The House of Borgia, book 2

CHAPTER 8

It goes without mention that Cesare Borgia, Duke of Valentinois, carried more than military glory back with him to Rome. Maria the gypsy was already established in Imola, well provisioned for his return in a few weeks or months, and in his train, strangely changed to anyone who knew her, the Countess Caterina Sforza-Riario dressed in stark black and white, sat her horse, impressive and emotionless but a willing captive.

All those cities which had refused to pay their fiefs to the Holy See had been subdued and Cesare's fame?as much his personality as his achievements?had spread throughout the whole of Italy.

Small wonder that on his return to Rome, the city was the scene of wild enthusiasm. There is nothing the crowd will take to its heart more than a strong man who has a reputation for magnanimity.

Alexander, himself, overflowed with pride at his son's victories and the glory of his reputation. He dispatched a deputation, which included two cardinals and a number of dignitaries, to meet his son on the road beyond the gates of Rome. A huge reception was prepared for him within with prelates, ambassadors, generals and officials of the city waiting eagerly to receive him.

When he made his entry through the northern gate, wave upon wave of thunderous cheering filled the air above the seven hills; people threw garments and flowers into the air; there was a salute of cannon fire.

His train was splendid enough to inspire awe and devotion. In the van were the baggage carts, splendidly caparisoned, and immediately followed by several thousand foot soldiers in full campaign apparel preceded by trumpet-blasting heralds in the livery of the Duke and the King of France. The Duke, who followed next on horseback, was surrounded by a guard of fifty mounted men simply clad and with the Borgian bull emblazoned on their breasts.

The Duke, plainly dressed in black velvet with a gold chain about his neck, was followed by several thousand cavalry with halberds and banners. A posse of trumpeters, blowing hard enough to reduce the walls of Jericho, brought up the rear in a fine flourish…

With Cesare, within his protecting body of men-at-arms, rode the deputation which had met him, broad smiles on their faces, happy and proud to share in his glory for a brief moment.

And not far behind him rode the Countess, unsmiling, severe, but hiding deep thoughts of unbelievable incidents.

Around this vast cortege, the city was en fete. Guns continuously thundered salutes, banners floated from the Castle of St. Angelo.

The Pope, tears of joy in his eyes, watched from the loggia above the portals of the Vatican as his son approached. He remembered that son of his, that athletic, gawky boy who had been initiated in the art of love by his young sister Lucrezia, he remembered that panting embrace, guilty and half-afraid beside the pool in the grounds of his mansion. And he thought: This is my son, Cesare Borgia, riding in triumph through the streets of Rome with the whole world as far as the French Court listening to tales of his exploits and success.

It was only a couple of nights ago that Alexander had, himself, stuck his prick up his daughter's cunt and fucked and fucked her until they had both been paralyzed with inertia?and Cesare had, indirectly, shared in that. It was with him, under the Pope's guidance, that the young girl had lost her virginity and started on that path which made her such a bone-shaking joy to men.

Alexander brought his thoughts back to the present with an effort. Later tonight, Cesare, if he had no other plans?and who could possibly have other plans?would be able to enjoy his sister in a nude-entwining embrace. This would be a fitting reward for his achievement and richly deserved.

He watched as his son dismounted at the steps and his bright army ranged itself behind him. When Cesare began to climb the broad flights with the two cardinals and the ambassadors who accompanied him, the Pope, his heart overwhelmed with pleasure, descended to the comfortable chambers below and arranged himself on his throne.

Cesare, his eyes alight with pleasure at the sight of his father, advanced through the marble-pillared chamber and fell upon his knees before the throne.

As Alexander, tears in his eyes, placed his hands upon his son's head, prior to embracing him, he thought what a fine and imposing figure his son had become even in the months since he'd departed. Every tiniest period of time seemed to add to his stature. Lucrezia would be overjoyed; indeed, the juices would start to run between her legs at the very sight of her brother, whom she still adored.