The Family - Mario Puzo [124]
Suddenly, as the clouds uncovered the moon, he saw several masked men rushing toward him from the shadows of the buildings. They were wielding scroti, primitive street weapons made of a leather pouch filled with chunks of iron and fastened to a leather handle. He tried to turn back and run across the square, but three of them grabbed him and threw him to the ground. All three of the men jumped him and with their scroti came down hard upon his body. He tried to cover his head with his arms, he tried to turn on his stomach to protect himself, but over and over again his weapon came crashing down unmercifully on his arms and legs, as he tried to stifle his cries of pain. Then one of the men brought his weapon down hard right on the bridge of his nose. He heard the crack of his bones as he felt himself losing consciousness.
Just as the last assailant drew his stiletto and sliced Alfonso from his neck to his navel, there came the shout of a papal guard. The attackers, startled, ran toward one of the streets that led from the square.
The guard standing over the young man judged the severity of his wounds, and knew he must make a choice. He could immediately provide the necessary care to this unfortunate soul, or chase the scum who attacked him. Then, by the pale light of the moon, he recognized Alfonso as the Pope’s son-in-law.
Frantically, he called for help. Then he quickly removed his own cape and tried to staunch the bleeding that flowed from the boy’s massive chest wound.
Shouting again and again for help, the desperate man carried Alfonso to the nearby headquarters of the papal guard and placed him gently on the iron cot.
The Vatican physician was summoned at once, and rushed to Alfonso’s side. Fortunately, the cut was long but not too deep. From what he could see, no major organs had been damaged, and the quick thinking of the guard had stopped the young prince from bleeding to death.
A practical and experienced man, the Vatican physician looked around quickly, then motioned to one of the other guards to hand over a flask of brandy. He poured the alcohol into the open wound, and began to stitch it closed. But there was little he could do for the young man’s once-handsome face, except place a compress on his shattered nose and pray it would heal without too much ruin.
Alexander was called from his table by Duarte and informed secretly of the incident.
The Pope ordered Alfonso to be carried to his private chambers and put to bed in one of his own rooms. Sixteen of his finest guards were called to act as sentinels. He then instructed Duarte to send an urgent message to the king of Naples, explaining what had happened to his nephew, and requesting that he send his own physician, as well as Sancia, to Rome to nurse her brother and comfort Lucrezia.
Alexander dreaded telling his daughter what had happened, but he knew he must. Returning to the table, he stood directly before her. “There has been an accident in the square. Your beloved husband, Alfonso, has been attacked by several treacherous scoundrels.”
Lucrezia’s expression was one of shock. She stood up immediately. “Where is he? Is he harmed badly?”
“The wounds are quite severe,” Alexander said. “But with prayer, we hope not fatal.”
Lucrezia turned to her brothers. “Chez, Jofre, do something! Find the villains, lock them in a pen, and have the wild dogs rip at their flesh.” She began to run then, and cry. “Papa, take me to him.”
Alexander quickly led the way, with Lucrezia, Cesare, and Jofre following.
Young Alfonso lay unconscious, his body covered with cotton sheeting, blood streaming in great streaks from each of the wounds on his face.
The moment Lucrezia saw him, she screamed and then collapsed. It was her brother Jofre who caught her and carried her to a waiting chair. Cesare’s face was covered with a carnival