Chapter 4 - Delirium
"Are you sure it's him, my Lady?"
"There can be no doubt."
Indeed. There could be no doubt that the man lying on the snow in front of Lucrezia, his clothing torn and wet, a large bleeding gash running across his forehead, and his wrist somehow higher up his arm than it used to be was, in fact, her cruel husband Giovanni Sforza, lord of Pesaro and Gradara. His face, his signet ring and the Sforza seal that hung on a chain around his neck left no room for uncertainty.
This was, indeed, her husband. Her husband, who hunted her down like one of his deer. Who betrayed her father and left her family to fend for themselves when the armies of the French King were planning to attack the Vatican. Who insulted, berated and mistreated her, as if she was to blame for her family's actions.
The wilderness had been his playground for a long time. He did whatever he wanted there, as if living creatures only existed for his entertainment. But now Nature had shown him her true face, and crushed him with all her power.
"What happened to him?"
"Where to begin, my Lady?" Paolo crouched next to the fire. He unwrapped the blankets that they had covered lord Sforza with, and took another long look at his master. "It looks like he fell into the river. From the cliff, I think, given all his scratches and cuts and his broken arm - he likely hit branches or tree stumps as he went down. And you can see, up there," he pointed at the steep slope above them, "the twigs are all flattened and broken. Perhaps he stumbled in the dark and fell down."
"Like Icarus", Lucrezia wanted to say, but checked herself in time. Paolo had told her so many times that he couldn't read! "Then where is Abellio, his horse?"
"I know not, my Lady."
"Can my lord hear us, do you think?"
"No, my Lady. If he could, he would have killed us already! But there's no puncture wounds either, and he's not coughing up blood." Paolo let the blanket fall. "He's delirious and gravely wounded, but I don't think his organs have been injured." He looked into the flames, his tanned face grave as the light danced across it. "He may yet live."
But not if she left him here and continued her journey to Rome. In this weather, without protection and warmth, the man who Lucrezia used to hide from in her room every night would surely freeze to death before being seen by anyone else.
He would, perhaps, avoid dying from the cold if they took him back to the cave, with any food and clothing that they didn't need. But then lord Sforza wouldn't be able to feed himself, or attract the attention of other travellers, given the state of his health.
Leaving him here on his own, whether to freeze or to starve, would be murder.
"What are we going to do, my Lady?"
Indeed. What was she going to do?
All she had to do was ride over the hill towards the fields, and then past the big blue lake and towards Rome, and all of this would be behind her. She would never have to think about it ever again.
She wouldn't have to worry about being whipped, or about having her child taken away from her. Lucrezia didn't know if she could survive a public flogging. Her baby certainly would not.
Above all other things, her father valued familial ties. All of his beloved children - Lucrezia and her three brothers - were born out of wedlock. He would be overjoyed to have a new grandchild, whatever the circumstances of its birth, and would strive to find a solution that would keep the baby together with its mother while also protecting Lucrezia's reputation. Her family had many faults - but they would never turn her away.
Didn't she deserve to live?
Didn't her innocent child?
Didn't Giovanni Sforza?
He was a cruel man - but did he deserve to be murdered for it? Did he deserve to be betrayed by his wife? Was his cruelty a good reason for her to lie together with another man, and then run from a justly deserved punishment with the help of that man?
"Is there somewhere nearby that we can take him? A hut, or a shelter, or…"
"There's nothing, my Lady."
"But Pesaro is right below us!"
"My Lady, there's no straight path from where we are. There's one above, but we would have to climb to get there, our horses couldn't take it."
"How long will it take me to reach Rome?"
"At least until nightfall, my Lady. And he's not likely to survive the journey, given the state of his injuries."
Paolo breathed a heavy sigh, worry creasing his delicate features. Lord Sforza lay defenceless in the snow, battered and broken, but Lucrezia's friend still made sure to keep his distance.
"If we decide to help him," he said at last, "our only solution is to return to the castle."
Bringing her husband back, Lucrezia knew, would rob her of her last chance to escape. Lord Sforza's men would now know to keep a far closer eye on her, and, although most of them seemed sympathetic to her plight, they would never aid her in escaping from their leader.
It was tempting to hope that lord Sforza would pardon her in return for her kindness, but Lucrezia knew better. He whipped his servants and stableboys for far less serious transgressions than hers, whipped them until blood poured down their backs and they lost consciousness. What punishments would he have in store for her?
Lucrezia detested her family's ways of achieving their goals. However, she had to admit that the Borgia methods were hardly the most barbaric in Italy, or the least practical.
And she would need to be practical. As much as she wanted to be good, as much as she wanted to be virtuous, she would have to be practical first, for her own sake and that of her baby. In order to become virtuous, she first had to manage to stay alive.
Even the people who were closest to her, whom she loved above everyone else, treated her as an asset, as a means to an end. Because she had value, but no power and no leverage, they had no qualms about marrying her off to a man almost three times her age, who, in turn, didn't see any reason to treat her with dignity and kindness if he did not stand to gain anything from it. Her family loved her, yes - but when money and power entered the picture, they seemed to lose all perspective of her safety and innocence.
If Giovanni Sforza stood to benefit from becoming a widower, would he not leave her here to die? Less than three months ago, he had abandoned her family, fearful of angering his cousin Ludovico of Milan and the French King as they plotted to depose her father. He had already demonstrated, in word and in deed, that she was a negotiation leverage to him at best, and a burden at worst.
She was at the mercy of other people's interests, other people's power. Would it not be right, would it not be good for her to take back some of that power, and make her own decisions? For so many people, she was just a means to an end. So why would it be wrong to treat somebody who wanted to hurt her as a means to an end this one time, for the sake of her child if not her own?
Because Djem had been a means to an end.
What would Djem want her to do? She may not have played a role in his demise - not directly - but that didn't change the fact that it was his death (she could not yet bring herself to call it anything else) that had helped her family procure 40,000 ducats from the Turkish Sultan, and made her marriage to Lord Sforza possible. Such was the reality of her position - what was she to do with it?
She could continue the cycle of viciousness, and leave her wounded husband behind, in effect killing him, in order to save herself. If so, Djem's cruel death would only give rise to more cruelty.
Or she could refuse to play by those rules.
Djem's death was the product of a political intrigue, and she could not have stopped it even if she had known about it in advance. But now that she knew, she could choose to take a different path. Out of the thing that had cut Djem's life short, she could bring forward the sustenance of another life. She could choose to save Giovanni Sforza, even at the cost of her own interests.
And her own child? It couldn't show her any kindness yet. It depended on her putting its interests first, and providing it with sustenance and protection, - but it could not give it back, could not put her first in return. Perhaps it would never be able to put her first, or would never want to. She gained nothing from caring for her baby - in fact, she stood to lose quite a lot, as her pregnancy had already marked her out for scorn and punishment.
And yet, Lucrezia knew she would do anything for her child. She would go to the ends of the earth to protect it, even if it disobeyed her, even if it grew up to became a bad person. She was prepared to fight for it without needing any demonstrations of love, to protect her child even when its existence made her life harder. So why couldn't she do the same for her husband, who needed her help, even if he had hurt her? Wasn't Giovanni Sforza a mother's child once, just like her own unborn baby?
Another groan of pain interrupted her thoughts. Her husband's eyes were open, and he was whispering something, slowly and laboriously.
"My Lord? Can you hear me?"
His eyes shifted towards her, but he didn't seem to see her, or know who she was.
"Mother," lord Sforza rasped. "Mother. Mother…"
Lucrezia saw, for the first time, that he was smiling. He was looking past her now, tears pouring out of his eyes as he squinted at the sun, but his hand reached out and weakly gripped her arm.
"Mother..."
How was this possible? How could this be?
Why was her husband, who normally did nothing but threaten and insult, calling for his mother now? Not for his horse, or for his men, or even for God's presence. No, he wanted the comfort of his mother.
Lucrezia didn't know, but it didn't matter now.
She had made her choice.