The Family - Mario Puzo [69]
Now, with his tunic unbuttoned and his hair matted with sweat, Juan stood up shakily—for he was quite drunk—and prepared to make a toast. He raised his goblet and held it before him, tipping it so the wine began to spill. Jofre reached to help steady it, but Juan roughly pushed him away. Then, with slurring speech, he turned to Cesare and said, “Here’s to my brother’s escape from the French. To his skill at avoiding danger wherever it arises. Whether it be by wearing a cardinal’s hat or fleeing the French. Some call it daring . . . I call it cowardice . . . ” and he began to laugh loudly.
Cesare leapt to his feet, his hand on his sword. He started for Juan, but his old friend Gio Medici grabbed him, and, with the help of Jofre and the pleas of Vanozza, succeeded in holding him back.
Vanozza pleaded with her son. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying, Cesare. He doesn’t mean it.”
Cesare responded with blazing eyes and a set chin. “He knows, Mother, and if it were not your home, I’d kill the insolent bastard at this very moment—though he is my brother and your son.”
Still shaken by his fury, Cesare allowed Gio to guide him back to his seat. The guests, their enthusiasm tempered by the discord of the brothers, sat now in quiet conversation.
Then the masked man stood, and once again whispered something to Juan. And Juan, sobered by his brother’s anger, rose more steadily and announced, “You must excuse me, for I have another appointment I must honor.”
Helped into his dark blue velvet cloak by his page, he quickly left the party accompanied by one of his squires and the tall masked man.
Soon afterward the rest of the party disbanded, and Cesare left with his brother Jofre, Gio, and Ascanio Sforza. As they rode away on horseback, Cesare waved good-bye to his mother, Vanozza, who was left with the young Swiss guard for company.
The men rode swiftly toward the city. Once they passed through the gates of Rome—at the crossroads in front of the Borgia Palace—they talked for quite a while about the incident with Juan. Cesare made it known he could not tolerate his brother’s drunken arrogance and lack of family loyalty. He was determined to speak to Juan again, to impress upon him the seriousness of the incident at Vanozza’s. He wanted to reason with Juan first, but if he had to, he would challenge him to duel to settle things once and for all. Juan knew that in a duel, Cesare was the more skilled, and Juan would be forced to repent his ridiculous conduct—not only with Cesare, but with all those others he had injured, bringing scandal upon the entire Borgia family.
Cesare also knew that it was Juan, not he, who was a coward, no matter his reckless accusations. In any battle, of wills or swords, Cesare would prevail.
Cardinal Ascanio Sforza complained as well—for only a few nights before, when Juan was again drunk, he had slain Ascanio’s majordomo, unprovoked. Ascanio was still displeased about it, and swore that if he had not been wearing the red hat of a cardinal, and did not fear retaliation from the Pope, he himself would have settled the debt with Juan.
Sixteen-year-old Jofre never said a word against Juan, yet Cesare knew he was angry at his brother, for he was not ignorant of Sancia’s relationship with Juan. He was a puzzle, this younger brother. At first, because his expression was so bland, he seemed less than bright. But Cesare had witnessed his transformation in the presence of de Córdoba that night in the garden, and would never see him in the same way again.
After they bid Ascanio good night, and Gio Medici left for his palace, Jofre told Cesare, “I think I will pay a visit to the ghetto and spend a few hours with a woman who will respond to my affections.”
Cesare smiled at him, and slapped his shoulder with encouragement. “You’ll get no argument from me, little