Light on Lucrezia by Jean Plaidy Page A

word.
    She read it.
    He loved her. His life had no meaning without her. But he had been forced to leave her. News had reached him of plots to take his life. He knewthat if these plots succeeded they would bring the greatest unhappiness in the world to her, and he was more concerned for the unhappiness his death would inflict on her than for anything else, since if he were dead of what consequence would anything be to him? He was unsafe in Rome, as he had always known he must be, but he had allowed his happiness to blind him to his danger; now that danger was so close that he dared wait no longer. It broke his heart to leave her, but they should not long be separated. He implored her to ride out from Rome, as he had done, and join him in Naples. There they would be safe to pursue their idyll of happiness.
    Lucrezia read the letter through several times; she wept over it; and she was still reading it when the Pope was announced.
    He would not let her rise; he came to her bedside and taking her in his arms, pressed passionate kisses upon her.
    He dismissed her women, and then she saw how angered he was by the flight of Alfonso.
    “He is a young fool, a frightened young fool,” stormed Alexander; and Lucrezia was aware then that Alexander had lost some of that magnificent calm which had been his chief weapon in the days of his early triumphs. “Why does he run away from a young and beautiful wife like you?”
    “He has not run from me, Father.”
    “All will say he has run from you. Giovanni Sforza will be amused, I doubt not, and make sure that the whole world is aware of his amusement. And you to have his child in three months! The young idiot has no sense of the position he holds through marriage into our family.”
    “Father, dearest and Most Holy Father, do not judge him harshly.”
    “He has hurt you, my child, I would judge any harshly who did that.”
    “Father, what do you propose to do?”
    “Bring him back. I have already sent soldiers after him. I trust that they will soon restore the foolish boy to us.”
    “He is uneasy, Father.”
    “Uneasy! What right has he to be uneasy? Has he not been treated as one of us?”
    “Father, there is trouble brewing. Cesare’s friendship with the French …”
    “My little Lucrezia, you must not bother this golden head with such unsuitable matters. It was meant to delight the eye, not muse on politics. This husband of yours has wandered into a maze of misunderstanding because hethought he understood matters which are beyond his comprehension. It is that sister of his and her friends, I doubt not. I trust they have not contaminated
you
with their foolish notions.”
    “Would these notions be so foolish, Father, if there were war with the French?”
    “Have no fear. I would always protect you. And I will bring your husband back to you. This is what you want, is it not?”
    Lucrezia nodded. She had begun to cry and although she knew that the Pope hated tears she could not suppress hers.
    “Come, dry your eyes,” he begged; and as she moved to obey him, Alfonso’s letter, which had been beneath the bed covering, was exposed and the Pope saw it.
    He picked it up. Lucrezia hastily took it from him. Alexander’s expression showed that he was a little hurt, and Lucrezia said quickly: “It is a letter from Alfonso.”
    “Written since he went away?”
    “He wrote it before he went and sent a messenger back with it. It explains why he has gone and … and …”
    The Pope clearly longed to lay hands on the letter, and waited for his daughter to show it to him; but when Lucrezia did not, he was too clever a diplomatist to demand it and perhaps be refused. He did not want any unpleasantness with Lucrezia, and he knew now that her husband considered himself his enemy; therefore Lucrezia would be urged in two directions. The Pope was determined to keep his hold on his daughter and knew that he could best do this by continuing to be her benevolent and understanding