The Family - Mario Puzo [173]
Gonsalvo de Córdoba rose from a map-strewn desk to embrace him with a smile. “You look worried, amigo.”
“Si, Gonsalvo, claro,” Cesare said. “I am fighting to hold my fortresses and to raise additional men. But I need your king’s support, and then I need you and your men.”
“No answer yet, Cesare,” de Córdoba said. “But there is a galleon arriving from Valencia at noon tomorrow. If we are lucky, the reply should be on it.”
“You say ‘no answer.’ There is doubt in your mind they will help me?” Cesare asked, puzzled.
“This is not a simple matter, Cesare. You know that very well,” de Córdoba told him. “My monarchs have many things to consider. The Pope is your sworn enemy, and he is a hard and vindictive man.”
“Of that there is no question,” Cesare said. “But Gonsalvo, Ferdinand and Isabella are lifelong friends. It was my father who interceded and made their marriage possible. He was godfather to their first child. And you know I have always supported them . . . ”
De Córdoba placed his hand on Cesare’s arm. “Be calm, be calm, Cesare,” he said. “I know all this. My Catholic majesties know it too. And they do consider you a friend, a loyal one. Tomorrow afternoon we should have their reply, and God willing it will instruct me to throw the full weight of my forces behind your efforts.”
Cesare was somewhat comforted by de Córdoba’s reassurances. “I’m sure that will be the message, Gonsalvo; and then we must act quickly.”
“Absolutely,” de Córdoba said. “And without attracting attention before we are ready. There are spies everywhere—even among the workers here in our camp. We must find a meeting place less public. Do you know the old lighthouse on the beach north of here?”
“No,” Cesare said, “but I’ll find it.”
“Good,” the captain said. “I’ll meet you there at sundown tomorrow. It is then we will plan our strategy.”
The following evening, just as the golden sun was sinking below the horizon, Cesare walked along the beach north of the port, alongside water pale as bones, until he saw the old stone lighthouse.
As he got closer, he saw de Córdoba step out from the lighthouse entrance.
In his eagerness, Cesare shouted, “Gonsalvo, what is the news?”
The Spanish commander put his finger to his lips, and spoke in hushed tones. “Quiet, Cesare,” he said. “Come inside. We cannot be too careful.”
He followed Cesare through the lighthouse door. As Cesare stepped into the darkness inside, he was seized at once by four men. He was quickly disarmed, and just as quickly his hands and feet were bound tight with heavy rope. Then they ripped off his mask.
“What treachery is this, Gonsalvo?” Cesare asked.
De Córdoba lit a candle, and Cesare could see that he was surrounded by a dozen heavily armed Spanish troopers.
“No treachery, Cesare,” he said. “I am just obeying the orders of my king and queen. They do recognize you as an old friend, but they also remember your alliance with France, and recognize that the power of the Borgia is ended. It now lies with Pope Julius. And the Holy Father does not consider you a friend.”
“Dios mío!” Cesare said. “They forget that Spanish blood flows in my veins!”
“On the contrary, Cesare,” de Córdoba said. “They still consider you their subject. And for that reason my orders are to return you to Spain. They will give you sanctuary—in a Valencian prison. I’m sorry, my friend, but you know that my Catholic majesties are extremely devout. They are convinced that both God and the Holy Father will be pleased with their decision.” De Córdoba began to move away, but then he turned back to Cesare. “You must also know that your brother Juan’s widow, Maria Enriquez, has formally accused you of his murder. And she is a cousin of the king.”
Cesare felt so betrayed, he could say nothing.
De Córdoba gave a curt order, and without ceremony Cesare was carried outside and thrown over the back of a mule, struggling ferociously. Then, accompanied by de Córdoba and his troopers, he was