I knew something else that would numb the pain altogether. I stared at the little vial of hemlock tincture until it twinned itself, dancing in the haze around my vision. I could feel Santa Marta clicking her tongue at me in disapproval, if a severed hand in a pouch really had a tongue to click.
It’s him or me. I could smell old blood and splinters; the smell of the executioner’s block. I’d smell it when they forced my head down on it, right before they chopped off my nose. The last thing I’d ever smell, all thanks to a dwarf’s malice.
Panic rose sour and nauseating in my throat, and I palmed the little vial into my sweaty hand.
EPILOGUE
Fear is the daughter of death.
—OLD ITALIAN PROVERB
Rome
The girl is terrified. Michelotto can see it, hear it, feel it, smell it, and if he puts his lips to her skin he knows he will be able to taste it. Fear in all five senses; it’s always been his gift. He puts a gloved hand on her throat, stroking it. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises, and he speaks truth. He would hurt her if he was ordered to, but he wasn’t ordered to.
“Kill this one quickly,” Cesare Borgia had told him. “She’s just a whore from the Borgo, after all—she doesn’t deserve this.”
Michelotto shrugs as he takes the girl’s wrists one at a time, roping them down wide and spread-eagled on the battered table. He doesn’t bother thinking about the ones he kills, whether they deserve it or not. He is Cesare Borgia’s dog, and like a good dog, he does what he is told. No more, no less.
“The dwarf’s been asking questions.”
“I know.” Cesare Borgia had been amused.
“He won’t stop.”
“No.” And when Michelotto had suggested throwing the little man off the scent, the Pope’s son had seen the sense of it.
“You may kill this one, then,” Cesare had said. “I shall be occupied elsewhere, with many witnesses. Not that there isn’t enough to do,” he added. “It seems La Bella has gotten herself captured by the French. If I’m not there to stop him, the Holy Father will end up declaring war on France.”
The girl whimpers. Michelotto surveys the room: the details. Yes, it looks right. The little man won’t know. Michelotto had offered to kill the little man—it would be simpler—but Cesare Borgia likes him.
“I’m sorry,” Michelotto tells the girl. “This is unfair, I know.” He puts his hand over her eyes so she won’t see. A moment or two later he is gone, adjusting his borrowed mask and flicking drops of blood from his gloves as he disappears into the Holy City.
HISTORICAL NOTE
The Borgias dominate the Renaissance, fascinating across time with their power, their charm, and their unsavory reputations. They have inspired countless books, movies, scholarly works, and rumors, and the one thing everyone can agree on is just how difficult they are to pin down: corrupt churchman and his incestuous brood, or loving paterfamilias and his misunderstood offspring? The truth is probably somewhere in the middle—and pure gold to a historical novelist.
It’s fashionable to blame the Borgias for corrupting the Church, but the institution was already corrupted long before Rodrigo Borgia took the throne of St. Peter as Alexander VI. Benefices, pardons, and indulgences were openly bought and sold; vows of chastity and poverty among the clergy were blatantly ignored, and the Pope was politician and king over his unruly papal states just as much as he was Father of Christendom. Priests like Savonarola preached of the dangers of sin and hellfire, but it was understood by even the lowest on the social scale that there was no sin that could not be pardoned with the appropriate penance or payoff. The Borgias have become the poster children for this cynical system, but their real sin appears to be their lack of hypocrisy: Rodrigo Borgia was hardly the first Pope to aggrandize his family, keep a mistress, or sire illegitimate children; he simply refused to hide any of it under the usual cloak of lies. Such honesty about his various sins might be rather refreshing to a modern perspective—not so to his contemporaries.
Giulia Farnese was one of the great beauties of the Renaissance, already famous for her vivacity and her floor-length hair by the time she married wealthy young Orsino Orsini. It isn’t known precisely when Giulia caught the eye of the womanizing Rodrigo Borgia, or if her marriage to Orsino was arranged from the beginning as a cover for an illicit affair—Rodrigo arranged several such compliant husbands for his previous mistress, Vannozza dei Cattanei. But by the time Cardinal Borgia was elected Pope, Giulia Farnese was his official mistress, installed in a cheerful domestic arrangement with her apparently compliant mother-in-law, Adriana da Mila, and the young Lucrezia Borgia. The deftness with which Giulia handled her volatile Pope throughout their long and evidently passion-filled affair indicates that the woman nicknamed the Bride of Christ had some brains under all that hair.
Giulia’s daughter Laura has no certain birthdate or father. Gossip of the day believed her to be the Pope’s child, but she was christened under the name Orsini. Giulia’s husband was well rewarded for the loan of his wife, but he was never as compliant about the arrangement as were Vannozza dei Cattanei’s husbands. Giulia nearly did rejoin Orsino once, after her flight to her family in Capodimonte to attend her brother’s deathbed, but the Pope’s furious letters (quoted in the book) soon sapped Orsino’s resolve to reclaim his wife. All the delay caused Giulia and her traveling party to fall into the hands of the invading French army—and the French salivated at the power they had gained over the frantic Pope.
Carmelina is a fictional character. Most of the professional cooks in illustrious houses would have been male, but cooks of the day were trained without the strict oversight of a formal guild—a cook’s daughter with talent might well have trained under her father. The Renaissance was a golden age for food as well as art; the recipes from this book have been taken almost exclusively from surviving Renaissance cookbooks. There was a convent of Santa Marta in Venice that boasted the reliquary hand of Santa Marta, the patron saint of cooks—but we have no record that the relic was ever stolen. Desecration of a church or altar was one of the more severe crimes of the day, punishable by such tortures as throttling, upside-down hanging, or the chopping of hands and ears. But justice in the Renaissance was always an arbitrary thing, punishments being handed out according to the social status or financial contributions of the offender.
Leonello is also a fictional character. Dwarves were hugely popular among Renaissance nobles as entertainers, jugglers, and companions; they were even bred like pets. Conversely they could be feared and abhorred by the ignorant as demons, changelings, or simply as cursed by God.
I have taken some liberties with the facts in order to serve the story. Giulia’s marriage to Orsino occurred somewhat earlier, at the respective ages of fifteen and sixteen; I moved the occasion up to coincide with the papal election. I altered traveling plans so that Cesare could be present for Carmelina’s aphrodisiac banquet, so the Pope could stand witness at his son Joffre’s wedding in Naples, and so Orsino Orsini could visit Giulia at Capodimonte rather than merely writing her letters. Several unconfirmed portraits of Giulia exist, including the Portrait of a Young Woman with Unicorn by Raphael which hangs today in Rome’s Galleria Borghese (the blond beauty in the picture not only sports a huge teardrop pearl necklace but has a baby goat in her lap painted as a miniature unicorn). Raphael’s unfinished Transfiguration, currently hanging in the Vatican Museum, also supposedly features Giulia as the kneeling blond figure, in the same scene described in Pesaro’s beauty contest. Both paintings, however, would have been painted much later, since Raphael was still very young during the events of this book.
The adventures of the Borgia family have only begun with the French invasion. Giulia and her friends will face many dangers to come, as the saga continues.
CHARACTERS
*denotes historical figures
THE BORGIA FAMILY
*RODRIGO BORGIA, Cardinal of Valencia, later Pope Alexander VI
*CESARE
BORGIA, his eldest son, Bishop of Pamplona, later Archbishop of Valencia and Cardinal Borgia
*JUAN BORGIA, his second son, Duke of Gandia
*LUCREZIA BORGIA, his daughter, later Countess of Pesaro
*JOFFRE BORGIA, his youngest son, later Prince of Squillace
*VANNOZZA DEI CATTANEI, Rodrigo’s former mistress, mother of his children
*ADRIANA DA MILA, a cousin
*ORSINO ORSINI, her son
THE FARNESE FAMILY
*GIULIA FARNESE
*LAURA, her daughter
*ALESSANDRO FARNESE, called SANDRO, Giulia’s brother; later Cardinal Farnese
*ANGELO FARNESE, Giulia’s brother
*BARTOLOMEO FARNESE, Giulia’s brother
*GEROLAMA FARNESE, Giulia’s sister
*PUCCIO PUCCI, Gerolama’s husband
IN ROME:
MARCO SANTINI, maestro di cucina for Adriana da Mila
CARMELINA MANGANO, his cousin from Venice
*PANTISILEA, PIA, TADDEA: household maidservants
LEONELLO, cardsharp and bodyguard
*MICHELOTTO CORELLA, Cesare Borgia’s private assassin
*BARTOLOMEO, kitchen apprentice
PIERO, OTTAVIANO, GIULIANO, UGO, TOMMASO, BRUNO: other kitchen apprentices
*JOHANN BURCHARD, papal master of ceremonies
*MAESTRO PINTURICCHIO, an artist
*CATERINA GONZAGA, Countess of Montevegio
*COUNT OTTAVIANO DA MONTEVEGIO, her husband
ANNA, a tavern maid
SANTA MARTA, a holy relic
IN ITALY:
*GIOVANNI SFORZA, Count of Pesaro
PAOLO MANGANO, Carmelina’s father, maestro di cucina in Venice
IN SPAIN:
*KING FERDINAND and *Queen Isabella
*MARIA ENRIQUES, a royal cousin, later Duchess of Gandia
IN NAPLES:
*ALFONSO II, King of Naples
*SANCHA OF ARAGON, his illegitimate daughter, later Princess of Squillace
IN FLORENCE:
*FRA GIROLAMO SAVONAROLA, Dominican friar
IN FRANCE:
*CHARLES VIII OF FRANCE, claimant to the throne of Naples
*GENERAL YVES D’ALLEGRE, leader of the French armies
READERS GUIDE
The SERPENT and the PEARL
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Which character most suitably earns the title of Serpent? The Pearl? Why?
2. Carmelina Mangano opens the novel. Already in the opening pages, it is noted that Carmelina possesses a cook’s nose. How does her talent as a cook change her character? Her life?
3. Many characters in the book are based on real people involved with the Borgias. Did you have any preconceptions of the Borgia family that shaped your expectations of the story?
4. How does the relationship between Giulia and Lucrezia grow or change throughout the book? Do you have any sympathy for Vannozza dei Cattanei? Why or why not?
5. At one point, Madonna Adriana explains, “My boy [Orsino] will need help if he’s to get on as he should,” in response to Giulia’s accusation that she is a terrible mother. Do you understand her choices or do you find them inexcusable?
6. Giulia’s mother told her that a woman has three possible fates: “Wife, nun—or whore. And once you’ve chosen, there’s no changing it.” Carmelina disagrees. Discuss the female characters and assign each the label of “wife,” “nun,” or “whore.” Why did you choose what you did? Do you agree with Giulia’s mother or Carmelina? Why?
7. How is Madonna Adriana’s relationship with Rodrigo Borgia (her cousin) similar to Giulia’s with Sandro or Carmelina’s with Marco? How do the three women manage the men who control their lives, when it comes to getting their own way?
8. Once Leonello was named Giulia’s bodyguard, all three narrators had a chance to meet for the first time in Carmelina’s kitchen. What did you suspect would become of them? How did you think they would interact?
9. During Lucrezia’s bridal processional to the Vatican, Leonello reflects on the crowd: “They would be pleased by the pomp, dazzled rather than offended. The Borgias, in the eyes of most of the world including themselves, had been put upon the earth by God to lead sumptuous lives on behalf of the masses. Their pomp was God’s will.” How is this similar to the way our modern culture idolizes celebrities?
10. Leonello is ashamed of himself when he finds cheer in the fact that the fruit vendor, Eleonora, was also staked. Were you happy that this storyline was continued? Did you suspect Cesare?
11. Leonello observes that “the degree to which women kiss and coo, I’ve found, is in direct proportion to the degree in which they dislike each other.” Do you agree? How do Giulia and Carmelina relate differently to other women, from their very different stations in life? How do they relate to each other?
12. Giulia doesn’t walk in her brother’s funeral procession in Capodimonte because, “that wasn’t how things were done here.” Would you prefer Giulia live in the country where she’s vilified or in the city where her relationship with the Pope removes her from judgment? How do these distinctions affect the story?
13. Do you suspect that Rodrigo cares to save Giulia once she’s captured by the French? Why or why not?
14. Giulia reflects on the difference between passion and love, declaring that Rodrigo and Orsino both feel passion for her but not love. Do you agree? Are any of the female characters capable of inspiring love?
TURN THE PAGE FOR A SPECIAL PREVIEW OF THE NEXT NOVEL OF THE BORGIAS,
The LION and the ROSE
AVAILABLE JANUARY 2014
FROM BERKLEY BOOKS
Giulia
You’d think that the Holy Father would have an all-seeing gaze, wouldn’t you? Being God’s Vicar here upon earth, surely he would be granted divine sight into the hearts and souls of men as soon as that silly papal hat everyone insisted on calling a tiara was lowered onto his brow. The truth is, most popes don’t have divine insight into much of anything. If they did, they’d get on with the business of making saints and saving souls rather than pronouncing velvet gowns as impious, or persecuting the poor Jews. Blasphemy it may be, but most popes have no more insight into the minds of humanity than does any carter or candlestick-maker walking the streets of Rome in wooden clogs.
And my Pope was no exception. He was the cleverest man I knew in some ways—those black eyes of his had only to pass benignly over his bowing cardinals to know exactly which ones were scheming against him, and certainly that despicable French King had learned not to cross wits or swords with Rodrigo Borgia over the past year and a half since I’d been ransomed. But when it came to his family, His Holiness Pope Alexander VI was as dense as a plank.
At least at the moment he was a very happy plank.
“Mi familia,” he said thickly, and began to raise his goblet but put it down again to dash a heavy hand at the water standing in his eyes. “My children all together again. Cesare, Lucrezia, Joffre—Juan—”
The loathsome young Duke of Gandia preened, sitting at his father’s right where Rodrigo could easily reach out to touch his favorite son’s shoulder. Juan Borgia, twenty years old now and returned from his lands in Spain. Although he was a duke, a husband, even a father (Holy Virgin, fetch me a basin!)—that auburn-haired young lout looked no different to me, lolling in his chair fiddling with his dagger hilt, already halfway through his cup of wine and giving me the occasional leer over the rim. I’d heaved a great sigh that afternoon, watching him strike a pose before the cheering crowd as he disembarked his Spanish ship. My lover’s second son had been wearing silly stockings embroidered in rays and crowns, and I’d realized just how much I’d been hoping never to see Juan or his ridiculous clothes or his leer again. As soon as I heard Rodrigo had summoned Juan from Spain to take command of the papal forces against the French, I prayed so devoutly for a shipwreck. You’d think someone nicknamed the Bride of Christ could get the occasional prayer answered, wouldn’t you?
; But if I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see Juan or his silly stockings again, my Pope was—he had rushed from his elaborate sedan chair across the docks to embrace his son in a great sweep of embroidered papal robes, kissing both his cheeks and uttering a great many ecstatic things in the Catalan Spanish he saved for moments of high emotion. Nobody else had missed Juan, when he departed Rome for Barcelona to take possession of the Spanish duchy and the Spanish bride my Pope had inveigled for his favorite son—but my Pope certainly had. And nothing would do but to gather the whole family together for an intimate evening cena in the Holy Father’s private apartments at the Vatican.
And what apartments! Just a modest little nest of rooms in the Vatican where the Holy Father could remove his jeweled cope (along with the weight of all Christendom), and relax at the end of the evening like any ordinary man. But Rodrigo Borgia would have nothing ordinary. He had declared he would have the papal apartments new-made, stamped and decorated with a flair that said nothing but “Borgia.” It had taken two years, but that little painter Maestro Pinturicchio had finally finished the frescoes that had been designed especially for the Holy Father’s personal rooms, and the resulting splendor left all Rome gasping. Our small cena tonight had been set in the Sala dei Santi; the long table draped with sumptuous brocades and set with solid silver dishes and fragile Murano glass; the ceiling arched overhead painted in double crowns and the Borgia bull; the frescoes were framed with geometric Moorish patterns in a blaze of colors, imported straight from Spain.
Pinturicchio had used us all as models for his various scenes—Lucrezia dimpled and tossed her blond head under the beseeching figure of herself on the wall as Santa Caterina; inscrutable Cesare lounged under his own image as inscrutable Emperor Maximilian in a massive throne; fourteen-year-old Joffre pranced in the painted crowd as one of the background figures; and Juan cut a ridiculous figure on the wall in a silly Turkish mantle as a turbaned heathen. I was a Madonna in one of the other chambers, with my Laura on my lap for the Christ child. “Surely it’s blasphemous to have a girl sit as model for our Lord!” Maestro Pinturicchio had protested.