Free The Borgia Mistress: A Novel by Sara Poole Page B

time they could succeed.”
    Far from resenting his assessment, I welcomed it. Only a true fool would reject the counsel of one who had proven himself as good and trustworthy a friend as David.
    “Do you know anything more?” I asked.
    “Not yet, but I thought it best to come here as soon as I got word of what was happening. We paid to the heavens and beyond for Borgia’s promise that as pope he would extend the hand of tolerance to us. So far, he has made good on his word. But if he falls…”
    I nodded grimly. “All the current crop of candidates to replace him see their power as rooted in Holy Mother Church. They will use any scapegoat to keep it from being blamed for the mounting ills of the world.”
    “You really think Borgia is different?”
    “I do. He sees his power as coming from within himself. The Church is only a means to an end. He would cheerfully tear it apart and rebuild it in some entirely new form if that meant he would achieve his own goals more readily.”
    “You are saying that in the vastness of his ambition, there is room for other men to breathe?”
    I could not have put it so eloquently, but it was true all the same. “Yes, I suppose I am. So, my friend, how are we to keep him alive?”
    David flashed a wolf’s smile. However high the stakes might be, he could still find pleasure in the contest. “You would be amazed at what people will say in the presence of a fool. If anyone in Viterbo has seen or heard anything that points to the identity of the assassin, I will find it out.”
    I did not doubt him, but I did have a suggestion. “As this information comes from Spain, you would do well to keep an eye on the Spaniards in particular.”
    David raised a brow. “Are you saying that Borgia’s own countrymen, his supposed allies, could be behind the threat to him?”
    In truth, I would not have thought so except that the known perfidy of Their Most Catholic Majesties was enough to give any sensible person pause. Fairly or not, I had to consider that despite the lengths Borgia had gone to woo them—giving them the lion’s share of Novus Orbis, the New World, for example—they still might not be steadfast in their loyalty.
    Even so, I answered mildly. “I am saying nothing, but neither do I want to overlook any possibility.”
    He thought for a moment, then nodded. “Fair enough. Can you get me close to them?”
    It was my turn to smile. “Nothing adorns a great prince so well as a great fool. I will speak to Borgia.”
    We lingered a little longer, talking of Rome and mutual friends, before I took my leave and returned to the palazzo. There beneath the wooden-hammer-beam roof from which the banners of the popes dating back centuries were displayed, Borgia was still holding court. Herrera appeared to be attending courteously to whatever it was that Il Papa was saying, but I caught the mocking roll of his eyes when His Holiness turned away for a moment.
    When the meal concluded, I withdrew to my rooms, where, after some hesitation, I opened the letter from Sofia. She wrote to say that she hoped I was taking every care for my health, by which I assumed she meant that I was not abusing the sleeping powder she had provided. Plague was in the city but as yet seemed contained by the usual measure of boarding up the houses of the afflicted, leaving all within to live or die as God willed. I should write to let her know how I fared, and if I needed anything, I should tell her that as well.
    I set the letter aside and reached for the one from Rocco. Did my hand shake slightly as I opened it? I do not wish to think so, but the possibility remains.
    He was well and hoped I was the same. Nando had produced a drawing of their street that his father enclosed. He thanked me again for encouraging the boy’s artistic leanings. They had acquired a dog, some mix of greyhound and who-knew-what. Nando had insisted on naming her Bella. Rocco thought the sentiment far off the mark but admitted that with