No one brought her news so she did not know that Romans continued to mock at what they called the farce of the divorce. She had never been fully aware of the scandals which had circulated about herself and her family, and she had no notion that verses and epigrams were now being written on the walls.
Alexander went serenely about his daily life, ignoring the insinuations. His one aim was to bring about the divorce as quickly as possible.
He was in constant communication with the convent, but he made no attempt to persuade his daughter to leave her sanctuary. He allowed the rumor, that she intended to take the veil, to persist, realizing that the image of a saintly Lucrezia was the best answer to all the foul things which were being said of her.
He selected a member of his household to take letters to his daughter and, as he was planning that after the divorce he would send her to Spain for a while in the company of her brother the Duke of Gandia, he chose as messenger a young Spaniard who was his favorite chamberlain.
Pedro Caldes was young and handsome and eager to serve the Pope. His Spanish nationality was on his side as Alexander was particularly gracious to Spaniards; his charm of manner was a delight to the Pope, who was anxious that Lucrezia should not become too enamoured of the nuns and their way of life.
“My son,” said Alexander to his handsome chamberlain, “you will take this letter to my daughter and deliver it to her personally. Now that the Prioress knows that my daughter is in the Convent of San Sisto with my consent, you will be admitted to my daughter’s presence.” Alexander smiled charmingly. “You are to be not merely a messenger; I would have you know that. You will talk to my daughter of the glories of your native land. I want you to inspire within her a desire to visit Spain.”
“I will do all in my power, Most Holy Lord.”
“I know you will. Discover whether she is leading the life of a nun. I do not wish my little daughter to live so rigorously. Ask her if she would like me to send a companion to her—some charming girl of her own age. Assure her of my constant love and tell her that she is always in my thoughts. Now go, and when you return come and tell me how you found her.”
So Pedro set out for the convent determined to make a success of his mission. He was delighted with it; he had often seen Madonna Lucrezia and had greatly admired her. She was the most beautiful of all the women, he thought, preferring her serene youthfulness to the more bold beauty of Madonna Giulia; as for the Princess of Squillace she was not to his taste at all, being nothing more than a brazen courtesan. It seemed to Pedro that, compared with such women, Lucrezia was wonderful.
He stood before the convent, at the foot of the Aventine, and looked up at the building. He felt then that this was a fateful moment in his life; he was to have a chance to win the friendship of Lucrezia, a chance which he had never thought would be his.
He was allowed to enter, and the nuns who passed him in the corridors hurried along with downcast eyes, scarcely looking at the stranger. He was conducted to a small room. How quiet it was!
He looked about him at the stone floor and the bare walls on which there was nothing but a crucifix. The furniture in the room consisted of a rough bench and a few stools. Outside the brilliant sun seemed far away for it was so cool behind those thick walls.
And suddenly Lucrezia came and stood before him. She was dressed in a long black robe, such as the nuns wore, but there was no covering on her head, and her golden hair streamed down her back. It was symbolic, thought Pedro. The display of all that golden beauty meant that she had not yet decided to take the veil. He would know when she had, because then he would not be allowed to see her golden hair.
He bowed; she held out her hand and he kissed it.
“I come from the Holy Father,” he said.
“You have brought letters?”
“Yes, Madonna. And I hope to take a reply back to him.”
“You are welcome.” He noticed how eagerly she took the letters.
He hesitated, then said: “Madonna, it is the wish of His Holiness that I should linger awhile and talk with you, that you might ask me for news of the Vatican.”
“That is kind of him,” said Lucrezia with a dazzling smile. “I pray you sit down. I would offer you refreshment, but …”
He lifted a hand. “I want none, Madonna. And I could not sit in your presence unless you sat first.”
She laughed and sat down facing him. She had laid the letters on the bench, but kept her hands on them as though her fingers were longing to open them.
“Tell me your name,” she said.
“It is Pedro Caldes.”
“I have seen you often. You are one of my father’s chamberlains, and you come from Spain.”
“I am honored to have been noticed by the lady Lucrezia.”
“I notice those who serve my father well.”
The young man flushed with pleasure.
“It is a double delight for me to be here,” he said, “for not only has His Holiness entrusted me with the mission, but it is the pleasantest I ever undertook.”
Lucrezia laughed suddenly. “It pleases me to hear a compliment again.”
“There are rumors which have greatly disturbed your eminent father, Madonna. Some are hinting that it is your intention to remain here for the rest of your life.” She was silent, and there was alarm in Pedro’s eyes as he went on: “Madonna Lucrezia, that would be wrong … wrong!”
He paused, waiting to be dismissed for his insolence, but there was nothing arrogant about Lucrezia. She merely smiled and said: “So you think it would be wrong. Tell me why?”
“Because,” he said, “you are too beautiful.”
She laughed with pleasure. “There are some beautiful nuns.”
“But you should be gracing your father’s Court. You should not hide your beauty in a convent.”
“Did my father tell you to say that?”
“No, but he would be deeply wounded if you made such a decision.”
“It is pleasant to talk to someone who cares what I do. You see, I came here for refuge and I found it. I wanted to shut myself away from … so many things. I do not regret coming here to dear Sister Girolama.”
“It was a pleasant refuge, Madonna, but a temporary one. May I tell His Holiness that you are looking forward to the day when you will be reunited with your family?”
“No, I do not think you may. I am as yet undecided. There are times when the peace of this place overwhelms me, and I think how wonderful it is to rise early in the morning, and to wait for the bells to tell me what to do. Life here is simple and I sometimes long to live the simple life.”
“Forgive me, Madonna, but you would deny your destiny were you to stay here.”
She said: “Talk of other things, not of me. I am weary of my problems. How fares my father?”
“He is lonely because you are not with him.”
“I miss him too. I long for his letters.” She glanced at them.
“Would you wish me to leave you that you might read them in peace?”
She hesitated. “No,” she said. “I will keep them. They will be something to look forward to when you have left. How are my brothers?”
Again Pedro hesitated. “All is much as it was when you left them.”
She nodded sadly, thinking of them and their passion for Sanchia of which they were making another issue on which to build their hatred.
“Will you return to Spain one day?”
“I hope so, Madonna.”
“You are homesick?”
“As all must be who belong to Spain and leave her.”
“I fancy I should feel the same if I were forced to leave Italy.”
“You would love my country, Madonna.”