“This is a gay gathering, my lord,” said Ippolito.
“The gayest we have had so far.”
“There would seem to be a hint of sadness in the laughter of His Holiness.”
“He is reminded that before long my sister will go away.”
Ippolito looked sharply at Cesare. “It is a matter of grief to you also?” Cesare did not answer; his eyes behind the mask had grown angry suddenly, and Ippolito went on: “I wish you would tell me how you escaped from the purple.”
Cesare laughed. “It took me many years to do it.”
“I doubt I ever shall.”
“You, my dear Ippolito, are not the son of a Pope.”
“Alas! My father will do nothing to help me escape the destiny into which I have been thrust.”
“My friend, let it not restrain your natural bent. When I was a member of the Sacred College I did not allow it to do so to me. I had many adventures then—amusing adventures—very similar to those which I enjoy today.”
“I understand.”
“You too have your adventures?”
“I do; and I believe I am on the brink of one at this very moment.”
Cesare looked about the room.
“The enchanting creature in blue,” Ippolito explained.
“Ha!” laughed Cesare. “My young cousin Angela. She is scarce out of the nursery, but I grant you she has a charm.”
“She is delightful,” said Ippolito.
“Then you must make haste in your adventure, my friend, for in a few days Angela will be leaving with my sister and, although you are to accompany them out of Rome it will be only for part of the way, since you are to return as a hostage for your family’s good behavior to Lucrezia.”
“I know it,” said Ippolito. “And she is so young … and for all her look of witchery, inexperienced, I should say.”
“So much the better,” said Cesare. “But make haste, my friend. Time flies.”
“Tell me which of the ladies here tonight are the most seductive and the most accommodating.”
Cesare did not answer. Apparently he had not heard the question; and following his gaze, Ippolito saw that it was on his sister.
Ippolito led Angela in the dance. She was enchanting, so young and gay, very eager to enjoy a flirtation with the handsome Cardinal. He told her she was beautiful; she replied that she found him tolerably handsome.
He could look at no one else from the moment she had entered the room, he said. Angela was coquettish. Clearly, thought Ippolito, I shall be her first lover; the first of many mayhap, but the first.
The thought delighted him.
He whispered: “Could we not go away somewhere where we could be alone … where we could talk?”
“Lucrezia would notice and send someone to look for me.”
“Is Lucrezia your duenna?”
“After a fashion. I am in her charge and I am going to Ferrara with her.”
His hand tightened on hers; his eyes glowed.
“You enchant me,” he said.
“You shock me,” she retaliated. “You … a Cardinal!”
He grimaced. “Do not be deceived by my cloth.”
“I will not. I know enough of Cardinals to know that one must be as wary of them as of any men.”
“You are very wise doubtless.”
“Far too wise to be taken in by the light words of … even a Cardinal.”
Ippolito was regretful. She was undoubtedly charming; but she was not sweet and gentle as he had imagined she might be; she would need a long wooing. A pity; since there were not many days left to him.
She cried: “Lucrezia beckons me. Doubtless she does not care to trust me with a rake Cardinal.”
He was scarcely listening, for a woman had entered the apartment who was in truth the most beautiful he had ever seen. Her hair was black, her eyes startingly blue. He had heard of the charms of Sanchia of Aragon, but had not expected them to be so magnificent. She was quite different from the girl whose youth had attracted him. Sanchia was all-knowing, all fire and passion. There would be no long wooing needed with Sanchia. She would know at once whether a man attracted her and, if he did, there would be no delay.
He said: “Since the Duchess, your cousin, beckons you, we must needs obey.”
“We could look the other way and pretend we don’t see,” suggested Angela.
“That,” he said sternly, “would be a most ungracious act toward a gracious lady.”
And he took the child firmly by the arm and walked with her to Lucrezia.
He bowed over Lucrezia’s hand and chatted for a while. Then Ferrante came to them, and he asked Ferrante to dance with Angela. Cesare too had come to his sister’s side, and Ippolito moved off toward Sanchia of Aragon.
Cesare said: “Lucrezia, you and I will dance.”
They went to the center of the floor; she in the mulberry velvet with the dazzling stripes of gold, her hair in its net of jewels, and Cesare, elegantly dressed in cloth of gold looking like a god who had momentarily descended to Earth.
“A fig for these dances!” cried Cesare. “Let us dance as we did in our childhood. The old Spanish dances. You will not have an opportunity of dancing them in Ferrara. They are very prim there, we hear. Let us dance the jota … the bolero … the baile hondo.”
He towered over her and she felt frail and in his power, yet she knew that she possessed a certain power over him. She was reminded vividly of nursery days and the jealousy which she had inspired between him and their brother Giovanni.
“Lucrezia … Lucrezia …” he murmured, and his hands were warm and possessive upon her, “you are going away … far away. How shall we bear that … our father and I?”
“We shall meet,” she said desperately. “Often we shall see each other.”
“You will go away from us … become a member of a family which is not like ours.”
“I shall always be of our family.”
“Never forget it,” he said. “Never!”
The Pope, seeing his son and daughter dancing together, could not bear that any others should be on the floor. He clapped his hands and signed for them all to leave the two dancers alone together. He signed to the viols and flutes, and they understood that he wanted Spanish dances.
So they danced alone, as Lucrezia had on another occasion danced at her own wedding but with another brother. The music grew wilder, more passionate and all marveled at the expression which these two could infuse into the old dances of Spain.
They were watched by many, and there was a whisper in the ballroom that the tales which were circulated about these two seemed to be true.
One of the few who did not watch them was Angela Borgia. She could see handsome Ippolito exchanging passionate glances with Sanchia of Aragon, and she knew that he had forgotten the young girl who had amused him for a moment or two. Her first taste of splendor in Lucrezia’s beautiful dress was spoilt for her, and she wanted to run away and cry.
The Pope kept drawing attention to the beauty of the dancers. “Such exquisite grace! Did you ever see such dancing?”
He applauded loudly; he laughed hilariously; but those who were close to him detected a note of hysteria in his voice. Some predicted that, when it was time for his daughter to leave Rome, he would make all sorts of excuses to keep her with him.
The dowry was being carefully counted by those officers from Ferrara who had been sent to collect it. There was much haggling about the size of the ducats, and at times it seemed that in spite of the fact that the marriage celebrations had taken place there would be some hitch and Lucrezia would not leave for Ferrara after all.