The Borgia Bride by Jeanne Kalogridis Page A

demanded a separate kingdom for Jofre elsewhere? I would be bound to accompany my husband. Only a Neapolitan husband would do, one who would never have reason to take me from my native city.
    Since the day I had discovered Ferrante’s leering mummies, my religious faith had been tentative, half-hearted. Now I embraced it full force, in a desperate test. I called one morning for a private carriage and slipped away, accompanied by a single guard and a driver.
    I headed for the Duomo, startling the stray worshipers inside, who were abruptly herded out by my guard.
    At the altar where the miracle had occurred, I knelt. There, with all my sincerity, I prayed to San Gennaro. I begged him to free me from my engagement to Jofre Borgia, to find me a good Neapolitan husband. Together, I promised, we would donate vast sums of money for the upkeep of the Duomo and for the care of Naples’ poor.
    When I returned to the castle, I requested and received a painting of the saint. In my bedchamber, I erected a small shrine to Gennaro, where I repeated my promise morning and evening. Once a week, I arranged a private excursion to the Duomo. Esmeralda was pleased.
    How nice , everyone said, that she is calming down and becoming devout. No doubt it is because she is to marry the Pope’s son next year .

    I continued my regular devotions and fought not to become discouraged. The simple act of prayer brought with it a temporary peace, and I found myself adding to my original selfish request. I asked for the continued health of Alfonso, my mother, and Donna Esmeralda; I asked for health to be restored to old Ferrante, who was failing. I even prayed for a miracle so great I dared not believe in its possibility: that my father’s heart might be opened, that he might become happy and kind.
    One late summer afternoon, a royal aide came to fetch me to Ferrante’s chambers. I was confused; I turned to Donna Esmeralda for support. I had done nothing of late to displease my elders; if anything, I had behaved circumspectly. In fact, in my hand was a Latin translation of the Proverbs; before the aide arrived, I had been reading the last one:
    A perfect wife—who can find her?
    She is far beyond the price of pearls .
    Her husband’s heart has confidence in her ,
    from her he will derive no little profit .
    Advantage and not hurt she brings him
    all the days of her life .
    San Gennaro , I had prayed, grant my petition and I will become thus .
    I was dressed in the black, full-sleeved gown of the southern noblewoman; I had worn no colour since the announcement of my second engagement. Before leaving, I set down the little book, touched the small gold crucifix at my throat, then followed the King’s aide. Esmeralda stayed close by my side.
    The door to the throne room was flung open; the chamber itself was empty. But as we crossed the marble floor, I heard sounds of agitation and anger coming from the King’s office.
    The aide opened the door and ushered us inside.
    Ferrante sat at his desk, his face starkly scarlet against his white beard. Queen Juana sat beside him, trying to calm him, only occasionally succeeding at capturing one of his wildly gesticulating hands and stroking it in an effort to soothe. Her murmurs were drowned out by my grandfather’s shouts. Beside them both stood my grim-faced father.
    ‘Roman son of a sow!’ Ferrante caught sight of me, and by way of explanation, waved at a letter on the desk. ‘The bastard has appointed his new College of Cardinals. Not a soul from Naples among them, despite the fact we had several qualified candidates. And he appointed two Frenchmen. He mocks me!’ My grandfather slammed his fist on the desk; Juana tried to clutch it, but he pulled it away. ‘The lying son of a whore mocks me!’
    He drew a sudden wheezing breath, then put a hand to his brow as if dizzied.
    ‘You must calm yourself,’ Juana said with uncharacteristic firmness, ‘or I will send for the physician.’
    Ferrante paused a