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  On that day, young Julia, dressed in a white satin bridal gown with a silver seed-pearl veil draped over her sweet face, seemed to him transformed from a mere child to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. So fresh, so full of life, that the cardinal had to restrain his own passion.

  It was not long before young Orso was sent to the cardinal’s country retreat in Bassanello, with his advisors, and placed in training to become a leader of soldiers. As for Julia Farnese, she willingly found herself first in the cardinal’s arms, and then in his bed.

  When Cesare and Juan reached their teens, both were sent away to begin to fulfill their destinies. Juan struggled with his lessons, and the cardinal reasoned that the life of a priest or a scholar was not this son’s future. Instead, he would be a soldier. But Cesare’s startling intelligence drove him on to school in Perugia. After two years of mastering his subjects there, for which he had a talent, Cesare was sent to the University of Pisa to further his study of theology and canon law. The cardinal hoped that Cesare would follow in his footsteps and rise to great honor in the church.

  Though he had done his duty to his three earlier children by courtesans, Rodrigo Borgia focused his future aspirations on the children he’d had with Vanozza. Cesare, Juan, and Lucrezia. He had a much more difficult time establishing a strong connection to his youngest son, Jofre. Then to excuse himself for this lack of fatherly affection, he would attempt to reason. It was then that he would wonder if this youngest boy was his own. For who can truly know what secrets lie hidden in the heart of a woman?

  Cardinal Borgia had been vice-chancellor, or papal lawyer, for several Popes. He had served the reigning Pope, Pope Innocent, for eight years, and during that time he had done everything possible to increase the power and legitimacy of the papacy.

  But when poor Pope Innocent lay dying, not even fresh mother’s milk or transfusions of blood from three young boys could save his life. The boys had been paid one ducat each, but when the medical experiment failed and led to disaster, they were rewarded by elaborate funerals and their families were given forty ducats each.

  Unfortunately Pope Innocent had left the papal treasury empty, and the Holy Church bare to the insults of the Catholic king of Spain and the most Christian king of France. Papal finances were in such disorder that the Holy Father himself had been forced to pawn his miter, or sacred hat, in order to buy palms to distribute on Palm Sunday. Contrary to the advice of Rodrigo Borgia, he had allowed the rulers of Milan, Naples, Venice, Florence, and the other city-states and fiefdoms to delay their tributes to the church treasuries, and he himself had squandered fortunes preparing for Crusades on which no one wished to venture.

  Only a mastermind of strategy and finance would be able to restore the Holy Catholic Church to its former glory. But who would that be? Everyone wondered. Yet it was only the sacred college of cardinals, guided by the Holy Ghost and inspired by the divine, that would be left to decide. For a Pope could be no ordinary man, he must be one sent from the heavens.

  On August 6, 1492, in the great hall of the Sistine Chapel, with a Swiss Guard, Roman noblemen, and foreign ambassadors to protect them from influence or intruders, the conclave of the college of cardinals began to do the work of electing the new Pope.

  According to tradition, once Pope Innocent had died, all the princes of the church, the twenty-three members of the sacred college, gathered to elect the God-man who would serve as the Keeper of the Keys, the successor to Saint Peter, the Holy Vicar of Christ on Earth. He must be not only the spiritual leader of the Holy Roman Catholic Church, but also the earthly leader of the Papal States. As such he must possess enormous intelligence, the ability to lead men and armies, and the talent to negotiate to his advantage with the rulers of the local provinces as well as foreign kings and princes.

  The Holy Tiara of the Pope carried with it the prospect of vast riches as well as the responsibility to unify or fragment even further that conglomeration of feudal city-states and provinces that made up the center of the Italian peninsula. And so, even before Pope Innocent had died, deals had been made, properties and titles had been promised, and certain loyalties had been negotiated in order to ensure the election of particular cardinals.

  Within the select group of cardinals considered papable, there were only a few who were worthy: Cardinal Ascanio Sforza from Milan, Cardinal Cibo of Venice, Cardinal della Rovere of Naples, and Cardinal Borgia of Valencia. But Rodrigo Borgia was a foreigner—his heritage Spanish—and so his chances were slim. Being considered a Catalan was his biggest disadvantage. And though he had changed his name from the Spanish “Borja” to the Italian “Borgia,” it gained him no more acceptance from the old established families of Rome.

  Still, consideration was given, for he had served the church in a superb manner for more than thirty-five years. As papal lawyer he had negotiated several difficult diplomatic situations to the advantage of the previous Popes, though with each victory for the Vatican he had also increased the riches and benefices of his own family. He had placed many of his relatives in positions of power, and had granted them properties that the older families of Italy felt did not rightfully belong to them. A Spanish Pope? Nonsense. The seat of the Holy See was in Rome, and so it stood to reason that the Pope must be from one of the provinces of Italy.

  Now, surrounded by mystery, the conclave began to do God’s work. Isolated in individual cells within the huge cold chapel, the cardinals could have no contact with each other or with the outside world. Their decision was to be made individually through prayer and Divine Inspiration, preferably while on their knees in front of the small altars with the hanging crucifix and burning candles as the only adornments. Within those damp, darkened rooms, there was a cot for those who must sleep to renew themselves, a commode for expelling the contents of the stomach, a urinal, a vessel of sugared almonds, marzipan, sweet biscuits, cane sugar, a jug of water, and salt, for provisions. Because there was no central cooking area, food had to be prepared in their own palaces, brought to them in wooden vessels, and passed through a hatch in the door. During this time, each cardinal struggled with his own conscience to determine which man would best serve his family, his province, and the Holy Mother Church. For if one was not careful, one could save one’s worldly goods but lose one’s immortal soul.

  Time could not be wasted, for after one week rations would be cut; then only bread, wine, and water would be brought to the cardinals. For once the Pope had died, chaos reigned. Without a leader, the streets of Rome were in complete disorder. Shops were being looted, castles plundered, hundreds of citizens murdered. And that wasn’t all. For as long as there was no head beneath the Holy Tiara, Rome itself was in danger of being conquered.

  As the voting began, thousands of citizens gathered in the piazza in front of the chapel. They stood praying aloud, singing hymns and hoping that a new Pope would plead to the heavens to stop the hell in their streets. They waved flags, held banners, and waited for an emissary to come to the balcony to announce their salvation.

  The first round lasted three days but no one cardinal received the necessary two-thirds majority. The vote was split between Cardinal Ascanio Sforza of Milan and Cardinal della Rovere of Naples. Each had eight votes. Rodrigo Borgia, with seven votes, was the second choice of most of the college. When the count was complete, and no clear winner emerged, the ballots were ceremoniously burned.

  That morning, the crowd in the square watched expectantly as the smoke rose from the chimney to form what appeared to be a dark gray question mark in the clear blue sky over the Sistine Chapel. Seeing it as a sign, they blessed themselves and held up hand-forged crosses of wood to the heavens. When there was no announcement made from the Vatican, the citizens began to pray more fervently and to chant more loudly.

  The cardinals went back to their cells to reconsider.

  The second count, two days later, was much the same as the first; no real concessions had been made, and this time when the black smoke rose from the chimn
ey, the praying weakened and singing grew fainter. The piazza was eerie in the darkness, lit by only a few lanterns and flickering street lamps.

  Wild rumors swept throughout Rome. Citizens vowed that as the sun rose the following morning there appeared in the sky three identical suns, which the astonished crowd took as a sign that the next Pope would balance the three powers of the papacy: temporal, spiritual, and heavenly. It seemed to them a good omen.

  But that night, high up in the tower of Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere’s palace where no one was allowed entry, it was said that sixteen torches spontaneously burst into flame—and, as the crowd watched, first with expectation and then with trepidation, all but one of them went out. A bad omen! Which power of the papacy would remain? An eerie silence covered the piazza.

  Inside, the conclave was hopelessly deadlocked. Within the chapel the rooms were becoming colder and damper. Many of the older cardinals were beginning to feel the strain. It would be unbearable; how could anyone think properly with running bowels and sore knees?

  That night, one by one, some of the cardinals came out of their rooms and stole into the rooms of the others. Renegotiations began; they struck new bargains for sacred possessions and positions. Promises were made. Tempting pledges of riches, of station, of opportunity could be traded for a single vote. Bright new loyalties were forged. But the minds and hearts of men are fickle, and difficulties may indeed arise. For if a man can sell his soul to one devil, can he not to another?

  In the square, the crowd had thinned. Many citizens, tired and discouraged, concerned about their own safety and the security of their houses, left the piazza to return home to their families. So, at six in the morning, when the smoke from the chimney finally turned white and the stones began falling away from the blocked-up windows of the Vatican so the announcement could be made, there were only a few left to hear it.

  A cross of benediction was held high above their heads, and a barely distinguishable figure, dressed in fine robes, proclaimed, “With great joy I am here to say, we have a new Pope.”

  Those who knew about the deadlock wondered which of the two leading cardinals had been elected. Was it Cardinal Ascanio Sforza or Cardinal della Rovere? But then from the window another figure appeared, larger, more imposing, and he let fall from his hands small pieces of paper, thrown like confetti, with scribbled writing which read, “We have as Pope, Cardinal Rodrigo Borgia of Valencia, Pope Alexander VI. We are saved!”

  3

  WHEN CARDINAL RODRIGO Borgia became Pope Alexander VI, he knew the first thing he must do was bring order to the streets of Rome. During the time between the death of Innocent and his coronation, there had been over two hundred murders in the city. As their Holy Father, he knew he must stop this lawlessness; he must make an example of the sinners, for how else could the good souls of the city resume their prayers in peace?

  The first assassin was captured and summarily hanged. Not only that, his brother was also hanged. And—in the greatest humiliation for any Roman citizen—his house was razed, burned, and brought down entirely, so that his household was left without shelter.

  Within weeks order was restored to the streets of Rome, and the citizens were pleased to have such a strong and wise head beneath the Holy Tiara. The choice of the cardinals was now the choice of the people as well.

  But Alexander had other decisions to make. And two most important problems to solve, neither of which was spiritual. Foremost, he had to create an army to establish the Catholic Church as a temporal power and regain control of the Papal States in Italy. Second, he had to establish and fortify the fortunes of his children.

  Still, as he sat on his throne in the Hall of Faith in the palace of the Vatican, he pondered on the ways of God, of the world, of nations and families. For was he not God’s infallible vicar here on earth? And therefore, was it not his problem to deal with the whole world, the nations and their kings, all the independent cities of Italy, republics, oligarchies? Yes, including the newly discovered Indies? And wasn’t it his obligation to give them the finest counsel? Did they or did they not pose a danger to the rule of God?

  And his own family, the Borgia, with countless relatives to be taken care of, and his own sons and daughters, sworn to him by blood but uncontrollable because of their own unruly passions—what of them? Where did his primary duty lie? And could his two objectives be accomplished without sacrificing one for the other?

  Alexander’s duty to God was clear. He must make the church strong. The memory of the Great Schism, seventy-five years before, when there had been two Popes and two churches—both weak—made his resolve stronger.

  The cities of Italy that belonged to the church were now ruled by tyrants who thought more of enriching their family coffers than of paying their rent to the Holy Church which sanctified their rule. The kings had used the church as a tool to seek power for themselves. The saving of the immortal souls of humanity was forgotten. Even the wealthy kings of Spain and France withheld their church revenues when they were displeased with the Pope. They dared! What if the Holy Church withdrew its blessing of their rule? For the people who obeyed kings did so because they believed them to be anointed by God, and only the Pope, as the representative of the church and the Vicar of Christ, could confirm that blessing. Alexander knew he must continue to balance out the power of the kings of France and the kings of Spain. The dreaded Great Council, called by kings, must never happen again. The church and the Pope must have worldly power to enforce the will of God. In short, a great army. And so it followed that Alexander carefully considered his power as Pope. And he formed a plan.

  Immediately after his coronation, he nominated his son Cesare for cardinal. While still a child, Cesare had been given benefices by the church and the title of bishop had been bestowed upon him, with an income of thousands of ducats. Now, though Cesare was only seventeen years of age, with all the carnal passions and vices of youth, he was in body and mind a full-grown man. He had degrees in both law and theology from the Universities of Perugia and Pisa, and his disputation was considered one of the most brilliant student works ever presented. But his great love was the study of military history and strategy. He had in fact fought in some minor battles, managing to distinguish himself in one. He was well trained in the art of war.

  Alexander was fortunate. God had blessed this son of his with a quick wit, a firm purpose, and a natural ferocity, without which one could not survive in this wicked world.

  Cesare Borgia received the news that he had been appointed a cardinal of the Holy Roman Catholic Church while he was still a student of canon law at the University of Pisa. The appointment was not unexpected, as he was the son of the new Pope. But Cesare Borgia was not happy about it. True, it would make him richer, but he was at heart a soldier; he wished to lead troops into battle, to storm castles and overcome the fortresses of cities. And he wanted to marry and have children who were not bastards like himself.

  His two closest friends and fellow students, Gio Medici and Tila Baglioni, congratulated him and then began to prepare an evening festival, for Cesare would have to leave the following week for his investiture in Rome.

  Gio had already been appointed cardinal at the age of thirteen, through the power of his father, the ruler of Florence, the great Lorenzo the Magnificent. Tila Baglioni was the only one of the three who had no religious office, but he was one of the heirs to the dukedom of Perugia. Here at the University of Pisa the three were merely high-spirited students; though they had servants and bodyguards all were well equipped to guard themselves. Cesare was an accomplished fighter with sword, ax, and hunting pike, but he did not yet own full battle armor. He had tremendous physical strength, and was taller than most men. He was brilliant in his studies, the pride of his mentors. But all of this was to be expected from the son of the Pope.

  Gio was a good student, but not imposing physically. He was also witty, but careful of his wit with his two friends. Even at seventeen, Cesare’s resolve provoked awe in his fri
ends. Tila Baglioni, on the other hand, was too much of a bully, given to cruel rages when he perceived an offense.

  The three celebrated that night at a Medici family villa just outside of Pisa. In consideration of Cesare’s newly announced red hat, it was a discreet affair, a small feast with only six courtesans. They had a moderate dinner with mutton, wine, a few sweetmeats, and light and charming conversation.

  They went to bed early, for it had been decided that the next day, before returning to their homes—Gio Medici to Florence, and Cesare Borgia to Rome—they would all go to Perugia with Tila Baglioni for a great festive occasion. Tila’s first cousin was to be married, and his aunt, the Duchess Atalanta Baglioni, had sent him a special request to attend. Sensing a certain tension in her request, Tila agreed to go.

  The next morning, the three set off for Perugia. Cesare rode his finest horse, a gift from Alfonso, the duke of Ferrara. Gio rode a white mule, for he was not a good horseman. Tila, in his bullying way, rode a battle charger whose ears had been trimmed to give it a ferocious appearance. Together, horse and rider were overwhelming. None of them wore armor, though all three were armed with swords and daggers. They were attended by a company of thirty armed and lightly armored men employed by Cesare, wearing his personal colors of yellow and scarlet.

  The town of Perugia was on the way from Pisa to Rome, only a leg inward from the sea. The Baglioni family and Perugia itself were fiercely independent, in spite of the fact that the papacy had claimed it as one of its states. Cesare had faith in his own craftiness and physical gifts, but still he would never have dared to visit it except under the protection of Tila. Now he looked forward to enjoying the gaiety of a wedding before he took up his duties in Rome.