Author's Note:
I have been moving into my new flat at university and sorting out my course for this year, so have not been able to get much writing done, but this is the result of two consecutive nights' insomnia, so I hope you enjoy it and review it kindly. Also I have just recently purchased the Kindle ebook, "The Borgias Apocalypse", which is the screenplay that Neil Jordan intended to conclude the third season, so will let you know my thoughts on it at some point…
Chapter XXXVI - Burial
He stood by the ruins outside the city, a place the Lady Lucrezia had told him of, trying to find the answers to his many questions. Micheletto desired nothing more than to please his lord and master. He would – in fact – do anything to satisfy Cesare Borgia and protect his interests and those of his family. He had sacrificed love, life and blood and sweat to be of service to the Duke of Valentinois, but he when the moment came when he was a liability and danger to the Borgia clan, he had performed what he had believed was his final task for Cesare and had quit Rome. He had returned on another man's orders to his master's service and had once again done something so wrong and so abominable that he knew that no matter how far he ran, no matter how well he concealed himself, lied to protect himself, Cesare Borgia would discover him as the killer of his beloved brother and hunt him until he was dead, hanging from the walls of the Vatican.
"Micheletto, His Grace is searching for you." A lady's voice whispered from behind him, her voice almost obscured by the sound of the flowing brook that coursed past the ruins of the ancient Roman villa.
Swiftly, without hesitation, he spun around to face the intruder on his privacy, his knife already poised to kill in less than a second, but when he saw the familiar face that was staring him deep in his icy eyes, he gradually lowered the threatening blade in his threatening hand.
"You should not be out here alone, milady," he said kindly, "His Grace would not approve and is probably worried for you as we speak."
She smiled, "Cesare is speaking in consistory regarding the plans for Gioffre's funeral, so he is too busy and frustrated to realise I am not in the palace. So, Micheletto, I am all yours. What brings you out here?"
"A troubled soul and a rueful heart, Lady Lucrezia," he replied sullenly, "and what calls you out to these ruins, if I may ask?"
A nod was his only response. It was not uncommon for both surviving Borgia siblings to offer him curt replies but they never chided him for overstepping his mark but instead treated him as a friend, which trust he had now betrayed so wantonly. The Duke of Squillace's death would haunt his dreams and his every waking moment for much longer than Pascal's death would and he had never imagined that another would take his former lover's place.
"Come, Micheletto," she invited brusquely after taking a moment to take in the natural, untouched, pure beauty of the sweet blue stream that flowed beside where they stood, "we must return to the Vatican. Cesare has been sore for your company…as have I. These past days have shattered him, my strong, indomitable brother, Micheletto. I used to think nothing could make him afraid, nothing could grieve him, nothing had the vicious power to prey on his mind, but as I have aged, I have seen him differently and many things, too many things, dear friend, weigh heavily on his already weary mind. I think also that only you and I ever have the power to calm him or soothe him, so we must be closer to him than we ever were before, for now – now we have the children – he has so much more to lose than ever before."
He returned her nod and gestured respectfully for her to lead the way back into Rome, back to Cesare Borgia and his debilitating grief, which Micheletto would have to watch and keep his truths to himself for they would do neither Cesare nor his lady any good if he revealed the truth to the mourning siblings.
When the absconders came into Cesare's study, they were greeted and pestered by a host of cardinals and household staff who had all been plaguing the Duke for decisions on various matters concerning the upcoming funeral, which was looking to be as grand an affair as any king's funeral had ever been.
"Lady Lucrezia, it is good you are back! What do you prefer for the wake after the Duke's funeral: roast duck or suckling pig? We already have others but the Gonfaloniere could not choose either."
"My Lady, what do you wish to have for the material of your gown: silk or taffeta?"
"Your Grace, lilies of the valley or carnations either red or white, whichever you prefer we can have sent from Umbria?"
Micheletto and the lady being constantly manhandled by the swarm of servants pushed their way past the horde to find Cesare sitting at his desk, clutching at his head with white-knuckled hands. It was a sorry sight indeed. The young, vivacious man who thrived in battle, action and under pressure was being torn down and conquered by the vultures surrounding him.
"All of you, be quiet," Lucrezia shrilly ordered, "you will – all of you – leave from here at once and take your questions and demands to the Vice Chancellor. He will now make every petty decision in regards to my brother's funeral. Now, go! Leave us in peace, if you please."
Once the crowd of strangers had quit the room, she swiftly went to stand behind her brother's chair and rested her hands on his taut shoulders, lightly letting him know that she was there to catch and comfort him as best as she could. Micheletto had already taken up his rightful place at Cesare's right-hand side.
His own musings when he caught sight of his formerly unbreakable commander took a much more grim turn than those of Lucrezia did. He knew in his heart of hearts that it was his fault that Cesare Borgia was being forced to endure this hardship and pain. All he was able to do now was protect and shield him from any more pain, for he would never suffer anyone else to wound him so.
"I can't take this anymore, sis," he whispered in a broken, husky voice, "not when this should not be happening at all. He can't be dead, Lucrezia, he just can't be…"
She sighed, "And yet we have both seen his body, his sweet, motionless body with no life or soul inside, which we have to bury now, my love."
It was then, with the memory of what Gioffre's corpse had looked like spread out on his bed dead, that he wept and wept and wept until his eyes grew red and his face stung from the salty tears. The only sensation he was aware of while he cried over the papers strewn across his broad bureau was the silk of his sister's gown enveloping him and rustling against his doublet as she embraced him and held him firmly to her breast as he sobbed. All he could do in return was cling to her like a baby in his unbearable anguish.
If there was one who was more affected by Cesare's grief than the aggrieved himself, it was his manservant, who knew in that moment when his master's arms encircled his mistress' slight midriff that no one could ever know that he had been the one responsible for the youngest Borgia's tragic death. It would have to be his burden to bear, for all he could do to try and rectify his mortal error was throw more of his energy into serving the Borgia family and defending them.
As the trio waited for Cesare to gain control of himself and regain his countenance, Micheletto heard the door to the suite open and cleared his throat so as to warn the lady that she ought to right herself before the intruder caught her and her brother in a compromising position, one which would do naught but stoke the rumours that abounded throughout the city and all Italy. Both brother and sister heeded their confidant's warning and Cesare wiped his face and once more sat up straight in his imposing chair, while Lucrezia stood further back from said chair and smoothed down her somewhat creased gown but kept one hand on the top of the chair, in an attempt to grant Cesare all of her strength should he need it.
A lanky pageboy skulked into the room and headed directly for the study where he could hear the faint noises of people before announcing to the room, "Your Graces, the Duchess of Valentinois has arrived. She awaits your company, My Lord Borgia, in the audience room."