The Family - Mario Puzo [149]
One sunny afternoon the poet dressed and perfumed himself, preparing to join the court of his patron, Cardinal Orsini. The cardinal had given him the use of a small house on the grounds of the Palazzo Orsini. Like all great lords, the cardinal wanted his supporters and blood relatives nearby to protect him. And Filofila was as expert with a dagger as a quill.
Hearing the clatter of horses and the metallic clanking of armor, he looked out his bedroom window. A dozen mounted horsemen were riding up to his house and surrounding it. They were all in light armor, except for the leader, who was clothed completely in black—black doublet, black hose, black gloves, and, on his head, a black biretta. With a faint sickening in his throat, Filofila recognized the black-masked Cesare Borgia—and noted the sword and dagger he wore.
With relief, Filofila then saw a band of Orsini soldiers approach on foot. But Cesare ignored them and came straight up to the house. Filofila went out to meet him for the first time.
To the poet, Cesare looked as tall and muscular as a German. On his face he wore a cheerful smile. He addressed Filofila directly, with an exaggerated politeness. “Why, Master Poet,” he said, “I have come to help you rhyme. But it is impossible in this place. You must come with me.”
Filofila bowed low. “My Lord, I must decline. My cardinal has summoned me. I will come when you are free again.” He felt resentment that the Borgia had come to his house, but he dared not put his hand on his sword or dagger.
Cesare did not hesitate. Lifting the man as though he were made of rags, he threw him over his horse. When he mounted he hit Filofila just once, but the blow left him unconscious.
When the poet opened his eyes, he saw rough-hewn beams and walls covered with the stuffed heads of animals—boars, bears, and oxen. He seemed to be in some kind of hunting lodge.
Then he looked across the room and saw a man he recognized. Only shock stopped the cry in his throat as his bowels churned with fear: it was the notorious strangler Don Michelotto. He was sharpening a long knife.
After a moment Filofila found the courage to speak. “You must know that Cardinal Orsini and his guard will find me here, and will severely punish anyone who harms me.”
Michelotto said nothing, just continued sharpening the long blade.
“I suppose you plan to strangle me,” Filofila said, his voice trembling.
Now Michelotto seemed to pay attention. “No, Signor Poet. Not at all. That would be too fast, too easy for a man of your vast cruelty. What I intend to do,” he said smiling, “is to cut out your tongue, then your ears and nose, then your genitals, then your fingers, one at a time. Then I may cut off other things. Or, if I am moved to pity, maybe then I will do you the favor of killing you.”
The following afternoon, a large blood-soaked sack was hurled over the wall of the Palazzo Orsini. The contents sickened the cardinal’s guards who opened it. Inside was a headless, fingerless corpse. Its severed genitals, tongue, fingers, nose, and ears were inside as well, neatly wrapped in one of Filofila’s poems.
Nothing was said of the incident. No further poems by Filofila appeared. The rumor was that he had gone to Germany for the health-giving mineral baths.
26
SILVERLAKE WAS BEAUTIFUL that spring. Cesare and Lucrezia made a handsome couple as they walked along the shore, she in her jeweled cape and hood and he in his black velvet, his beret studded with feathers and precious stones. They had returned to the place where they had spent their happiest moments, for their time together would be scarce now that her marriage to Alfonso d’Este was close at hand.
Cesare’s auburn hair shone bright in the sunlight, and despite his usual black mask the smile on his face was evidence of his joy at being with his sister.
“So next week you will be a d’Este,” Cesare said teasingly. “You will then have the responsibility as well as the good