The Family - Mario Puzo [75]
She was so happy to see him that she rushed to him, throwing herself upon him, not caring if anyone saw them. But Cesare pushed her away, stood her in front of him and looked at her sternly, his handsome face in a scowl.
“Chez?” she said, almost in tears. “What is it?” She could not believe he had noticed so soon, or heard about her condition from anyone else. But as she stood before her brother, a thousand thoughts running through her mind, he bent his head and said, “Juan is dead. He was murdered in the night.”
Her knees failing her, Lucrezia fell forward, almost hitting the hard marble floor before Cesare caught her. Kneeling next to her, he noticed the paleness of her skin, the small vessels in her closed eyelids more prominent than ever before. He called to her gently—“Crezia, Crezia . . . ”—but she wouldn’t wake. Then, removing his velvet cape, he placed it on the floor and rested her head upon it.
Lucrezia’s eyes fluttered and began to open just as Cesare ran his hand over her belly to soothe her, to wake her. And as her eyes began to focus, all she could see were his eyes.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“It is a terrible nightmare,” she said. “Juan is dead? And Father? Is Father able to bear it?”
“Not well,” Cesare said to her. But then he placed his hand on her stomach and frowned. “There is a change in your condition that I was unaware of.”
“Yes.”
“With Father pursuing an annulment, this has not come at the most fortuitous time. Now no one will believe that swine Giovanni is impotent, and your annulment will not be granted.”
Lucrezia sat up quickly. There was an edge to her brother’s voice; he was displeased with her. She was still shattered by the news of the death of her brother Juan, and now to have Cesare angry with her confused her. “My condition has nothing to do with Giovanni,” she said coolly. “I bedded him once, and that was on a marriage bed.”
Cesare looked angry, “Now what scoundrel shall I slay?”
Lucrezia reached up to touch her brother’s cheek. “This child is yours, my sweet,” she said. “And can it be more bitter?”
He stared silent and thoughtful for long minutes.
Then he said, “I must rid myself of the hat of a cardinal. For no child of mine shall be a bastard.”
Lucrezia covered his lips with her finger. “But no child of yours can ever be mine.”
“We must think, and we must plan,” he said. “Does anyone else know?”
“Not a soul,” Lucrezia said. “For on the day I was certain, I left Rome.”
The Pope locked himself away after Juan’s death. Despite the pleas of Duarte, Don Michelotto, Cesare, and all those who loved him, he refused to eat, or to speak to anyone for days—not even Julia. From outside his chambers his prayers could be heard, and his shrieks of remorse as he begged for forgiveness.
But first he shook his fist and ranted at God. “Heavenly Father, of what benefit is saving the souls of thousands when the loss of this one is the cause of so much pain?” Alexander raged on and on. “To punish me for the loss of virtue, with the life of my son, is unjust. A man is subject to human frailty, but a God is meant to be merciful! ” He sounded as though lunacy had taken hold of him.
Those cardinals whom he favored took turns knocking on the doors to his chambers to beg for entry, to help him in his suffering. But again and again he refused. Finally, a shout was heard throughout the Vatican. “Yes, yes, Heavenly Father, I know—Your Son was martyred too . . . ” And there was silence for two days more.
When Alexander finally opened the doors to his chambers he was thin and pale, but still he seemed at peace. He announced to all who waited: “I have made a vow to the Madonna to reform the church, and I will begin immediately. Call the consistory together so I may address them.”
The Pope proclaimed his love for his son publicly, and told the cardinals in attendance that he would give up seven tiaras to have him back. But because that was not possible, he said, he would instead initiate reform of the church, as Juan’s murder had awakened