The Borgia Bride. Jeanne Kalogridis

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СКАЧАТЬ came a concert, then a lunch that endured for hours, with much drinking of wine and salutes to the new bride and groom. When dusk came, Jofre retired to a nearby palazzo which had been prepared for us. Sunset was entirely hidden by the great, dark storm clouds that had gathered over the bay.

      I arrived with the night and the first muted rolls of thunder, accompanied by my father the King, and the Cardinal of Monreale, Giovanni Borgia. The Cardinal was a homely, middle-aged man, with coarse lips and a demeanour to match. His head was shaved in the priest’s tonsure, and his bald crown covered with a red satin skullcap; his portly form was covered by a white satin cassock topped by purple velvet robes, and his thick fingers sparkled with diamonds and rubies.

      I left the men in the corridor and entered the bedchamber, which my women had readied for us. Donna Esmeralda undressed me, carrying away not just the beautiful wedding gown, but even my silk chemise. Naked, I was led to the nuptial bed, where Jofre waited. At the sight of me, his eyes grew round; he stared with a naive lack of restraint as one of my ladies pulled back the sheet for me, waited for me to lie beside my new husband, then drew the covering up only so far as my waist. There I lay, my full breasts bared to the world.

      Jofre was too shy and I too disheartened to make small talk during this embarrassing ritual—one of the more unpleasant requirements of nobility and power, and there was naught could rescue us from it.

      When the King and Cardinal Borgia, whose office it was to witness the nuptial event, entered the chamber, Jofre greeted them with a gracious smile.

      It was clear that Cardinal Borgia shared his cousin Rodrigo’s appreciation for younger women, for he stared quite pointedly at my bosom and sighed. ‘How beautiful they are. Like roses.’

      I fought the impulse to cover myself. I seethed with resentment that this old man should be carnally entertained at my expense; nor was I at ease with the fact that my father had never seen me unclothed.

      The King’s gaze flickered over my nakedness with a detachment that made me shudder; he gave a cold little smile. ‘Like all flowers, they will wither quickly enough.’ His eyes were no longer troubled; tonight, they were bright. He had achieved all he had ever wanted in this world—he was King, with the Pope’s blessing, and such was all the sweeter because he would also soon be rid of his troublesome daughter. This was the moment of his greatest triumph over me; this was the moment of my greatest defeat.

      Never did my hatred for my father burn so brightly as it did at that moment; never had my humiliation been so complete. I turned my face away, lest Jofre and the cardinal see the loathing in my eyes. I wanted desperately to pull the sheets around me, to storm from the bed, but the intensity of my anger left me wooden, unable to move.

      Jofre broke the brief silence with disarming honesty. ‘Forgive me, Your Majesty, Your Holiness, if I find myself at the mercy of nerves.’

      The cardinal laughed lecherously. ‘You are young, my boy—at your age, all the nerves in Naples cannot impede your performance.’

      ‘’Tis not my age that gives me hope of success,’ Jofre countered, ‘but the dazzling beauty of my bride.’

      From any other lips—save perhaps my Alfonso’s—such words would have been a pretty display of courtly wit. But Jofre uttered them with sincerity, and a shy sidewise glance.

      Both men laughed—my father derisively, the cardinal appreciatively. The latter slapped his thigh. ‘Take her then, boy. Take her! I can see from the rise of the sheet that you are ready!’

      Awkwardly, Jofre rolled toward me. At that point, his attention was on me: he could not see our two witnesses lean forward in their chairs, keenly watching his every move.

      With my assistance, he managed to climb atop me; he was more slender than I and shorter, so when he pressed his pursed lips against mine, his male member poked hard into my belly. Again he trembled, but this time, not from nerves. Given his feminine appearance, I had earlier feared Jofre might be the sort who preferred boys to women, but such was clearly not the case.

      Fighting to ignore the sheer misery of the situation, I steadied him and parted my legs as he slid downward toward his goal. Unfortunately, he began to thrust too soon, into my thigh. Unlike the elder Borgia, this youngest one was entirely uneducated as to the act of love. I reached for him, intending to guide him—but the instant I touched him, he let go a cry, and my hand was filled with his seed.

      Instinctively, I pulled the evidence out from beneath the sheets and away, inadvertently revealing the mishap to our witnesses. Jofre let go another groan, this one of pure failure, and rolled onto his back.

      My father was smiling as broadly as I had ever seen him. Hand extended, palm up, he turned to the chuckling cardinal and demanded: ‘Your purse, Holiness.’

      With good humour, the cardinal shook his head, and withdrew from his satin cassock a small purple velvet bag, sagging with coin. This he dropped in the King’s hand. ‘Pure luck, Your Majesty. Pure luck, and nothing more.’

      As one of my ladies hurried into the chamber and cleaned my hand with a damp cloth, Jofre propped himself up on his elbows and stared at the two men. His cheeks flushed bright scarlet at the realization that his performance had been the subject of a wager.

      The cardinal registered his discomfort and laughed. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, boy. I lost because I didn’t believe you would get so far. You endured longer than most your age. Now we can all get to the real business at hand.’

      But my husband’s eyes had filled with mortified tears; he moved away from me and huddled on his side of the bed.

      His suffering allowed me to transcend my own shame. My actions did not spring from a desire to be done quickly with this sordid business, but from a desire to free Jofre from his unhappiness. He seemed a gentle soul; he did not deserve such cruelty.

      I rolled toward him and whispered in his ear. ‘They mock us because they envy us, Jofre. Look at them: they are old. Their time is past. But we are young.’ I placed his palms upon my breasts. ‘There is no one else in the room. It is only you and I together, here in our marriage bed.’

      For pity’s sake, I kissed him—softly, with tender passion, as Onorato had once kissed me. I closed my eyes, blotting out the sight of our tormentors, and imagined I was with my former lover. I ran my hands over Jofre’s narrow, bony back, then down between his thighs. He shivered, and moaned when I caressed his maleness, just as I had been taught; soon he was firm enough to be guided into me, this time successfully.

      I kept my eyes closed. In my mind’s eye, there was nothing in the world save me, my new husband, and the approaching thunder.

      Jofre was no Onorato. He was small, and I received little stimulation; had it not been for his violent thrusting and the fact I had helped him enter me, I would scarcely have known he penetrated me.

      Still, I held on tightly; given the pressure against my chest, I could not help releasing gasps. I only hoped he interpreted them as sounds of pleasure.

      After perhaps a minute, the muscles of his legs stiffened; with a howl, he reared his torso backwards. I opened my eyes and saw his own widen with astonishment, then roll upwards, at which point I knew we had met with success.

      He collapsed atop me, panting. I felt the subtle sensation of his male organ shrinking inside me, then sliding out altogether; with it came liquid warmth.

      I knew that this time, there СКАЧАТЬ