The Family - Mario Puzo [34]
Alexander, having met with strong resistance, concluded he must quickly crown Masino—or another man would soon wear the Holy Tiara.
Four days after Masino was crowned king of Naples, Jofre Borgia married Masino’s daughter, Sancia.
At the altar of the chapel of Castel Nuovo, twelve-year-old Jofre tried to appear older than he was as he stood near his sixteen-year-old bride. Though he was taller than she and handsome enough, with his thick dark blond hair and light eyes, he had no wit or charm. Sancia, a beautiful and spirited girl, was annoyed at her father’s choice. She refused to be fitted for any new finery for her wedding, and during the ceremony she stared impatiently at the guests in the crowded chapel. When the bishop asked Jofre, “Will you take this woman—” he was unable to finish his sentence before the enthusiastic Jofre interrupted, breathlessly, “I will . . . ”
The guests laughed aloud. Sancia was humiliated, and her response to her vows was barely audible. What was she doing with this silly child?
At the reception, however, once she saw the many golden coins and jewels he had brought and offered, Sancia’s expression softened. And as he allowed her bridesmaids to choose more gold coins from his pockets, the dark-haired Sancia smiled at him.
That evening in the bridal chamber, with King Masino and two other witnesses, Jofre Borgia climbed atop his new bride and rode her as he would a new pony. She lay there stubbornly, stiff as a corpse. Again and again—four times—he mounted her, until the king himself called a halt, and agreed the marriage contract was valid.
Now Alexander called for Cesare and Juan to join him in the Hall of Faith, where according to the agreement he had made with King Ferdinand concerning Naples he had promised to meet the ambassadors of Spain and Portugal to mediate a dispute over new lands.
As Cesare and Juan entered the ornate room, their father looked regal, wearing the papal miter and his richly embroidered red and gold cape. He told his sons, “This may be an exercise in diplomacy from which you can learn, for each of you will take part in many negotiations in the positions that you hold for the church.”
What he didn’t say was that King Ferdinand’s plea for papal arbitration was not an empty gesture but reflected the papal influence in both the religion and politics in the new Age of Discovery. Now, it would gain the Pope the support of Spain, which he would sorely need in the event King Charles of France chose to invade the Italian territories.
Alexander looked up when the ambassadors entered the room. He greeted them warmly and said, “We think you know our sons, Cardinal Borgia and the duke of Gandia?”
“Yes, Holy Father, we do,” replied the Spaniard, a portly Castilian grandee in a black, heavily brocaded tunic. He nodded to Cesare, and then to Juan, as did the elderly Portuguese emissary.
Alexander had spread a map out on the large inlaid table. He and the two ambassadors were pointing to various locations. “My sons, we have solved a problem that has been causing great concern between the nations of these two worthies.”
The two men nodded again and Alexander continued, “Both these great nations have sent brave explorers to the farthest reaches of the unknown seas. Both have laid claims to the riches of the New World. Our holy church, through Calixtus the Third, had decreed that the kingdom of Portugal was entitled to all non-Christian lands on the coast of the Atlantic. Therefore, Portugal claims this entitles their country to the entire New World. Spain, on the other hand, insists that Calixtus meant only those lands on the eastern coast of the great ocean, not the newly discovered lands in the west.
“In order to avoid conflict between these great peoples, King Ferdinand has asked that we arbitrate their differences. And both nations, hoping for divine guidance, have agreed to accept