Wsim24B Ch 15

WSIM24B Chapter 15

My reputation had taken a turn. I was still respected for my successful campaign. Indeed, I had no trouble signing contracts with several leading condottiere. Paolo and Giulio Orsini agreed to serve with me, and Vitellozzo Vitelli, the Lord of Citta di Castello, returned for a second campaign. Gian Paolo Baglioni of Perugia and young Oliverotto da Fermo also signed on.

King Louis had agreed to send me 300 lances and 2,000 infantry. He had also instructed the Bentivoglios of Bologna to provide me with free passage and assistance. But if the French troops were withdrawn again, for whatever reason, I would still have enough mercenaries to carry on with my plans.

While my military reputation remained intact, my personal reputation had changed significantly. It was openly whispered that I had murdered Alfonso Bisceglie. I was also held responsible for the murder of Juan Gandia. The names of Perotto and Pantasilea had not been forgotten, either.

Now I was feared. There was speculation that I had had Alfonso killed in public to make a point (rather than having him quietly poisoned). Even the Pope was said to be afraid of me. Now, I will admit to having a ruthless streak, and my ISEC recruiter was probably right when he commented on my 'ethical flexibility'. That simply meant that I fit into the Italian political tapestry almost seamlessly.

Murder and treachery were traditional methods of achieving one's dynastic ambitions. A failed murder plot was considered reprehensible, whereas a successful assassination was sometimes even admired.

I can give you several examples: Francesca Manfredi of Faenza called her husband into her bedchamber on the pretext of being unwell, and had him stabbed by two concealed assassins. When they bungled the job, she stepped in herself and finished him off with a dagger in the stomach.

Here's another famous case, from the same year as the murder of Alfonso. The Baglionis of Perugia had always been a numerous and fractious clan, but they outdid themselves on July 15th, 1500, at the wedding of Astorre Baglioni and Lavinia Colonna.

The minor members of the family, led by Grifonetto Baglioni, massacred half of their relatives in their beds. The death toll was estimated at over 200. The killers supposedly cut open the groom's chest, tore out his heart, and then threw his body in the street. This bloody massacre was called 'the Red Wedding'.

Some escaped, Gian Paolo Baglioni among them. With the help of Vitellozzo Vitelli and his condotta, the survivors returned to Perugia and eliminated Grifonetto.

Oliverotto da Fermo was another charming fellow. His father died when he was a child; the boy was brought up by his uncle, Giovanni Fogliani. He became a mercenary, and served with Paolo Vitelli. They fought in Naples for the French, and then for Florence against Pisa, but both were accused of treason by their employers. Paolo Vitelli was executed; Oliverotto was spared when the government of Fermo intervened on his behalf.

He then united with Vitellozzo Vitelli, Paolo's brother (who, as you can imagine, harboured a deep grievance against Florence). But now Oliverotto grew ambitious, and decided to seize Fermo for himself. He wrote to his uncle, and asked if he could come home for a visit, with 100 of his friends.

Fogliani had no suspicions. He arranged a reception, and prepared lodgings for his nephew in his own palace. Oliverotto held a banquet, and invited the prominent citizens of Fermo. He began talking about the Pope, and about me - and then suggested that these matters would best be discussed in private.

He led his uncle and the most important guests into a room where his soldiers were hidden. The men came out and murdered everybody - including his uncle.

You would think that between the Red Wedding and the massacre in Fermo, the murder of Alfonso Bisceglie would be overshadowed. It wasn't.

I wondered if I was changing. You know my story, to this point. I've never claimed to be 'one of the good guys'. I was on

my

side, and if you opposed me, well, that was your problem. But was I worse, now? I would never have been rude to Alfonso Bisceglie in public, but I was capable of ordering his murder. Had I changed, after nine years in Renaissance Italy, where poison and the knife were considered diplomatic tools? Maybe the designers of this SIM had programmed an artificial reality that was much worse than the original.

Still, my plans were going forward, and the Pope's negotiations were paying off. Venice (who weren't thrilled about Borgia ambitions in the Romagna) were losing a war against the Turks, and desperately needed help. In return for the Pope's support, the Serene Republic withdrew their protection from both Rimini and Faenza.

- "You're still going to need a shitload of money." said my boss.

I'd done some calculations, along with my private secretary, Agapito Geraldini. "Probably a thousand ducats a day."

- "Holy shit." said the Holy Father.

- "But think of the day when we don't need to rely exclusively on mercenaries."

The Pope resorted to some traditional methods. He had money from a tithe on the clergy, collected for the Crusade against the Turks. But simony was the biggest earner: he sold bishoprics and Cardinal's hats. This was a double-winner: cash for my campaign, and adherents for the Pope in the College of Cardinals.

By the end of September, I was ready to take the field. I had a blistering two day and three night farewell with Fiametta, then a quieter but equally heartfelt parting from Gina.

I left Rome with Miguel, my secretary Agapito, Ramiro de Lorqua, the Ramires brothers, and my bodyguard Vicente. But I was also accompanied by many of the gentlemen who'd been to France with me. I had my own doctor, plus a group of poets, writers, artists, and even the sculptor Torrigiano. It was a true Renaissance entourage.

I had military men, too: Juan de Cardona, Ugo de Moncada, and Vitellozzo Vitelli, who would command the artillery. Paolo and Giulio Orsini, Gian Paolo Baglioni and Oliverotto da Fermo met us in Umbria. My army would include 700 men at arms, 200 light horse, and 6,000 infantry (Spanish, Italian, Gascon and Swiss), without counting the French. It was

my

army; unlike last year, I was in supreme command this time.

I stopped in at Nepi, to visit Lucrezia, who was still in deep mourning. I'd written to her; she had answered, signing her letters 'la infelicissma' (the most unhappy of women). She'd also stopped using her title - the Princess of Salerno.

- "Is Father still angry with me?" she asked. The Pope had been upset by her public displays of grief - the main reason for her exile to Nepi.

- "You'll be home before Christmas." I said.

- "You promise?"

- "He misses you already. He's just too proud to admit it."

I easily caught up with my army, who were making slow progress through the heavy rains and thick mud. That was fine, though: I was trying to time our arrival so as to minimize costly action. Alberini's agents had been busy.

On October 11th, a mob organized by the leading citizens of Pesaro arrested Galeazzo Sforza, the brother of Giovanni (Lucrezia's first husband). Giovanni himself managed to flee to Venice.

I entered the city on the 27th (in the rain), and handed over government to the Bishop of Isernia. I slept in the very same apartments that Lucrezia had used while she was Countess of Pesaro.

On the 30th, I entered Rimini. Pandolfo Malatesta, grandson of the infamous murderer Sigismondo, had been easily convinced to sell his citadel - and his artillery - for a modest sum. His father had been a celebrated condottiere, but Pandolfo was nothing but a greedy thug. I was welcomed into Rimini as a liberator.

Now both Bologna and Florence panicked at the speed of my advance. The Florentines, in particular, were worried by the captains who rode with me. They knew that Vitellozzo and Oliverotto had good reason to hate them, while the Orsinis were related by marriage to the ousted Medicis.

Florence would have been even more nervous if they had known about the secret negotiations that culminated in the Treaty of Granada. In November, France and Spain agreed to partition the Kingdom of Naples. Louis would take the city of Naples, Gaeta, and the Abruzzi, plus the titles of King of Naples and King of Jerusalem. Ferdinand would acquire Calabria and Apulia, with the title of Duke.

It was cynical, and short-sighted, but it was also potentially dangerous for us. If Louis could gain half of Naples without fighting, then he might not need the Borgias as allies.

I arrived at Faenza in the middle of November. Alberini's agents had been busy here, too, but the castellan and four others who had plotted to hand over the citadel to us were arrested. The ruler of Faenza was fifteen year old Astorre Manfredi, whose mother Francesca had murdered his father. The city council had basically raised him, and the city was remarkably loyal to the young man.

There was good news: Dionigi di Naldo and his brothers had handed over nine of their castles in the Val di Lamone. I was pleased that I didn't have to fight them. Dionigi had honourably defended Imola for Caterina Sforza; I had hopes that he would be willing to serve me.

But I was now faced with the prospect of a winter siege of Faenza. We opened with a bombardment, but the unexpected fall of a part of the wall only encouraged my troops to launch an unplanned assault, which failed. Casualties weren't that bad, but morale suffered.

The winter weather was harsh, for men sleeping outside, and the roads were bad, so that food and money were slow to arrive. There was snow, and a running feud between my Spanish soldiers and the Umbrians under Gian Paolo Baglioni.

It was a bad situation, and I chose to end it. I left a skeleton force under Vitelli to blockade Faenza, and pulled everyone else back to Forli.

I gave the troops every chance to recover, but I wasn't about to let them get out of hand and start plundering my new subjects. Discipline was going to be maintained. I hanged a dozen looters, so that the others got the message.

We moved to Cesena for Christmas. I liked the town, and was thinking of making it my capital. It was centrally located, and very loyal to the Church. I also met Philippa Barbieri there.

She was barely 5'3", and weighed all of 98 pounds. She had a cute face, long brown hair, and a collection of moles at interesting places all over her little body. She was exactly like an AFOTA groupie, except that one night wasn't enough; she wanted to

serve

her Lord.

The difference in our sizes was a problem in one sense; a 69 was out of the question. But I could easily lift her up, impale her on my cock, and then carry her around the room, or fuck her against the wall.

She also mastered the art of looking across a crowded room, catching my eye, and suggesting 'I want to fuck you' without moving any more than her eyes, or her lips. I was quite taken with her. In fact, I might have kept her with me, except for what happened in February, when I moved to Imola.

On the 13th, a beautiful young noblewoman named Dorotea Malatesta Caracciolo was travelling towards Venetian territory with an escort when she was abducted by armed men. The attackers were ten horsemen, well-armed and carrying crossbows. The lady and one of her female companions were carried off.

She was twenty-three years old, the illegitimate daughter of Roberto Malatesta of Rimini. She'd been married by proxy to Giambattista Caracciolo, a Captain in the Venetian army, commanding their garrison at Gradisca, and was on her way to join her husband.

The Venetians were furious. They had asked me to provide an armed escort for her - which I did. She was abducted just after crossing into Venetian territory. They wrote letters of protest to the French, to the Pope, and sent an envoy, Manenti, to complain to me in person, and to demand her restitution. Of course they accused me of having kidnapped her.

Which I had.

Yes, it was probably one of the stupidest thing I'd ever done. I can admit that I acted on impulse, and that part of motive was to give Venice the finger. They'd been supporting my enemies, and trying to undermine my efforts in the Romagna.

But... she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and there was something about her - a certain vulnerability - that stirred me. I had to have her. I didn't think that a kidnapping ranked up there with the Red Wedding, or the Massacre in Fermo, but I was wrong.

The Venetian envoy and the French ambassador came to see me together. I kept them waiting because I slept in (I'd had a long night with Philippa). Manenti immediately demanded to know Dorotea's whereabouts. I played innocent, but also ignorant.

They were both angry. I deflected them by calling on my private secretary.

- "This is Agapito Geraldini." I said. "Tell these gentlemen what you told me."

Agapito launched into his prepared story.

- "It must be the work of Diego Ramires, one of the Duke's Spanish captains." he said. "Ramires was once in service to the Duke of Urbino. He claimed to have had an affair with Lady Dorotea during Carnival, and showed me one of the embroidered shirts which she sent him." It sounded believable - probably because it was actually close to the truth.

Both Manenti and the Frenchman bought it. Dorotea was young and beautiful, but apparently her virtue was not entirely above reproach. Both men, however, found it hard to believe that a mere Captain would have dared to defy his Duke

and

the Republic of Venice. Also, if the said Duke Valentino could have laid hands on this Ramires, but had not done so, they concluded that I did not want to.

I got more angry letters, from the King of France, and from the Pope. He was particularly pissed off because he'd been trying to get on better terms with the Venetians, whereas I suspected that their interests in the Romagna were irreconcilable with ours.

But I guessed that the storm of outrage would eventually die down, especially if Dorotea was nowhere to be found. I had done the deed, so as far as I was concerned, I might as well enjoy the rewards.

I left Imola in the last hour before the dawn, and rode with a small party for Forli. I was making it a habit to move quickly, but even more important, unexpectedly.

Diego had met Dorotea at Carnival. Entranced by her beauty, he had approached her. He claimed that he could have bedded her, if only he could have found a private place. That part of his story convinced me that the Lady was no blushing virgin - if she had been, I would never have kidnapped her.

But now I had more tests to run, to make sure that she would be willing, or at least compliant. I had sent her to the Rocca at Forli. There she and her companion were housed in comfort and well fed. I had a bath provided for her, as well as several new gowns and even a few pieces of jewellery.

A virtuous wife - or an angry woman - would have thrown my gifts back in my face (even if she accepted the bath). If Caterina Sforza hadn't wanted me, she would have tried to do me physical harm. Dorotea Malatesta, as it turned out, was a different animal altogether.

I made sure to bathe and change into my best clothes. Then I sent a late supper to her, along with a bottle of wine. I arrived just after the servants had finished delivering it.

- "My Lord Duke!"

She'd chosen the green gown, and the expensive amethyst necklace, which set off her hazel eyes to perfection. Dorotea was simply... exquisite.

I've been around some beautiful women. Lucrezia Borgia was exceptional. Charlotte d'Albret was, as well. Fiametta was considered the most beautiful courtesan in Rome, and she had hazel eyes, too. But Fiametta's allure depended on her other-worldly composure and grace.

Dorotea was breathtaking. She was of average height, and her hair was an average shade of light brown. But her face... her eyes, her nose, her shy smile... She wasn't perfect: she had a small mole just above her nose, off to one side. She was

better

than perfect.

She held her hands together, in front of her, nervously playing with a fingernail. Nervous was good; apprehensive was not. But she didn't seem afraid of me. She was freshly bathed, and she'd chosen to wear my gifts - the ones that set off her beauty to best advantage. She was passing (or failing) every test I'd set for her.

I ushered her companion into the antechamber.

- "You may wait here, Benedetta," I said, "until your Lady calls." I pointedly left the door to the chamber open. Two of the waiting-women were there to keep her company, and a pair of my guards were outside the further door.

Knowing the companion's name: point. Leaving the door open: point. Benedetta's reactions were an insight into Dorotea's: neither one was afraid, or even outraged. Dorotea relaxed a little. She wasn't about to be raped, or compelled to submit. She had a little courage, though.

- "I should not be here, my Lord." she said. "I should be on my way to join my husband."

- "And you will... eventually."

- "You should not have abducted me, Lord."

- "The most beautiful woman in all of Italy was passing through my lands." I said. "How could I resist? I did not think that you would accept an invitation to dine with me. Yet here we are."

She smiled shyly, unsure of what to do. You can imagine anything that a faithful married woman might have done, or the responses open to a kidnap victim. Dorotea chose none of those. She sat down and had a light meal with me, washed down with a couple of glasses of wine.

It was a Beauty and the Beast situation. Dorotea behaved as if she knew the story, and was more than reconciled to the eventual ending. I was treating our encounter a bit like a poker game, and she was giving off tells as if she was trying to throw away every last chip she had. My initial read was probably correct: she was impressed (awed, even), by my title, my fame, my size and my looks. But she was also a closet submissive. She liked being told what to do - just not in a coarse manner. Being steered, led, or directed, though? Powerless, or even helpless, at the mercy of a masterful man? Her heart rate was climbing, and her juices were flowing.

We talked of inconsequential things. She wanted to know about Rome, the Pope, Lucrezia... I sent for another bottle of wine. We chatted a little more. When the wine arrived, I rose to accept it, and closed the door behind me.

- "Have you seen the stars above Forli?" I asked her.

This was her last chance to go for my eyeballs with her fingernails, to protest, or to scream for help.

- "No, my Lord." she said.

Her room had a small balcony. No, there were no convenient trellises for someone to climb, nor she could she tie the sheets together and climb down - not unless she had sixty yards worth of sheets. Her chamber was one of the highest on the Rocca. But the view was very nice, and the sky was clear.

She stood on the little balcony, with me beside and slightly behind her.

- "The stars

are

lovely." she said.

To my ears, that sounded like the beginning of a concession speech. I gently brushed her hair aside, and bent to kiss her neck.

"Oh...

my Lord. You mustn't

..."

- "You smell wonderful." I said. "You

taste

wonderful. Even the sound of your voice acts as an aphrodisiac for me."

- "My Lord... we shouldn't..."

From 'mustn't' to 'shouldn't'; from 'you' to 'we'. I picked her up, and carried her back inside. She clung to me, and buried her face against my shoulder. That was shyness, or nervousness - perhaps even shame. But it wasn't reluctance.

I kissed her, and she kissed me back - which was the last proof I needed that nothing going on here was against her will (or outside of her previous experience).