“They will soon divorce you from him,” soothed Pantisilea. “Mayhap then you will marry Pedro.”
“Would they allow it?” asked Lucrezia, and all the melancholy had left her face.
“Who knows … if there is a child? Children make so much difference.”
“Oh Pantisilea, how you comfort me! Then I shall marry Pedro and we shall go away from Rome; we shall have a house like my mother’s and I shall have my credenza in which I shall store my silver goblets, my majolica. Pantisilea, how happy we shall be!”
“You will take me with you, Madonna?”
“How could I manage without you? You shall be there, and mayhap I’ll find a husband for you. No, I shall not find you one. You shall find your own and you must love him as I love Pedro. That is the only way to marry, Pantisilea, if you would live happily.”
Pantisilea nodded, but she was apprehensive.
Lucrezia had yet to be divorced, and she was to be divorced because she was virgo intacta on account of her husband’s being unable to consummate the marriage. Pantisilea believed that Lucrezia would have to appear before the Cardinals, perhaps submit to an examination. “Holy Mother of God,” thought Pantisilea, “protect us.”
But she loved Lucrezia—how she loved her! No one had ever been so kind to her before. She would lie for Lucrezia; she would do anything to make her happy. To be with Lucrezia was to share her philosophy of life, to believe that everything must come right and that there was really nothing about which to worry oneself. It was a delightful philosophy. Pantisilea planned to live with it for the rest of her life.
“Pantisilea, should I go to my father, should I tell him that I am to have Pedro’s child? Shall I tell him that Pedro is my husband in all but name and that he must let us marry?”
When Lucrezia talked thus, Pantisilea felt herself jerked roughly into reality.
“His Holiness has had a shock, Madonna. The death of your brother is but three months away. Let him recover from one shock before he is presented with another.”
“This should mean happiness for him. He loves children and he longs for us to have them.”
“Not the children of chamberlains, Madonna. I beg of you, take the advice of Pantisilea. Wait awhile. Choose the right moment to tell His Holiness. There is time yet.”
“But, people will notice.”
“The sisters? They are not very observant. I will make you a dress with voluminous petticoats. In such a dress your child could be about to be born and none know it.”
“It is strange, Pantisilea, but I am so happy.”
“Dearest Madonna, you were meant to have children.”
“I think that is so. When I think of holding this child in my arms, of showing him to Pedro, I am so happy, Pantisilea, that I forget all my troubles. I forget Giovanni. I forget my father’s grief, and I forget Cesare and … But no matter. It is wrong of me to feel so happy.”
“Nay, it is always right to be happy. Happiness is the true meaning of life.”
“But my brother so recently murdered, my father bowed down with grief, and myself a wife already to another man!”
“The time passes and the grief of His Holiness with it. And Giovanni Sforza is no husband to you and never was … so the Pope would have it.”
Pantisilea did not press that subject. She knew that Lucrezia would have to appear before the gathering of Cardinals and declare herself a virgin. The petticoats would have to be very wide.
The Pope and his elder son were often together now. It was said in the Vatican: “His Holiness has already forgotten his vow to end nepotism; he has forgotten his son Giovanni, and all the affection he had for him is now given to Cesare.”
There was a new relationship between Alexander and Cesare; the shock of Giovanni’s death had shaken Alexander; Cesare was exultant because he believed that his father would never be the same again, that their positions had shifted, very slightly it was true; but there was an indication of what they would one day be to each other.
Alexander had lost a little of his authority; Cesare had gained that little. At the time of his great grief Alexander had seemed like an old man; he had recovered, but he had never regained that air of a man in his prime.
Cesare had learned something of great importance: I may do what I will and it makes no difference. There is nothing I cannot do, and he will help me to achieve my ambitions.
Now the Pope said to him: “My son, this divorce of your sister is long delayed. I think we should arrange for her to appear before the assembly.”
“Yes, Father. She cannot be too quickly freed from the man.”
“You were not idle while you were in Naples, Cesare? You sounded the King on the question of a possible husband for your sister?”
“I did, Holiness. Alfonso, the Duke of Bisceglie was suggested.”
The Pope murmured: “Illegitimate.”
Cesare shrugged his shoulders.
“And,” went on Alexander, “Sanchia’s brother.”
“He is like his sister in appearance only,” Cesare said.
The Pope nodded. He could forgive Cesare for bringing about the death of Giovanni, because he was a Borgia and his son; but he found it harder to forgive Sanchia for being one of the causes of jealousy between Cesare and Giovanni.
He considered the marriage. Alliance with Naples would be good at this juncture; and if the marriage became irksome there were always ways of ending it.
“I have been approached by the Prince of Salerno on account of his son Sanseverino.”
“I doubt not that the King of Naples had heard of it, and that is why he was so anxious for you to consider Alfonso of Bisceglie. He would not wish to see such a firm ally of the French joined with us by such a marriage.”
“Francesco Orsini is another; and there is the Lord of Piombino and Ottaviano Riario.”
“Dear Lucrezia—although she is not yet rid of one husband, she has many waiting for her. Fortunate Lucrezia!”
“You are thinking that you are denied marriage, my son.”
Cesare’s eyes were now alight with eagerness. “Oh my father,” he said, “Carlotta of Aragon, the King’s legitimate daughter who is being educated at the Court of France, is marriageable. It was hinted that were I free she might be my wife.”
There was a brief silence. This seemed to Cesare one of the most important moments of his life, for it was as though the Pope were struggling to regain his old supremacy.
Then, after what seemed a long time to Cesare, Alexander spoke. He said slowly: “Such a marriage would be advantageous, my son.”
Cesare knelt in sudden emotion. He took his father’s hand and kissed it passionately.
In this son, thought Alexander, I shall forget all my grief. He shall achieve such greatness that in time I shall cease to regret the loss of his brother.
Life for Lucrezia in the Convent of San Sisto had been an alternation of joy and terror.
She and Pedro indulged in feverish pleasure which was the more intense because they both knew that it could not last. They were two people who must snatch at every moment of happiness, savoring it, cherishing it because they could not know when it would be their last together.