The Family - Mario Puzo [146]
He knew that a Borgia match could change a potentially dangerous enemy into a powerful ally against the Venetians. And, he reasoned, a Pope was, after all, Christ’s Vicar on Earth and supreme head of the Holy Mother Church. If that were taken into consideration, it made up, at least in part, for the lack of family background and culture in the Borgia.
The d’Este, who were dependent on the French, were anxious to please King Louis. Ercole knew that the king was determined to maintain the goodwill of the Pope, and that he favored the match between Alfonso and Lucrezia—a fact he had impressed upon Ercole forcefully in recent weeks.
And so the difficult and complex negotiations continued for days. In the end, as in so many situations of this kind, there was the question of money.
On the final day Duarte Brandao joined Alexander and Ercole d’Este for a session that each hoped would, at last, result in an agreement. The three sat in Alexander’s library.
“Holy Father,” Ercole began, “I have noticed that throughout your splendid apartments you have only the works of Pinturicchio. No Botticelli? No Bellini or Giotto? And what a shame to have none of the works of such artists as Perugino or Fra Lippo Lippi.”
Alexander was unfazed. He had his own unshakable views on art. “I like Pinturicchio. Someday he will be recognized as the greatest of them all.”
Ercole smiled patronizingly. “I think not, Holiness. I suspect that you may be the only man in Italy to hold that view.”
Duarte recognized Ercole’s remarks as a thinly disguised negotiating tactic—a way of emphasizing the greatness and cultural richness of the d’Este, and then by comparison, the pedestrian tastes and cultural ignorance of the Borgia.
“Perhaps you are correct, Don Ercole,” Duarte replied slyly. “The cities we conquered this year contained many works by the fine artists you mention. Cesare offered to send them here, but His Holiness refused. I still hope to persuade him of the value of such artworks, and how they would enhance the Vatican. Indeed, we have only recently discussed that your own city, Ferrara, has the largest and most valuable collection of all—in addition to its wealth in silver and gold.”
Ercole momentarily paled, grasping at once the point Duarte was none too subtly making. “Well,” he said, changing the subject. “Perhaps we should discuss the matter of a dowry.”
“What were your hopes, Don Ercole?” asked Alexander with some apprehension.
“I was thinking of three hundred thousand ducats, Holiness,” Ercole d’Este said smugly.
Alexander, who had planned to begin his offering at thirty thousand, choked on his wine. “Three hundred thousand ducats is an outrage,” he said.
“Yet, that’s the least I could accept without insult,” Ercole replied. “For my son, Alfonso, is a fine young man with an extraordinary future, and in much demand.”
For over an hour they bargained, each side making every imaginable argument about the largesse of its offer. When Alexander refused to budge, Ercole threatened to leave.
Alexander reconsidered, and proposed a compromise.
Ercole refused, and Alexander threatened to leave, until he noticed the startled expression on the duke’s face and allowed himself to be talked into remaining.
Finally Ercole accepted two hundred thousand ducats, which Alexander still considered a huge dowry, for Ercole also insisted on the elimination of the annual tax paid by Ferrara to the Holy Church.
And so it was on that day the match of the decade was made.
One of the first things Cesare did when he returned to Rome was to meet with his father privately to inquire about his prisoner, Caterina Sforza. He was told that she had tried to escape from the Belvedere, and, as punishment, had been held captive in the Castel Sant’ Angelo—a far less pleasant and healthy place.
Cesare went to see her at once.
The Castel Sant’ Angelo was a massive round