The Pope's Daughter

Chapter 6

Rome, Italy – July of 1492.

“You have changed, Lucrezia,” Cesare said thoughtfully.

The young woman made an effort to smile, and she knew it was a bitter smile; indeed, she had changed. The first month of married life had taught her things she had never imagined. Her husband did not treat her bad in front of others. Instead, he simply ignored her completely, as if she was part of the tapestry or a vase placed somewhere inconvenient, yet unworthy of attention. She learned to never speak on his presence unless he directed his word to her, because anything she said was completely ignored. She also learned that Sforza, despite the fact he was married to her, loathed the Pope with all his heart. His family liked her no better; in fact, his kinswoman Catherine Sforza was openly disdainful towards her, being careful to criticise her father when Lucrezia was in the room.

And, of course, Lucrezia learned that there were other ways to subdue a woman. She would never tell anyone, even Cesare. But her wedding night, and all the following nights where her husband visited her bedchambers, were a silent section of torture she had to endure. He was not kind or considerate, even though Lucrezia was a virgin, and little more than a child. Sforza bedded her violently, without speaking to her or even looking at her. After it was done, he never slept on the same bed as her. He would put his robes back and return to his room, leaving Lucrezia feeling the excruciating pain between her legs. She would curl on the sheets and cry quietly until she could sleep. That was a private pain, an intimate sorrow she could never allow anyone to know of.

“Sorella mia?” Cesare said, awakening her from her divagations. After a month, Sforza had allowed Lucrezia to visit her family on the palace of the Borgias, and Cesare could see the difference in her. Once she was a merry, bright girl; then she had become a silent, distant young woman.

“Si,” she replied quickly. “I suppose marriage changes people.”

Cesare did not smile. “Is Sforza doing anything to hurt you?”

“No.” The lie came out easily. “He barely ever pays attention to me, truly. It is not so bad.”

They were sitting alone on the bench in the middle of the beautiful garden of the palace;  Summer in Rome had been generous that year, and only slightly warm, adorned with flowers from Spring that seemed to never want to fade.

“Are you happy?” he asked. She could not lie to that question.

“No,” Lucrezia admitted. “But it does not make much of a difference. It is done, isn’t it? If it is the will of God...” Her voice slightly failed. “Well, it is done, for all that matters.”

“If you are unhappy, that you can be sure that it is not the will of God, Lucrezia,” her brother said.

“But what can I do?” She did not bother to smile. “It is done.”

“Yet it is not impossible to be undone. Remember the promise I made you?”

“I do, Cesare, but if my marriage is helping Papa, then perhaps it should not be undone.”

“I am not so sure if an alliance with the Sforzas will be much of an interest to us,” he replied. “And to be very blunt, your husband makes no difference at the papal court.”

“What are you saying?”

Cesare noticed how his sister’s voice had a hopeful intonation, the first time he had heard it that day. Her eyes, that as she arrived looked grey and opaque, had suddenly turned green; that made up his mind.

“Maybe not immediately,” he said. “But I am willing to bet that soon, very soon, the Sforzas will no longer be needed. We have other alliances to make, and they will become an inconvenience. Then, my dearest sister, you should not be married into their House.”