The Family - Mario Puzo [44]
But Cesare was used to this trick of his father—the joviality that masked a serious intent. “He is my brother,” Cesare said respectfully. “So I am fond of him as my brother.”
Cesare had far more terrible secrets to hide than his hatred of his brother—secrets that could ruin his life, and his relationship with his father, the church, and his fellow men. So he did not try too hard to conceal his dislike for Juan. Instead he laughed. “Of course, if he were not my brother, he would be my enemy.”
Alexander frowned with annoyance. He knew he was missing something of importance. “Never say that, even in jest. The Borgia family has many enemies, and we can only survive holding faith with each other.” He rose from the chest and came to Cesare and embraced him. “I know you would rather be a soldier than a priest. But believe me, you are more important in the family plans than Juan, and you know how much I love your brother. But when I die, everything falls unless you are there to succeed me. You are the only one of my children who can accomplish this. You have the wits, the daring, and the fighting skill. There have been warrior Popes before, and surely you can be one.”
“I am too young,” Cesare said impatiently. “You would have to live another twenty years . . . ”
Alexander gave him a push with his hand. “And why not?” He grinned at Cesare, that roguish grin which so endeared him to his children and his mistresses. His deep baritone voice rolled off at full measure. “Who enjoys a banquet more than I? Who can hunt more hours a day than myself? Who loves women better? If it were not so strictly against canon law for a Pope to father children, how many more bastards would I now have? I will live another twenty years, and you shall be Pope. I have already planned it.”
“I would rather fight than pray,” Cesare said. “It is my nature.”
“As you have proven,” Alexander sighed. “But I tell you all this to prove my love for you. You are my dear son and my greatest hope. Someday you, not Charles, will regain Jerusalem.” He paused for a moment, overcome by emotion.
Alexander’s most formidable weapon was his ability to inspire a feeling of well-being in his company—it was this ability to make each person believe that their welfare was of the greatest importance to him that gained their trust, and made them believe more in him than they did in themselves. This was his true treachery.
And so it was in his dealings with royalty, his children, and his subjects: for as long as he was Pope, the entirety of earth was under his dominion.
For a moment the charm of Alexander entranced Cesare. But the reference to another Crusade broke the spell. Popes and kings had often used the hope of another Crusade to extract money from the believing people; it was another source of revenue. But the time for a Crusade had passed, for Islam was now too strong. It threatened Europe itself. Venice lived in fear that its worldwide trade would be cut off by such a war and that the Turks might even attack their city. France and Spain were constantly at each other’s throats for the crown of Naples, and the Pope himself had all he could do to maintain its temporal power in the Papal States of Italy. And his father was too clever not to know all this. But Cesare also knew that Juan was first in his father’s heart—and rightly so, he thought. Juan had the wiles of a devious woman and the fickle heart of a courtier. At times he could even charm Cesare himself, though Cesare despised him because he thought him a coward. Commander of the papal army? A joke!
“When I lead the Crusade, I will have my head tonsured,” Cesare said. It was a joke between his father and himself. Cesare had never worn his hair in the priestly tonsure.
Alexander laughed. “After you lead the Crusade, perhaps you can persuade the church to do away with both celibacy and tonsure for priests. Perhaps they are both healthy practices, but still they are