Amor et Psyche - Borgias
Cesare had known his little sister would one day have to marry almost all her life. He had been aware of the fact that it would be a political marriage made with as much regard to emotions as a cattle-market deal since he was made to take the cloth. And he'd had time to prepare ever since. And if there was one thing Cesare didn't do, it was waste precious resources idly.
"Lucrezia must marry" his father had told him in no uncertain terms. And though he had known it would come, he tried to argue against it. Futilely, as was to be expected.
When he left his father's rooms he made his way straight to the stables. Cesare didn't even wait for a stable boy to saddle his horse. In one fluid motion he was on the black stallion's back and cantering of the yard, crimson skirts be damned.
It didn't take long to reach his castle in the countryside. Diable was fast and he crossed the distance like he was out on a leisure ride and not in full gallop.
No sooner had they crossed the gate to the inner courtyard had he jumped off Diable's back and was hurrying through the doors. The stable master would take care of the courser.
Inside, the mayordomo awaited him. "My Lord, what brings you here so suddenly?"
Cesare shook his head "Set everything in motion, Tomàs. It seems my father is set on finding a husband for my sister. Let's present him an option he cannot refuse."
The Valencian steward nodded conscientiously. "Of course, my lord. Shall I send Vicent?"
Cesare nodded, already on his way towards his chambers. This was what he had prepared for since he was sent away to study.
When Pope Alexander VI. led negotiations for his daughter's hand in marriage, he got to see a lot of… colourful options. So far, the Sforzas seemed his safest bet. They would consolidate his papacy. But there was one more he would meet today.
"Il Conte Buonafortuna, vostra santità."
The man who entered was tall, his hair dark and curly. He wore black, with only the barest hints of gold and crimson adorning his clothes. His hands were covered in leather gloves, his face hidden behind a mask. Alexander wasn't certain he could find a single speck of uncovered skin on this last contender.
"Why do you hide your face?" he inquired. It was certainly odd, not to mention rather audacious.
"I do not wish to frighten you, your holiness." The county's voice was soft, muffled by the mask. It sounded vaguely familiar, though Alexander couldn't place it.
"And why should I marry my daughter to you then? She is of a more delicate nature than I am. And if you think your face would frighten me, surely you understand it would terrify her." While none of his words were a lie, neither were they of any real matter. If this count could provide him with a safer papacy than the Sforzas, Lucrezia would have to live with it. Not what he wished for his beloved daughter, of course, but alas, what was he to do?
The count almost sounded like he was smiling under his mask. "My armies to your cause and my money to your coffers."
Alexander barely managed to keep his surprise from his face as the count continued.
"I have in my employ the largest army north of Rome, 6000 horses and almost 15000 spears, most seasoned and all of them well-trained soldiers that can take on forces that outnumber them 2 or even 3 to 1."
The more Count Buonafortuna explained, the more Alexander was inclined to disregard his strange mask. This man was practically offering him all he could possibly want or need. Where was the catch?
"And what benefit would you draw from marriage with Lucrezia, Count?" The Pope might have sounded unconvinced, but in truth, as long as Buonafortuna wanted equal or less of a dowry than the Sforzas, he was his best choice.
"Companionship. Word has it your daughter is as kind as she is beautiful. I am a hard man to love, or so I am told. I have no need for a dowry if the Lady Lucrezia will just agree to show me kindness."
This surely had to be a dream. This count was offering all Alexander needed and did not even demand a dowry. Today must be his lucky day.
Cesare was tired. Playing two people was getting difficult, especially since Pope Alexander expected Cesare to officiate the wedding. He was just lucky Vicent had almost the same measurements he himself had and came close enough to him in appearance that he could stand in during the ceremony, when talking would be sparsely required.
As soon as he could leave the church he rushed to his mother's villa to change. No-one save the servants would be there. While the Pope had hesitated on the matter of allowing Vanozza to attend her daughter's wedding, he - or more precisely Buonafortuna had insisted. Now, as he quickly closed his doublet and grabbed the mask and gloves of his guise, Cesare decided to bring along his crimson robes after all. It might be his presence as Cesare was required sometime during the festivities.
Micheletto had been made privy of the plan only as it was set in motion. Understandable, really, as his lord had not known to trust him before (or not known him at all). It was a truly brilliant plan, if not for the need to be two people at the same time. So now, as everyone was distracted by the celebrations, he informed Cardinal Borgia's - Count Buonafortuna's? -Il Valentino's manservant about Valentino's arrival so the two could switch places.
Count Buonafortuna excused himself from the table and when he returned the servant was no longer posing as the master. Valentino-Buonafortuna made little but mostly pleasant conversation with his bride (sister? One inconvenience this plan did have: it made it rather confusing how to refer to people in regards to Valentino, even in his mind) who soon asked for her brother's whereabouts. The immediate excuse Valentino came up with to abscond from the celebrations only to return in his cardinal robes and without the mask and gloves (though Micheletto was rather sure he had not changed clothes altogether but rather just switched the doublet for the robes) didn't escape Micheletto. The more he learned about Valentino's relationship with his sister, the more it befuddled him. Why go through all this trouble of covertly winning lands and titles enough for a rich revenue and an elite army just to spare his younger sister an undesirable marriage? Why risk his plot being uncovered just because she wished to see her brother rather than her husband? This switching between the parts Valentino played occurred multiple times over the evening before he decided to reinstall his double and make use of Buonafortuna's reputation as a man of few words.
By the time the play of Juan's choosing (some particularly vulgar rendition of the work of a playwright already known for vulgarity, how his brother thought that appropriate for their younger sister's wedding was a mystery to him) was put on, Cesare had grown tired of the many costume changes and - well aware that with every role switch, his discovery became more likely - had called upon Vicent once more to take up the mantle of Buonafortuna, with express orders to talk as little as absolutely possible and, if he could, not at all to the Pope. The latter shouldn't be too hard, considering his father's preoccupation with La Bella Farnese.
He couldn't help a smile spreading on his lips when he noticed Lucrezia asleep next to him. He should take her to her bed. Still smiling, he gathered her in his arms and gave Vicent a covert sign that he too could wrap up his performance for the evening.
His sister was light in his arms, Cesare found, as he carried her to her bed. Almost as if she weighed nothing at all in her innocence. He'd make sure nothing would weigh on her.
Lucrezia Borgia was confused by her husband. Even after they journeyed to his castle (or was it a palace? She wasn't quite sure but it reminded her of Valencia - or the paintings she'd seen thereof) about an hour's ride or two from Rome (or so she was told, if the horse was fast and galloping most of the way. She herself had taken half a day to arrive with her retinue) she only ever saw him in the afternoon and at night and even then never without his mask and gloves. He had made no attempt to consummate the marriage either, had not even kissed her (not that that was even really possible with the mask in place). This evening, she had resolved, she would ask him about that.
They were sat in by the fireplace in a drawing room adjacent to her bedchambers. He had a book open on his lap though he wasn't reading, preferring instead to watch her.
"Why have you not…" she hesitated. Somehow, the words refused to pass her lips. Her husband - she didn't even know his given name, she realised - sighed.
"I will not force myself upon you. When… If you ever desire such from me, I will not deny you. But unless you wish to do that because you desire it, not because you think it your duty, I will not take you to bed." His voice was gentle and though it was muffled by the mask, she could have sworn it was familiar. Emboldened by his willing answer, she decided to ask her other questions as well.
"Will you come riding with me one day?" He had given her a beautiful Spanish palfrey with a coat as light as his courser's was dark.
"If you wish"
"Why do I rarely see you in the day?"
"I am often required in Rome"
"Why not move there then? Wouldn't that be easier?"
"I suppose it would. But so far, I saw no need. We can move to Rome if you wish."
With all these answers giving her courage she finally asked the one that had been gnawing at her since the wedding.
"Why do you always wear a mask?"
"If you saw my face, you would be disgusted by me. Or frightened. I know not which would be worse."
She looked at him, trying to imagine what lay beneath the leather covering his face. "I cannot imagine ever being scared of you" she admitted. "You are too kind, too gentle for that. And I do not believe whatever lies beneath that mask is truly so horrible as to cause revulsion"
"You'd be surprised" his voice was wistful, as if he wished he could believe her words but didn't quite dare.
Time passed and, as Lucrezia had asked, her husband accompanied her on rides in the countryside. He even made plans to move them to Rome when she admitted she missed her family. She saw more of him since they came to the city, too. And the more time he spent with her, the more they talked and laughed, the closer they got. She had fallen in love with him, Lucrezia realised one day. But she also realised that what she felt for her husband was nothing compared to what she felt for Cesare. She had long known her feelings for her brother exceeded sisterly affection, eclipsed familial love like the sun did a candle, but only now that she had a true point of reference did she understand the full truth of her feelings.
It was a realisation that made her cry. That evening, her husband asked what had made her sad and she couldn't tell him, could barely manage not to cry again. Here was a man who was good, who deserved her love and she couldn't love him like that, because she loved her brother more - and not just in a sisterly way. Instead of pressing for an answer, her husband just took her in his arms and let her cry, offering her comfort and asked for nothing in return.
The next few days passed her by in a daze. Lucrezia was buried deep in thought. When she finally resurfaced from the depths of her own heart and mind, her decision was set. She would ask her husband to take off his mask and to take her to bed.
So the next evening, as they were sitting together by the fire, Lucrezia asked the fateful question.
"Will you show me your face?"
"I do not wish for you to see." Her husband (she still did not know his given name, how strange) told her.
"I am not afraid" she replied, thinking this was about his belief his face would frighten her.
"I am." It surprised her that he would freely admit such a thing. He didn't seem scared of anything. "I do not wish for you to abhor me."
"I could never abhor you." Lucrezia told him followed by her confessing "I love you." Just not quite as much as Cesare. But she couldn't say that.
Her words seemed to surprise him, though it was hard to tell through the mask. Her husband heaved a sigh, then gestured for her to come closer.
"Go ahead, then." He sounded terribly defeated.
Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a skittish horse, Lucrezia stepped before him and unbound the mask. Gently she lifted it from his face. First in view came his chin and lips, surrounded by a light scruff. Neither were scarred or deformed. On the contrary, they spoke of great beauty. And they seemed eerily familiar. Next was a straight nose, almost aristocratic. No scars or deformations here, either.
Then she lifted the mask from his closed eyes and saw his full face for the first time. No wonder his voice and lips had seemed so familiar!
"Cesare?" His name left her lips in a whisper. How could this be? Her brother whom she loved too much and her husband whom she couldn't love quite as much as she should, one and the same person? But she had seen the two in the same room, at her wedding, hadn't she?
Cesare opened his eyes and there was so much love in them when he looked at her. She could feel the tears well up in her eyes from the storm of her emotions. He noticed immediately. Of course he noticed, Cesare always noticed.
"I made you cry. I am sorry, my love. Can you ever forgive me? I did not mean to hurt you. Never that." His words had the opposite effect from what he desired. The tears spilled from her eyes as she flung her arms around him. Startled, it took a moment for his to wind around her form. "How is this even possible? And why? Oh Cesare, I'm so happy."
And going by the sharp intake of breath and the way his arms tightened around her, the next words took him just as off guard in the best of ways as the revelation had taken her. "I love you, Cesare."
Micheletto couldn't quite hide a smile when he saw Valentino going about the palazzo he had bought for his sister-wife without the guise of Buonafortuna. The countess apparently felt quite the same for him as he did for her. Valentino seemed to move with a new lightness and ease of purpose, as if he had found his place in the world, right there in his sister's arms. (It didn't slip past him that only one bedchamber was left in use.) It hadn't taken Micheletto long after the wedding to figure out that Valentino was in love with his sister. He did nothing to hide his utter devotion to her and very little to disguise his love as purely fraternal. And knowing that Cardinal Borgia and Count Buonafortuna were one and the same man had helped clear even the last doubts he might have had. (He doubted anyone else, except maybe the most trusted staff, knew.) Maybe it should have bothered Micheletto, they were siblings after all, any union between them deemed unnatural by the church. But then, he had no room to judge, did he? His inclinations were as unnatural to the church as theirs. And something about Valentino was different from every other person he had ever worked for in his life. Maybe it was that Valentino actually seemed to care about him. (And hadn't that been a surprise? Somehow, he had not just earned the Cardinal-Count's trust in almost no time, he had also earned his friendship. That was something new for him) Whatever the reason, he would keep the secret he was now privy to, even if it cost his life. This was a man worthy of his devotion. Maybe, Micheletto thought, he had finally found his place in the world.