“A husband! But, my lord …”
Roderigo silenced her with an authoritative smile. “You have a young baby in this house, Vannozza; she is six months old. Therefore you must have a husband.”
This was the end. She knew it. He would not have provided her with a husband if he had not tired of her.
He read her thoughts. But it was not entirely true that he was weary of her; he would always have some affection for her and would continue to visit her house, but that would be mainly to see his children; there were younger women with whom he wished to spend his leisure. There was some truth in what he was telling her; he did think it wise that she should be known as a married woman, for he could not have it said that his little ones were the children of a courtesan.
He said quickly: “Your husband’s duties will be to live in this house, to appear with you in public. They will end there, Vannozza.”
“Your lordship means?”
“Do you think that I could mean anything else? I am a jealous lover, Vannozza. Have you not yet learned that?”
“I know you to be jealous when you are a lover, my lord.”
He laid his hand on her shoulder. “Have no fear, Vannozza. You and I have been together too long to part now. It is solely for the sake of our children that I take this step. And I have chosen a quiet man to be your husband. He is a good man, a man of great respectability, and he is prepared to be the only sort of husband I could content myself with giving you.”
She took his hand and kissed it.
“And your Eminence will come and visit us now and then?”
“As ever, my dear. As ever. Now come and meet Giorgio di Croce. You will see that he is a mild-tempered man; you will have no difficulty with such a one, I do assure you.”
She followed him into the house, wondering what inducement had been offered to this man that he had agreed to marry her. It was not difficult to guess. There would be scarcely a man in Rome who would refuse to marry a woman whom the influential Cardinal had selected for him.
Vannozza was uneasy. She did not care to be bartered thus, as though she were a slave. She would certainly keep Giorgio di Croce in his place.
In her room which overlooked the piazza he was waiting. He rose as they entered and the Cardinal made the introductions.
The mild-tempered man took her hands and kissed them; she studied him and saw that his pale eyes gleamed as he took in her voluptuous charm.
Did the Cardinal notice? If so, he gave no sign.
From the loggia of her mother’s house Lucrezia looked out on the piazza and watched with quiet pleasure the people who passed. The city of the seven hills outside her mother’s house fascinated her, and it was her favorite pleasure to slip out to the loggia and watch people passing over the St. Angelo Bridge. There were Cardinals on white mules whose silver bridles gleamed in the sunshine; there were masked ladies and gentlemen; there were litters, curtained so that it was impossible to see the occupants.
Lucrezia’s wide wondering eyes would peer through gaps in the masonry as her fat little fingers curled about the pillars.
She was two years old but life with her brothers had made her appear to be more. The women of the nursery loved her dearly for, although she was like her brothers in appearance, she was quite unlike them in character. Lucrezia’s was a sunny nature; when she was scolded for a fault, she would listen gravely and bear no malice against the scolder. It was small wonder that in that nursery, made turbulent by the two boys, Lucrezia was regarded as a blessing.
She was very pretty, and the women never tired of combing or adorning that long hair of the yellow-gold color which was so rarely seen in Rome. Lucrezia was already, at two—like her brothers she was precocious—aware of her charm, but she accepted this in quiet contentment as she accepted most things.
Today there was a hush over the house, because something important was happening, and Lucrezia was aware of the whispers of serving men and maids, and of the presence of strange women in the house. It concerned her mother, she knew, because she had not been allowed to see her for a whole day. Lucrezia smiled placidly as she looked on the piazza. She would know in time, so she would wait until then.
Her brother Giovanni came and stood beside her. He was six years old, a beautiful boy with auburn hair like his mother’s.
Lucrezia smiled at him and held out her hand; her brothers were always affectionate toward her and she was already aware that each of them was doing his best to be her favorite. She was coquette enough already to enjoy the rivalry for her affections.
“For what do you watch, Lucrezia?” asked Giovanni.
“For the people,” she answered. “See the fat lady with the mask!”
They laughed together because the fat lady waddled, said Giovanni, like a duck.
“Our uncle will soon be here,” said Giovanni. “You are watching for him, Lucrezia.”
Lucrezia nodded, smiling. It was true that she always watched for Uncle Roderigo. His visits were the highlights of her life. To be swung in those strong arms, to be held above that laughing face, to smell the faint perfume which clung to his clothes and watch the twinkling jewels on his white hands and to know that he loved her—that was wonderful. Even more wonderful than being loved so much by her two brothers.
“He will come today, Lucrezia,” said Giovanni. “He surely will. He is waiting for a message from our mother.”
Lucrezia listened, alert; she could not always understand her brothers; they seemed to forget that she was only two years old, and that Giovanni who was six and Cesare who was seven seemed like adults, grand, large and important.
“Do you know why, Lucrezia?” said Giovanni.
When she shook her head, Giovanni laughed, hugging the secret, longing to tell yet reluctant to do so because the anticipation of telling so pleased him. He stopped smiling at her suddenly and Lucrezia knew why. Cesare was standing behind them.
Lucrezia turned to smile at him, but Cesare was glaring at Giovanni.
“It is not for you to tell,” said Cesare.
“It is as much for me as for you,” retorted Giovanni.
“I am the elder. I shall tell,” declared Cesare. “Lucrezia, you are not to listen to him.”
Lucrezia shook her head and smiled. No, she would not listen to Giovanni.
“I shall tell if I want to,” shouted Giovanni. “I have as much right to tell as you. More … because I thought to tell first.”
Cesare had his brother by the hair and was shaking him. Giovanni kicked out at Cesare. Cesare kicked back, Giovanni yelled and the two boys were rolling on the floor.
Lucrezia remained placid, for such fights were commonplace enough in the nursery, and she watched them, content that they should be fighting over her; she was nearly always the cause of these fights.
Giovanni was yelping with pain, while Cesare shrieked with rage. The maid-servants would not come near them while they fought thus. They were afraid of those two boys.
Giovanni who was being held down to the floor by Cesare, shouted: “Lucrezia … our mother is …”
But he could say no more because Cesare had his hand over his brother’s mouth. His eyes looked black with rage and his face was scarlet. “I shall tell. It is my place to tell. Our mother is having a baby, Lucrezia.”
Lucrezia stared, her eyes wide, her soft babyish mouth open in astonishment. Cesare, watching her amazement, was placated. She was looking at him as though he were responsible for this strange thing. She made him feel powerful, as she had ever since she had been a baby and he had hung over her crib and watched her little fingers curl about his thumb.