Free Madonna of the Seven Hills by Jean Plaidy Page B

each purple-clad figure returned to his throne.
    At the first counting of votes Roderigo had seven, but Carafa had nine, Costa and Michiel, the Cardinal of Venice, also had seven, and della Rovere five. As for Ascanio Sforza he had none, and it was clear from the beginning that none of the Cardinals was ready to see a man so young on the Papal throne.
    This was deadlock, for there must be a majority of two-thirds for one candidate before he was elected.
    A fire was made and the papers burned; and all those waiting in St. Peter’s Square to hear the result of the election, seeing the smoke, excitedlycalled each other’s attention to it and knew that the first scrutiny had been ineffectual.
    Roderigo now decided that he must act quickly. In his own cell he laid his plans and when he mingled with his fellow Cardinals, he lost no time in getting to work.
    He began with Ascanio Sforza, begging him to walk with him in the galleries after the siesta. Ascanio, realizing he had no chance of being elected, hinted that he was ready to gain what he could. Roderigo could offer him bigger bribes than any.
    “If I were elected Pope,” Roderigo promised, “I would not forget you. Yours should be the Vice-Chancellorship and I would also give you the Bishopric of Nepi.” It was a good consolation prize, and Ascanio wavered only a little before he agreed. And as with Ascanio, so with others who quickly realized that they were out of the running yet could come out of the Conclave richer men than when they went into it.
    So while Rome sweated and waited for the results, that sly fox Roderigo worked quietly, stealthily and with the utmost speed within the Conclave. He had to. He had made up his mind that this time he must succeed, for how could he tell when there would be another chance.

    It was August 11th, five days after the Conclave had begun. In the Piazza San Pietro people who had been waiting all through the night watched, their eyes on the walled-up window.
    As the dawn lightened their eager faces there was a sudden shout and excitement was at fever-pitch for the bricks had begun to fall from the walled-in window.
    The election was over. After the fourth scrutiny there had been an unanimous choice.
    Roderigo Borgia had been elected Pope, and from now on he would be known as Alexander VI.

    Roderigo stood on the balcony listening to the acclaim of the people. This was the greatest moment of his life. The crown, for which he had fought ever since his uncle, Calixtus III, had adopted him and his brother, was now his. He felt powerful as he stood there, capable of anything. Who would have believed five days ago that he would be the chosen one? Even his old enemy, della Rovere, had given him his vote. It was wonderful what a little persuasion could do, and who could resist persuasion such as a rich abbacy, the legation of Avignon and the fortress of Ronciglione? Not della Rovere. A great deal to pay for a vote? Not at all. He had bought power with the wealth he had accumulated over the years, and he was going to make sure that it became unlimited power.
    He held out his hands and for a few seconds there was complete silence among the multitude.
    Then he cried: “I am the Pope and Vicar of Christ on Earth.”
    There was loud acclamation. It was of no importance how he had reached this eminence. All that mattered was that it was his.

    The Coronation of Alexander VI was the most magnificent Rome had ever seen. Lucrezia, watching from a balcony of a Cardinal’s palace, was overwhelmed with pride and joy in this man who—apart from Cesare, whom she had not seen for so long—she loved best in the world.
    This was her father, this handsome man, in his rich robes, sitting so straight on his white horse, blessing the multitudes who crowded about him, the center of all the pageantry, this man was her father.
    Alexander was fully aware that there was nothing the people enjoyed more than pageantry, and the more brilliant, the better they liked