The House of Borgia, book 2

CHAPTER 11

Night had now fully fallen. The stars were on a high, dark, mellow ceiling and there was a reflection below from a huge fire which had been built in the center of the field. It cast a broad, bright glow over the faces of the nearest rank of the people who were gathered in a great, loose mob around it. It was hot, too, and those who had sat, cross-legged on the ground near it, had, several times, to get up and move back a little.

Over the fire on an enormous spit an ox was slowly roasting. The deflated hogsheads of wine were lying in the small clearing formed by the crowd and illuminated by the fire. The wine was now either smoldering in lustful bellies or swishing in the water-bottles which the villagers had brought with them. Bread had been distributed and bits of it, broken and dusty, lay around the field. The hams, the sides of bacon had already been privately eaten or taken home to fill the larder for a few days. Now everyone was waiting for the distribution of the ox which the Duke of Alfaro ritually provided for this occasion.

The Duke, himself, was basting the animal with ponderous, self-important deliberation, drawing back from the heat of the fire every so often when it became too much. For the moment, concentrating on his official task, he had allowed lustful thoughts of Dorotea to slip into the recesses of his mind. Which was just as well. For Dorotea, standing with the aristocrats' group, a little within and away from the main sprawling mob, was gazing at Cesare, who, from the front ranks of the crowd, was returning her look just as meaningfully.

It was nearing Dorotea's time to conceive and she was feeling the lack of intercourse which her trip had deprived her of. She was full of honest, animal appetites. Her husband would have done, although in truth she was not in love with him. But this athletic rustic who didn't seem to be a rustic had captured her imagination and would do much better. He was the only man she could recall having come across since her arrival. What a pity he wasn't one of the Duke's entourage. It would be so much less complicated.

She saw him smile at her and gave a sideways glance with the corners of her eyes before returning his smile quickly, briefly. He was so handsome and he had a sort of fire in him, a controlled fire that was quite obvious. She just knew that he hadn't been the slightest concerned about the Duke of Alfaro's ill-concealed anger. She believed that for two pins he could have snapped his fingers in the Duke's face. There was something very strange somewhere.

“Done, done, I think,” the Duke called, red-faced and sweating beside the crackling, delicious-smelling ox.

The distribution began?a hunk of ox for everybody and bread and wine flowing liberally. The power of the grape was, indeed, stalking in the crowds and with the fireworks and main carnival to come, some young couples were already so fired that they were creeping off for a quick, ecstatic embrace before the public displays. Before the night was out there were going to be some very exhausted, very satiated bodies in this corner of Italy.

The Duke of Alfaro had rejoined his party and was now looking once more at the object of his desire as he munched a fat piece of meat. Cesare saw his look and understood. It was very understandable, after all. His own feelings were identical.

Dorotea, unable to go where she felt inclined to, unwilling to put up with the Duke of Alfaro's verbally amorous advances, engaged one of the Duchess' waiting women in conversation. The Duke withdrew, hurt and cross, to watch her curvaceous movements from a slight distance. Cesare took a long swig of wine from a bottle passed by one of his men and settled down to wait.

While the big fire was still blazing there was a fizz of color and noise from the direction of the village and a long-tailed rocket swooped into the air, scattering a confetti of varicolored sparks and stars through the dark sky and fizzled away into darkness and silence again.

There was a short hush of surprise which was shattered almost immediately by whoops and roars of delight from the crowds. The sign for the festivities had been given. As the crowds began to stream away toward the village a whole cluster of rockets soared into the air with tails like birds of paradise and then exploded into a rainbow of colors which filtered into a disappearing rain of particles of color.

The skeleton of the ox was left gently charring over the still blazing fire. The field, littered with pieces of discarded food, began to clear. Caught in the crowd, trying to remain dignified aloof from it, the Duke of Alfaro's party also made its way toward the lanes which led from the field to the village square.

Cesare, with his officers, followed close in their wake.

Outside the field in the narrow lanes with their crumble-walled cottages and houses and cobbled surfaces, the crush became severe. People pushed, some fell and struggled to their feet shrieking, women were felt by men they couldn't even turn to scold, many a pert buttock was pinched and held, many a masculine loin rubbed and ground impudently against feminine asses as the mob, like a single moving entity, hustled toward the square from which more and yet more rockets were being launched into the still air.

Cesare, who had kept close to the local dignitaries' party, elbowed his way still closer as the mob became less and less controlled. There was a great din of cries and a great strife of falling and pushing and fighting and protesting. Every man for himself, and nobody was very concerned about what his neighbor was doing.

The Duke of Valentinois was slowly separated from his lieutenants, who tried in vain to keep up with him. Shortly he had pushed through to the fringe of the Duke of Alfaro's party which was trying to maintain a semblance of decorum in the crush. Peasants flocking around were trying desperately and often vainly to stop those behind from shoving them into the ladies-in-waiting.

Dorotea was in the midst of the party. Often she looked around until at last she was able to see Cesare. They both knew what they were up to, both accepted that they were working toward each other.

Gradually Dorotea fell back, imperceptibly at first and then more boldly, until she was at the very fringe of her group, all occupied in keeping their own feet, and only a pace or two in front of Cesare. He battled and elbowed a fraction more and he was next to her and had taken her hand, his movement hidden in the crush of bodies. Her fingers clasped and interlaced with his immediately, although she didn't look at him any more.

Gently, but as swiftly as possible, before her disappearance was discovered, he edged her through the crowd toward the side of the line. Nobody noticed them. Sauve qui pent.

As they approached the main square, narrow, arched alleyways gave off from the lane, corridors between rows of large houses. It was into one of these that Cesare eased Dorotea and then quickly through another archway into the deserted gloom of a mansion courtyard. There he pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely on the lips, feeling her response, her lips which softly opened and her hands which moved and dug against his shoulders. He released her a little later and saw her pale face looking up at him in the gloom. “Who are you?” she whispered. “The champion wrestler and archer of the Duke of Alfaro's lands,” he replied with a chuckle.

“You're no infantryman?you don't look like one, you don't speak like one.”

The noise of the crowds, interpolated with the fizz and bang of the rockets and fireworks came to them from a little distance. Within the walls of the empty courtyard it was quiet as if in a glass house. At frequent intervals the flame of a rocket seared the sky, lightly dispersing the gloom surrounding them for a few seconds. Cesare stepped back from her a little and bowed, a vague shape in the darkness.

“Allow me to present myself, Madame,” he said softly. “The Duke of Valentinois.”

He heard her sudden intake of breath in the darkness. A short silence followed in which he heard her breathing heavily. Then she came in toward him and he felt her whole body fuse along his own as he put his arms around her. “One might have known,” she whispered. “They say he's the most handsome man in Italy.”

He kissed her again, forcing her lips apart, edging them away from each other with his own. Her tongue darted into his mouth, smooth and slippery and enticing.

“My disguise is not very good if you almost saw through me so easily,” he whispered.

“No disguise would hide you,” she whispered back. “Even my pompous old host noticed. I think he was afraid of you and certainly envious.”

“He obviously desires you.”

“Yes?he's an old lecher.”

“Then I am a younger lecher.”

For answer she laughed softly and kissed him again, running her hands through his hair. Her breath came heavily and he could feel her breasts heaving crazily against his chest. She pulled away from him suddenly, a little wildly.

“Not here,” she whispered. “Not now. They'll find I'm missing in no time and search the whole place to find me.”

He ran his hands over her breasts, richly draped in her velvet dress, as he spoke. Her body shivered under his touch.

“Where then?when?” he asked.

“I leave tomorrow,” she said. “Must you stay here?”

“No, I can take my titles with me.”

“We could meet on the road?although it will be difficult to give my retinue the slip. They're sending an armed band of men-at-arms with my ladies-in-waiting.”

“I'll kidnap you,” he whispered, stroking his hand over her velvet-covered bottom.

“Such a scandal,” she chided, not taking him seriously.

“It would be simpler,” he said. “Then no blame can be attached to you whatever. You were simply being held for ransom, but managed later to escape.”

“But…”

“Leave it to me.” He kissed her again and she twined her body passionately with his, her tongue searching and probing in a way that made him hot and desperate to have her. He kissed her neck, feeling with the direction of his genitals that perhaps they could take a chance now and find some spot in this courtyard where he could taste her treasure. She was breathing thickly and gasping softly, seeming to come to the same view, for her hand strayed over his body and pressed his buttocks into her loins, while her thighs opened and rubbed against him. But in the midst of their mounting passion there were cries and the sound of footsteps above the dull, distant rumble of the crowd, more incisive. Her name was being called.

Swiftly they drew back into the deeper gloom of the courtyard and, against the lighter patch of gloom which was the arched entrance, saw a band of men with pikes and drawn swords run past.

“They're looking for me. We have no time,” she whispered fiercely, as if furious that they had no time now to make love.

He left her and crossed to the archway. Outside all was dark and deserted. The men had passed but they would be back and doubtless there were more. He called to her softly and in a moment she was at his side, her hand on his arm.

“Until tomorrow then,” he said. “You can join the crowds quickly now.”

“I wish it were now,” she said, with a sudden fierce streak of desire. She caught his hand and put it on her breast. And she kissed him once again, fiercely. He ran his lips over her face: the high, warm brow, the animated, pale blue eyes, the short, straight nose, and he bit at that sexy, jutting underlip which told such an accurate story-She broke away from him with a little cry. “Tomorrow,” she said and ran off into the gloom.

He followed, slowly, watching her dim figure round the corner. By the time he had reached it, she was swallowed up amidst the stragglers making their way to the fringe of the crowds in the square.

Cesare wandered down to the square where in a roped off space around the pump and an old statue, the fireworks were being exploded. Rockets were still scarring the sky and on the ground a trelliswork of Roman candles, Catherine wheels and other specialities were popping and whirring in profusion and hurtling sparks into the shrieking, joyful crowds. There was no sign of Dorotea, nor yet the Duke of Alfaro's party. Many people were drunk and there were several necking sessions being carried on openly in a way which would have shocked everybody to the core on a day which was more realistic than the present.

Soon the crowds began to waver back to make room for the grotesquely masked figures, many several times life size which marched into the square, followed by great floats and carts with tableaux from which more fireworks were being hurtled into the flame-scratched sky.

Men were swigging back wine from flasks and couples were dancing, alone and in groups. There was singing, shouting and, doubtless in some dark doorways, there was fucking too.

Cesare began to get into the mood of the crowd. He was disappointed that he'd not managed to possess Dorotea that very night. It had left him hot and frustrated. She had an impish animation with her loveliness, and her obvious desire for. him increased his own for her. Now his penis was hot and unsatisfied and his face still flaming from the passion which remained unrequited in his loins. He held out his hand for a flask of wine which was readily passed to him by one of the merrymakers and took a long draught. He joined the group from which he'd received this beneficence and took stock of its members. Among them was an attractive and rather young girl whose cheeks were flushed and whose skirts swished in abandon as she danced and sang. She appeared for the moment to be with nobody and Cesare joined the dancing group next to her.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered to her as they swung around each other in the dance, and her laughing, tipsy eyes laughed up at him and she pouted her mouth as if she wanted to ' be kissed. A young bud ripe for the plucking, he said to himself as he kissed her lightly on her rosebud lips.

The group raced toward the edge of the crowd for a better view as more floats and carts rumbled into the square. Cesare caught the girl, who was about to run with them and waltzed her into a dance. Laughing and leaning back from his arms, she allowed herself to be danced away from the crowd, until they were almost lost in the gloom at the edge of the square. There Cesare kissed her more ardently and she responded with a similar, but innocent ardor.

“Let's go and salvage the remains of the ox,” he suggested.

“But I'm not hungry.”

“I am?we can dance all the way and be back in a moment.”

She threw back her head and laughed at the thought of dancing through the streets and they moved off with one accord through the gloom of the lane which led to the field where the skeleton of the ox was sagging over the dying fire. On the way they were passed by a group of armed men, who stared at them closely as they passed. You'll find her when you join the throng, Cesare thought with a twinkle. His thoughts roamed for a moment over the face and body of Dorotea. He put his arm around the girl at his side, who was laughing and chattering. A good second best, he thought.

When they reached the field, the fire was a small, flickering spot in a distant point. It was dark and he led her away from the fire. She didn't seem to notice and when, near a clump of small bushes he pulled her around and kissed her again, she closed her eyes and threw back her head. The soft lips on his enveloped him in flame. Her dark hair was lavender-scented. He caught her neck in his hands and crushed his body into her. He stroked her breasts over her dress and drew her down onto the grass in the gloomy shadow of the bushes. She did not resist while he roved over her breasts, but when his hand moved away and traveled up her leg, lifting the hem of her dress and moving up a soft bare thigh, she pulled her face from his.

“No, no,” she said.

He ignored her protest, held her tightly and moved his hand right up until he could feel the concave heat of her crotch and his fingertips brushed against a soft down.

“No, no, no,” she said softly but desperately. She tried to pull away and closed her thighs over his hand. As she struggled he held her tighter and then his fingers were brushing the soft, hanging folds of her labia. When he dug inside she cried out and began to whimper. She was evidently a virgin. But tonight was revelry night, the night for deflowering, and Cesare was at boiling point from his earlier encounter. Holding her struggling body he pulled, tugged and tore off her undergarment and stretched her back on the grass. He slithered from his own undergarments and felt the cool night air on his rigid prick.

“No, no, please, no…” the girl begged. But the caress of his fingers in her vagina which was moistening rapidly seemed to have subdued her. It was now herself she was fighting as much as him.

Cesare wasted no time. He swung onto her and jabbed his prick at her hole. “No, no, no?Oooooooooh!” His penis had coursed into her wet flesh, in pain and excitement. Her mouth screwed up. This was it. This was the point of waiting finally reached on a dark carnival night in a cool field with a strange man. It hurt, but it was exciting and after a while it began to give pleasure. Cesare, thrusting deeper and deeper into her body which quivered like a frightened animal's imagined to himself that it was Dorotea, with whom he looked forward to emulating today's performance on the morrow.