The Borgias (60 page)

It was said—probably without encouragement from Cesare, who was little more inclined to explain his conduct than to reveal his plans—that the killings had been committed in self-defense. Many believed them a necessary countermove against men whom Cesare knew with certainty to be once again planning to kill him. This is in no way implausible. Vitelli, Oliverotto, and the others were not only murderers but vicious murderers, and endlessly treacherous. If Lucrezia’s onetime almost-fiancé Francesco duke of Gravina was made of better stuff, he was an Orsini all the same and could hardly have been allowed to survive after seeing so many of his kinsmen cut down. Regardless of whether the killings were, strictly speaking, necessary or at least defensible, they were widely regarded as sensible and appropriate. Every tyrant still in power in Italy, and every city and town south of Venice and Milan and north of Naples, learned that the only available alternatives were to cooperate with Cesare or prepare to fight him to the death.

Place after place therefore prostrated itself at Cesare’s feet. Within a week after leaving Senigallia, he was master of the Vitelli family’s stronghold of Città di Castello and of Oliverotto’s Fermo, both of which sent out welcoming parties as soon as Borgia troops appeared on the horizon. Gian Paolo Baglioni, whose refusal to trust Cesare or join his
impresa
had saved him from sharing the fate of his cronies at Senigallia, found it prudent to flee his home base of Perugia, so that it too fell peaceably. Cesare stayed on the move, sweeping up everything in his path, and by the time of the second strangling he was at the walls of Siena. He demanded that the city expel its tyrant Pandolfo Petrucci, who like Baglioni had been too wary to join in the rendezvous at Senigallia. Cesare promised Petrucci safe passage out of the city and went through the motions of preparing an attack that he had no intention of carrying out because Siena was now among the places under Louis XII’s
protection. The city’s elders wanted no trouble—were making it clear that they wanted Petrucci to go—but he was in no hurry to give up the rich and beautiful city of which he had been master for much of his life.

The Orsini too were unwilling to go quietly. They knew that Alexander and Cesare were now intent upon their utter destruction, and that their only options were to fight or perish. Led by Virginio Orsini’s son Gian Giordano and Niccolò Orsini, count of Pitigliano, joined by the Savelli clan and even some of the surviving but imperiled elements of the Colonna, they used their remaining strongholds near Rome as bases from which to launch a surprise counteroffensive against Rome. The troops that Cesare had left behind turned them back at the Ponte Nomentano at the north end of the city, but not before the attack put such a scare into the pope that he demanded the return of Cesare’s army. Learning of this, and assuming that Cesare must now be hurrying toward Rome, the Orsini withdrew to their hilltop castles. With them fled Cardinal Ippolito d’Este, who though the brother of Lucrezia’s husband Alfonso had reason to be afraid: to his long list of sexual conquests he had recently added Cesare’s favorite mistress, the celebrated Fiammetta, and Jofrè Borgia’s wife Sancia. The pope in disgust had Sancia confined to the Castel Sant’Angelo and demanded that Jofrè bestir himself to take a hand in dealing with those Orsini who had not run away.

On January 28 Pandolfo Petrucci finally departed Siena. Cesare, in spite of his promise of safe passage, dispatched cavalry to find him and take him prisoner. Once again, however, Petrucci was saved by the skepticism that life among killers had ingrained in him. Guessing correctly that Cesare had no intention of keeping his word, he took to the back roads and managed to slip away to refuge in Lucca. Two days later, in an absurdly belated effort to ingratiate itself with Cesare, the
signoria
of Siena issued a decree expelling the already absent Petrucci. Whatever temptation Cesare may have felt to sack the city was overridden by his unwillingness to antagonize the French. Instead he started southward toward Rome, allowing his soldiers to plunder until they entered the Papal States, then stopping to regroup at Viterbo.

A breach was opening between him and the pope, one so serious that it threatened to alter the whole strategic situation. The immediate issue at this point was where to send the papal army and how to use it.
Alexander, faced with continuing disturbances and sensitive to the Vatican’s vulnerability, insisted that the army return to Rome. He wanted to use it first to control and defend the city, then to go on the offensive and drive the Orsini out of their remaining strongpoints. His prime targets were Ceri, Cerveteri, Bracciano, and Pitigliano, because if they could be taken, the clan would be stripped of the means to defend itself. Cesare, an adventurer to the marrow of his bones but rarely a reckless one, took a different view of what was possible. He could see nothing but trouble rising out of even a successful campaign against Bracciano and Pitigliano; the former belonged to the late Virginio’s sons, regarded as friends by Louis XII, while the lord of Pitigliano, Count Niccolò Orsini, held a
condotta
as commander in chief of Venice’s armies. And so Cesare dragged his heels, letting more than a week go by without moving out of Viterbo. Alexander fumed.

Not that the pope’s anger was unreasonable. The Orsini were playing their old game, creating so much disorder in and around Rome that it amounted to guerrilla warfare, and meanwhile the imprisoned Cardinal Orsini’s brother Giulio, from his base at Ceri, was disrupting the operations of the alum mines at Tolfa. On February 7 the pope declared the Orsini to be rebels against the Church (a transparently self-serving charge, but not exactly false under the circumstances) and therefore excommunicated. Without consulting Cesare he dispatched artillery for use in a siege of Bracciano. When Cesare objected, the pope, in an outburst that revealed how unhappy he was with the situation, threatened him with the loss of all his fiefs. Cesare at last responded, but with a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm. He sent his siege equipment not to Bracciano but to the less defensible Ceri. Barely a week after getting his troops into position there, in company with his cousin Cardinal Ludovico Borgia and his wife’s brother Cardinal Amanieu d’Albret, he returned to Rome. Once there he showed less interest in conferring with Alexander than in indulging in the pleasures of the pre-Lenten carnival. He was seen coming and going at all hours, his habit of wearing a mask drawing little attention in streets crowded with drunken and masked revelers. For a brief period Cesare the pleasure-seeking youth eclipsed Cesare the calculating empire builder. And the tension between him and the pope threatened to become a rupture.

The situation was fraught with difficulty for all the rulers of Italy.
Even Louis XII had constantly to balance shifting and sometimes conflicting priorities: his need for papal endorsement of his claim to Naples, and for the papal army, against the need to keep the Borgias from becoming unmanageable. The need to keep Cesare under control against the need not to drive Alexander back into the arms of Spain. When in late February the city of Pisa offered to make itself subject to Cesare in hope of getting desperately needed assistance in its long fight for independence from Florence, Louis decided that the pendulum was swinging too far in favor of the Borgias. He pulled Florence, Bologna, Lucca, and Siena together in a new league, making all these cities (some of which he had previously betrayed) not only his allies but his wards and therefore safe from Cesare. This exacerbated the pope’s uneasiness and worsened his differences with Cesare.

All these troubles were deepened by what was happening in Naples, where the inevitable breakdown of the accord by which France and Spain had divided the conquered kingdom was proceeding apace. As clashes along the border between the French and Spanish sectors grew more intense, the two powers found themselves sliding into a winner-take-all war. The Spanish had two great advantages: the proximity of Naples’s southern provinces to their island kingdom of Sicily, a secure base from which troops and supplies could be sent without difficulty, and the command of their forces by the best soldier then living. Gonsalvo the Great Captain had continued to display the gifts for which he had originally become famous in Spain and at the time of Charles VIII’s invasion. Fifty years old at the start of the war with Louis XII, he was at the height of his powers, always able, somehow, to find unexpected ways of dealing with whatever his enemies threw at him.

His opponent in 1503, Bernard Stewart d’Aubigny, was yet another remarkable figure. Descended from Scottish nobles who had entered the service of the French crown and been rewarded with titles and land, he had over the years been commander of the royal bodyguard, leader of the French troops that accompanied Henry Tudor on the invasion of England that ended in his becoming King Henry VII, and French governor first of Milan and then of the city of Naples. At the start of his confrontation with Gonsalvo’s Spaniards he had a numerical advantage so substantial that it was generally expected to be decisive, but step by step he found himself being outwitted, outmaneuvered, and finally, humiliatingly,
outfought. By springtime Gonsalvo was on the offensive, and as his troops swept forward, some sixty-five fortified towns surrendered without so much as pretending to resist. April 1503 decided the matter: on the twenty-first day of that month a Spanish force freshly arrived from Sicily defeated d’Aubigny and took him prisoner. One week later, at Cerignola, Gonsalvo used explosives in a way never previously attempted to crush the main French army. Among the heroes of the hour were Fabrizio and Prospero Colonna, the same cousins and partners who had narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the Borgias after the fall of Don Fadrique and who soon thereafter had signed on with Gonsalvo. Their contribution at Cerignola was an impressive one: the breaking of the usually impregnable formations of d’Aubigny’s Swiss mercenaries.

Cesare had remained in Rome after the end of carnival, still resisting the pope’s demands that he prosecute the war on the Orsini. Finally, and only in response to Alexander’s mounting threats and imprecations, he had set off on April 6 to resume command of the siege at Ceri. En route, however, he was met by a Rome-bound messenger carrying news that Giulio Orsini had surrendered Ceri, his
rocca
having been broken to bits by Cesare’s artillery and all hope of rescue ended by a message from Louis XII urging him to give up. Louis, though unhappy about the Borgia attack on Ceri, had found himself obliged to abandon the city by the deteriorating position of his forces in Naples and his increasingly urgent need for Cesare’s army. Cesare hastened to work out a formal settlement with the now-helpless Giulio Orsini, and the agreement that followed was of course heavily in favor of the Borgias. Its central provision was a gift to the pope, the realization of a lifelong dream: Giulio agreed to renounce his family’s claim to its possessions nearest Rome. In return he accepted scattered estates in faraway places and safe passage for himself and his family to Niccolò Orsini’s base at Pitigliano. Alexander, still intent on the absolute elimination of the Orsini, cannot have been pleased when he learned of Cesare’s most important concession. He had promised to attack neither Pitigliano nor the only bastion of importance remaining to the Orsini within striking distance of Rome, the late Virginio’s great castle at Bracciano, now the lair of his sons. Cesare, however, was not being cowardly or foolishly generous. Pitigliano was all but untouchable because implicitly under
Venetian protection, and Louis of France had declared Bracciano to be under his umbrella—porous though that umbrella had often proved to be.

The war against the Orsini was thus over, and on terms that Cesare at least found altogether satisfactory. To the extent that Alexander was not as pleased, he too had his reasons. So long as Bracciano remained in Orsini hands, the clan would have a base from which to challenge papal authority in the region. And it was not certain that an attack on it could not have been successful. The straits in which King Louis found himself would have made him hesitate before deciding to take military action against the Borgias and would have limited his ability to bring sufficient force to bear had he overcome his hesitation. The situation was too complicated, the variables too numerous, to judge conclusively that Cesare was right and Alexander wrong or vice versa. Cesare, in any case, was having things his way.

He was by this point convinced that he could never be his own man, that his conquests could never be secure, so long as he was dependent on either France or Spain. The chronic tension between him and the pope over where to position themselves in the Franco-Spanish rivalry simply underscored the seriousness of the problem. His solution was to cut himself off from Louis XII and the alliance that had been the cornerstone of Borgia policy since his first visit to the French court. This was an understandable move in light of Louis XII’s financial, military, and political difficulties and his growing skepticism about Borgia power. Its effects on the Vatican, however, proved to be morally corrosive. Alexander, hard-pressed to satisfy Cesare’s demands but unwilling to deny him and so risk the loss of what had already been gained at such great cost, created eighty new positions in the Curial bureaucracy and sold them at average price of 760 ducats per job. Two weeks later a respected veteran of the Sacred College, Pope Paul II’s nephew Cardinal Giovanni Michiel, died a prisoner in the Castel Sant’Angelo at the end of two days of violent vomiting. His personal fortune, believed to exceed 150,000 ducats, was seized for the papal treasury. As invariably happened in such cases, poisoning was rumored, and this is one instance in which the rumors cannot be dismissed out of hand.

The faithful Michelotto Corella, the strangler of Senigallia, began using his new position as governor of Rome to extort money from the
population. Among his methods were accusing members of the city’s growing Spanish community of being “Marani”—Muslims pretending to be Christian—and forcing Jews to buy exemption from harassment. This last was a surprising departure for the pope, who up to this point had been a friend to Rome’s Jews, welcoming refugees from the Spanish Inquisition. It indicates the degree to which his better nature was shriveling under the pressure of Cesare’s ceaseless demands.