The Borgia Betrayal: A Novel (34 page)

“He would not approve of what I am about to propose.”

On the other hand, honesty has its own advantages, chief among them being the element of surprise.

“All I ask is that you hear me out,” I said quickly. “Sound reason lies behind my intent. Only give me the chance to make that clear.”

As Luigi hastened to pour wine and pass it round, I continued, “You no doubt know by now that Cesare has seen fit to lock me away under guard.” I was confident that Portia would not have hesitated to share that juicy bit of information, nor was I disappointed.

Despite her attempt to maintain a stern demeanor, Sofia chuckled. “Which explains, of course, why you are here?”

“Of course. Cesare may do as he pleases but he makes a serious mistake when he imagines that I will simply fall in with his wishes.”

“Yet, if he is acting to protect you—,” Guillaume ventured.

I took a sip of the wine—a good Piedmont vintage, if I was not mistaken. “I believe his motives are more complex than that. By locking me away so publicly—men in his livery surround my building, after all—he thinks to convince Morozzi that Borgia is more vulnerable and thereby lure him out.”

“What are you saying?” Luigi asked. “That he is using his own father, Il Papa himself, as bait?” He could not disguise his shock.

For my part, I wasn’t above taking a little pleasure at the thought of His Holiness being staked out on the board like one of his own pawns. Which is not to say that I underestimated the difficulties inherent in any such plan. But then I had a great deal more experience with going up against Morozzi and losing than did the son of Jove.

“Trying to use me as bait failed at the villa and again at Santa Maria. Indeed, all it has done is provoke Morozzi into what he did last night.”

This was a hard truth for me to accept but I had no choice. I had played a part in bringing about the terrible death of the young girl.

“That being the case,” I continued, “there is nothing left but to use Borgia.”

“But the risk—,” Guillaume began.

“Cesare overbrims with confidence. I am certain he has convinced himself that he can prevent any real danger to his father. To that end, I believe he has enlisted the help of Vittoro Romano, head of the Pope’s own guard.”

Such was the conclusion I had come to when I saw Vittoro make no effort to intervene as Cesare ordered me detained. To the contrary, it appeared to me that the two men were of one accord.

“But this is madness,” Luigi protested. “Cesare cannot hope to predict what Morozzi will do in such circumstance. The attack against Borgia could come from any direction. No one can protect against every possibility.”

“That is true,” I agreed. “I believe that Cesare is relying on Morozzi—having learned that I am off the board, as it were—becoming overly confident and therefore careless. But Morozzi is cleverer by far than Cesare wants to acknowledge. He will not be fooled so easily.”

“Then what do you propose?” Guillaume asked.

I had considered carefully what I would say to convince them, mindful that they would not be easy to persuade. Scarcely had I begun than Luigi choked on his wine and had to spit it out into his goblet. He turned bright red, whether from the effort or embarrassment I could not say, and looked at me in horror.

As for Sofia, she had gone pale as the alabaster statues that decorate the inner sanctums of the Vatican.

Only Guillaume appeared interested. His dark gaze on me, he asked, “How exactly do you intend to die?”

28

The experience of arranging one’s own death has a certain macabre appeal. An event in which we generally have no control whatsoever suddenly becomes susceptible to the most exacting manipulation. But before I became too absorbed in the details of the affair, there were practical matters to be considered, chief among them the disposal of the body.

I proposed that Luigi serve as executor of my estate and in such capacity arrange for my internment within his family crypt.

From Guillaume, I requested that he stand as witness to my wishes and give his support to Luigi in all proceedings.

From Sofia, I needed the means to exit this world.

“Absolutely not,” she said. “The risk is too great. You are mad to even consider such a thing. Do you truly have no notion of what—”

“I will do it without you if I must.”

For a moment, I thought she would storm from the room. Only with the most visible effort did she regain control of herself. Even then her hands gripped the arms of her chair as she stared at me across the table.

“If Morozzi really has come to Rome to kill Borgia,” she said, “he will act regardless of anything to do with you. When he does so, he will expose himself to capture or death. There is no reason for you to take such a terrible risk to bring about what will happen anyway.”

I reminded myself that the apothecary, in addition to being my friend, was a woman of true intelligence and wisdom. I could not simply disregard her concerns.

“Cesare is underestimating Morozzi,” I insisted. “He believes that when the priest learns that I’ve been locked away, he will be emboldened to strike at Borgia and in the process be lured into a trap. But Morozzi is far too clever for so clumsy a maneuver. He is much more likely to assume that there is a trap and take every precaution to avoid it.”

“Whereas you think that if he believes you are dead, he really will become careless?” Sofia asked.

“He has been trying to kill me since last year. If he thinks I am dead, he will be elated. He may even take it as a sign that God favors his enterprise. He will feel safe enough to strike at Borgia and in so doing, please God, fall into the trap Cesare has laid for him. But beyond that, I will be alive, able to move against him without his awareness. He will not see me until it is too late.”

“If you are wrong—”

“I am not. Nothing less than what I propose will do.”

Sofia hesitated, weighing my argument. I knew that I had won when she attempted to redirect her opposition.

“The slightest miscalculation in the amount of the dosage or the potency of the ingredients and you will never wake.”

“I have considered that and I am confident it can be done safely.”

Despite my morose musings a few weeks before on the bridge spanning the Tiber, I truly did not want to die. Not then. But if Cesare overbrimmed with confidence, I was no stranger to it myself. So great was my faith in my abilities, augmented by Sofia’s good sense and experience, that I believed the risk could be all but eliminated.

We need not dwell on the extent of my foolishness. In my own defense, I will say that I was still quite young.

“Is there truly a drug that can accomplish such a thing?” Luigi asked. He had followed the conversation between Sofia and me intently, but had not disputed my conclusions. Even so, he appeared to hope that the answer would be no.

“There are potions that suppress both heart and breath,” Sofia acknowledged. “But as I just said, the risk—”

“Should not be exaggerated,” I insisted. “All that is needed is for me to be seen to be dead and declared the same by people who will be believed. Borgia will try to conceal my death, of course, for his own protection. Therein lies the real danger to me. He is perfectly capable of smuggling me away to burial in an unmarked grave as he did with my father.”

I had not forgiven Il Papa for that. After I killed Morozzi, I would demand as a sign of Borgia’s gratitude that I be allowed to see my father properly interred.

To Luigi, I said, “You will have to act quickly to take possession of my remains and then stand firm against Borgia’s demands. Wave the testament I will sign giving you authority to act for me in front of him and insist that I be interred as I wished.”

“It will be my pleasure to frustrate His Holiness in such a matter.” Clearly, the banker had not forgiven the destruction of his villa.

“Then we have only to determine when it will be done,” I said. My eyes met Sofia’s across the table.

“If Borgia falls to Savonarola,” I said, “there will be no future for any of us who believe in a world of light and reason. We will die in any case and so will tens of thousands of others, perhaps more. Everything we have been working for will be destroyed. Surely, any risk is justified in order to prevent that?”

I knew that I had her when she blinked back tears and looked away.

The details took over. We trundled down to the cellar beneath the palazzo where Luigi kept a strong room complete with scales. There the men courteously absented themselves. Under Sofia’s supervision, I removed all clothing save for my shift and submitted myself to being carefully weighed. When that was done, Luigi returned with a trusted secretary, who took down my last testament. After designating funds for a simple—and I hoped speedy—funeral, I divided most of my wealth between Sofia, who protested that I should do no such thing but who I knew would use it to care for the truly needy, and Rocco to hold in trust for Nando. My books would also go to Sofia, who I knew would treat them well. I left a sum to Portia along with the request that she look after Minerva. On sudden impulse, I decided to leave my mother’s wedding chest to Lucrezia. She had many items of far greater value and yet I believed she would take good care of it. My puzzle chest would go to Cesare, who would appreciate its cleverness. Guillaume witnessed my signature with his own, after which I saw the testament locked safely away in Luigi’s vault.

All was in place, save for one remaining matter. I am not a sentimental woman, believing as I do that such emotion breeds folly. But having been forced by Sofia to at least consider the possibility that I might truly die, I had a call to make.

Careful to avoid the patrols roaming throughout the city, I made my way to the Campo dei Fiori. Rocco was in the courtyard behind his shop. I watched in the shadows near the back door while he clipped a perfect sphere of crimson glass streaked with gold from the blowpipe and set it carefully on a rack. When I stepped forward, he looked surprised but, to my relief, not displeased to see me.

“I thought Cesare Borgia had you locked away.”

“He has, can’t you tell?” It was a feeble attempt at humor, to be blamed on my nerves. I will not say that I was suddenly anxious as a girl, though you may conclude that for yourself.

Rocco stripped off his thick leather gloves and set them aside. “The boy lord has some misconceptions about you, doesn’t he?”

As I had no particular desire to discuss exactly how well Cesare did or did not know me, I said only, “He can believe what he likes. I don’t actually have much time—”

Every moment I stayed away increased the risk that the young condottiere would take it into his head to make sure I was still under lock and key.

“I only came to say that … I’ve been thinking and…”

“It’s all right,” Rocco said. He came forward quickly and took my hands in his. I felt their warmth, saw the look in his eyes, and forgot to breathe. His stiffness dropped away from him and he looked suddenly young and eager.

“I’m sorry that I mentioned what I did,” he said. “Nothing has been decided. I have no particular desire to ally with the d’Agnellis. In fact—”

“But you should.” I spoke in a rush, suddenly fearful that I would lose my courage if I let him say another word. Rocco was everything I yearned for—life, love, a chance to step out of darkness into light, all temptations before which I feared my brittle resolve would crumble.

Before that could happen, I said, “Carlotta d’Agnelli is a wonderful person, everyone thinks so, and this is a great opportunity for you. You deserve it.”

As he most surely did not deserve a woman roiled by inner darkness and driven to kill. A woman who, one way or another, might be dead herself before much longer.

He went very still, his gaze so intent that I had no choice but to look away or risk him seeing the twisted black knot that was my heart.

“That’s why you’re here, to tell me this?”

Why had I come? Because if my grand plan went wrong and I really did die, I wanted to leave Rocco free to go on with his life without feeling any guilt at having been unable to change mine? How extraordinarily presumptuous, even for me. No, the truth was I had come to free myself. Whatever I was about to face, I wanted to do it without clinging to false hope for a future that could never be.

“We live in perilous times,” I said. “No one knows from one day to the next what will happen. You should not hesitate to do what is right for you. Carlotta d’Agnelli—”

He dropped my hands and took a step back. For the first time since I had known him, his eyes went cold.

“I don’t need marriage advice from you, of all people. Really, sometimes I think you are the most thick-skulled woman in Creation.”

Under the circumstances, I really had not expected compliments. But neither was I prepared to hear his complaints regarding my character just at the moment when I was trying, for whatever purpose, to rise above my baser urges.

“Perhaps I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that—”

“You are out, wandering around like this”—he gestured at my boy’s garb—“after the atrocity at Santa Maria. I never thought I’d have any sympathy for Cesare Borgia but I’ll give him this, he’s right to want to lock you up. You’re at least as much a menace to yourself as to anyone else.”

I opened my mouth to utter a withering reply only to stand mute and gaping. His sudden alliance with Cesare of all people—hadn’t they almost been at blows not long ago?—seemed a betrayal of the worst sort. Rocco was supposed to be my patient, stalwart friend, the one who never gave up on me. Yet he seemed to be doing exactly that.

Fine, then, the Devil take him.

“Why don’t you tell him that yourself?” I asked. “The two of you can get drunk and complain to each other about the folly of women. I’m sure you would both enjoy that.”

“Francesca…”

“No, no Francesca! I came to you out of decency after you suddenly announce, at the worst possible time, that you’ve found the perfect helpmate. I think you’re right, she is perfect! So marry her, for pity’s sake, and be done with me!”

“If it weren’t for Nando—”