The Borgia Bride by Jeanne Kalogridis

investigation that you were innocent of the charges. Now I know you are not only innocent, but a woman who has inspired great affection and loyalty in all those who surround her.’ He glanced about us with a faint furtiveness. ‘You are deserving of the full truth. It is not just because of the cardinal’s charges that I was sent here.’
    I could not imagine what he hinted at. ‘Why, then?’
    ‘Because these witnesses also spoke of your great beauty. Your husband described it in letters in the most lyrical terms, which piqued His Holiness’ interest. But now it has been said that you are even more beautiful than La Bella .’
    La Bella , the Beautiful One: This was the nickname given to Giulia Orsini, the Pope’s current mistress, for it was claimed she was the most beautiful woman in Rome, and perhaps in all Italy.
    ‘And what will you report to His Holiness?’
    ‘I am an honest man, Madonna. I must tell him that it is true. But I will also tell him that you are the sort of woman who will remain loyal to her husband.’ He paused. ‘To be frank, Your Highness, I do not believe the latter fact will make any difference.’
    This was one time I took no pleasure in flattery. I had not wanted a marriage to Jofre Borgia because I had been in love with another man, because I had wanted to stay in Naples with my brother, and because Jofre had been a mere child. Now I had yet another reason for regret: a father-in-law with lascivious designs—who just happened to be the leader of all Christendom.
    ‘May God bless and keep you, Your Highness,’ Marigliano said, then climbed into his carriage, bound for Rome.
     
    I soon had an even greater worry than the thought of an amorous father-in-law, a pope with dreams of making me his new mistress.
    Only a month after my wedding, news filtered southward into Calabria: Charles VIII, King of France, was planning to invade Naples.
    Re Petito , the people called him, ‘The Little King’, for he had been born with a short, twisted spine and crooked limbs; he looked more gargoyle than man. He had also been born with a craving for conquest, and it took little for his advisors to convince him that the Angevins in Naples longed for a French king.
    His queen, the lovely Anne of Brittany, did her best to dissuade him from his dreams of invasion. She and the rest of France were devoutly Catholic and deeply loyal to the Pope, who would be outraged by an intrusion into Italy.
    Concerned, I wrote to my brother Alfonso to learn the truth of the matter. It took weeks to receive a reply which gave little comfort.
    Have no fear, dearest sister ,
    True, King Charles is hungry for conquest—but at this very moment, our father is meeting with His Holiness Alexander in Vicovaro. They have forged a military alliance, and have carefully planned their strategy; once Charles hears of this, he will be filled with doubts, and will give up his foolish notion of invasion. Besides, with the Pope so strongly on our side, the French people will never support an attack on Naples .
    Alfonso could not help trying to couch everything he told me in the most positive terms, but I understood his letter all too well. The French threat was real—so real that my father and the Pope were drawing up battle plans at a retreat outside Rome.
    I read the text aloud to Donna Esmeralda. ‘It is just as the priest Savonarola predicted,’ she stated darkly. ‘It is the end of the world.’
    I scoffed. I had no patience for the Florentine fool who fancied himself anointed by God, nor for the masses who flocked to hear his Apocalyptic message. Girolama Savonarola railed against Alexander from the safety of his pulpit in the north and lambasted the ruling family of his own city, the Medicis. The Dominican priest had actually presented himself to Charles of France and claimed that he, Savonarola, was God’s own messenger, chosen by Him to reform the church, to cast out the pleasure-loving pagans who had overrun her.