The Family - Mario Puzo [5]
Then Cesare moved aside to make way for Juan. It may have been the speed of the younger boy’s heart or its frantic beating against his own chest, it may have been the quickness of his breath, signaling his nervousness, but some part of Rodrigo responded to Juan’s frailty. And when the cardinal embraced this son, he hugged him more gently but held onto him a little longer.
Usually, when the cardinal ate alone in his chambers, he ate sparsely, only bread, fruit, and cheese. But on this day he had instructed his servants to provide a table filled to excess with pasta and poultry, oxen with special sweetmeats, and round mounds of candied chestnuts.
As the children, Adriana and her son Orso, and the beautiful and charming Julia Farnese sat around the table laughing and chattering, Rodrigo Borgia felt like a fortunate man. Surrounded by family and friends, life on this earth was good. Silently he said a prayer of gratitude. When his manservant poured the blood-red wine into his silver goblet, he was filled with goodwill. And so, in a gesture of affection, he offered the first sip to his son Juan, who was seated next to him.
But Juan tasted the wine and made a face. “It’s too bitter, Papa,” he said. “I don’t like it.”
Rodrigo Borgia, always alert, suddenly froze with fear. This was a sweet wine; there should be no bitterness . . .
Almost immediately the child complained of feeling sick, and doubled over with stomach pains. Both his father and Adriana tried to reassure him, but only moments later Juan began to vomit violently. The cardinal lifted the boy from his seat, carried him into an anteroom, and placed him on the brocade couch.
The Vatican physician was called immediately, but before he could make his way to the chambers Juan had lost consciousness.
“Poison,” the physician declared, after examining the child.
Juan was white as death and already feverish, a thin stream of black bile running from his lips. He looked quite small and helpless.
Now Rodrigo Borgia lost his holy composure. He became furious. “A poison meant for me . . . ” he said.
Duarte Brandao, who had been standing by, now drew his sword, alert and watchful for any further attempts to harm the cardinal or his family.
The cardinal turned to him. “There is an enemy inside the palace. Gather everyone together in the Main Chamber. Pour them each a goblet of wine and insist that they drink it. Then bring me the one who refuses.”
Adriana, concerned, whispered, “My dear cousin, Your Worthiness, I understand your grief, but in this way you will lose your most trusted servants, for many will become sick and some will die . . . ”
Rodrigo turned to her. “I will not offer them the wine that was offered my poor innocent son. The wine they are offered will be pure. But only the sinner will refuse to drink, for his fear will choke him before he lifts the cup to his lips.”
Duarte left at once to carry out the cardinal’s orders.
Juan lay still as stone, pale as death. Adriana, Julia, and Lucrezia sat at his side, wiping his forehead with wet cloths and healing ointments.
Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia lifted his son’s small limp hand and kissed it; then he walked to his private chapel and knelt before the statue of the Madonna to pray. He reasoned with her, for he knew she understood the loss of a son and the pain it caused. And he vowed, “I will do everything in my power, everything humanly possible, to bring the immortal souls of thousands to the one true church. Your church, Holy Mother. I will see to it that they worship your son, if only you will spare the life of mine . . . ”
Young