Madonna of the Seven Hills by Jean Plaidy Page B

dressed; but the lord Cesare obeyed no rules, no laws but his own.
    “My lord …” began Adriana, but Cesare silenced her with a frown.
    “Cesare, what do you think of my dress?” cried Lucrezia. “Tell me whether you admire me now.”
    Cesare ignored her and, looking straight at Adriana, said: “I wish to speak to my sister … alone.”
    “But, my lord, the time is short.”
    “I wish to speak to her alone,” he repeated. “Do I not make my meaning clear?”
    Even Adriana quailed before this arrogant young man of eighteen. Rumors of his life at the universities of Perugia and Pisa had reached her, and the strangeness of the stories had made her shudder. Accidents often happened to those who opposed this arrogant son of the Pope and she was not so powerful that she could risk offending him.
    “Since you ask it, it shall be,” she temporized, “but my lord, I beg of you remember that we must not arrive late at the Vatican.”
    He nodded his head, and Adriana signed to all the attendants to leave with her.
    When they had gone Lucrezia cried: “Cesare, there is little time. I should be prepared.…”
    “You should be prepared to give me a little of your time. Have you forgotten, now that you have a bridegroom, how you swore that you would never love any as you loved me?”
    “I do not forget, Cesare. I never shall.” She was thinking of herself crossing the square, imagining the cries of admiration; she could smell the incense and the scent of flowers.
    “You are not thinking of me,” said Cesare. “Who does? My father thwarts me, and you … you are as light-minded as any harlot.”
    “But Cesare, this is my wedding day.”
    “It is little to rejoice in. Sforza! Do you consider him a man? Yet Iwould rather see you married to him, than to some, for I swear he is little more than a eunuch.”
    “Cesare, you must not be jealous.”
    Cesare laughed. He came to her and gripped her neck in the gesture she remembered so well. She cried out in alarm because she was afraid for her jeweled net.
    “The marriage shall not be consummated.” He laughed. “I made our father see the wisdom of that. Why, who knows, if the scene changes these Sforzas may not be worthy of our friendship, and then it may well be that the Holy Father will wish he had not been so eager to get his daughter married.”
    “Cesare, why are you upset about this marriage? You know I have to marry, and it makes no difference to my love for you. I could never love any as I love you.”
    He continued his hold on her neck; his fingers would mark it—they always did—and she longed to beg him to release his hold, but she dared not. She enjoyed being with him as she always did, but now, as ever, that excitement which he aroused had its roots in a certain fear which she did not understand and which repelled her while it enticed.
    “I believe that to be so,” he said. “No matter what happens to you or to me … there will always be this bond between us. Lucrezia and Cesare … we are one, little sister, and no husband of yours, nor wife of mine could ever change that.”
    “Yes, yes,” she said breathlessly. “It is true. I know it is true.”
    “I shall not be at the supper party after the ceremony,” said Cesare.
    “Oh, but you must, brother. I so look forward to dancing with you.”
    Cesare looked down at his Archbishop’s robes. “It is not meet, sister, that men of the Church should dance. You will be dancing with your brother, the Duke of Gandia. He will make a splendid partner, I doubt not.”
    “Cesare, you will surely be there!”
    “At your nuptial celebration. Certainly I shall not. Do you think I can bear to see you making merry at such a time?”
    “Giovanni will be there, and mayhap Goffredo.…”
    “One day, sister, you will understand that my feeling for you is stronger than anything Giovanni could feel for anyone.”
    There were shouts in the square and Cesare strode to the window.
    Lucrezia stood beside