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The Borgia's S2E3

Borgianachronistics-What, You Say?

Vatican City, Rome

Rodrigo Borgia meets with Vannozza dei Cattanei and their murderous children, Juan, Cesare and Lucrezia.

"What have you called Us away for? What is it, now?" he asks the angry group as he enters the room.

"The children are at it again, Rodrigo..." Vannozza sighs heavily.

"He murdered my Paolo!" bemoans Lucrezia at her father.

"She killed my whore! And had it not been for the whore I would be dead," Juan retorts in his own defense.

Cesare stands in a corner looking sexy but worried—that he'll either be unable to control himself and run to console his sister in a most inappropriate way or run his brother through with his sword. He valiantly fights both impulses by biting on a knuckle.

"Money well spent, then, brother—wouldn't you say?" Lucrezia hisses at Juan.

"She came into my very room, father, with a smile, a candle, and the intent to impale me under my own chandelier!" Juan looks visibly fit to be tied.

"You and your whore were troubling the sleep of my son!"

"This? From the mother who would not suckle her son until she could garner a stable boy's funeral?" he levels at his sister.

"This? From the captain of an army who will run weeping home, bested by the Vagina of Romagna, Caterina Sforza?" she spits back at her brother.

"You bitch! That's fucking four episodes away from now!"

"If you're lucky, asshole..." she replies in quiet but venomous warning.

"Both of you! We must insist that you stop these infernal endeavors to kill one another!" Rodrigo shouts at them. "Juan, if you put half as much energy into strategizing against our enemies as you do against your sister you would have been more than a success by now. We have other more important battles to fight, headed for the city walls as we speak. Vannozza, I beg you—handle this—I have other matters to attend to."

"Yes, please give Giulia my regards...and that sweet young painter—Vittorio, I think his name is?" Vannozza says with a sly smile.

The children all shoot Rodrigo looks that scream "What the fuck?"

"It's not what you think," he mumbles at them angrily before he leaves them.

His Holiness has just ordered every foundry in Rome to begin the manufacture of one hundred cannons and dispatches Vittorio to head the task. Cesare goes to him for a status report.

"How long will it take, Vittorio?" Cesare asks him desperately later that day. "Every foundry, fired-up, 24/7—how many can be made?"

"One, my Lord."

"One? One! We need a hundred! Within the week!"

"Uh...one hundred cannons? With roughly no money, my Lord?" Vittorio lets loose an indignant yet prissy little chuckle. "It would take at least a month. At least."

"What do you mean, 'no money'?"

"You guys fuckin' party like it's 1499, my Lord—the Great Festivities—remember those? We're pretty busted, dude."

"Fuck me!"

Vittorio gives Cesare a strange look.

"What?"

"Uh, nothing. I have an idea...we could build some fabulous fakes...made of plaster..."

"Plaster...is cheap..."

"And fast, my Lord. Come back tomorrow," Vittorio tells him with a smile.

The next day Cesare does just that; Vittorio shows him a perfect plaster replica of a kick-ass cannon.

"Fuckin' A!" he exclaims happily. "Damn, Vittorio! This is exquisite...and there are..."

"Ninety-five more, coming from foundries all over Rome—be here tomorrow," Vittorio tells him proudly and more giddy than the law allows. Cesare's war boner is immediate and Vittorio blushes.

Cesare looks askance at him then, put off by his effeminateness, then looks again, even closer. He steps closer and takes Vittorio's chin in his hand and scrutinizes him; he dares to grab his shirt lapel and look inside of it—Cesare is then orgasmically speechless, his face going through a shitload of angrily confused yet libidinous contortions as he realizes that Vittorio is a hot little female Renaissance wonder. "You're a..."

"Yes, my Lord. I'm sorry about your father."

"What—he's had you?"

"Well, I dare say he's had everybody, but yes. It was a mistake, but it's over now."

"Good," he smiles his desire at her then. "At least I know you can keep a secret," he murmurs at her. "And when this is all over, you shall have another secret to keep—be ready for me—Vittorio."

"Vittoria..." she whispers back at him in a swoon.

Cesare gives a lustful guffaw and then goes on his way.

Caterina Sforza, flanked by King Charles of France and Giovanni Sforza, arrive in Rome with their troops and await Cardinal Cesare Borgia. Cesare emerges from the city gates and advances toward them flanked by two of his own soldiers.

"You make a manly figure on your horse, Cardinal, but the French cannon will soon break down your walls and you will be impotent in the face of them," Caterina Sforza declares calmly.

Behind her, Giovanni Sforza shoots daggers at her for using the word "impotent".

"The only impotent man I see on this field..." Cesare begins with a smile, " sits behind you, my Lady—so apropos."

Beside Giovanni, King Charles snickers and then quickly comports himself under the guise of a cough. "Dust..." he says dryly as he fans at the air.

"Take care, Cardinal..." Caterina warns Cesare with a voice full of fury.

"No—you take care," Cesare cuts her off defiantly, "and tell me if you still want to talk after you behold this..." Cesare raises his arm to signal Micheletto and one hundred flags rain down from the battlements of the city walls to reveal one hundred cannons.

King Charles chokes in earnest and falls off of his horse; the last thing he sees before he passes out are Giovanni Sforza's balls as they race past his own and away from him in the dusty Roman ground.

Cesare rides away from them confidently back through the city gates amidst the cheers of an adoring crowd.

Outside the gate Caterina Sforza is livid. "Somebody pick him the fuck up..." she orders her men, her voice full of outrage and disgust as she turns in retreat.

Inside the Vatican there is a run on laundry maids, who find themselves overwhelmed with requests from the consistory for clean loincloths.