Light on Lucrezia by Jean Plaidy Page B

father.
    “I wonder he did not take you with him,” said Alexander. “He professes to love you dearly, yet he leaves you.”
    “It is because of the child I carry. He feared that the journey must be made in such haste that harm might come to me and the child.”
    “Yet he decides to leave you!”
    “He wants me to join him as soon as possible in Naples.”
    The hardening of the Pope’s mouth was not perceptible to Lucrezia. Alexander was determined Lucrezia should never be allowed to leave her father for her husband.
    He hesitated for a few seconds, then he said: “He cannot be as anxiousfor your condition as I am. But perhaps he is young and does not realize that child-bearing can be a hazardous experience. I should not allow you, my dearest, to travel so far until your child is born.”
    Their eyes met, and Alexander knew then that Lucrezia was no longer a child, and that he had underestimated her. She knew of the existence of rivalries; she was fully aware of the possessive nature of his love for her, and that Alfonso had every reason to mistrust his intentions toward him.
    Lucrezia began to cry once more. She could not stop the tears. They were tears of misery and helplessness.
    And Alexander, who could not bear tears, kissed her forehead lightly and went quietly away.
    Alfonso reached Naples and, in spite of the fact that the Pope demanded that he return at once, he refused to do so; nor would his uncle, King Federico, give him up.
    This infuriated the Pope who knew that the whole of Italy would be aware that Alfonso had good reason for being afraid, since he was prepared to leave a wife with whom, it was common knowledge, he was deeply in love.
    Alexander had been suffering from fainting fits more frequently during the last year, and there were occasions when the purple blood would flood his face, when the veins would knot at his temples and he would find it difficult to regain that composure which he knew was one of his greatest assets.
    This was one of the occasions when he found it impossible to remain calm.
    He sent for Sanchia and told her that she might prepare to leave at once for Naples; since the King was determined to retain her brother he could have her also.
    Sanchia was astounded. She had no wish to leave Rome, and she immediately made this clear to the Pope.
    He did not look at her, and his voice was cold. “We are not discussing your wishes, but mine,” he told her.
    “Holiness, my place is here with my husband.”
    “Your place is where I say it shall be.”
    “Most Holy Lord, I beg of you, consider this.”
    “I have already considered, and this is my decision.”
    Sanchia lost her temper. “I refuse to go,” she said.
    “Then,” reiterated the Pope, “it will be necessary to remove you by force.”
    Gone was the urbane charmer of women. Her beauty meant nothing to him. She had never believed this would be possible.
    She cried out in humiliated rage: “If I go, I shall take Goffredo with me.”
    “Goffredo remains in Rome.”
    “And Lucrezia!” she cried. “I shall take Lucrezia and Goffredo with me. They’ll come. Lucrezia longs to join her husband. If my place is in Naples, then so is hers.”
    And with a certain satisfaction, for she saw that she had alarmed him, she left him.
    Outside the Palace of Santa Maria in Portico a brilliant cortège was preparing to leave. There were forty-three coaches, and among them a splendid litter with embroidered mattresses of crimson satin and a canopy of damask. This was to carry Lucrezia, and had been designed by the Pope himself to afford the utmost comfort to a pregnant woman during a long and tedious journey.
    Now Lucrezia was reclining in the litter, and Goffredo had mounted his horse; together at the head of the cortège they would ride out of Rome for Spoleto.
    Standing in the Benediction loggia was Alexander himself, determined to see the last of his daughter before she left Rome; his smile was tender and full of affection and he