The Family - Mario Puzo [52]
Sancia was the same age as Juan, though she seemed far less mature. She was beautiful in a classic Aragonese way, with dark green eyes, long dark lashes, and lustrous jet-black hair. Her entire demeanor was light and impish, which gave everyone the impression of a playful wit. In truth it was a shallow pretension, an overused device to charm the innocent.
Juan took Sancia’s hand as he led her down the overgrown path to a clearing in the forest. There she saw the cottage, of rough-hewn pine with a stone chimney.
“Not the proper place for a princess,” Juan said, smiling at her. For she was after all the daughter of King Masino of Naples and therefore a true princess.
“I think it’s charming,” Sancia responded, still clinging to Juan’s hand.
Once inside, Juan made a fire as Sancia walked around the room examining the many mounted trophies of animal heads on the wall. She stopped and stroked the fruitwood dresser, the headboard of the full feathered bed, and the other pieces of fine country furniture, its golden patina reflecting years of careful use and polish.
“Why does your father leave this place furnished if it’s no longer used?” she asked.
Juan, who was kneeling in front of the fireplace, looked up and smiled. “Father still uses it on occasion, when he has a visitor with whom he wishes to be alone . . . just as I do now.” Juan stood and crossed the room to her. He quickly pulled her close, his arm encircling her. Then he kissed her. For a moment she was silent, but then she leaned away, murmuring, “No, no, I can’t. Jofre will . . . ”
Juan’s longing forced him to pull Sancia even closer as he said in a husky whisper, “Jofre will do nothing. He is capable of nothing!”
Juan may have disliked his brother Cesare, but he respected his intelligence and physical skills. For the frivolous Jofre, on the other hand, he had nothing but disdain.
Now, Juan pulled his brother’s wife to him again. Moving his hand beneath her loose white skirt, he caressed her inner thigh, moving his fingers upward slowly until he felt her respond. Then he pulled her toward the nearby bed.
Within seconds they lay together. Lit only by the fire’s flickering glow, Sancia’s long black hair spread across the pillow made her look exquisite, and her skirt lifted high flamed Juan’s desire. Juan quickly moved atop her. As he thrust into her, and then slowly withdrew, he heard her moan. But she didn’t resist; instead she kissed him hard on his open lips again and again, drinking from his mouth as if with an unquenchable thirst. Juan began to push harder, thrust after long powerful thrust, sliding deeper and deeper into her, driving from Sancia’s head all thoughts of “no” and of Jofre—spiraling her into a mindless oblivion.
That evening the Pope and his family ate a late dinner in the open air on the shores of Silverlake. Colored lanterns hung from the trees, and flaming torches flickered on tall wooden poles all along the shores. The game they had slain made a great feast, enough to feed the more than one hundred members of the Pope’s entourage with plenty left over for the poor in the nearby towns. And after the jugglers and musicians had entertained them at the banquet, Juan and Sancia stood up and sang a duet.
Cesare, sitting alongside Lucrezia, wondered when the two had found time to practice together, for they sang very prettily. But Sancia’s husband seemed pleased and applauded. Cesare wondered if Jofre could be as dense as he appeared.
Pope Alexander enjoyed good conversation as much as hunting, food, and beautiful women. After the evening banquet, when the comedy of actors and the dancing began, Alexander discoursed to his children. One of the actors, in a fit of daring common to those eccentric folk, had given a dialogue in which a poor suffering nobleman questioned how a merciful God could inflict natural misfortunes on faithful men. How could He permit floods, fires, plagues? How could He let innocent children suffer