The Family - Mario Puzo [113]
Sancia stood before him, after the smallest of bows and without the kiss of respect to his ring or his holy foot. But for what he was about to do, he could forgive her those small slights.
Sancia spoke without waiting for permission, for after all she was the daughter and the granddaughter of kings. On this particular day she more closely resembled her grandfather, King Ferrante, than any other; her black hair was free and loose, unkempt and unrestrained. Her green eyes were penetrating, her voice accusing, when she spoke. “What is this I hear? I am not being sent with my husband and his sister to Nepi? Am I meant to stay in the Vatican without the company of those I enjoy?”
Alexander yawned deliberately. “You are meant, my dear, to do as you are requested, which is something that apparently does not come easily to you.”
Sancia stamped her foot in a rage she could not control. This time he had gone too far. “Jofre is my husband, and I am his wife. My place is with him, for it is to him that I owe my loyalty.”
The Pope laughed, but his eyes were steely. “My dear Sancia. You belong in Naples. With that foolhardy uncle of yours, in the land of that animal who was your grandfather, Ferrante. And I will send you there at once if you do not hold your tongue.”
“You do not frighten me, Your Holiness,” she said. “For I believe in a power higher than yours. And it is to my God that I pray.”
“Beware of your words, child,” Alexander warned. “For I can have you hanged or burned for heresy, and then your reunion with your dear husband will take even longer.”
Sancia’s jaw was set tight, and she was angry to the point of recklessness. “I will cause a scandal and you can burn me, if you wish, but that will not keep me from telling the truth. For nothing in Rome is what it seems, and the truth shall be known.”
When Alexander stood, he was such an imposing figure that Sancia instinctively backed away. In a moment she regained her composure, marshaled her will, and held her ground. But when she refused to look down, to be intimidated by the Pope’s holy gaze, he became infuriated with her. If his son couldn’t tame her, then he would. “You will leave for Naples tomorrow,” the Pope said. “And you will carry a message from me to the king. Tell him if he wants nothing of mine, I want nothing of his.”
Before she left, with the smallest of escorts and almost no money to take on her trip, she told Jofre, “Your father has more enemies than you know. This will come to a bad end one day. I only pray that I am here to see it.”
King Louis, clothed in rich brocade embroidered with golden bees, rode into Milan with Cesare at his side. They were accompanied by Cardinal della Rovere, Cardinal d’Amboise, the duke of Ferrara, Ercole d’Este, and a force of forty thousand occupation troops.
Ludovico Sforza, Il Moro, had reduced himself to poverty hiring mercenary soldiers, but they were no match for the skilled soldiers of the French army. Knowing his defeat was near, Ludovico had sent his two sons and his brother, Ascanio, to Germany to be placed under the protection of his sister’s husband, the Emperor Maximilian.
And so it was that after an easy victory King Louis of France was declared the true duke of Milan. And for his help in the invasion, the king was thankful for the Pope’s blessings—as well as for the help of his son Cesare.
In his inspection of the city, the first place the king visited was the great Sforza castle. There he searched for the oaken chests with the special locking devices designed by Leonardo da Vinci, which were rumored to be filled with precious jewels and gold. On opening them, the king found them empty. It appeared that Ludovico took the best of the jewels, and over 240,000 ducats, with him as he fled. But still there was enough of value left in the fortress to impress King Louis with the grandeur of Ludovico’s court—from the Sforza stables, with their dazzling and detailed portraits of prize horses, to Leonardo’s wall painting of the Last Supper in the Monastery of Santa Maria.
Yet the king took