WSIM24B Ch. 17

Charlotte was intimidated by her first experience of Rome. It wasn't just the size of the city - she'd twice been to Paris, which was considerably larger. It was the heat, the humidity, the strange smells, the volume at which people shouted, and the presence of so many clerics and so many prostitutes.

- "Are those...?"

- "Yes."

Then, a moment later: "Have you ever...?"

- "No." There was a world of difference between the common prostitutes and courtesans, of whom Fiametta was easily the most exclusive (and the most expensive). I wondered if I should arrange a meeting between them.

The Pope, as he was wont to do, turned our arrival into an excuse for a major celebration. It was as if I was returning from another successful campaign. There was a procession, the Cardinals came out to greet us, and a luxurious banquet was held for us.

Charlotte had grown up with her father's modest tastes, and then experienced the spartan environment of King Louis' court - and table. Queen Anne had much more refined tastes, but preferred art and music to exotic food.

- "You don't always eat like this, do you?" she asked, looking askance at a dish of larks' tongues.

- "No, thank goodness. It's far too rich for me. But here: try this." I put a slice of prosciutto on her plate.

During the meal, Charlotte found a dozen opportunities to slide her hand beneath the table, and squeeze my hand. Once or twice, unable to find my hand, she squeezed my thigh instead. I had to laugh.

- "I'm sorry." she said, with a smile. She wasn't sorry at all. "I'm just... so happy to be here. To be with you."

- "As am I."

But the happiest person in the hall was obviously the Pope, who couldn't stop smiling at his 'beautiful daughter', 'the greatest treasure in all of France'. I've said it several times, but Charlotte was truly beautiful. Italians - Northern Italians, at least - generally preferred blonde hair, but Charlotte stood out anyway. She was intelligent, and just... good. More than one ambassador compared her to Lucrezia. That wasn't quite right: my sister had a luminous beauty, and an effervescent, sparkling personality. She enjoyed life, and all of the finer things.

Charlotte was only slightly younger, but she had the more mature beauty. Both were very kind, but my wife was more thoughtful. I don't mean more considerate, because they both were that, too. But Charlotte reflected, where Lucrezia lived in the moment. Let me put it this way: the two women were like exceptional wines. Lucrezia was a fine champagne, whereas Charlotte was wonderful now, and yet promised to improve even more with age.

I was drunk enough to try to explain it to her. She'd heard a dozen people compare her to Lucrezia, including the Pope, at least twice. I told her my wine analogy.

- "So... you think that I should be laid down for a few years...?" she said.

- "No. You've spent too much time on the shelf as it is. The only laying down you'll do from here on is with me."

She squeezed my hand again. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

***

- "It's all about money." said my boss.

The situation in Naples, for the French, had deteriorated. The Spanish commander, Gonsalvo de Cordoba, had entered Naples. My old comrade Yves d'Alegre was besieged in Gaeta, the last stronghold controlled by the French. If they were sending a relief army, they would expect our help.

I would need to pay off the debts from the last campaign against the Orsini, and raise new troops. Once again, we were going to need roughly a thousand ducats a day. For all of his flamboyant tastes, the Pope had actually reduced his household expenses. But he'd also gotten creative when it came to ways to make the Papacy pay.

He created eighty new official posts, and sold them for 760 ducats apiece. He had been very lenient with the Jews, to this point, but now he blackmailed them for protection money. He created nine new Cardinals: five Spaniards, three Italians, and a German (notably, no Frenchmen). Only one was a churchman of any distinction; most paid handsomely for their elevation (some up to 20,000 ducats).

He'd also passed an edict that Cardinals had to will their money to the Church, and not to their families. Now, a number of Cardinals had passed away recently. Cardinal Orsini died in prison. Cardinals Ferrari of Modena, Almeida of Ceuta, and Juan Borgia of Monreale had all died - and Rodrigo Borgia was suspected of having poisoned them to get their money.

Italy, and poison... a sudden or unexpected death was often immediately ascribed to poison. The Pope was accused of favoring the cantarella (white arsenic). I can only tell you what I know: every murder I'd carried out for my boss, or for myself, had been by the garrote (which was considered a more 'Spanish' solution).

Cardinal Mihiel passed away on April 10th, after three days of violent vomiting. The moment the Pope learned of his death, he sent officials to confiscate the Cardinal's goods (apparently worth 150,000 ducats). As you can imagine, the public believed that Mihiel had been poisoned by the Holy Father - and that I had been the one to suborn the Cardinal's servant.

Consider what you've read so far. Have I not admitted to murder? But to accuse me of stupidity? If I had been involved, I would have used a go-between (or two go-betweens).

On a happier note, my boss was truly pleased with my French bride.

- "Holy shit, you're a lucky prick." was how he put it. "I wouldn't mind trading places with you for a couple of days. Weeks."

- "I don't think I'd want your job."

- "You wouldn't." he agreed. "Listen: I'm thinking that it might be time to... shift our alliances again. You know?"

- "No." I said.

- "No?"

- "Ferdinand is winning in Naples. He doesn't need us right now. He won't offer anything; you remember the last time we were in this position? Whereas Louis needs us. He's sending an army: a big one. If we try to interfere with their passage, or don't offer any support... they could come to Rome instead. Or they could attack the Romagna and offer Venice a share."

He shook his head. "I've been working on the Venetians, but they're being dicks. I thought that an Italian League, independent of both France and Spain might have some appeal, but they seem to be more afraid of you - or maybe just jealous."

- "I'll speak to the Venetian ambassador." I said. "What's his name? Giustinian?"

- "Good luck. You didn't do us any favors with that Dorotea crap."

- "Ah, you say that, but you never saw her."

The Pope grinned. "You little shit. Maybe you are related to me after all."

***

Two days after our arrival in Rome, I had another momentous meeting. I took Charlotte into the gardens of the Apostolic Palace.

- "Oh, they're lovely." she said.

The gardener wasn't far off. She heard us, and stopped what she was doing. Gina stood up, plainly terrified. Charlotte put her hand on my arm. It was a 'Stay' command. She walked over to Gina.

"Is this your work?" she asked.

- "Yes, Lady." said Gina, still obviously frightened (even though I'd warned her that we were coming, and that she had nothing to fear).

- "You can call me Charlotte." said my wife.

- "I don't think that I can do that, Lady."

Charlotte changed tack. "You're not showing yet."

Gina shook her head. "Not yet."

- "Soon, though?"

- "I think so."

Charlotte looked down at her own belly. "It will be a while for me, but I'm sure that I'm swelling."

Gina's whole expression changed. "That's wonderful."

- "Yes, I think so. Gina? I know who you are, and what you mean to Torun. Pilgrim, I mean. You've known him for years, and you've been important to him so much longer than I have." She reached out, to take hold of Gina's calloused hands. "I don't begrudge you that. I'm only a little bit jealous."

- "Lady..."

- "Charlotte. And I can see now why he's loved you all these years. You're beautiful..."

- "Lady."

- "And he says that you're kind, that you were never jealous, and that..."

At that point, Charlotte couldn't continue, as the tears began flowing. Gina was mortified, at first, and then realized what was needed: she embraced my wife, and held her tight.

That night, Charlotte poked me in the chest. "You treat her right, Torun."

- "I will."

The next morning, I went into the gardens again. I wanted to reassure Gina, and to tell her what Charlotte had said. I didn't get a chance to get the first word in - or the last. I don't know if women confer about these things, or if it's just instinctive, but Gina poked me in the chest with a trowel.

- "You'd better be good to her!" she said.

- "I am. I will be. I'm here because she insisted."

- "What?"

- "She said that I should spend the evening with you. If you want me to."

- "She said that?"

- "On my honour."

Gina smiled. "Alright, then."

***

While my surprising domestic arrangement was going well, the military and diplomatic situation was causing me to lose a little sleep. If Gaeta fell, the Spaniards would control all of Naples. Would the French reconsider sending an army? But the longer d'Alegre held out, the more France was honour-bound to send a relief force. If they did, the Pope and I would be called on to provide support: free passage, supplies, and my army, now up to 600 men-at-arms, the same number of light cavalry, and over 4,000 infantry.

The Pope wanted to change sides. I couldn't blame him: Louis had been working more against us than for us lately, notwithstanding his agreement to let Charlotte come to Italy. She meant a great deal to me, but I suspect that she was just a poker chip to Louis.

I would have liked to have a Spanish army under Gonsalvo Cordoba - the Great Captain - beside me. But only if Spain was prepared to push north. For that to happen, Gaeta had to fall, and the French had to stay far away.

We heard that a French army was gathering in Lombardy: 1,100 heavy cavalry, 1,400 light cavalry, and 8,000 infantry.

- "We could take Siena." said my boss. "Pisa, too. They're asking you to come, and protect them from Florence. Or Bologna. Or all three."

It was unpleasantly hot and humid in Rome in August. Traditionally, the Pope and his court would have moved to the hills to escape the sweltering heat, and the summer sickness that often accompanied it. Malaria perniciosa, it was called. I'd never heard of it; in my day and age, people didn't get those ancient diseases - it was the new designed viruses that you had to watch out for.

But the political situation was just too serious for Alexander and me to leave Rome.

Fiametta had left the city in early July, inviting me to come visit her with Charlotte. I finally persuaded my wife and our gardener to go to a villa in the hills outside Rome, with the Ramires brothers to protect them. Diego had been paying court to both of Charlotte's ladies, and couldn't seem to decide which one he wanted more (or perhaps he thought that he could have both).

On August 11th, the Pope was strangely listless and apathetic. It was the anniversary of his elevation to the Papacy; normally there would have been some kind of celebration.

- "I don't feel up to it." he said. "I'm seventy-three. Did you know that?"

The next morning, he was vomiting, and feverish. I came to his bedside, and my knees wobbled.

- "Shit." I said. I barely got out of his room before I threw up. I had it, too.

***

My implant was done. I was no longer protected from STDs, could now get women pregnant, and was wide open to any disease that existed in the Old World. Worse yet, I had virtually no resistance to this type of illness. The Pope was gravely ill; I was at death's door.

I had a moment of lucidity, and realized that Charlotte was sitting by my bedside, with Miguel and Diego Ramires. Gina had been here, too, but she'd gone for a short walk in the gardens.

- "H-how is my father?" I got out.

- "He's strong." said Miguel. "The doctors bled him yesterday."

I didn't know much about medicine, but I knew that that could possibly kill him. It certainly wouldn't help.

- "Miguel - no more bleeding. Not for him. Not for me. Tell the doctors I'll have them all killed if they bleed him again. Charlotte - promise me."

- "No more bleeding." she said. "We heard you."

- "You shouldn't be here." I said.

- "Sshhh..." she said. "Where else would I be?"

I lost consciousness, I think. I had strange dreams. In one of them, Nika and I were running through the woods. I couldn't see them, but Captain Teck and his gang were chasing us. No - they couldn't be, because Anna, Will, and Faraz were all dead. But so was Nika.

I think that I knew I was dying. My muscles ached, and even my bones were sore. I vomited again, and soiled myself.

On the 15th, my doctors panicked, because my body temperature was through the roof. They submerged me in a bath of ice water. Apparently the skin was stripped from my body as if by a potato peeler.

I woke again on the 17th. It was like swimming through fog, for a moment, but then I clearly saw the faces of my friends Miguel and Diego. From their expression, I guessed that my situation had worsened again. Was I really dying?

- "Miguel?"

- "Here, Lord."

- "Send for Juan de Cardona. Have him bring a thousand men back to Rome." Call it another moment of clarity. If the Pope died, I would need troops. If I died, well... "Is Gina here?"

- "I am." I felt her take hold of my hand, even though I couldn't see very well.

- "I love you, Gina. I always have."

- "I know." she said.

- "Is Charlotte here?"

- "She's resting." said Miguel.

- "Gina? Tell her that I love her, too."

- "I will."

- "Miguel?"

- "Here."

- "Get every Spanish sword you can gather. You may need them."

- "It's already done, Lord." Miguel had been a close friend of Cesare Borgia. His first loyalties would always be to the Borgia family. He and I became friends when we were both bodyguards for Pope Alexander. The relationship changed a little - if only in tone - when he discovered that the Pope had acknowledged me as his son. Now his loyalties were almost entirely focused on me.

I faded out again.

***

Rodrigo Borgia, Pope Alexander VI, died on the 18th of August, 1503. The pro-Borgia Cardinals had done a good job of concealing just how ill he and I were.

It was probably a good thing that I had another brief moment of lucidity when Miguel told me the news. I gave him specific instructions.

Miguel - or Michelotto, as many called him - was no fool, and if you entrusted him with a task, he carried it out, to the best of his ability. With a group of armed men, he closed all of the doors to the Papal apartments, and threatened the Chamberlain until he handed over the keys to the Pope's closets.

Miguel and his men found silver and jewels worth 200,000 ducats, and then two small chests with 100,000 more in coin. They missed some jewellery, but it was a good haul.

I found out later that most of the Cardinals and many of the officials had fled. The remaining servants dressed the Pope's body in red brocade, and laid him out on a table in the banquet hall, with two tapers burning beside him.

The next day, his corpse was carried to St Peter's. Fighting broke out inside the church, as the Italian palace guards tried to steal everything of value - including the candles that the monks were carrying. Swords were drawn, and most of the monks and servants fled. Burchard, the master of ceremonies, and a few others got the body behind the High Altar, and closed the iron grilles.

By late in the day, the Pope's body was rapidly putrefying in the sweltering heat. It was decided to bury him at once. The swollen corpse was unceremoniously (and literally) stuffed into a coffin, and put into the earth.

The rumours spread at once: the Pope and I had been poisoned. The Pope had concluded a pact with the Devil, who had returned to claim his body. He had tried to poison another Cardinal, but by error had poisoned himself and his son.

I was said to be dying. Ercole d'Este, Duke of Ferrara, waited for proof. But many of my enemies moved. Venice provided troops for Guidobaldo de Montefeltro to recover Urbino. Florence gave men to Jacopo d'Appiano so that he could retake Piombino, and encouraged the Baglionis to return to Perugia. Prospero Colonna, leading Spanish troops, was at Marino, only hours from Rome. The French army, led by Francesco Gonzaga, was on its way. The Orsinis were gathering.

I had to avoid being captured, and preserve the Romagna, but my first priority had to be getting a new Pope elected. I needed Admiral d'Onofrio back as soon as possible. I wondered what had happened to him - where he was - while there was no Pope. Was he back in stasis on a Halygon ship?

I wrote to Prospero Colonna. Pope Alexander had confiscated quite a bit of Colonna land, but they had no personal quarrel with me. I offered to restore several of their fortresses. Prospero brought his troops to Rome. It was just in time, too, because the Orsinis arrived with 400 horse and 1500 infantry, but they couldn't face Colonna's Spanish troops, backed by mine.

The College of Cardinals had no money; Miguel had stolen it for me. They were also afraid to begin the election process for a new Pope with my troops in the city, and one of my captains holding the Castel Sant'Angelo.

Spain - and the Colonnas - wanted a pro-Spanish Pope. By my calculation, I could rely on the votes of eight (minimum) and eleven (maximum) Cardinals. That was one third of the total. Neither Spain nor France controlled enough votes to get their way. The irony, of course, was that I didn't care who was elected Pope, since that man would immediately become Admiral d'Onofrio.

I hoped.

It's not easy to direct a political (and potentially military) campaign from a bed, when you sweat through the sheets twice a day or more. It was also difficult to know what the Spanish and French Cardinals would do. Louis and Ferdinand both knew that Admiral d'Onofrio would come back into play the moment a Pope was elected. Perhaps it was better for them if the election was delayed, or if the man selected was elderly and infirm. I had to work to prevent that.

That was why I chose France. Spain offered only vague promises of future gains. Louis could help me keep what I'd won, and warn off vultures like Venice and Florence, while reassuring lukewarm allies like Ferrara. In return, I had to promise that my army would support the French campaign in Naples. The clincher, for me, was an interview with the Spanish ambassador, de Rojas.

He didn't like me, and he didn't trust me. That might be understandable, but suspicion and hostility aren't endearing traits. Like my boss, I didn't trust his boss, Ferdinand of Aragon, any further than I could throw him. If his ambassador behaved like this, what did the Spanish King think of me?

On September 2nd, I left Rome, travelling towards Tivoli to join Prospero Colonna and the Spanish force. I was still too weak to ride, so I was carried in a closed litter. That was no deception: my feet were too swollen to walk.

My artillery went first, headed for where Prospero Colonna waited for us, just outside the eastern edge of the city. But I left Rome by a different route, headed north, for Nepi. My artillery turned around, and hurried back to the Castel Sant'Angelo.

I was told that Prospero Colonna was furious to be deceived like that. But he did get a consolation prize: my half-brother Joffre's wife, Sancia, became his mistress shortly thereafter.

I received very mixed news from the Romagna. Guidobaldo de Montefeltro had re-entered Urbino. The Baglionis were back in Perugia, and the Vitellis had re-taken Citta di Castello. Venice had sent Giovanni Sforza back to Pesaro, and Pandolfo Malatesta to Rimini. But a Florence-Bologna plot to put Caterina Sforza's son Ottaviano Riario back into power in Imola had failed. So too did the attempt to restore the Manfredis in Faenza.