The Family - Mario Puzo [16]
On the day Cesare Borgia was to be ordained a cardinal of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, the huge chapel of Saint Peter’s Basilica overflowed with fashionably dressed nobility. All the great aristocratic families of Italy were in attendance.
From Milan came the swarthy Ludovico Sforza, “Il Moro,” and his brother, Ascanio. Ascanio Sforza, now Alexander’s vice-chancellor, dressed in the rich ivory brocade ecclesiastical vestments and red hat of a cardinal. Everyone in the crowded basilica murmured at the sight.
From Ferrara came the d’Este, one of the most regal and conservative old families of Italy. Their robes, simple black and gray, showcased the dazzling jewelry that hung from their necks. They had made the difficult journey not only to show their respect, but to impress themselves upon the Pope and this new cardinal—for they would need his favors.
But none turned the heads of the crowd as sharply as the young man who walked behind them. From the illustrious city of Florence, Piero Medici, solemn and autocratic, wore an emerald green doublet embroidered with fantastic pinwheels of twenty-two-karat gold that cast a luminous glow around his face, making him appear almost saintly. He led seven of his proud relatives, including his brother, Cesare’s good friend Gio Medici, down the long center aisle. Piero was the power in Florence now, but the talk was that the Medici’s control of the city had truly ceased with death of his father, Lorenzo the Magnificent. It was rumored that it would not be long before this young prince was overthrown and the Medici rule would end.
From the city of Rome, both the Orsini and the Colonna had come. Bitter rivals for many decades, the two families were momentarily at peace. They were, however, careful to seat themselves on opposite sides of the basilica. And for good reason: a bloody fight between the two had disrupted the coronation of an earlier cardinal.
In the front row, Guido Feltra, the powerful duke of Urbino, spoke quietly with the Pope’s most cunning adversary, Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, nephew of the late Pope Sixtus IV and now papal delegate to France.
Feltra leaned close to the cardinal. “I suspect our Cesare is more a soldier than a scholar,” he whispered. “Would make a great general some day, that boy, if he weren’t destined to be Pope.”
Della Rovere bristled. “Like his father, he’s hardly above matters of the flesh. And a bit of a rake in other ways as well. Fights bulls, wrestles peasants at local fairs. Very unseemly . . . ”
Feltra nodded. “I’ve heard his horse just won the Palio in Siena.”
Cardinal della Rovere looked annoyed. “With trickery rather than honor. He had his rider jump off near the finish, which made the horse lighter and faster. The result was protested, of course. Still, it stood.”
Feltra smiled. “Amazing . . . ”
But della Rovere frowned and said, “Heed my warning, Guido Feltra. He’s full of the devil, this son of the church.”
Giuliano della Rovere was now a dedicated enemy of the Borgia. What increased his fury, even more than his failed election, was the number of pro-Borgia cardinals Pope Alexander had just named. But failure to attend this ceremony would have been unthinkable, and della Rovere’s eyes were firmly focused on his future.
Pope Alexander VI stood at the altar, a towering vision, tall, broad-shouldered, and mesmerizing. The stark drama of his white robes enhanced by the scarlet and gold opus anglicanum stole made him a commanding presence. At this moment his eyes shone with pride and certainty; here he reigned, alone and infallible, from this massive house of God built centuries before above the tomb of Saint Peter.
As the mighty organ roared a triumphant Te Deum—the hymn of praise to the Lord—Alexander stepped forward, raised the red cardinal’s hat high in the air with both his hands, and with a sonorous blessing chanted in Latin solemnly placed it on the head of his son who knelt before him.
Cesare Borgia’s eyes were cast downward as he received the Holy Benediction.