The Family - Mario Puzo [2]
Over the years, whenever he had come to visit, the children always called him “Papa,” seeing no compromise in his devotion to them and his loyalty to the Holy See. They saw nothing strange about the fact he was a cardinal and their father too. For didn’t Pope Innocent’s son and daughter often parade through the streets of Rome for celebrations with great ceremony?
Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia had been with his mistress, Vanozza, for more than ten years, and he smiled when he thought how few women had brought him such excitement and kept his interest for so long. Not that Vanozza had been the only woman in his life, for he was a man of large appetites in all worldly pleasures. But she had been by far the most important. She was intelligent, to his eye beautiful—and someone he could talk to about earthly and heavenly matters. She had often given him wise counsel, and in return he had been a generous lover and a doting father to their children.
Vanozza stood in the doorway of her house and smiled bravely as she waved good-bye to her three children.
One of her great strengths now that she had reached her fortieth year was that she understood the man who wore the robes of the cardinal. She knew he had a burning ambition, a fire that flamed in his belly that would not be extinguished. He also had a military strategy for the Holy Catholic Church that would expand its reach, political alliances that would strengthen it, and promises of treaties that would cement his position as well as his power. He had talked to her about all these things. Ideas marched across his mind as relentlessly as his armies would march through new territories. He was destined to become one of the greatest leaders of men, and with his rise would come her children’s. Vanozza tried to comfort herself with the knowledge that one day, as the cardinal’s legitimate heirs, they would have wealth, power, and opportunity. And so she could let them go.
Now she held tight to her infant son, Jofre, her only remaining child—too young to take from her, for he was still at the breast. Yet he too must go before long. Her dark eyes were shiny with tears as she watched her other children walk away. Only once did Lucrezia look back, but the boys never turned around.
Vanozza saw the handsome, imposing figure of the cardinal reach for the small hand of his younger son, Juan, and the tiny hand of his three-year-old daughter, Lucrezia. Their eldest son, Cesare, left out, already looked upset. That meant trouble, she thought, but in time Rodrigo would know them as well as she did. Hesitantly, she closed the heavy wooden front door.
They had taken only a few steps when Cesare, angry now, pushed his brother so hard that Juan, losing his grip on his father’s hand, stumbled and almost fell to the ground. The cardinal stopped the small boy’s fall, then turned and said, “Cesare, my son, could you not ask for what you want, rather than pushing your brother?”
Juan, a year younger but much more slightly built than the seven-year-old Cesare, snickered proudly at his father’s defense. But before he could bask in his satisfaction, Cesare moved closer and stomped hard upon his foot.
Juan cried out in pain.
The cardinal grabbed Cesare by the back of his shirt with one of his large hands—lifting him off the cobblestone street—and shook him so hard that his auburn curls tumbled across his face. Then he stood the child on his feet again. Kneeling in front of the small boy, his brown eyes softened. He asked, “What is it, Cesare? What has displeased you so?”
The boy’s eyes, darker and more penetrating, glowed like coals as he stared at his father. “I hate him, Papa,” he said in an impassioned voice. “You choose him always . . . ”
“Now, now, Cesare,” the cardinal said, amused. “The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other. Besides, it’s a mortal sin to hate one’s own brother, and there is no reason to endanger your immortal soul over such emotions.” He stood now, towering