The Holy See, 1494: Florence and Rome: A Firewalk, Dessert and a Dull Suitor (NFB)
Cesare
The plan was reckless, but so were most of Cesare's plans. And the idea of indicting Savonarola by his own claim to piousness was far too elegant to resist.
Besides, he had a secret weapon: a fireproof pagan queen. He had to hope that she had secreted herself within the church as per his instructions. She could not enter with him, and it would be dangerous to search for her in the crowd while entering.
Micheletto had gone with her. Micheletto had never failed him. Micheletto would have found a way to notify him if their preparations had failed.
Cesare waited until the sermon was underway to burst open the door, clad in Cardinal's robes and carrying a torch.
"Giralamo Savonarola," he barked out. "I am Cardinal Cesare Borgia, and I bring a message from the Pope of Rome, the Vicar of Christ, the head of our Holy Mother Church, and our Lord's representative upon this Earth."
He was striding up the aisle, not glancing around for his well-hidden accomplices.
Daenerys
But Dany could see Cesare, and watch him without compunction. She was hidden in the crowd, as dirty and ragged as the rest of them. She schooled her expression into one of wonder and shock -- considering her heart was racing with anticipation, it wasn't hard.
Dany's eyes tracked Cesare as he moved through the church, her stomach fluttering. Half of it was nerves, though not for her own sake. But part of her was deeply engaged in seeing such recklessness and intent in one man. She'd missed it.
And silent, probably unbreathing, Micheletto was nearby. She didn't dare look at him, but she could feel his presence.
Savonarola
The bald friar at the front of the room laughed, and his laugh was manic.
"The whoremaster of Rome sends his bastard son!" he shouted. "The scandalous villain, the pretender to holiness, he fears the righteous truth of God! He wishes to silence me, and he sends this wretch to perform his dark deed! Hear my words, Borgia! Strike me, and these believers will tear you to pieces with a holy vengeance!"
With a bit of encouragement, the mob might whip itself into a frenzy, and rip out this Borgia's throat. That would be pleasant, watching the misbegotten bastard Cardinal die.
Cesare
The fool. As if Cesare was so dumb as to martyr Savonarola. Kill him, and he would become a symbol, an icon to rally behind. But discredit him, and the crowd would wash their hands of him altogether. They would hand him over for the slaughter without a second thought.
Followers were fickle that way.
"I charge you here with heresy against the Holy Mother Church," he continued, as if Savonarola had not interrupted. "You claim that God speaks to you and you alone. I am here to inform all of you that this man has deceived you. He does not serve God, and I will prove it."
Savonarola
Savonarola laughed harder this time.
"What proof can this bastard possibly bring to me?" he crowed. "Another edict from his sire, who bought the throne of St. Peter's? I used the last one to wipe my ass!"
Cesare
The followers were laughing. Good. He would let the energy of the crowd stand behind Savonarola. For now.
"I propose a test," he said, once the crowd had subsided. "A trial by fire. Our Lord walked upon water. I will walk through flame. My faith will protect me. I will be unharmed. And when I have done this, you will follow me, and you will fail."
Savonarola
The crowd was deathly quiet now.
This was a trap. Savonarola knew that in his bones. But he could not back down from this gauntlet that Cesare had thrown. Not without knowing how the trick would be performed.
He would trust his faith and his righteousness to show the way forward.
"I would burn a thousand times to send a Borgia to Hell," he said, and the crowd roared its approval.
Daenerys
"No!"
From the crowd came a high, hoarse voice; the smoke and dust lent her voice a ragged edge. Dany had practiced her part well, though not so much as to be rehearsed. She stumbled forward, eyes wide and panicked as she approached Cesare and Savonarola. Such a despicable man, this one. He made her stomach roil and churn with his control over these people, this city.
They would end this.
"Forgive me," she murmured, dropping her gaze as though chastened. She was but a wretch from these gathered masses, after all, unworthy to raise her voice above the din of the people. "But you are too valuable, Cardinal, to risk your life." When she looked up, her eyes were slightly teary -- she'd rubbed ash in them as she'd moved through the crowd. "Allow me to walk for you. I have strayed so long, and so far -- I will make my prodigal return to the rightful church, to the loving arms of the Heavenly Father, by proving my faith in God before these people."
Cesare
Cesare played his part dutifully, staring at Dany in wonder and crossing himself slowly.
"Sister," he said. "I am humbled by this display of piety. I am unworthy of your faith. I am but a lowly sinner, no more valuable than any other in the eyes of God."
He reached up to brush one thumb across her cheek.
"No such theatrics are required, to return to the bosom of the Holy Mother Church," he said. "All are welcomed, and all are forgiven for being led astray by this false prophet."
Daenerys
"Of course," she said, humbly. "That is the glory of the true nature of God, that He forgives all transgressions. But I want to do this -- I wish to prove the strength of my faith, and the power of belief in the Holy Mother Church before all gathered here." She raised her eyes to his face, and it took every scrap of her willpower to keep herself from smirking, or laughing. "I would follow you into the flames, Cardinal -- such is the Lord's will. But I feel more strongly that I should take this walk in your stead. My faith in God will guide me, and protect me."
Cesare
Cesare was studying Dany's face, looking for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty. At least, that was what he hoped it looked like he was doing. It was a struggle not to wink, but someone might spot it.
"If you have been called to do this by God Himself," he said, in a measured tone, "then I will not stand in your way. I would be honored to be represented by such an innocent, uncorrupted soul. May God Almighty protect you, and all glory be to His name."
He turned to the Friar, hoping for an air of quiet piety.
"I have a champion," he said. "I do not deserve her, but I would not dare to cast her aside. She walks in my stead, to demonstrate the faith found in the most pure of heart. One of your followers may do the same for you."
Savonarola
Several members of the crowd were already piping up with their support.
"You see?" he cried. "This is how those swine operate! They sacrifice others to further their goals! I will walk the flames myself, and then you will know that the Lord has chosen me to send this message! I am all that stands between this town and Hellfire! We will tell this Borgia pope that Florence does not accept his false papacy or his bastard children! And then they shall burn!"
There was surely a trick here. The Cardinal would never place his pretty neck in danger if he could help it. But Friar Savonarola had God on his side. He was more than equal to Borgia treachery.
And when this girl was devoured by flames, he would order the crowd to rip the Cardinal apart, limb from limb. Florence would be cleansed. He would see to it. It was his calling.
Cesare
"Then it is decided," Cesare shouted, needing to push the issue forward before Savonarola spotted the real trick: the substitution of himself for a fireproof queen.
"This woman walks for Rome, and Friar Savonarola for Florence. We will allow God Himself to determine who it is that possesses His favor."
The crowd roared its approval before the Friar could object.
The most difficult part, he discovered, was not smirking.
Daenerys
The walk would be nothing. Dany had spent hours in Drogo's fire, as her sun-and-stars burnt away and floated off in the wind. She'd fostered her dragons in the flames, holding them to her breast and coaxing life from fossilized eggs. She welcomed the fire.
But no one else need know that, save for Cesare.
She was dressed now in virginal white as she stood before the structured walkway. Fire burned in two long rows, with a section between the two just large enough for a person to walk through.
She looked out to Cesare, at the end of the walk, not daring to smile. She was supposed to be afraid, and pious, and brave. Nonchalance would arouse suspicion.
"I call upon you, Father, to save me," she said as she looked skyward, loud enough for all to hear her over the flames. "My faith in You knows no bounds, and I welcome the opportunity to prove Your strength before this heretic! Save me from the flames, oh Holy Father." She dropped her head, moving her lips in now-silent prayer. She would wait for a signal to begin her walk -- she needed to appear hesitant, even through her supposed faith.
Savonarola
"You see what these Borgias are capable of!" Savonarola cried out. "He bewitches a child into performing his dirty work! Do not let this imposter go unpunished for this girl's demise!"
He had inspected the stacks himself; the bastard Cardinal had allowed Florentines to create the firewalk, with no input from him, so that could not be the trick. And the girl was wearing a simple dress, certainly nothing that could repel flame. The simplest explanation seemed the most likely: that this girl was a lamb about to die for the Borgia pope's ego.
Cesare
Had he known Savonarola's thoughts, Cesare might have laughed. There was the friar's fatal flaw: he assumed Cesare did not have a plan. Would not walk into this knowing the outcome already to be secured.
It wasn't that his father was above sacrificing pawns on the chessboard, but only when it served a purpose. It would not do so here. Never mind that no one so lovely should be burned to a crisp.
Cesare himself was pacing, full of keyed-up energy. He was about to win. Conveniently, that translated well into nervousness. He flicked Holy Water from a vial onto the firewalk, and muttered benedictions under his voice.
Micheletto
Micheletto was not by his master's side. He was hidden in the depths of the crowd, near the entrance of Daenerys's side of the trial.
His instructions for today were quite simple. Should something go astray, save the Queen. She was immune to flames, as it had been explained to him, but no plan was complete without a contingency. He was the back-up. Should her immunity fail somehow, he was to pull her from the inferno and get her back to Rome.
And so Micheletto waited, and he watched. It was what he did best.
Daenerys
It was all Dany could do not to smile. She looked out into the crowd, then up to the heavens again. Her eyes were wide -- she tried to look afraid.
"Protect me," she called softly, loud enough to be heard, but still the hoarse prayer she intended it. She needed to seem just unsure enough to be believed.
And then she began to walk. At first, the heat glanced at her, and that was all. It was possible to walk through without being initially hurt. She could see that.
The sparks flew at her, from either side. Embers brushed her cheeks and her clothes. One of her sleeves caught fire, and she kept walking slowly. The cloth burned away, exposing the unblemished flesh of one pale shoulder.
None of it hurt. It tickled her skin, sweet and gentle as a lover's kiss.
Cesare
Dany was playing her role to perfection, and the figure she struck, moving through the flames, slow and deliberate -- it was awe-inspiring.
The crowd was rapt. They walked with her, they held their breath as she moved forward -- Cesare was certain that they would have nibbled grain from her hand. They were hers, entirely.
The cries went out when her dress began to burn.
"Be not afraid!" Cesare shouted. "Sister, do not let your faith waver. Repent your sins and walk shrouded in His eternal love!"
Daenerys
Cesare had given her all the fuel she'd need for the crowd's belief in her. She wasn't looking, but she could feel their stares -- it was the only burn of which she was aware. Now was the time for the words he'd taught her. She'd practiced them, because these had to be precise. One could not improvise scripture.
"The Lord is my shepherd," she called out, as sparks flew into her hair, the flames dancing against the silver. "I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters."
There were no still waters here; she was past the halfway point, and her gown was in ashy tatters. She cared no more than she had the night of Drogo's pyre; her body was unburnt, dusted with cinders. Her bared skin was their proof of her faith. Of Cesare's victory.
"He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his
name's sake." The fire licked at her arms, up her legs, against her bare feet. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
She raised her eyes to the end of the walk, to where Cesare was. She watched him, allowing herself a smile now. She was his most loyal follower, a servant of their Almighty. The crowd was hers. "Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over."
And their enemies would fall; Mirri Maz Duur had paved the way for Savonarola. Both had twisted the words of a single god to do their own bidding; each had killed innocents in their own name.
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt and Mother of Dragons, took her final steps out of her second walk of fire. She was grayed and darkened from smoke and cinder, and the remaining scraps of her gown still fluttered with flames, but her voice carried, full and fierce. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
Her survival, as guaranteed as it was, heralded their triumph. She felt as invincible as he'd claimed her to be.
Cesare
Cesare had spent the previous night teaching Daenerys various religious phrases; prayers and supplications, mostly. He had warned her not to begin if she wasn't sure she was word-perfect, and realized suddenly that he had been holding his breath as she recited the psalm.
Flawless. Like her beauty, her strength, her power.
Cesare had busied himself removing his Cardinal's cloak, as she approached the end of the walk; as she emerged, he rushed to her side, feigning concern and wrapping its warmth around her.
"Water," he called out. "Sister, can you hear me?"
What he wouldn't give to kiss her, right now. He wanted to laugh, to sing, to scoop her up in the air and spin. He wanted to push her against the burning piles and ravish her, and let the flames lick his bones clean.
Instead, he was placing his hands on her face. "Are you unharmed?"
Daenerys
"I can hear you perfectly, Cardinal," Dany replied with a wide smile, and though she was no longer shouting, she still maintained their fiction for the gathered crowd. "And I am unharmed. My faith in God saved my wretched mortal body from the flames, as I swore it would." She turned back, pulling his cloak tighter around her, and stared at Savonarola. "Now let us see if this charlatan can do what I have, that I might return to the loving arms of the Holy Mother Church all the sooner."
She wished she could, at least, hold Cesare's hand during this. She had little doubt that she'd be thoroughly held and kissed and loved once they were behind closed doors, but it felt strange to share the moment as though they were distant strangers, still.
Cesare
Cesare could not resist one touch. And so he gently turned her back towards him, placing his lips firmly against her forehead.
It would appear chaste. No one else would see how badly he was trembling.
"If only all followers could be so steadfast of heart," Cesare announced, after he released her. "I, a Cardinal, have been humbled by this display of grace. I am unworthy of it."
He strode over to where he could see Savonarola -- who was staring at the proceedings with his mouth agape. He had no choices, no path forward.
It was a chess gambit, only cleverer. Cesare had never intended to sacrifice his queen.
Savonarola
Giralamo Savonarola could not wrap his mind about what he had seen. Could it be --
No. The Lord God above had shown him many visions, and he had remained loyal despite the many threats of these Borgias. He had refused to cease his teaching. Florence was purer every day.
They must have tricked him, though for the life of him he could not see how the trick was done.
His only hope, then, was that the Lord God would use him as an instrument to demonstrate His Almighty power.
"Pay no heed to the Borgia witchcraft, and the Borgia trickery!" he began, but he could sense that the crowd was against him. They had seen what they believed to be a miracle. Any attempts to establish the truth would only push them further away.
"I, Friar Savonarola, piss upon this walk! The Almighty will show that Borgia wiles are no match for faith!"
He closed his eyes and uttered one last prayer: that he not walk alone.
And then, the good friar stepped between the flames.
Cesare
Cesare held his breath as the friar entered the treacherous passage. Surely no one could pass through unharmed? Unless the good Lord had seen fit to smile upon Savonarola and punish the Borgias, but Cesare increasingly suspected the good Lord to be indifferent at best. A marvelous attitude for a Cardinal, certainly.
Savonarola was coughing, now, as the smoke entered his lungs. And yet he pressed forward.
The flames were licking ever closer, hungering for a taste of him. It must be unspeakably hot. Suddenly, one of the tongues of fire jumped from a stack to wrap itself around Savonarola's heavy sleeve.
The sound the man made when he screamed was like music in Cesare's ears.
Daenerys
Something like pity rose in Dany, as she watched the man intently. It was foolhardy -- delusional, even -- to have followed her. His screams sent a shiver up her spine, but she couldn't feel too much sympathy. She'd seen what he'd wrought. The flames were the least he deserved.
Then Savonarola fell to the ground, the flames taking their hold on his robes, and Dany suppressed the urge to go help him. She tightened Cesare's cloak around herself as she watched Savonarola thrash and cry, and after a moment, she felt nothing at all.
Savonarola
Savonarola was in Hell. The burning, the flames, he could not see in front of him for the smoke. He would press forward -- he must -- he walked with the Lord Almighty, and --
The Lord Almighty had deserted him.
My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
How selfish, how narrow-minded of the Friar to accuse the Lord of abandoning him. He was a simple friar and unworthy of a miracle. How had the illegitimate Borgia's young girl been pure of heart enough -- no. A trick. It must be.
The spirit was willing, but the flesh, the flesh was melting. Had he the strength, the purpose of mind, he would have lain down here and given his life to demonstrate the truth of his cause, but his body was an animal, and the animal sought to end this pain.
And perhaps his spirit wavered, as well, as that most horrible sin, despair, overcame him.
Savonarola pulled himself to all fours and dragged himself out of the blaze. No more. No more.
Cesare
It was all Cesare could do not to break into a grin. Savonarola had failed, had run with his tail between his legs. Savonarola had burned, and Daenerys had emerged unscathed.
The crowd was shouting, now, as Savonarola collapsed on the steps of his own church. The chorus of boos was far sweeter even than Savonarola's screams had been. The mob was angry; the mob believed it had been tricked. Led astray by a false prophet.
They had been tricked, but the reality mattered little, now, when the perception was so powerful.
Through the crowd, a shock of ginger hair was moving towards the downed friar. Micheletto was perfectly placed to make an arrest. The friar was too injured to put up a fight, and the crowd would happily drag him to Rome in chains.
In a voice low enough that he hoped only Dany could hear, Cesare murmured, "A pity I can't have you here."
Daenerys
"I know I'll be looking for the first opportunity," Dany murmured. They were no longer the focus -- the crowd's awe had shifted to anger at Savonarola. She would not shout her thoughts, but she could at least speak to him, softly. "Perhaps in front of an audience. Imagine our prisoner's expression upon seeing you kiss me."
Dany needed to be careful. Such suggestions were not likely to squelch anyone's desires. She herself was quite alert, aroused -- invincible. Power was, as always, an aphrodisiac.
Cesare
"I would kiss you in ways the good friar cannot even imagine," Cesare said, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. Perhaps it was safe to gloat. The mob was hardly looking, convinced as they were that the Friar had been cast aside by the mighty Hand of God.
"And so, he will be taken to Rome, he will be broken, and he will confess to his sins," Cesare recounted. "Then he will be executed in disgrace. Florence will be a city of culture once more, and the Medici bank will flourish. Which means the Medicis will owe the Borgias a few favors. Astonishing what a little faith can accomplish."
Daenerys
"Or a little illusion," Dany remarked with a swift-widening smile. "Faith, it seems, needs a healthy source to grow towards. I seem to be a bit of an improvement for the people of Florence, even if they don't know the root of my abilities."
She mentally filed away the information about the Medicis. Perhaps they had a son of marrying age. Not for herself, of course -- she would never marry again, in all likelihood, though every passing day with Cesare made her question that a bit more. But Lucrezia's hunt for a husband could use a few favors from a wealthy family.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia had begun to count the hours that her friend was away. With no Cesare and no Daenerys, Rome was dull indeed. She found herself quite bored, and her boredom did nothing to help her parting promise to Dany. Raffaello was an amiable young man, and quite easy to look upon; he spoke of art and paintings whenever they met. His hands would be soft, and gentle. She could think of worse ways to spend her time.
Especially as she did not wish to accept his brother Calvino's proposal. Calvino was not repulsive, but he had nothing to recommend him, either. But she had no say in this. She would be traded to Calvino for a number of ships. It was astonishing to see one's worth in exact material goods.
The more she was pressured to accept Calvino's suit, the more attractive Raffaello became. Not that she wished to marry Raffaello, either -- Micheletto was right that he was too gentle a soul, and she felt that, if she had him, she would soon grow tired of him. He lacked a certain spark.
She did imagine, however, that her mother was aware of her ambivalence, and her desires. Mama was always quite skilled at discerning these things. And so when Lucrezia was summoned to her mother's chambers late one night, she figured it would be for a lecture.
She was quite surprised indeed to find a table before a roaring fireplace; one with two glasses of wine poured, and two desserts set in the middle of the table. Canditi, candied fruit, and torrone, a light almond nougat. Her two favorites.
Was her mother instead offering a bribe? Lucrezia bowed, respectfully, and took the open chair. At least this evening she would indulge her sweet tooth.
Vannozza
Vannozza watched Lucrezia in the firelight, a slight smile playing about her lips. She'd noticed her daughter's eye wandering to the painter brother, and she couldn't blame her -- he was comely enough, and more importantly, Lucrezia had once known passion. Perhaps not love, but youthful fire had once kindled her desires.
A loveless, dull marriage would not be enough for her, now. Lucrezia herself knew it -- it was now up to someone to make her aware of her possibilities.
She gestured to the two desserts between them. "Which would you like, my love?"
Lucrezia
Perhaps this evening had little to do with the suits for her hand. But she could not discern her mother's purpose in calling her here. Was she determining the courses for a banquet?
She laughed, relieved to be making such an easy decision. Although perhaps she should say, a decision of such little consequence. Because, considering the options before her ...
"It is impossible," she smiled. "I cannot decide."
Vannozza
And so her metaphor was working already.
"Choose," she commanded, gently.
Lucrezia
"But these are my two favorite desserts, Mama," Lucrezia insisted. "You know quite well I love them both."
Perhaps she should take one, and her mother the other. Or they could split each in two. But somehow Lucrezia thought there was a message here, something she could not yet grasp.
Vannozza
"Then how will you decide which to eat?" Vannozza asked, feigning confusion. It was, after all, a very difficult problem. But it had such a simple solution, if only Lucrezia would stumble across it.
Lucrezia
There was a game here. Lucrezia was sure of it. She could not make out the shape of it yet.
"I don't know," she admitted. "How should I decide? One is more filling, and the other lighter upon the tongue. Is there one that you would prefer, and I shall take the other?"
Vannozza
Vannozza, meanwhile, shook her head as Lucrezia spoke. "It doesn't matter what I would wish." She looked over at her daughter, sharply arching up a brow. "What's your name?"
Lucrezia
"Mother," Lucrezia laughed, staring across the table and trying to read the woman's eyes. "What a question. What sort of game is this?"
Choose a dessert, recite your name ... next she would be asked her favorite color.
(Red. Of late, it was red. She felt dangerous when she wore it.)
Vannozza
"The game, Lucrezia," Vannozza replied, drawing out her child's given name, "is your name. What is it?"
The fact that she'd supplied her Christian name likely answered that that was not the answer she sought. She would tug this realization from her slowly, deliberately.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia squared her shoulders, feeling for a moment like she was being called on in one of her Fandom classes and that she knew the answer by heart.
"Lucrezia," she beamed. She was, and always would be, Lucrezia.
Vannozza
"Lucrezia who?" Vannozza prompted. It was the crux of her argument.
Lucrezia
Oh. This was not a child's game at all. This was about duty.
Her Christian name was her spirit, her heart, and her passion. But her surname was obligation, the necessities of her father's position.
She would always be her father's daughter. But she was chafing at that particular restriction, of late.
"Lucrezia Borgia," she supplied, with a touch of regret sneaking into her voice.
Vannozza
But it wasn't about duty, not really. The context spoke to what needed to be done, but this game was about reprieves.
"Yes," Vannozza said with a gentle nod. "Do you understand? You may have both, Lucrezia Borgia."
It wasn't a reminder of what her father wished. It was a testament of how her mother knew she'd survive.
Lucrezia
Surely her mother couldn't mean ...
Then again, her mother had arranged for her to meet with Paolo. She had married at the Holy Father's request, and banished her husband in order to take her place by his side. Her mother understood the needs of the heart in a way her father chose not to acknowledge.
"Now I see the game," she said, testing the water gently. "It is a game of love, and lust."
Vannozza
"And marriage," Vannozza conceded with a smile.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia looked at the two desserts, and the absurdity of the comparison struck her.
"Which is Raffaello, and which is Calvino?" she asked, biting back a giggle.
She would wager Calvino to be the torrone; more substantial and filling, while Raffaello was the canditi, all liquid sweetness on her tongue.
Vannozza
"It doesn't matter," Vannozza said softly, shaking her head. "Have both. That's the point of the game. Marry one and have the other. Have them one at a time or two together. It's no matter. After awhile, you'll tire of both and take a lover."
As surely as Rodrigo would see their children as allies to his papacy, she would see them happy. She had failed with her elder sons -- Juan brought misery at every turn, and she suspected that Cesare's romance with the young queen wouldn't last. Perhaps neither of them was meant to have joy.
Their only daughter was.
"Lucrezia, look at me. Look me in the eye." She waited, and then, slowly, deliberately: "Eat."
Lucrezia
There was something harsh in how her mother explained it. It was true; it was even reassuring. She could marry and still have love, or at least bed partners she fancied.
And yet Lucrezia found herself dropping her eyes to her plate. To surrender herself to Calvino -- to be Lucrezia Pallavincini. To soothe her wounded heart with Raffaello. To take a string of lovers who meant nothing.
The heart of it felt hollow. The situation was beyond acceptable; in fact, it was far preferable to her last marriage. But something in her eyes wanted to mourn the thing she would not have.
Perhaps she was understanding what price she paid, for being a Borgia.
Lucrezia looked at her mother and understood, at the same time, what a gift she was being offered. To own her name. To stay Lucrezia Borgia, no matter who she married, and not allow her father to dictate more than her husband. To love who she chose, and to not care about the consequences.
There could be something freeing in that. And freedom was why Cesare had once enrolled her in boarding school.
Lucrezia lifted her fork, cutting off a square of the torrone. She hesitated, knowing what she was accepting with this simple bite of dessert.
And she placed it into her mouth.
Vannozza
Vannozza watched, allowing Lucrezia a moment to savor her bite.
"And the other."
Every word was laced with meaning, now that they understood one another.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia waited until she swallowed the torrone, and took a steadying breath.
She selected a small piece of the canditi with her fork, and placed it in her mouth next.
The torrone was still heavy on her tongue, and the two tastes went oddly together. It was not something she would seek out, but it was not unpleasant. And the canditi was exquisite as always.
"Delicious."
Vannozza
Vannozza surveyed her quietly in the firelight, smiling gently. "There, you see?" she said softly. "There is room for two."
Or three. Or four. Whatever Lucrezia wished, she would have. Her daughter would be happy.
Lucrezia
She had her mother's permission -- no, her blessing. Lucrezia was free to sample as much dessert as she liked. The Holy Father could ask her to marry to please him, but she would love where she chose. She would warm him bed with who she liked.
Starting now. Perhaps Raffaello was not the most ideal conquest, but he was here. Dany may not approve of her wooing moody painters, but there were precious few alternatives about, and this was not about boredom, or some vague hint of love. This was about testing her wings, and seeing if she would, indeed, be allowed to soar.
Easy enough to find him; he came to the same place to paint every day, according to the handmaid who had followed him. Easy enough to wait there, herself, with a book on her lap, before he arrived.
Raffaello
Raffaello arrived at his favorite spot to draw and was astonished to find the fair angel, Lucrezia, already seated there. His muse, come alive. His good fortune was endless.
He approached carefully, afraid that the least noise might scare the lovely maiden away. He needn't have worried; she seemed pleased to see him -- oh, and how his heart leapt at that notion! -- and closed the book.
Ovid. She was reading Ovid. He had known her to be a kindred gentle soul, moved by poetry and romance and beauty. How could one so beautiful not be touched by it?
He asked, haltingly, if she would marry his brother; the topic seemed to sadden her. But he would be a dutiful brother and convince his angel to marry Calvino, for that was what was asked of him. He spoke, movingly, of Calvino's wealth, and kind nature, but she did not seem stirred.
Perhaps she, too, was caught under this spell that had so transfixed him.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia sighed. What was wrong with Raffaello? She had him here, at a secluded location, and was batting her eyes coquettishly. Why did he insist on ruining the moment with talk of his brother?
She needed to take the lead. How fortunate that she was not shy.
"This is the perfect place, don't you think?" she said, setting the book down behind them and giving him her full attention.
When he didn't catch her meaning, she chose to elaborate.
"For a kiss."
Raffaello
Raffaello stared at her, dumbfounded. But she was be betrothed to his brother -- and no matter how he might pine for what was not his, he could not commit such an act.
But perhaps she did not mean for them. "A kiss?"
Lucrezia
Did she need to draw him a picture? Perhaps Dany was right, that one could stand nude before this boy and he would not know what to do.
She leaned forward, trying her hardest to seem nervous and coy. And she pressed her lips against his.
Raffaello
It wasn't a surprise -- she'd outlined her intentions as clear as day. But still, as ardently and sweetly as the angelic Lucrezia was kissing him, Raffaello could not continue, unless --
He pulled back after but a moment, eyes wide and eager. "You love me and not my brother, then?" he asked, a smile dimpling his features.
Lucrezia
Lucrezia laughed, reaching up to brush her fingers over his cheek. He kissed passably well, though he was a bit slow to follow her lead.
"I would not say love," she said, easily. "We have only just met. Say instead that I would prefer your kisses to his."
Why must he bring up his brother yet again? It was decidedly unromantic.
Here was a better idea: they should kiss once more.
Raffaello
But Raffaello, romantic that he was, was swept up in this notion. He kissed her again, lingering, before pulling away yet again. "I shall speak to your father tonight. I know I am but a younger son, but perhaps arrangements can be made."
Lucrezia
"Arrangements?"
Why was Raffaello so intent on ruining this afternoon? Wait. Arrangements ... meaning what, exactly?
"Surely you can't be thinking of asking my father for my hand."
He was a painter. He had no money, and no sense. There was nothing that would cause the Holy Father to consider an alliance.
Was he joking?
Raffaello
Raffaello stared at her blankly, uncomprehending. "Whyever would you kiss me if you did not wish such a thing?" he asked, laughing. It was tinged with nervousness -- he did not understand.
Lucrezia
Dear heaven, he was a worse choice than she could have imagined. She would listen to Dany in the future, on the subject of potential lovers.
"Because you are beautiful and I should like to kiss you," Lucrezia said. "Did you not enjoy kissing me?"
Best to ease into the fact that she had, in fact, intended to take him to bed, had he followed. That might cause him to faint dead away.
Raffaello
He was now beginning to take her meaning, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Yes, but -- you would have me betray my brother for nothing more than a tryst?" he asked, raising his eyebrows in shock.
Lucrezia
"Betray?" Lucrezia could not believe the words she was hearing. "Betray him? Does Calvino have no mistresses, then? Did you think your brother and I were to swear love and fealty to one another? How is kissing you any bit a betrayal of the arrangement my father would make with him?"
Raffaello
"I am an honorable man," Raffaello protested, gathering his materials and rising to leave.
Lucrezia
"And I am a Borgia," Lucrezia answered, making no move to stop him. "You shouldn't court one so lightly."
And with that, Raffaello was gone.
With any luck, he would confess the affair (or lack thereof) to his brother, who would have another attack of the vapors over her scandalous behavior.
It wasn't how she had hoped to spend her day, but at least she wouldn't have to marry the thoroughly dull Calvino.
(Part 2 of who even knows. Holy shit so much thanks to my partners-in-crime, unburnt_queen -- who also took Vannozza and Raffaello -- and to whateverknight for general background NPC-ing and coding and whatnot. Warning for someone catching on fire. NFB, NFI, but OOC is love.)