Sins of the House of Borgia Read Online Free PDF Page B

out of curiosity after she had answered the knock at the gate, gasped at the richness of the gown as I lifted it clear of its wrapping and held it up to the light of the lamps in their bronze wall sconces.
    “Be careful, miss. You don’t want to get smoke on it.”
    What concerned me, however, was the way the lamplight shone right through the fine lawn. Whatever Donna Lucrezia’s reputation, surely she did not expect me to stand in the church, in full view of clergy and congregation, in a gown as transparent as one of Salome’s veils?
    I took the cloak and gown up to my chamber and summoned Mariam to help me, for I had no regular maid of my own. After emptying out the press in which my shifts and underclothes were stored, scattering the rug at my bedside with powdery sprigs of rosemary and lavender so poor Mariam would have to give it an extra beating, I tried on every combination of undergarments I could devise, standing in front of a lamp with my arms stretched out to either side while Mariam scrutinised me for any evidence of the body beneath the clothes. Eventually we settled on two linen shifts and a wool underskirt. I looked rather bulky, but at least I would be warm and my modesty remain unimpeached.
    For a long time after Mariam had left me, I remained in my room, studying the different images of myself I could achieve by holding my hand mirror at different angles. My father was right; I had grown like my mother. It was not that I could clearly remember her face after so many years, or the mannerisms my father identified as hers, a way of tugging my hair at the temple and winding it around my finger, or standing with my hands on my hips which Donna Lucrezia would no doubt school me out of. But when I took inventory of my features, my sharp cheekbones and small, straight nose, my jaw that was slightly square and my eyes which were round, though deep set so they did not give the same impression as my brothers’, who looked like a row of staring owls when they were all together, I saw my mother. No, saw is the wrong word. It was more that I recalled her. She hovered behind the reflection in the glass, mouthing words I could not quite read because my own expression of doubt and stubbornness veiled her.
    Was Papa right to say she would have approved of what I was doing, or had he lied to convince me? Or perhaps never understood his wife? Well, it was too late now for such speculations. Tomorrow, at morning Mass, the daughter of the pope would take my bird-boned hand in her plump one and lead me into subjection to her father. Tomorrow, Donna Lucrezia would become my mother in the sight of God. I would be washed clean of my sins and the sins of my people; I would become a tabula rasa .
    As I was about to begin changing, a gentle, almost shy knock came at my door.
    “Who is it?”
    “Papa.”
    “Come in. I was just…getting changed,” I finished lamely, seeing his expression as he took in the sight of his daughter in her baptismal gown.
    “I…er…,” he cleared his throat, “have to dine out this evening, with Fugger’s man. Something to do with rising port duties on pepper coming into Venice. Important, when you think how much pepper we consume. I shall be back late, I expect.”
    “You can wake me.” We both knew it would be a long time until we saw one another again. He and my brothers could not come to the church tomorrow, nor could they make social calls to Santa Maria in Portico, and I had no idea how much time or liberty my new duties would leave me, if any.
    “I’d rather not.” Coming towards me, he placed his great hands on my shoulders. “You’ll want to look your best tomorrow, no rings under your eyes.”
    “It’s not…” my wedding, I almost said.
    “It’s good that Donna Lucrezia favours you so. Good for your future. Your mother would be so proud,” he finished, all in a rush as though plunging into a cold bath or swallowing bitter medicine, and before I could reply he had turned on