The Family - Mario Puzo [169]
The college of cardinals was a powerful force. And so Cesare sent messengers to seek French and Spanish aid. But the situation had changed dramatically, and those powers were no longer willing to intervene on his behalf. Instead they would await the verdict of the cardinals.
Duarte Brandao visited Cesare often, bringing the offerings of new terms by his enemies. “They are not so severe as they might have been,” Duarte explained. “You may retain all of your personal wealth, but the cities and territories you have claimed must be restored to their former rulers.”
The rulers of the conquered cities were being not generous but cautious. Cesare was still alive, and the vicars who had been stripped of their lands still feared him. They even worried that he might just be pretending weakness to lead them into another trap—as he had at Senigallia.
Moreover, the citizens of the cities of the Romagna were satisfied with Cesare’s rule. He was fairer and more generous than their old masters had been, and he had improved their lives dramatically. If Cesare accepted the offer of these rulers, there would be little chance of revolution among the people.
Cesare delayed his response, but he knew that, barring a miracle, he would have to accept. He could see no way out.
That night, he forced himself to sit at his desk. The first thing he did was write a letter to Caterina Sforza in Florence. If he must give back the conquered castles, at least hers should be first. He wrote out an order for the immediate return of Imola and Forli to Caterina and her son, Otto Riario. But in the morning, feeling slightly better, he decided to put both the letter and the order in a drawer. He too would wait to see what happened.
The Pope is dead! The Pope is dead! ” came the sound of the criers as they rode through the streets of Ferrara. Lucrezia got out of bed sleepily and looked outside her windows. But before she could come fully awake—for it seemed like a dream—Michelotto stood cold and shaking before her. He had ridden his horse without stopping from Rome, and arrived just behind the news.
“Miguel?” Lucrezia said. “Is it true about Papa? Is it true he has died?”
Michelotto could not speak, for his head was bowed with grief.
Lucrezia felt as though her screams could be heard throughout Ferrara, and yet she had not made a sound.
“Who did this?” she asked, and even to herself her voice was strangely calm.
“It was malaria, it seems,” Michelotto answered.
“And you believe this is true?” she asked. “Does Chez believe it too?”
“Your brother has fallen ill as well,” he said. “He has barely escaped dying.”
Lucrezia’s breath came short and hard. “I must go to him,” Lucrezia said, calling for her lady-in-waiting. Her father was dead; her brother had need of her. “I must have clothes and shoes and something black,” she told the girl.
But Michelotto objected, stiff as stone. “Your brother asks that I keep you from Rome—far from danger. The citizens in the streets are rioting, pillaging, and looting. It is not safe for you there.”
“Miguel, you can’t keep me from him, from my children, from seeing Papa one more time before he is put beneath the ground . . . ” Now her eyes filled with frustration and tears.
“Your children have been taken to safety in Nepi,” he said. “Adriana still cares for them, and Vanozza will arrive shortly. Once Cesare is well, he will meet you there.”
“But Papa?” she said. “What of Papa?”
Michelotto could not imagine how Lucrezia would feel had she seen the blackened remains of her father’s mortal body. That picture had carved deep sadness and revulsion in his own brain; what could it do to this tender woman’s?
“You may pray for your papa from Ferrara,” Michelotto told her. “For God knows where you are, and he is listening.”
Both Ercole d’Este and Alfonso entered the room now, and each approached Lucrezia to try to comfort her. And yet there was no comfort. She spoke to Michelotto and told him to rest, that he could return to Cesare the following day. She assured him she would be at Nepi whenever her brother called