The Family - Mario Puzo [179]
But once again the entire cavalry unit stood unmoving.
Now Cesare understood. These dastardly men had been bought and paid for. They were betraying their king . . . his friend, his savior, Jean of Navarre.
Well, he would not!
Cesare hesitated no more. He lowered his visor, secured his lance, and raced into the breach . . . alone.
There was dust and confusion everywhere. Immediately, hordes of reservists with pikes, spears, and swords rushed toward him. He rode into the pack, and they scattered. But he had slain only two with his lance. Now the enemy regrouped and swarmed around him again.
Instinctively Cesare fought, his sword in one hand, his mace in the other. One enemy after another fell, cut down by his sword or smashed to the ground by his mace.
Then, suddenly, Cesare’s horse went down, and he was on the ground, rolling to one side to avoid the sharp thrusts of the enemy pikes. He leapt to his feet, his mace gone now, but still he slashed out with his sword in all directions.
Yet there were too many of them—just too many. And suddenly they were all around him, stabbing and hacking at him. He felt the sharp pain of a spear thrust into his armpit. He felt weak; he was losing blood now. Then he heard a voice, a comforting sound: “In arms and by arms . . . ” He thought of Lucrezia. Then he slipped to the ground, and all thought ceased.
Cesare Borgia was dead.
EPILOGUE
CESARE BORGIA, WHO had been a cardinal, a duke, and a gonfaloniere, was honored in an elaborate ceremony in Rome conducted by his brother, Cardinal Jofre Borgia, and Pope Julius himself. Afterward, his ashes were placed beneath a huge monument in the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore. It was said that Pope Julius wanted Cesare where he could keep an eye on him even after death.
But Lucrezia Borgia had arranged for her brother’s ashes to be stolen by Michelotto and placed in a golden urn. Michelotto, who had by some miracle stayed alive, then rode through the night to bring them to her in Ferrara.
The following day, Lucrezia set off with a retinue of three hundred nobles and men at arms, and led the funeral cortege on the long journey to Silverlake.
Tents were pitched along the shore. There were the usual penitents from the Tolfa mines only ten miles away and mistresses of some of the high-ranking clergymen shedding their repentant tears into the waters. Lucrezia’s men cleared them away.
From the hilly ground above, she could see the spires of Rome. And it brought back memories of when she had been a carnal sinner, when she had suffered pangs of fear for her brother and her father because of what she knew of them. Like many other sinners, she had come to this lake to be cleansed of her sinful desires, truly believing that the magical waters would wash away her temptations, for the lake had a reputation for providing solace, for reforming evildoers.
But her father, the Pope, with his sly yet good-humored smile, reminded her that there was nothing as treacherous as the evildoer seeking redemption. After all, such a person was a proven example of weakness of character, prone to shifting winds.
Now, Lucrezia sat by the lake in her golden tent and felt those silvery waters bring her a peace she had never really known before. Her father and her brother were dead. And her destiny was settled. She would give birth to more children; she would help rule Ferrara; she would be just, and above all merciful, for the remainder of her life.
She would never rival her father and brother in worldly achievement, but that was of no consequence, for she would be what they never were. Sadly, she acknowledged in her heart that they were never truly merciful. She remembered how Cesare had punished the Roman satirist Filofila, who had composed the scurrilous verses about the Borgia clan. What did all that matter now? What was the harm in words? Would anyone ever truly believe them?
And so she had brought Cesare’s ashes to Silverlake, as if his mortal remains could be tempted to sin even yet. Or as some sort of pilgrimage to atone for her