PROLOGUE

When he grabbed the bridle of her snow-white horse, Lucrezia Borgia screamed. She wrapped her arms around the animal's neck, shielding her innards like a wounded gazelle.

She was carrying something. Hiding something.

Giovanni Sforza yanked on Mercenza's reins and grabbed his wife's wrists. She pushed back with all her meagre strength, but in the end he managed to pull both of her hands away from her stomach. Her rounded stomach.

Suddenly, everything made sense to him. Her illness. Her palleness. Her attempts to avoid him.

How slowly she rode through the forest.

Giovanni dragged the Borgia whore out of her saddle, even as she clutched Mercenza's hide to try and soften her fall, and to the clearing where his men were waiting for him.

"Look at my shame!" His words echoed through the dark forest as he tore off her heavy fur-lined cloak. "Look at this slut!" He gave her a rough shake. "I had to marry her because she's the Pope's daughter. Clearly, the apple doesn't fall from the tree! She ran away from me because she is pregnant with somebody else's bastard!"

The miserable creature wrapped her hands tightly around her stomach as big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

"The marriage hasn't been consummated - I'm bound by the contract not to touch her until she's sixteen," Giovanni clarified, suddenly conscious that he might be perceived as an illogically jealous father-to-be. "This isn't my child! She is an adulteress!"

She finally dared to look up at him, and clutched at his elbow. "Please, my husband! I have wronged you gravely - please, I'm begging you - do whatever you want to me. Punish me however you see fit. But please, my lord - don't hurt my child."

She sank to the ground, and wrapped her arms around his knees. "Think of my baby!" she wailed, "Please - it hasn't done anything wrong! Have mercy!"

But he could not allow himself any leniency. What message would that send - to leave such a grave transgression unpunished?

That everyone in his principality could do whatever they wanted. That his authority meant nothing. That his bloodline meant nothing.

"I'll think about your baby for exactly the amount of time it takes me to throw it into the sea. But if everything goes well, you may not even have a baby this time tomorrow." He could not stop himself, as his mind kept coming up with more and more brutal punishments. "After I've whipped you in the town square, where everyone can see your sin, perhaps it will bleed out of you, and leave me one less thing to worry about. Oh, I won't forget about you, either. I will lock you up in a convent - not a nice convent where you'll be able to do whatever you want, but one where you'll have to scrub the floors, and clean the plates, and - "

He looked up, and instantly regretted it. Far from enjoying seeing their Lord uphold his power and rights, - and theirs, by extension – his men avoided his gaze. Two or three of them furrowed their brows, throwing worried looks at the adulteress. Even Antonio Gillachi, who banished his wife after discovering that she was having an affair, was suddenly fascinated by dead caterpillar on his boot.

After more than two decades of fighting alongside them, he knew that if they were to find themselves in his shoes, their reactions would not be very different. Husbands have been far harsher than he was. It was far from uncommon even for peasants to lop off the ears and noses of their unfaithful wives.

Hypocrites. This wasn't fair, was it? Why did they look at him like his actions were worse than her treachery? Was it because his wife was so young? Was it because she was pregnant?

"Enough of this." He walked over to the tree where Abellio was trying to bite off a frozen cluster of wildflowers. "Bring her back to the castle. I don't want anyone to see her just yet. She's going to try to convince them that I am mistreating her for no reason - no, I can't give her any chances to manipulate my citizens. First, they must know why I'm doing this. I am going to ride out to see the mayor, and have it announced that I will be whipping my wife for adultery tomorrow, in the marketplace. I am going to make sure that as many people see this as possible. Who will ride with me?"

But no one followed him. Their eyes we glued to the Borgia whore. The sun was setting, and she was shivering on the frosted ground, but still made no attempt to retrieve her cloak. She was holding her stomach tightly, as if she wanted to make sure that all of her warmth went to her child.

His men looked like they wanted to console her, but no one dared to do it, knowing that Giovanni would not tolerate such a flagrant display of disloyalty.

At last, Marco Capadelli helped her to her feet, and fastened her cloak around her. He gestured at her to grab on to his shoulders, and she shielded her eyes in the bend of her elbow as he turned to face Giovanni.

"Forgive me, my liege. I haven't forgotten my debt to you - I owe you my life, and you know I have served you faithfully all these many years. My loyalty to you will not allow me to let you imperil your soul by harming this woman. This…" His words faltered, but he maintained his composure as the finally met Giovanni's gaze. "This is cruelty."

Giovanni dropped Abellio's bridle. "Cruelty?! You must be joking. You dare accuse me of cruelty after what she did? You think this is an overreaction to her lying with another man, and then carrying his illegitimate brat instead of my children?"

"My liege." Marco took a step back, tightening his grip on the girl. "My Lady has committed a great offence, against you and against God. No one is denying it – my Lady herself admits her guilt! But her wrongs won't be put right by hurting her and her innocent child. I speak for everyone here when I say that we won't have their blood on our hands."

Abellio was beginning to grow restless, and Giovanni ran his hand through the horse's mane. The Borgia whore started whimpering again, like a crippled dog, but Marco whispered something to her, and she fell silent once more.

"Do you remember, my liege, how the Turks ambushed us in the Tollembic prairie? How we implored the Blessed Virgin Mary to save us?" Marco rolled up his sleeve to reveal the scar left behind by the curved sword of the enemy. "We prayed to her for rescue – and she did not forsake us! None of us would be here today, if not for her intervention on our behalf. We were outnumbered ten to one, but all of us survived. Think about it, my lord. Think about what the Lord God tells us – to be merciful to those who do us wrong. How can we worship His mother, who carried His Son while married to a mortal man, and yet condemn another young girl and her child?"

Giovanni stopped petting Abellio. "You are comparing this whore to the Blessed Virgin? I should challenge you to a duel for this blasphemy!"

"Do so, if you honour commands it," Marco began untying his horse from the birch tree. "but this is the way I see it. I can't go against God, and I can't go against my conscience – even if it means going against you, my liege."

Giovanni gave a bitter chuckle. "So then everyone has turned away from me. My men, my wife…" Marco was about to protest, but he motioned at him to keep quiet. "Go back to the castle. And take her with you. Do whatever you want to her. Two men at a time, for all I care!"

He stayed there, staring at the frozen grass, long after they had all gone.