The Pope's Daughter

Chapter 12

By the end of July, the French made it very clear their intention of claiming Naples, by getting the “Crusade” ready to attack the small kingdom. The Pope, at the last moment, declared that the actions by France were scandalous, and finally, after five months since his coronation, King Alfonso II of Naples was officially recognised by the Vatican. It seemed that the Borgia Pope had surrendered to his Spanish roots and was siding with his own kind. The French, naturally, did not appreciate that. Lucrezia realised that she was not the only pawn of her father’s fame. As it turned out, Sancha of Aragón was the illegitimate daughter of King Alfonso of Naples, and the sixteen year old girl was quickly brought to Rome, dressed in her best gowns, and married to the twelve-year-old son of the Pope, Gioffrei. The ceremony was just as grand as Lucrezia’s own marriage. She saw her little brother, his face just as white as the new jacket made of white chiffon; he looked as Doña Sancha walked into the chapel, dressed in gold. He looked at his bride mesmerised, his jaw dropping. The girl was very beautiful; her complexion was warm, a true daughter of Spain, with a hint of Moorish ascendency. Her eyes were of a light brown, very unquiet, analysing everyone around her. She stood before her betrothed, who was one head shorter than her, and smiled ironically, as if to show she hoped it was a joke.

“She does not look like a very merry bride,” Lucrezia whispered to Cesare; the three Borgia siblings were sitting on the front row, watching their young brother’s marriage.

“She is sixteen. Of course she is not merry,” Cesare replied.

“Sixteen,” Giovanni replied lascivious. “And what a beauty! Poor lass, having to lie with Geoffrei. He can’t please a girl, God bless him... And she looks so ready for love, it is such a pity to see all this potential going to waste...”

Cesare looked angrily at Giovanni.

“Mind your tongue, Giovanni. This is our brother’s wife. You must treat her like a sister.”

“Like you treat a sister, Cesare?” Giovanni asked defiantly, a malicious smile dancing on his lips. “Then I would not mind at all...”

Cesare’s face turned as red as his vests, and he made an abrupt movement towards his oldest brother, but Lucrezia held him back.

“No, brother,” she pleaded. “Not here. People are watching.”

“Shame on you,” Cesare whispered infuriated. “I can understand these vipers at court gossiping ungodly things about me and Lucrezia, but our own brother?”

Lucrezia looked sadly at Giovanni. “If you do not respect me, brother, that is alright. But at least respect the name Borgia that comes along with me and all of us. Either you are with us, or against us. And you, as a Borgia, should be with us.”

“I am a Borgia, little sister,” Giovanni said indifferently. “But, may I remind you, you are still Lady Lucrezia Sforza.”

Lucrezia looked down, defeated; Giovanni Sforza, who had sought support from his Sforza kinsmen and supporters, and Lucrezia remained his estranged wife.

“She is just as much of a Borgia as you are,” Cesare replied. “Now shut it, Giovanni. You’ve spoke enough stupidities for today.”

Even though she was lawfully a Sforza, Lucrezia knew it would not be long until it was over. She kept her faith alive, for now she had a secret weapon, a secret comfort that flamed her heart and lightened up her world. A secret pleasure that inspired her soul to dream of better days.

Perotto was standing quietly at the line of the papal servants, obediently. Lucrezia looked at him and smiled softly, thinking of the kiss she had given him and how the young man had turned red and left quickly almost tripping on his own feet. She had not met him again in private, but she noticed how he looked down and blushed every time he saw her in the room, and it made her giggle. To her, Perotto represented the rest of pureness existent in the world.