The Family - Mario Puzo [93]
This speech moved Cesare not at all. Faith would not solve his problems. He had to wrest power on this earth, or his head would decorate the walls of Rome. He wanted a wife and children, so it followed that he must live a life of power and richness and not become one of the powerless herd. And to do that, he must commit acts for which his father’s God would make him suffer. Why should he believe in such a God? And he was so alive himself, a man of twenty-three: the taste of wine, food, and women so strongly in his blood that he could not believe in the possibility of his own death, though it had been proven over and over in the death of others.
But Cesare bowed his head. “I believe in Rome, Father,” he said. “I will give my life for it, if you give me the means to fight for it.”
Alexander sighed again. Finally he could fight against this son no longer, for he recognized that Cesare could be his most powerful instrument.
“Then we must make our plans,” he said. “I will appoint you captain general of the papal army, and you will regain the Papal States and become the duke of Romagna. Someday we will unite all the great cities of Italy, impossible as it may seem: Venice, its people living in the water like serpents; those sly sodomites of Florence; haughty Bologna so ungrateful to Mother Church. But we must begin at the beginning. You must be master of the Romagna, and for that you must first marry. We will meet with the consistory of cardinals in a few days, and you will give them back the red hat. Then I will make you captain general. What you lose in your churchly benefices, you will make up for in war.”
Cesare bowed his head. In thanks he attempted to kiss the foot of the Pope, his father, but slowly enough that Alexander moved his body impatiently and said, “Love the church more, Cesare, and your father less. Show your obedience to me with deeds, and not these formal gestures. You are my son and I forgive you all your sins—as any natural father would.”
For the first time in longer than he could remember, Cesare was filled with certainty that he was master of his own fate.
On the night the final contract for the marriage of the Pope’s daughter and Prince Alfonso was signed, Alexander spoke with Duarte. “I wish to hear Lucrezia laugh again,” he said. “She has been solemn for far too long.”
It had not escaped his notice how difficult this past year had been for his daughter, and he hoped to make amends in order to secure her continued loyalty. Knowing it was claimed that Alfonso of Aragon was the “handsomest man in the Imperial City,” the Pope wished to surprise his daughter, and so he insisted Alfonso’s arrival in Rome must remain secret.
Young Alfonso entered the city of Rome early one morning, accompanied by just seven of his envoy. The rest of the fifty who had traveled with him from Naples had been left outside the gates in Marino. He was met by the emissaries of the Pope, who immediately brought him to the Vatican, and once Alexander was reassured by his good looks and forthright manner he was then led on horseback to the Palace of Santa Maria in Portico.
Lucrezia was standing on her balcony humming softly to herself as she watched some children playing tag in the streets below. It was a beautiful summer’s day and she was thinking of the man she was to marry, for her father had informed her he was due to arrive before the week’s end. She found herself looking forward to meeting him, for there had been no one before of whom her brother Cesare spoke with such extravagance.
Suddenly Alfonso rode up and was before her. Lucrezia’s eyes fell on the young prince, and her heart began to race as it had only once before. Her knees weakened and she had to be kept from swooning by Julia and one of her ladies-in-waiting, who had come to warn her of Alfonso’s arrival. But they had come too late.
“Glory to God,” Julia said, smiling. “Is he the most handsome creature you have ever seen?”