Madonna of the Seven Hills Read Online Free PDF

great Cardinals, their retinues with them, came riding into Rome on their mules. People stood about in little groups; some talked quietly, some gesticulated angrily.
    All day she had waited for a visit from Uncle Roderigo, but he did not come.
    When Cesare came into the nursery she ran to him and took his hands, but even Cesare had changed; he did not seem as interested in heras before. He went to the loggia and patiently she stood beside him, like a little page, humble, waiting on his pleasure as he liked her to; yet he said nothing, but stood still, watching the crowds in the streets.
    “Uncle Roderigo has not come to us,” she said wistfully.
    Cesare shook his head. “He will not come, little sister. Not today.”
    “Is he sick?”
    Cesare smiled slowly. His hands were clenched, she saw, and his face grew taut as it did so often when he was angry or determined about something.
    She stood on the step which enabled her to be as high as his shoulder, and put her face close to his that she might study his expression.
    “Cesare,” she said, “you are angry with Uncle Roderigo?”
    Cesare caught her neck in his strong hands; it hurt a little, this trick of his, but she liked it because she knew that it meant: See how strong I am. See how I could hurt you, little Lucrezia, if I wished to; but I do not wish to, because you are my little sister and I love you because you love me … better than anyone in the world … better than our mother, better than Uncle Roderigo, better, certainly better, than Giovanni.
    And when she squealed and showed by her face that he was hurting—only a little—that meant: Yes, Cesare, my brother. You I love better than any in the world. And he understood and his fingers became gentle.
    “One is not angry with Uncle Roderigo,” Cesare told her. “That would be foolish, and I am no fool.”
    “No, Cesare, you are no fool. But are you angry with someone?”
    He shook his head. “No. I rejoice, little sister.”
    “Tell me why.”
    “You are but a baby. What could you know of what goes on in Rome?”
    “Does Giovanni know?” Lucrezia, at four, was capable of sly diplomacy. The lovely light eyes were downcast; she did not want to see Cesare’s anger; like Roderigo she turned from what was unpleasant.
    The trick was successful. “I will tell you,” said Cesare. Of course he would tell. He would not allow Giovanni to give her something which he had denied her. “The Pope, who you know is Sixtus IV, is dying. That is why they are excited down there; that is why Uncle Roderigo does not come to see us. He has much to do. When the Pope dies there will be a Conclave and then, little sister, the Cardinals will choose a new Pope.”
    “Uncle Roderigo is choosing; that is why he cannot come to see us,” she said.
    Cesare stood smiling at her. He felt important, all-wise; no one made him feel so wise or important as his little sister; that was why he loved her so dearly.
    “I wish he could choose quickly and come to see us,” added Lucrezia. “I will ask the saints to make a new Pope quickly … so that he can come to us.”
    “No, little Lucrezia. Do not ask such a thing. Ask this instead. Ask that the new Pope shall be our Uncle Roderigo.”
    Cesare laughed, and she laughed with him. There was so much she did not understand; but in spite of the threatening strangeness, in spite of the gathering crowd below and the absence of Uncle Roderigo, it was good to stand on the loggia, clinging to Cesare’s doublet, watching the excitement in the square.

    Roderigo was not elected.
    The excitement, watched by the children, persisted throughout the city. The scene had changed. Lucrezia heard the sounds of battle in the streets below, and Vannozza, in terror, had barricades put about the house. Even Cesare did not know exactly what it was all about, although he and Giovanni, strutting around the nursery, would not admit this. Uncle Roderigo only visited the house briefly to assure himself that