The Family - Mario Puzo [59]
After they made love, they lay in bed a long time. Cesare seemed relaxed and Lucrezia could smile again. She rested her head on his shoulder and asked, “Do you believe, as Papa does, that it’s God’s will that his children should live without loving truly?”
“Is that what Papa thinks?” Cesare said, playing with his sister’s hair. “One could not imagine that by his behavior.”
“Well, I am married to a man I certainly don’t love,” she said. “And our brother Juan did not marry for love. Jofre loves easily, so he may be the lucky one, strange as that may seem. For only the hat of a cardinal has saved you from a fate like mine.”
“It is a heavy hat,” Cesare said.
“But not without benefit,” Lucrezia reminded him.
Once they had dressed, they sat at the small wooden table to eat. Cesare poured his sister a fine wine he had brought and raised his goblet to toast. “To your happiness, my dear sister,” he said, smiling. He always felt so safe with Lucrezia, so loved and accepted. He could not imagine a life without her.
He had brought a long loaf of freshly baked bread with a crisp golden crust from Rome—the very kind he knew his sister favored—and it lay alongside several wheels of fresh cheese. As he broke the bread and sliced the cheese to serve her, Cesare said, “I do hope that I will manage to control the way I feel when Juan appears again in Rome. For it takes all my restraint to treat him as a brother.”
With a coy smile, Lucrezia said, “He may have what you want, Chez, but he doesn’t have what you have . . . ”
“I know that, my sweet,” he said, kissing her nose. “I do know that, and it is my salvation.”
Juan Borgia arrived in Rome to great celebration. He rode through the streets poised on a chestnut bay mare draped in a cloth of gold; in his hands he held the reins of her bridle, encrusted with fine jewels. He wore a rich brown velvet suit and a cape studded with precious emeralds. His dark eyes glittered with power, and his lips were set in the insolent smile of an already conquering hero.
When he reached the Vatican, the Pope embraced him, greeting him warmly. “My son, my son,” Alexander repeated, making his way into the Hall of Popes, where he had called a meeting to map the strategy for the papal army.
Long hours were spent in discussion of military tactics with Guido Feltra, Alexander, Juan, Cesare, and Duarte Brandao in attendance.
The gatherings continued for three days. Cesare noticed at these meetings that Duarte seldom addressed Juan directly; if he had a suggestion he addressed it to the Pope, and used Juan’s title, “Captain General,” rather than his name. It was the first time that Cesare suspected Duarte Brandao’s displeasure, and it was so subtle that he was certain only he had noticed.
But that evening, after the final session, as Alexander sat alone with Duarte Brandao, he asked, “You believe it is a mistake to have my son Juan lead our troops against the Orsini?”
Duarte answered with both cleverness and respect. “I believe it is a pity that, by accident of the order of birth, a prince by nature must become a warrior and a true warrior must become a cardinal.”
“But, my friend,” Alexander asked, “do you not believe in destiny? In the plans of our Heavenly Father? In the infallibility of the Pope?”
Duarte Brandao said with good humor, “Who can know of the Heavenly Father’s plan, and are we as mortal men not subject to an occasional error of interpretation? Even the most honorable and virtuous of us?”
“Duarte,” Alexander said, “Pedro Luis, bless his soul, was my firstborn. Cesare is my second son. It is the custom that the second son is called to service in the Holy Church. That plan holds no error in interpretation, for it keeps the power of the royal families in check and yet allows them the advantage of special benefices from our Holy Father. And is a man’s destiny not always both a gift and a burden? For who of us must not struggle with his own free will when praying, ‘Thy will be done, Dear Lord, not