The Marlowe Conspiracy (55 page)

“It can’t be good,” I said breathlessly. “Dear lord, it can’t be good, it can’t be good!” With Panthasilea in my wake, I dashed back to the palazzo.

On my arrival, a commotion sounded at the central hall, the Sala Reale. Before I entered the room, cardinals, prelates, and soldiers buzzed around in front of me, blocking my view. Seconds later, I saw the cause of the turmoil: ten papal gentlemen emerged from the hall carrying my father’s unconscious body in their arms. His head flopped onto his chest. His arms hung limp at his sides. He was so heavy they almost had to drag him along the corridor.

“What’s happened?” I cried. “Where are you taking him?”

One of the gentlemen carrying Alexander’s legs turned to me and answered: “His Holiness has suffered a grave shock, madonna. We’re taking him back to the Appartamento.”

They struggled as they hauled Alexander down the corridor and disappeared from my sight. Immediately, I plunged into the cavernous depths of the Sala Reale and found Cesare encircled by soldiers. He stood near the papal throne and his face appeared hard and bleak.

“Juan?” I asked. “Tell me you found him?”

He stepped closer to me. “Not yet. But we have a firm idea of where he is now.”

“Then… then why haven’t you brought him home?”

“We spoke to an eyewitness. This morning, at the banks of the Tiber, the body of a young man was seen dumped into the river.”

I repeated his words, trying to absorb their meaning.

Suddenly, the world around me turned to grayness and shadow. My body felt light, as if the limbs were now withered. All voices became no more than empty whispers, susurrations that echoed with nonsense in my ears. I remember only blackness seeping in from the edge of my eyes… my knees buckling… the floor rushing upwards to my head…

V

A Funeral

M
y brother’s corpse was soon located in the Tiber and dragged to the surface, his body hauled onto the riverbank like a piece of refuse.

I didn’t stand present at this wretched scene, but the mere thought of it filled me with the deepest pity and sorrow for his fate. Juan had been a man with many faults, but he’d done nothing to deserve such cruel treatment. Although he was sometimes arrogant, lazy, and spiteful, the worst elements of his character had only been nurtured in his late youth, when my father had started bestowing him with excessive privileges. Despite his flaws, I’d known my brother in ways that most people did not. I knew that he was capable of great generosity to his friends, that he possessed an endearing sense of humor, and that he embraced his life with the utmost enthusiasm and pleasure. It haunted me to think about his last minutes before death. How much did he suffer? Did he still breathe as they plunged him into the water? The brutality of it sickened me to the core.

Although I could’ve stood vigil at his side, mourning his loss for days without count, by the time his body was brought back to the palazzo, his flesh was already decaying from the water’s touch.

We had to bury him without delay.

In a cortege led by two hundred torchbearers, gentlemen from the papal household bore Juan’s body through streets lined with thousands of onlookers. The procession worked its way from the Vaticano to the nearby Basilica di Santa Maria del Popolo. I watched the funeral bier decorated with black velvet cloth, ribbons, and lilies move along the roads, surrounded by shocked faces and hushed, gossiping voices. Porters had prepared the body so well that no injuries marred his face, and to me, it seemed my brother was not dead but sleeping. Since my father was still too distraught from the death to attend the funeral service, only Cesare and I watched as the body was finally interred at the family’s cappella. We laid Juan in a tomb once intended for our mother. He was only twenty-one years old.

While I stood present at the burial, the funeral had occurred so swiftly that I still didn’t understand many of the circumstances surrounding his untimely death. Papal officials stated that Juan had probably been murdered, yet I knew very little beyond this fact. Since I’d fainted when I first heard the news, everyone now worried about upsetting me again, and they refused to tell me more than just a few details. This only gave me a greater determination to find out the mysterious circumstances on my own. I was resolved to know about it, one way or the other.

Thus, when I returned home, I had Panthasilea sneak into Rome to fetch a common pamphlet about Juan’s death. Cleverly, she smuggled it back to my bedchamber.

Such pamphlets were cheaply sold leafs of parchment, often distributed around Rome after any major event that affected city life. Enterprising pamphleteers copied the herald’s official announcement on the subject, garnished it with a little investigative work, or a few statements from witnesses, and then sold it to the public for a trifling sum. The pamphlet on Juan’s death read as follows:

TO THE PEOPLE OF ROME,

on this tragic day of February 16th, in the year 1497, we announce that Juan Borgia, Duke of Gandia, and son of Pope Alexander VI, has been found dead in the Tiber River, murdered by a person unknown.

The disappearance of Juan Borgia was first discovered on Ash Wednesday: at the hour of seven o’clock, the pontiff’s Spanish Guards, led by Don Cesare Borgia, stormed through the city in a desperate effort to find the lost duke. Women and children fled inside their dwellings and locked the doors, frightened for their lives. Members from the Houses of Orsini and Colonna feared a vendetta and took measures to fortify their palazzi against attack.

Soldiers soon found a timber dealer near the Ponte Ripetto who possessed dramatic information concerning the Duke of Gandia. The dealer, Giorgio Schiavi, told papal guards that he had been unloading cargo at the riverbank on the night the duke was last seen alive. After falling asleep in a barge moored at the shoreline, he suddenly awoke to find two men acting suspiciously by the riverbanks. From the cover of his barge, Signor Schiavi watched the men signal a companion. As he told papal officials:

“
From the shadows there appeared a rider on a white horse, carrying a body slung across its saddle, the head and arms hanging on one side, the legs to the other. Having reached the point where refuse is normally thrown into the river, the horseman turned his horse nearer the water and the two men on foot took hold of the body by the hands and legs. With all their strength they flung the body into the river. The corpse soon sunk below the waterline, but the dead man’s cloak quickly resurfaced and continued to float around. Once the two men noticed it, the horseman threw some stones at the cloak and made it sink. This done, all the men went away from the river by an alley which leads to Ospedale San Giacomo.” When questioned why he had not come forward earlier with his report, Giorgio answered that: “…in my day I have seen a hundred such corpses thrown into the river, without anyone troubling to ask such questions.”

Reaction followed swiftly from the Vaticano. By next dawn, teams of fishermen and boatmen dragged the Tiber, spurred onwards by a 10 ducat reward offered to anyone who could locate the body of the missing duke. Before noon, a fisherman by the name of Battisto da Taglia recovered a body in his net – the corpse of a young man fully dressed and disfigured by eight stab wounds to his legs and torso. There had been no attempt at robbery, for the corpse was still in possession of a jeweled collar and a purse of 30 ducats.

After the discovery, officials removed the body to Castel Sant’Angelo where members of the Borgia family confirmed the corpse was indeed that of Juan Borgia. Reportedly, Alexander VI was so upset by the news that he shut himself in his rooms and wept bitterly for hours.

An investigation into the Duke of Gandia’s death is now underway. To stay informed of the inquiry, seek out future pamphlets sold at the piazze and street corners of our blessed city.

As soon as I’d finished reading the pamphlet, I read it over and over again so many times that I almost memorized the words.

Something about the contents unnerved me. It wasn’t just the ghoulishness of reading such details about my brother’s death, it was something else. My mind filled with questions and suspicions regarding the people responsible for the crime. Whoever had committed Juan’s murder was still free from any punishment, their identity still a mystery to the law. I wondered, could it even be someone inside the palazzo, someone whom I knew and spoke with in my daily life? The thought was absolutely terrifying.

VI

My New Fate

C
esare and I stood together in the Sala delle Arti Liberali, a hall in the Appartamento that my father used as a study. I was clad in black and still felt grief-stricken over Juan’s recent death. Alexander had summoned us both without explaining the reason why, and we now waited anxiously for his arrival.

At long last, he shuffled into the room, his face serious. He took off his skull cap and wiped his hand across his smooth bald crown.

“Is it about the murder investigation?” I asked. “I know it’s only been a month, but has there been a development yet? The last I heard, there were still no suspects.”

“Yes, there has indeed been a development,” he replied. “I’ve summoned you both to announce the investigation is now concluded.”

Cesare stood mutely at the back of the room. In contrast, I stepped forward and took a seat nearby at the oak desk. “Tell me,” I said, my heart galloping. “Who did it? What criminal has been caught for the murder?”

“Criminal? My dear child, I’m afraid you misunderstand me. When I say the investigation has finished, I mean that it has exhausted all lines of inquiry. The chief constable informs me that he has never before seen a case knotted with so many problems.”

“But I don’t understand, the investigation can’t be over if there’s no result. Shouldn’t the chief constable search until he finds the person responsible?”

“Unfortunately, the order has already been issued to terminate the inquiry.”

“Who gave such an order?”

“I did.”

I lunged to my feet, outraged. “You! Why would you of all people do such a cursed thing? You can’t cancel the investigation. It’s only been a few weeks! Don’t you want to find Juan’s killer and bring him to justice?”

Alexander settled himself into a chair. He leaned forward on the desk, his fingers making prints on the dusty surface. “My child, I insist that you allow me to explain this matter.”

“Explain it?”

“Yes, I believe that more than one person is responsible for your brother’s death. In fact, the real culprit may be an entire organization – a family. Only one of Rome’s most powerful houses would dare order such an attack on a son of mine, and then have the audacity to hide the assassin and protect his identity. Was it the Orsini? Maybe so, but there are certainly others who also possess powerful motives. It could easily have been the Colonna, the Savelli, or the Cenci, or even some unknown enemy from the rebellious Papal States. Since no family has stepped forward to accept responsibility, I hold all of them accountable for the crime. All of them have killed my son by fostering an atmosphere of defiance to Borgia rule.”

I frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that it’s time for this house to strike back and assert complete control not just of the city, but of all states within papal dominion.”

“War?”

“Yes, we will go to war,” he said gently. “Yet before any action is possible, we must grow strong again and patiently await the juncture when all our enemies turn placid and peaceful – then we shall strike. Meanwhile, our task will be to forge a greater network of alliances.”

I sat down in the chair, knowing exactly what
‘network of alliances’
meant.

“You’ve arranged a marriage for me?” I asked.

In the corner of the room, Cesare scuffed the heel of his boot. Alexander watched him, then turned his lidless eyes to me and smiled.

“So far, Lucrezia, your life has been remarkably easy. Indeed, most women your age are married or installed at a convent by now. When you came of age at fourteen, I already had two offers of marriage for you, but neither proposal was satisfactory, and since that time I have passed over countless other suitors, always delaying for the right alliance. Even so, you knew this day must arrive sooner or later.”

“What have you arranged?”

“You’ll marry into a household that not only controls the bountiful lands of Spain, but also the magnificent Kingdom of Naples, the largest of all the Italian states.”

“The Aragons?”

“Yes, I’ve negotiated your betrothal into the royal bloodline of the House of Aragon, the most powerful family in the world.”

I didn’t respond. Alexander stared at me, perplexed and uncertain.