples suggested it in order to alarm the Sforzas of Milan, and our father encouraged it for political reasons.”
“But he gave such a warm welcome to the ambassador, and everyone knew that he had arrived here to discuss a possible marriage between you and the Princess.”
“Diplomacy. Diplomacy. Waste no time on considering it. I do not. My only hope is to show our father how unsuitable I am for the Church, or to find a way of forcing him to release me. But there is little hope. Our father has determined to make me a Cardinal.”
“A Cardinal, Cesare! So that is the reason for your anger.” She shook her head. “I am thinking of all those who bring presents to me and to Giulia because they hope we will influence our father in giving them the Cardinal’s hat. And you … on whom he longs to bestow it … want none of it. How strange life is!”
Cesare was clenching and unclenching his hands. “I fear,” he said, “that once I am in my Cardinal’s robes there will be no escape.”
“Cesare, my brother, you will escape,” she told him.
“I am determined,” said the Pope, “that you shall become a Cardinal.”
Cesare had once more broached the subject of release and because he felt that his sister might have a softening effect on their father, he had insisted that she accompany him into his presence.
“Father, I implore you to release me from the Church before you take this step.”
“Cesare, are you a fool? What man in Rome would refuse such honors?”
“I am as no other man in Rome. I am myself and myself alone. I refuse this … this questionable honor.”
“You can say this … before Almighty God!”
Cesare shook his head impatiently. “Father, you know, do you not, that once I am a Cardinal it will be more difficult to release me from my vows?”
“My son, there is no question of releasing you from your vows. Let us discuss this no more. Lucrezia, my love, bring your lute. I should like to hear you sing that new song of Serafino’s.”
“Yes, Father,” said Lucrezia.
But Cesare would not allow her to sing and, although the Pope regarded his son with mild reproach, he did nothing more.
“You cannot make me a Cardinal, Father,” said Cesare triumphantly. “I am your son, but your illegitimate son, and as you know full well no man can become a Cardinal unless he is of legitimate birth.”
The Pope brushed aside his argument as though it were not more than a wasp which provided a temporary irritation.
“Now I understand your anxiety, my son. It is for this reason that you have been reluctant. You should have spoken of your fears earlier.”
“So, Father, you see that it is impossible.”
“You … a Borgia to talk of the impossible! Nonsense, my dear boy, nothing is impossible. A little difficulty, I’ll admit; but have no fears, I have thought of ways of overcoming such.”
“Father, I implore you to listen to me.”
“I would rather listen to Lucrezia’s singing.”
“I will be heard! I will be heard!” shrieked Cesare.
Lucrezia began to tremble. She had heard him shout thus before, but never in their father’s presence.
“I think, my son,” said the Pope coolly, “that you are overwrought. It is due to riding in the sun in company unfitted to your state. I would suggest you refrain from such conduct which, I assure you, my dearest boy, brings distress to those who love you, but could bring greater harm to yourself.”
Cesare stood, biting his lips, clenching and unclenching his hands.
There was a moment of fear when Lucrezia thought he was about to strike their father. The Pope sat, smiling benignly, refusing to accept this as a major difference between them.
Then Cesare seemed to regain his control; he bowed with dignity and murmured: “Father, I crave leave to depart.”
“It is granted, my son,” said Alexander gently.
Cesare went, and Lucrezia stared unhappily after him.
Then she, who was sitting on a stool at her father’s feet, felt his hand on her head.
“Come, my love, the song! It is a pleasant one and sounds best on your sweet lips.”
As she sang, the Pope caressed his daughter’s golden hair, and they both temporarily forgot the unpleasant scene which Cesare had created; they both found it very easy to forget when it was comforting to do so.
In the Pope’s private apartments Cardinals Pallavicini and Orsini sat with him.
“A simple matter,” said the Pope, smiling benignly, “and I am sure it will present no difficulty to you … this little formality of proving that he who is known as Cesare Borgia is of legitimate birth.”
The Cardinals were astonished, for the Pope had openly acknowledged Cesare as his son.
“But, Most Holy Lord, this is surely an impossibility.”
“How so?” asked the Pope with bland surprise.
Orsini and Pallavicini looked at each other in bewilderment. Then Orsini spoke. “Holy Father, if Cesare Borgia is your son, how could it be that he is of legitimate birth?”
Alexander smiled from Orsini to Pallavicini as though they were two simple children.
“Cesare Borgia,” he said, “is the son of Vannozza Catanei, a woman of Rome. At the time of his birth she was a married woman. That dispenses with Cesare’s illegitimacy, for a child born in wedlock is legitimate, is he not?”
“Holiness,” murmured Pallavicini, “we were unaware that the lady was married at the time of his birth. It is generally believed that it was not until after the birth of her daughter Lucrezia that she married Giorgio di Croce.”
“It is true that the marriage with Giorgio di Croce took place after the birth of Lucrezia, but the lady was married before that. Her husband was a certain Domenico d’Arignano, who was an official of the Church.”
The Cardinals bowed. “Then that proves Cesare Borgia to be legitimate, Holiness.”
“It does indeed,” said the Pope, smiling at them. “Let a bull be made stating his parentage and his legitimacy.” His expression was regretful; it saddened him to deny his son; yet such denial there must be in the name of ambition. He added: “Since I had taken this young man under my patronage I allowed him to adopt the name of Borgia.”
The Cardinals murmured: “We will immediately obey your wishes, Most Holy Father.”
But when they had left him the Pope immediately set about drawing up another bull in which he declared that he was the father of Cesare Borgia. It saddened him a little that this bull must be a secret one—for a while.
Cesare raged up and down Lucrezia’s apartment, and in vain did she try to soothe him.
“Not content,” cried Cesare, “with forcing me into the Church my father now allows it to be said that I am the son of a certain Domenico d’Arignano. And who is Domenico d’Arignano, I beg you tell me. Who has ever heard of Domenico d’Arignano?”
“They will hear of him now,” said Lucrezia gently. “The whole world will hear of him. His claim to fame will be that he was named as your father.”
“Insult after insult!” cried Cesare. “Humiliation after humiliation! How much longer must I endure this state of affairs?”