The Family - Mario Puzo [91]
Suddenly Alexander understood Giuliano della Rovere’s hostility toward him, understood his jealousy and hatred. For he had everything that della Rovere had believed was his—the papacy, the lover, the son.
It was no secret among the cardinals that della Rovere had only loved once, that Vanozza was the great love of his life. He felt considerable humiliation when she left him for Rodrigo Borgia. Until then he’d had a spark of joy in his eyes, and a ready laugh. It was only after Vanozza was gone that he became so bitter, angry, and zealous a man. It did not help that he had never had a son; all his children were daughters. How God had tested him.
Alexander felt a wave of relief wash over him, for he understood so much more now that he admitted to himself what he had always suspected—that he had never been certain about Cesare. Had he not loved Vanozza with such passion, and admired her as well, he might have asked the question earlier and spared himself and Cesare great suffering. But to live without her, to risk losing her, was too great a cost, and so he never had.
“I’ll consider what you have suggested about our son,” Alexander told Vanozza. “And I will speak to Cesare about his choice of vocation. If he will ever speak to me.”
Vanozza’s voice was filled with compassion. “Our son Juan is dead, Rigo. Without him life will never be the same. But our Cesare is alive, and you need him to lead your armies. If not him, who will? Jofre? No, Rigo. It must be Cesare, for he is a warrior. But in order to claim his life you must use your love to free him. Let someone else be Pope. We have had happy lives.”
As Alexander stood and bent to kiss Vanozza’s cheek, he caught the scent of her perfume. And when he turned to leave, it was not without regret.
Vanozza stood at the doorway, and smiled as she waved. “Look at his hands, Rigo. Be at peace.”
On the day Cesare returned to Rome from Florence, he immediately came to confer with his father and Duarte Brandao. They retired to an inner chamber hung with tapestries and decorated with the intricately carved chests that held the raiments of his office. There were no formalities here. Alexander embraced his son, but there was a warmth in that embrace which made Cesare wary.
Duarte spoke first. “Have you found the prophet as dangerous to us as has been rumored?” he asked.
Cesare sat on a cushioned chair opposite Duarte and his father. “He is an impassioned speaker, and the citizens gather in great crowds, as though at a carnival, to hear him preach.”
Alexander looked interested. “And he speaks about?”
“Reform,” Cesare said. “And the indulgences of the Borgia family. He accuses us of all manner of evil deeds, and frightens the people into believing that to follow the Holy Church in Rome and to honor the papacy will doom them to eternal damnation.”
Alexander stood and began to pace. “It is unfortunate that a mind so bright as his has been invaded by such demons. I’ve often enjoyed his writings. And I’ve heard it said he admires the world of nature—that often on clear nights he will awaken everyone in the monastery to call them into the courtyard to gaze at the stars.”
Cesare interrupted Alexander. “Father, he is a danger to us now. He insists on stringent reform. He is aligned with the French. And he insists that the papacy be returned to someone of true virtue. No doubt that someone would be Giuliano della Rovere.”
Alexander bristled. He turned to Duarte and said, “I hesitate to force a man to confess to his sins when he has served the church well, but I fear this must be done. Duarte, see if there is a way to solve this quickly, for it is necessary that some order be brought to Florence before more damage is done.”
Duarte bowed and took his leave.
Alexander finally reclined on a divan and motioned Cesare to an upholstered velvet stool. His face was impassive, but his eyes had that look of shrewdness which he never