The Borgia Bride by Jeanne Kalogridis Read Free Book Online Page B

pressed. ‘Will we have many children?’
    ‘No to both,’ she replied, with a vehemence approaching ferocity. ‘Take great care, Sancha, or your heart will destroy all that you love.’
     
    I rode back to the castle in silence, frozen, shocked into stillness like a victim caught unawares, buried in a heartbeat by the ash of Vesuvio.

Late Summer 1492–Winter 1494

III
    A week after my visit with the strega, I was summoned from breakfast to an audience with the King. The urgent command came as such a surprise that Donna Esmeralda dressed me hastily—though I insisted on wearing Onorato’s ruby round my throat, a touch of grandeur despite my dishevelment—and we two appeared alone before my grandfather. The rising sun streamed through the arched windows on either side of the throne where Ferrante sat; the effect on the marble floor was so dazzling that I did not see my father until he took a step forward. Only he stood in attendance; the vast chamber was otherwise empty.
    Ferrante’s health had been failing of late, and his normally ruddy complexion had taken on a dark crimson hue, leaving him in foul spirits. But this morning he was smiling as I curtsied.
    ‘Sancha, I have wonderful news.’ His words echoed off the vaulted ceiling. ‘You know that your father and I have been trying for some time to strengthen Naples’ ties to the Papacy…’
    I knew. I had been told since childhood that the papacy was our best protection against the French, who had never forgiven my great-grandfather for defeating Charles of Anjou.
    ‘The problem has been that His Holiness, Pope Alexander, dedicated both his sons to the priesthood…eh, what are their names?’ Ferrante scowled and turned to my father. I knew them before the Duke had a chance to reply; I even knew the given name of the Pope, who before his election had been Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia.
    ‘Cesare, sixteen, and Jofre, eleven.’
    ‘Yes, Cesare and Jofre.’ The King’s expression lightened. ‘Well, at long last, we have succeeded in convincing His Holiness that it would be wise to tie himself to Naples.’ He beamed proudly. ‘You are betrothed to the son of the Pope.’
    I paled; my lips parted. As I fought to control myself, my father remarked with cruel delight, ‘She is upset. She thinks she has feelings for this Caetani fellow.’
    ‘Sancha, Sancha,’ my grandfather said, not unkindly. ‘We have already informed Caetani of the arrangements; in fact, we have already found him a suitable wife. But you must do what is best for the Crown. And this is an infinitely better match. The Borgias are wealthy beyond anything you have ever seen. Best of all, the marriage contract states you will both live in Naples.’ He gave me a small wink, to show that he had done this for my benefit; he had not forgotten my attachment to Alfonso.
    I stared at my father, my heartbreak spilling forth as fury. ‘ You have done this,’ I charged, ‘because you knew I loved Onorato. You could not stand to see me happy. I will not marry your Cesare Borgia; I spit on the name.’
    Rendered graceful by rage, Ferrante rose to his feet with the speed of a falcon diving for prey. ‘Sancha of Aragon! You will not speak to the Duke of Calabria in that tone!’
    Hot-cheeked, I bowed my head and glared down at the floor.
    My father was laughing.
    ‘Spit on the name of Cesare Borgia all you like,’ he said. ‘You are to be married to the younger one, Jofre.’
    Unable to contain my temper, I swept from the King’s throne room and headed back to my own suite. So rapid was my pace that Donna Esmeralda, who had awaited me outside, fell behind.
    Such was my intent. For when I reached the balcony where Onorato had presented me with the ruby, I tore the great jewel from my neck. Briefly, I held it up to the sky; for an instant, my world was bathed red.
    I clenched my fist over the gem and cast it down into the placid bay.
    Behind me, Donna Esmeralda let go a shriek of pure horror. ‘