The Family - Mario Puzo [51]
At twilight, Cesare and Lucrezia walked hand in hand beside the gleaming water of the lake. They were a very handsome couple, this brother and sister; his tall and darkly handsome good looks bore such a contrast to her blond hair and hazel eyes, which often shone with intelligence and amusement. On this night, though, she was upset.
Lucrezia said, “It was a mistake, Cesare, Papa forcing me to marry Giovanni. He’s not a good man. He hardly ever speaks to me, and when he does, he’s gruff and rude. I don’t know what I hoped for. I knew ours was a marriage for political advantage, but I had no idea I’d be so unhappy.”
Cesare tried to be gentle. “Crezia, you know that Ludovico Sforza is still the most powerful man in Milan. Giovanni helped cement our relationship with the family at a crucial time.”
Lucrezia nodded. “I understand. Still, I thought somehow I would feel different. But even as we kneeled on those ridiculous gold footstools at that obscenely lavish wedding, and I looked over at the man who was to be my husband, I knew something was terribly wrong. I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry when I saw all those purple-robed cardinals, and the grooms in Turkish costumes of silver brocade. It was meant to be a celebration, and yet I felt completely miserable.”
“Was there nothing that pleased you?” he asked, smiling.
“Yes,” she said. “You, clothed in black. And the Venetian gondolas fashioned from the twenty thousand roses.”
Cesare stopped and faced his sister. “I could not bear it, Crezia,” he said. “I could not bear the thought of you in the arms of another man, no matter the reason. Had I been able to stay away and not be part of that fiasco, I would have. But Papa insisted I be there. That day my heart was as black as my costume . . . ”
Lucrezia kissed her brother gently on the lips.
“Giovanni is an arrogant braggart,” she said. “And he is a terrible lover. I barely escaped his clutches except by weeping like a willow. I cannot even tolerate the smell of him.”
Cesare tried to hide his smile. “To bed him is not the joy it is with me?” he asked.
Lucrezia giggled despite herself. “My dear love, it is the difference between heaven and hell for me.”
As they began to walk again, they crossed a small bridge and entered the forest. “Your husband reminds me of our brother Juan,” Cesare said.
Lucrezia shook her head. “Juan’s young. Maybe he’ll grow out of it. It is not the blessing for him it is for me, to have you as a brother.”
Cesare was silent for a time, but when he spoke it was in a very serious tone. “In truth, I believe our brother Jofre is more of a curse to the family than Juan. I have accepted his stupidity, but the household he and Sancia have established is a scandal. Over a hundred servants for just the two of them? Gold dinner plates and jeweled goblets for two hundred guests whenever they choose? It’s mad, and it reflects badly on our family. More important, it is dangerous for the son of a Pope to live so extravagantly.”
Lucrezia agreed. “I know, Chez. Papa is upset by it too, though he seldom acknowledges it. But he loves Jofre less than he does the rest of us, and knowing his weakness and lack of comprehension, he is more forgiving.”
Cesare stopped once more to gaze at Lucrezia in the moonlit sky. Her pale porcelain skin seemed more luminous than usual. Cesare gently lifted her face so he could look into her eyes. But he saw such sadness that he was forced to look away. “Crezia,” he said then, “do you wish me to talk to Papa about a divorce from Giovanni? Father adores you. He might be willing. Would Giovanni consent?”
Lucrezia smiled at her brother. “I’ve no doubt that my husband could easily live without me; it is my dowry he would miss. It was always the gold in his hand, not the gold of my hair, that captured his affection.”
Cesare smiled at her guilelessness. “I will wait for the proper time, and then I will present the problem to Papa.”
As evening slowly descended on Silverlake, Juan set out to show Jofre