The Borgia Bride. Jeanne Kalogridis

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      I could no longer hide my distress. Jofre tried his best to comfort me. ‘They will get no further than Rome,’ he promised. ‘My father’s army will stop them.’

      Meanwhile, the French made good time. They sacked Florence, that centre of culture and artistry, then pushed their way relentlessly southward.

      Our troops are making progress, Alfonso wrote. They will soon join up with the papal army and stop Charles’ men.

      On the last day of December in the year 1494, my brother’s prediction was put to the test. Laden heavily with priceless, stolen goods, the French entered Rome.

      Jofre received word of the invasion via a hastily-written letter from his older sister, Lucrezia. It was my turn to comfort him, as we both imagined bloody battles raging in the great piazzas of the Holy City. For days we suffered without word.

      One fateful afternoon, as I sat on my balcony composing a long epistle to my brother—the only satisfactory way I could settle my nerves—I heard the thunder of hooves. I ran to the ledge and watched a lone horseman ride up to the castle entrance and dismount.

      The style of his dress was Neapolitan; I dropped my quill and ran down the stairs, calling as I did for Donna Esmeralda to summon Jofre.

      I hastened into the Great Hall, where the rider already waited. He was young, with black hair, beard and eyes, and dressed in a noble’s finery of rich brown colour; he was covered in dust, and exhausted from a hard journey. He carried no letter, as I had hoped; the message he bore was too critical to commit to writing.

      I called for wine and food, and he drank and ate greedily while I impatiently awaited my husband. At last, Jofre entered; we gave the poor man leave to sit, and settled ourselves while we listened to his tale.

      ‘I come at the request of your uncle, Prince Federico,’ the rider told me. ‘He has received direct word from Crown Prince Ferrandino himself, who as you know was in Rome in command of our forces.’

      The word was immediately provoked my alarm.

      ‘What news of Rome?’ Jofre asked, unable to restrain himself. ‘My father—His Holiness, Alexander, my sister and brother—are they well?’

      ‘They are,’ said the messenger, and Jofre leaned back with a sigh. ‘So far as I know, they are safe behind the walls of the Castel Sant’ Angelo. It is the situation of Naples itself which is now dire.’

      ‘Speak,’ I commanded.

      ‘Prince Federico has bid me to relay the following: Crown Prince Ferrandino’s army entered Rome and engaged the French army there. However, King Charles’ forces outnumber those of Naples, and Ferrandino therefore was relying on the promised assistance of His Holiness.

      ‘Unbeknownst to the Pope, the Orsini family earlier engaged in a conspiracy with the French and captured Giulia, she who is known as La Bella, Alexander’s favourite. When His Holiness heard that Madonna Giulia was in danger, he ordered his own army to stand down and commanded Prince Ferrandino to withdraw from the city.

      ‘Prince Ferrandino, facing certain loss, was forced to obey. He now marches homeward, where he will prepare to engage the French army once again.

      ‘His Holiness, in the meantime, received King Charles in the Vatican, and there negotiated with him. In return for Madonna Giulia, he offered up his son Don Cesare—your brother, Prince Jofre—as a hostage to ride with the French. In this way, he has guaranteed Re Petito safe passage to Naples.’

      I stared at the messenger for a long moment before whispering, ‘He has betrayed us. For the sake of a woman, he has betrayed us…’ I felt such outrage that I could not move, could only sit and stare in disbelief at the young noble. Despite his speech about first giving up his mitre, lands, and life, Alexander had deserted King Alfonso, without surrendering a whit.

      The tired nobleman took a long drink of wine before continuing. ‘All is not well in Rome, either, Your Highness. The French have plundered the city.’ He turned toward Jofre. ‘Your mother, Vannozza Cattanei—her palace was ransacked, and it is said…’ He lowered his eyes modestly. ‘Forgive me, Highness. It is said they committed unseemly acts upon her person.’

      Jofre pressed a hand to his lips.

      The rider continued. ‘Madonna Sancha, your uncle, Prince Federico, sends this urgent message: Naples needs the help of all her citizens. It is feared that the approach of the French will encourage an uprising amongst the Angevin barons. The prince has requested that you and your husband bring whatever men and arms Squillace can render.’

      ‘Why has my uncle, and not my father, the King, sent you?’ I demanded. I was convinced that my father had not cared enough to keep me informed, that this was yet another slight.

       But the messenger’s answer surprised me. ‘It has been necessary for Prince Federico to be involved in the day-to-day affairs of the kingdom. I am sorry to be the one to tell you, Your Highness. His Majesty is unwell.’

      ‘Unwell?’ I rose, surprised by how greatly this news unsettled me, by the fact that I cared. ‘What is wrong with him?’

      The young man would not meet my gaze. ‘Nothing physical afflicts him, Your Highness. Nothing the doctors can help. He…he has been deeply shaken by the French threat. He is not himself.’

      I sank slowly back into my chair, ignoring the poignant glance my husband directed at me. The image of the rider in front of me disappeared: I saw only my father’s face. For the first time, I focused not on the viciousness there, on the mocking expression directed at me. Instead I saw the dark, haunted look in his eyes, and realized I should not have been surprised to hear he was mentally unsound. He was, after all, the son of Ferrante, who had not only killed his enemies, but dressed their tanned hides in glorious costumes and spoke to them like the living.

      I should not have been surprised by any of it: I should have realized from the beginning that my father was insane, my father-in-law a traitor. And the French were, despite all of Alfonso’s efforts to convince me otherwise, on their way to Naples.

      I rose and this time stayed on my feet. ‘You may eat and rest as much as you need,’ I told the messenger. ‘Then, when you again face Prince Federico, tell him that Sancha of Aragon has heeded his call. I will see him in the flesh not long after your return.’

      ‘Sancha!’ Jofre protested. ‘Have you not paid attention? Charles is leading his army to Naples. It is too dangerous! It makes far more sense to remain here in Squillace; the French have little reason to attack us. Even if they do decide to seize our principality, it will be some months…’

      Skirts swirling, I turned on him. ‘Dear husband,’ I countered, in a voice colder and more unyielding than iron, ‘have you not paid attention? Uncle Federico has asked for help, and I will not deny him. Have you so quickly forgotten that you, by virtue of your marriage to me, are yourself a Prince of Naples? You should not only provide troops, your own sword should be raised in her defence. And if you will not go, I shall take your sword and raise it myself.’

      For that, Jofre had no reply; he stared at me, pale and somewhat embarrassed to be chided in front of a stranger for his cowardice.

      As for myself, I swept from the room, headed back to my chambers to tell my ladies to commence packing at once.

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