The Family - Mario Puzo [47]
Over the last several days, Djem himself had appeared to be enjoying his situation as a French hostage. In fact just the night before Cesare had heard him talking to the troops, drinking with them and excitedly planning to help overthrow his own brother, the sultan. It would not be an easy task to convince Djem to return with him to Rome, and it would be a danger to confide in him.
Now, Cesare examined his options: a double escape would double the danger, and he could not afford to fail. Djem was in no danger from the French, for alive he had value as a means to compromise the Pope, and if Alexander and Spain failed in their plan, he would certainly be a help to Charles in his Crusade. Dead, of course, he would have no value at all. And so Cesare made his decision.
That night, near midnight, he stepped outside his tent. Two guards—young men he was familiar with, for they had spent many nights together—were sitting on the ground around a small campfire.
Cesare greeted them. “It is a beautiful night. Clear and crisp, is it not?” When they agreed, he pretended to study the skies. “A full moon,” he said, “and yet I hear no howling . . . ” Then he laughed so they would understand he was being playful.
One of the young men held out a flask and offered it to him. But Cesare shook his head. “I have something better,” he said. And he stepped back into his tent, returning with a bottle of fine red wine and three silver goblets.
The eyes of the soldiers glimmered in the moonlight as he handed them each a goblet and poured one for himself.
The men toasted each other in the dark, outside the tent, gazing together at the stars. But within a short time the two young men began to yawn. Cesare bade them good night and walked inside his tent, where he returned the small brown sack Noni had given him to its hiding place and sat to wait.
Within twenty minutes Cesare peered outside the tent to find both guards in a deep sleep.
Then, fully dressed, he slipped silently through the long row of tents to the place the horses were tied. There another guard sat with his back toward Cesare, watching the sleeping troops. Cesare silently slipped behind him, putting his hand over the guard’s mouth to make certain no sound escaped. Then he quickly applied a headlock, and with his forearm placed heavy pressure on the soldier’s throat and neck. Within moments the young man lost consciousness.
Cesare found his horse, a swift, strong black stallion, and carefully walked him to the edge of the encampment, trying not to make a sound. There he mounted the stallion, riding bareback as he had done so many times before at Silverlake. Once he reached the roadway, Cesare flew through the night toward Rome.
The following day, after a bath and change of clothes, Cesare was led into his father’s study. Alexander rose to greet him with tears in his eyes. And when the Pope embraced him, it was with such strength that Cesare found himself surprised.
Alexander had true affection in his voice. “Cesare, my son, you can’t imagine my torture these last days. You saved me from the most terrible choice of my life. Once I had gathered the members of the Holy League, I knew that Charles would consider it a breach of our agreement, and so I feared for your safety. For one of the few times in my life, I was tormented by indecision. Was I to stop my plans for the league and sacrifice our territories and the papacy? Or was I to move forward, at the risk of my dear son’s life?”
Cesare had seldom seen his father so distressed, and he found himself amused. “And what did you decide?” he asked playfully.
“It hardly matters now, my son,” Alexander said, smiling gently. “For you are safe and so have solved my dilemma.”
King Charles’s reaction to Cesare’s escape was milder than the Pope had expected. And once Alexander learned the