The air was sultry even in the dead of night, and redolent of the bougainvillea and citrus trees that grew in the giardino. He lay still, his mind focused only on the light of the moon catching the dark waves of her hair, the weight of her body atop his, the light breeze that blew through the opening window, barely stirring the gauzy curtains. All was mercifully quiet, the only sound the faint rustle of linen as she moved.
He had been pleasantly surprised to find her, a pale-skinned, wide-eyed girl who spoke heavily accented Italian in a hushed, halting voice. She was nothing like the whores in his brother's beloved brothels, loud bawdy places that employed puttane whose motions of hips were only matched by those of their gossipping mouths. She did not ask questions, did not offer commentary.
It was a most pleasant transaction indeed.
Her heavy breasts bounced as her full hips circled above his, keeping a steady rhythm. He flexed his hands against the bedsheet below their bodies, then reached for her. Just as his fingers brushed her flesh, a scream broke the silence, thought it was swiftly strangled.
In an instant, he was up and out of bed, pulling on his discarded clothing and swiftly grabbing a stiletto from the table near the door. He hurried out into the dark hallway of the villa, listening intently for the sounds of what was amiss. Once again, it was still, though this particular stillness was unwelcome. Anxiety crept over him, filling him with thoughts of his beloved sister, hurt in some way.
The hallway was long, and all the doors lining it were closed. As he approached, one whispered open. The pale face that peered out brought a significant measure of relief.
"Cesare?" Lucrezia looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened. "Cesare, what happened?"
"I don't yet know."
"But that cry- it sounded as though it came from Juan's room."
He paused long enough to stroke her cheek gently. "Stay back, and close the door."
She obeyed quickly, for which he was thankful. Cesare hurried to the end of the hall.
At the door of Juan's camere, he paused. He had only a small weapon. He wasn't even wearing shoes. Then, from beyond the heavy wooden door, he heard a dull thump. There was no more thought, he just seized the handle and forced open the door.
The room was lit by a single candle in one of his mother's heavy silver candlesticks. There was more than enough flickering light, though, to see the naked body slumped on the thick carpet, and the large dark stain beneath it. Above it stood Juan, stripped from the waist up, flecked with gore. The coppery smell of freshly spilt blood hung in the humid air.
"Cesare," he said, almost amicably. "Shut the door?"
Cesare did as he was requested, then looked from his brother to the scene of slaughter upon the floor. He was momentarily stunned. "Are you... injured?" he asked when he was able to find his voice.
"Injured? Not at all. Though I'm very pleased to see you."
He nudged the body with the toe of his boot, causing it to flop over. It was the body of a woman, one whose bright red hair was caked in darker blood the color of wine, and whose face was frozen in an expression of abject terror. Her throat had been pierced, leaving a gaping hole that still oozed. There were multiple more wounds on her chest and stomach. Cesare's eyes focused on the cinquedea that Juan still held in his hand.
"I brought this home for a bit of sport," Juan said, speaking as though he was continuing a light conversation. "When we were finished, I noticed she had taken a memento, of sorts." He gestured at a bejeweled gold cross that lay on the floor, close to the dead woman's hand.
"So you killed her."
"I could not have some common whore stealing from me."
"No. No, I suppose you could not." His voice was heavy with sarcasm, but his brother did not seem to notice.
"No indeed."
Juan crossed the room, stepping casually over the body, and wet a handkerchief from the pitcher that stood on the small table beneath the window. He mopped the congealing blood from his chest and arms, then began to wipe the cinquedea clean.
Cesare watched, feeling strangely disconnected from the moment, as though he was standing outside of himself, watching events unfold. Violence and bloodshed was nothing that shocked him, but here, in the peaceful villa that he shared with his family, at the hand of his brother no less... unthinkable.
Of course he knew what Juan was, what he was capable of, but Cesare had expected him to at least have the common decency to keep it out on the streets, in the ghettos, anywhere as long as it was far away from the famiglia.
"The river."
"Pardon?" Juan asked, holding up the dagger and inspecting it in the glow of the candlelight.
"Roll this up." He gestured the carpet and the body that lay atop it. "Bring it down to the gates. And dress quickly. We must dispose of this, immediately."
He left Juan to dress and slipped quietly back into the hallway, silently cursing his brother's most inconvenient displays of temper. Beyond the door hovered a pair of servants. They peered up at him anxiously.
"Master, we heard-"
"All is well. Return to your beds."
They scurried away as he stalked back up the hall, silently fuming. The thought of his mother Vanozza- or worse, Lucrezia- discovering Juan's display was simply unacceptable. No, it would not come to that. This would be taken care of, now.
He returned to his room. The girl- how quickly he had forgotten her- was dressing.
"You will remain here until I return."
"Si," she replied solemnly, and sat down on the bed as he began to dress properly.
When his boots were laced and his sword was strapped firmly at his side, he pulled on a thick black cloak despite the heat of the night and left the house.
By the time he liberated a mule from the stables behind the villa and brought it to the gates, Juan was waiting for him, whistling a snippet of tune between his teeth. A bulky dark shape lay at his feet.
"Quiet. And put this on." Cesare pressed a second dark cloak into his brother's hands. He lifted the heavy, blood-soaked carpet and it's contents into his arms, then laid it over the back of the mule.
"Where are we going?" Juan asked as Cesare led the mule through the gates. The sound of hooves on the cobblestones seemed very loud in the otherwise silent strada.
"Down to the stinking Tiber, dear brother, to clean up your mess."
Juan scowled deeply but did not reply, to Cesare's surprise. The brothers and their mule traversed the sleeping streets, leaving behind the well-appointed piazzas and delving deeper into the seedier parts of Rome, odoriferous slums that rested uneasily on the banks of the garbage-clogged river.
A shadow fell into step behind them, undetected for a few moments. Cesare continued on, staring straight ahead, but his hand fell lightly to the hilt of his sword. Juan followed suit. Just when Cesare was beginning to wonder if perhaps the person following them was simply coincidence, the walls of the narrow street seemed to push in even further, and a pair of dark shapes appeared in front of them, forcing them to come to a stop.
"What do we have here?"
A short, solidly-built man detached himself from the gloom and approached the mule, no doubt mistaking its cargo for something worth stealing. Cesare silently willed Juan to remain still, which he did.
"Well, ragazzi, shall we have a look?" the man asked, reaching for the rolled up carpet. "Eh?" He pulled his hand away in surprise, the fingers stained almost black in the darkness. Cesare took that moment to pull his sword from it's scabbard and thrust it into the man's considerable gut. He fell to the ground, gasping, and Cesare responded with a strike to the heart.
It was over in a minute. Juan had reacted instantaneously, swinging his sword with such force that it stuck deep in the neck of one of the assailants. The third man fled as Cesare turned to him, obviously deciding that life was preferable to standing his ground.
"Impressive," Juan said with a quick smile, helping himself to the contents of the dead mens' purses. "For a cleric."
"My thanks."
They loaded the two thugs onto the back of the mule, who staggered under the weight. Still, she allowed Cesare to lead her forward, though the pace was slow.
Finally they reached the river. The bodies were weighted down with stones and thrown into the water. Wordlessly, Cesare and Juan watched them sink from sight below the surface of the filthy water. Finally, the evening's evidence disappeared.
By the time Cesare returned to his room, the sun was creeping over the horizon, turning everything a burnished gold. He undressed and fell into bed, where the girl slept, still naked beneath his sheet. As the sky lightened, he fell into a dreamless, welcome sleep.
Author's Note: I've been interested in the history of The Borgia family since I played Assassin's Creed 2 last year, and I've read a lot about them and their dirty Renaissance sex and poisonings and Papal intrigue. Surprisingly, I like what Showtime has done. I especially like the way they've characterized the primary Borgia offspring: Lucrezia is the barely innocent and impressionable youth, Cesare is gorgeous and brooding and his depravity is barely reigned in, and I'm pretty sure Juan's just an over-privileged sociopath with a rocking mullet.
I feel like a particularly special brand of nerd to be writing the first Borgias story here on FF, especially one of such questionable literary value, but I've been dreaming of the Tiber River for the past three nights. Why not throw a dead hooker in it?
There's a really excellent book called Mirror Mirror that's a retelling of Snow White with Lucrezia Borgia as the wicked queen, and I've borrowed from it the smattering of Italian words. My ex-husband speaks Italian fluently, and after he stopped responding to my texts of "how do you say..." I turned to Google Translate. Oh Google, is there anything you can't do?
Reviews are, naturally, appreciated, and if anyone has any suggestions for further stories, I'd love to hear them.