Blood & Beauty The Borgias

Chapter 33



Back in Rome, Alexander prays for the soul of his dead son daily and does his best to stay humble for God as the pleasures of politics whisper temptation into his ear like the snake in the Garden of Eden. Meanwhile, in the real garden of San Sisto, a similar test is taking place. Summer is turning to a golden autumn. The sun has kissed the convent fruit trees and the figs are blush ripe, so rich and lovely that the invitation to pluck and sink one’s teeth into their sweetness is proving almost overwhelming.

It has been a gentle courtship, the early encounters taking place on the same stone seat under the shade of the vine as the day draws to a close, exchanging letters refreshed by a breeze that ripples the water in the pond and cools the skin, if not the hearts, of those who sit there. As the light dies away they have lingered sometimes, talking of this and that, safe in the feeling that no one is watching. If they have done anything more, a brush of hands, maybe a brush of lips, it has been fast and breathless, almost as if it has not taken place at all. Even in the world of knights and princesses there are consequences, and they both know that this shy, sly affection that is growing between them is forbidden and perilous. Which means the mingling of joint laughter or the imprint of a kiss carries an excitement equal to a much greater sin.

By mid July, the roar of summer heat had driven them inside, to the merciful relief of thick cell walls. In itself, there was nothing amiss in this. As a noble visitor Lucrezia has a small suite of rooms to house herself and her maidservant and it is certainly not the abbess’s job to supply additional chaperones. Nevertheless, the atmosphere of the convent seems to shift a little. The balance between talking to God and listening out for worldly gossip is a delicate one, and to have the fashionable young daughter of a pope licking her marital wounds at the same time as playing court to a handsome young messenger has made the younger nuns almost flighty. In response, the abbess’s eye has become more eagle. So that when she comes across Pantisilea in the chapel, praying during the same work hour when her mistress is entertaining her visitor, she decides it might be prudent to visit her guest herself.

Had she come a little earlier she might have found greater evidence. That day there have been a number of more ardent kisses and the lacing on the top of her dress has become loosened so that rising full moons of creamy skin are exposed. Each has been expecting the other to pull away, yet somehow it hasn’t happened. It is only as their hands take on a will of their own and she starts to utter little moans as her skirts lift that the enormity of the transgression comes home to him and, like the good knight he strives to be, he desists. Just.

By the time the abbess knocks – and then chooses not to wait until she enters – they are sitting together, a book in their hands, trying unsuccessfully to settle their hearts back into their bodies. It looks blameless enough: a young man and woman together, intent on a story. Except the second he sees her he is on his feet, knocking the book to the floor, and suddenly they are both ducking to pick it up and all is flutter and nerves. A more guilty innocence would be hard to find.

‘Mother abbess. You startled us.’

‘So I see. I was looking for your maidservant,’ she says evenly. It has always been her belief that God will forgive a white lie if it leads to the saving of souls.

‘Oh, I think she went to the chapel. Pedro… Señor Calderón has brought me a letter from my father. All goes a little better in Rome, it seems. I am so pleased.’

‘And His Holiness has sent you a book too?’

‘Oh, oh no; it is one I brought with me. We were speaking of history and there was a story in it which seemed apposite.’

‘Yes. I remember that as a boarder you had a fondness for chivalric tales.’

And now both of them are blushing. The abbess moves her eye from Lucrezia to the young man. The look she gives him would freeze fruit on the vine. It is a chastisement well known among the novices and it works just as well on him now.

‘My lady duchess. Mother abbess. I will take my leave. The letter will be in your father’s hands within the hour, you may depend on that.’

The same letter that presumably is already in his pouch, giving him no reason to remain.

‘Thank you, Señor Calderón,’ Lucrezia says lightly. ‘God speed you on your way.’

‘Mother abbess.’ He bows low.

She bows high. He cannot get out fast enough.

She waits until the door is closed behind them.

‘My dear duchess—’

‘Señor Calderón, as you know, is the most trusted of my family’s messengers,’ Lucrezia interrupts gaily. ‘He and I knew each other a little before I came here. He is a noble, honourable young man who lives only to serve.’

‘Yes, I see that very well.’

As befits a woman in charge of so many young souls, she is a subtle judge of character with an excellent memory of all who pass through her hands, especially the more noble ones. Even at twelve years old Lucrezia had an infectious appetite for life, along with a desire to please God as well as her family. She was, however, never good at telling lies.

‘And along with the letters he brings me other small morsels of news. Which is important for when I return. And also gives me pleasure, because – well, there is so much pain, and so much that I miss. Though of course I am quite content here…’

It is a satisfaction, of sorts, to find that she is still better suited to telling the truth.

‘My dear duchess…’ she begins again, more firmly. ‘It is an honour to have you housed under our modest roof once again. You are delivered into our hands by no less a man than the Holy Father himself, and it is our job, and our joy, to protect and keep you safe, both in body and in soul.’

She pauses to let the words rest around them. She must be careful now: this young woman is a power in the land, even if she herself does not choose to be, and it would be a disaster if, under her watch, some scandal should take place. But equally it would not do to offend her.

‘This is a difficult time in your life, as we know. We pray daily that God will find a way to release you from your unfortunate marriage and establish your purity in the eyes of the entire world. In the pursuit of which, I think it advisable for Señor Calderón to spend less time on news and more on the simple business of delivery and collection of letters.’

‘I – I think how long he stays and what we speak of, mother abbess, is not your business,’ she says hotly.

‘With deep respect, I believe it is.’

‘We do nothing but talk!’

The abbess watches her flushed, pretty face. A lifetime ago she herself had been in love with life and the clang of convent doors behind her had been a bitter sound. But she would not change places with her now. ‘It is not always what one does, my dear. But what one feels.’

Lucrezia stares at her. ‘I… I pray fervently every night.’

‘I know that. You were always eager to be in God’s company, Lucrezia. I remember it well. And He is always waiting to help you. I will have someone find your maidservant and send her to you. I trust her prayers have been granted.’

‘Mother abbess?’

‘Yes, my child?’

‘You will… you will not say anything about this.’ It is hard to know if it is an order or a request. ‘I mean… to my family.’

No, indeed, she would not change places with her now. What a burden to be so tossed by power and fortune. ‘I speak only to God,’ she says. Though as she says it she feels a slight disquiet, as if even the contents of prayer sometimes have a way of seeping out into the world at large.