Chapter Text
Lucrezia slept fretfully, waking up regularly to check on Cesare. This time, when she opened her eyes, he was awake and looking at her.
"Hello," he said in a gravelly voice.
Tears welled up in her eyes and she put her hands over her mouth. Was she dreaming?
“Sis?”
Whimpering his name, she threw her body over him. She hugged him tight, relieved to feel his chest expand against hers. She peppered kisses all over his battered face and, in her ebullient joy, kissed his lips fervently.
"Ow! Ouch! Careful!" He hissed in pain.
"Sorry! Sorry!" She let go of him and sat up on the bed. "Oh, I was so afraid you'd never wake up."
"I wouldn’t leave you,” he said as if he could simply will himself back to life for her sake.
She fought the urge to hug him again.
"How are you feeling?”
"Splendid,” he deadpanned.
He coughed dryly, and she got out of bed to serve him some water. Holding up his head and the cup, she helped him drink. The mundane act of swallowing made him wince, but he gulped all the water down and asked for more. He closed his eyes afterwards, tired out.
To air out the room, she opened the shutters. The sun already shone high in the sky and hot afternoon air wafted in along with the noises of daily life at the palace. Sunlight exposed the bruises which had bloomed all across his body over the last day. Charioteers put the horses’ reins around their torso to steer them with more force and precision, and so his waist and ribs were striped black and blue. “Like a zebra,” she tried for levity despite the lump in her throat. It hurt to see him so weakened.
Under the guise of refilling his cup, she turned her back to him and blinked back tears.
In her enthusiasm earlier, she had displaced some of the bandages over his arm and leg. She fixed them and replaced the soiled ones, adding the physician's honey ointment as needed. She kept her touch light as she tended to his wounds, especially the nasty gash on his thigh left by a piece of splintered wood. It gave her something to do and briefly alleviated her helplessness.
“You are like Isis healing Osiris,” he said and kissed her hand.
In the myth, Isis searched all over Egypt to find the pieces of Osiris' dismembered body, scattered by their jealous brother Set. Thus, she had created the first mummy and resurrected him, after which he became the god of the Afterlife. She bore Osiris a son, Horus, the falcon-headed god, who later avenged his father.
“She found all the pieces of him and put him back together,” Lucrezia said, smiling.
“She made her brother whole,” Cesare added.
“Her brother and husband.” Her sentence sounded almost like a question.
“Yes, her husband, too.”
She touched the cleft of his chin, and they smiled, understanding each other. For the first time in what seemed an eternity, her heart beat fast, not in fear, but in love.
She lay down next to him and ran her hand lightly over his chest and down his abdomen. What started as mapping his bruises and scrapes, soon turned into caresses.
“Kiss me again," Cesare asked "… carefully.”
She leaned over him, her weight on her hands, each side of his head. She rubbed her nose softly with his and they grinned at each other. She lightly pressed her mouth to his, first to his upper lip, then to his bottom lip. Despite his aching muscles, he curved his one, uninjured hand on the back of her neck, his fingers twined in her hair and he took control of the kiss, deepening it. His lust for life and for her shone through. This was the strong brother that she knew.
Even as she opened her mouth in invitation, he kept his tongue firmly in his own mouth. She giggled— she had confessed to him that Ptolemy used too much tongue.
“Are you trying to prove you’re a better kisser than Ptolemy?”
He tipped up his chin. “So what if I am?”
“I love you, any kiss from you is better.”
When he tried to kiss her again, she raised her head to prevent him from doing so. With a discontent grunt he let his head fall back on the mattress as well as his hand. Lucrezia leaned forward and teased him by running the tip of her tongue along his lower lip. His grunt turned into a moan of pleasure as he parted his lips. Again, he tried to kiss her, and she escaped him, giggling.
“Haven’t I suffered enough?”
She nipped at his exaggerated pout like a playful kitten, but quickly soothed her bite with a sensuous lick. He allowed their tongues to slide together. Not too deep or fast, but something akin to the intertwined bodies of lovers. His tongue was warm and soft and, she dared thought, quite agile. The promise of sensual pleasures kindled a fire within her.
“It never feels like that with Ptolemy.”
“Like what?”
“Like the gods are blessing us with their presence. Like I’m burning with divine light.”
Her words made him bolder. He gripped her jaw, angling her head away to access her neck. Hungry lips latched onto her pulse point and sent delicious shockwaves between her legs. Though a gap remained between their bodies, on account of his injuries, she felt him buck his hips up in search of friction.
“I have heard there was one piece of Osiris missing…”
Cesare stropped his ministrations and inhaled sharply, knowing what she was talking about: in some versions of the myth, Isis couldn’t find Osiris’ penis.
“Shall I make sure you’re all there?” she asked, trailing her fingertips down his torso.
She’d reached the edge of the sheet draped over his lower body. She bit her lip, her eyes fixed on his as her hand slipped over his groin, over the sheet.
Cesare gasped at her touch.
“All there,” she said.
They both laughed and kissed. She grew bolder, slipped her hand under the sheet, but he grabbed her wrist before she could truly feel him.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“But I want to make you feel better.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, then laid it on his chest.
Confused, Lucrezia didn't insist.
“You must be hungry, I will see that they bring you some food.” And she left the bedroom.
Rodrigo and Vanozza visited the next day, eager for news of their son’s health. They were overjoyed to find him conscious if bruised and in pain. Juan didn’t dare show his face— a strategic mistake. In his absence, Cesare and Lucrezia could speak freely of his treachery during the chariot race to their parents. To Lucrezia’s relief, their father seemed upset and didn’t try to minimize Juan’s actions. In fact, Rodrigo came back the next day, holding Juan by the scruff of his neck and demanding he apologize to his brother for his actions.
Cesare tried to sit up in bed, to regain some dignity, but required the help of servants. Lucrezia sat next to him, both of them stared at their brother who was squirming and fuming.
When Juan took too long to speak, Rodrigo swatted him behind the head.
Through clenched teeth, Juan said, “Forgive me, brother.”
Cesare’s forgiveness was offered just as disingenuously.
Rodrigo grabbed the shoulders of both his sons. “The loyalty of the family must come before everything and everyone else,” he reminded them.
The matter dealt with to his satisfaction, seemingly unaware of the tension which remained between his sons, he changed the subject. “Lucrezia, if you would be so kind as to introduce us to Pharaoh, we would speak with him on the matter of Rome’s acknowledgement of his rule.”
Her jaw dropped. He still meant to put Juan in charge rather than Cesare. He would suffer no consequences for nearly killing their brother.
“But he— Cesare is—”
“Cesare is seriously wounded. Be reasonable, there is nothing he can do in this state.” He turned to Cesare, his voice sweet but somewhat condescending, “You must rest, my son. Recover your great strength.”
Taking a deep, calming breath, she reminded herself to be loyal to her family, to her whole family. If Juan succeeded in this endeavour, the whole Borgia clan would benefit from it. If he succeeded.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Rodrigo said. He pulled a pouch of dried herbs from his bag. “To increase your…” He gestured vaguely at her belly and lower parts, then cleared his throat. “We are counting on you, my dear.”
Instinctively, Lucrezia and Cesare grabbed each other’s hand, a gesture which Rodrigo didn’t miss.
Rumour in the palace had it that the queen had recently miscarried. Her father expected a first-born who would be both Borgia and Ptolemy. The thought of growing in her belly a child from a man she didn’t love, barely even liked, haunted her. Rodrigo didn’t seem to realize the enormity of his demand. She didn’t have the strength to use her body for this too. And her heart wept for this child who would be another pawn in her father’s games of power.
Cesare rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, his touch soothed her as always, and she thought that if her father was so desperate for an heir, he might get one who was much more Borgia than Ptolemy. For now, the only herb she would take was silphium, a contraceptive.
“Let me take you to Pharaoh,” she said, hiding her displeasure behind a sweet smile.
When she came back to Cesare’s room, having left Juan and Rodrigo with the king, he looked at her askance.
“They will talk to Ptolemy while he’s with his manicurists,” she said.
“He hates being disturbed during his manicure.”
“Exactly.”
“Clever girl.”
Cesare laughed, but his face screwed up in pain. She flinched. At times it felt as if his suffering echoed through her own body. Kneeling beside his bed, she took his hand, and he squeezed it hard as painful spasms travelled through his limbs. The physical contact between them seemed to appease him. At last, he released his breath and opened his eyes.
“You must be my eyes and ears around the palace,” he said, “let me know what preoccupies Pharaoh, what political matters are being discussed. If I cannot use my body, I will at least use my mind while I’m stuck in this bed.”
What Rodrigo hadn’t foreseen was that even an injured Cesare was twice as smart and cunning as Juan. Lucrezia’s access to the political machinations of the court was limited, but she reported to her brother everything she heard. She was already attentive to such things for her family’s sake, but now it thrilled her to listen at doors and sneak into his bedroom afterwards. Still, she remained extremely cautious, anyone in the palace could be a spy or report inappropriate behaviour between the siblings. Queen Cleopatra’s dislike of Lucrezia had only grown over the weeks— she may not love her brother as much as Lucrezia loved hers, but that didn’t mean she would tolerate a fertile concubine— and, more worrisome was her friendship with Aikaterine and Ioannis, the Borgias’ foes. One slip-up from Cesare or Lucrezia could mean eviction from the palace, a loss of social status or even banishment, then they would truly find themselves at the mercy of their father’s ambition. As such, they had to keep their meetings short and physical contact to a minimum, a short-term sacrifice for their long-term goal.
By the time Cesare was able to get out of bed, he’d had enough time and information to know exactly who he wanted to talk to and what he would say to them. He leaned on Lucrezia to reach the room where the vizier of Lower Egypt drank chamomile infusions with other government officials. She let him go in alone. Chin up despite his aches, yellowing bruises hidden under a long toga, Cesare entered the room as if he belonged there. As a priest, he occupied a place below theirs in the hierarchy, but not so far off that they could dismiss him.
Lucrezia had relayed to him the administrators’ concern about the rain, or rather the lack of it. Akhet season had begun, when the Nile overflows to fertilize the land, but the waters had yet to rise as much as they should. The people would blame Pharaoh for it. More to the point, a diminished harvest would affect their trade with Rome and their already strained diplomatic relations.
“Gentlemen,” Cesare began, “I believe I can help you…”
The moments of complicity they preferred happened with Pharaoh, in the library or the gardens, sipping beer and talking casually. Ptolemy appreciated Cesare’s concise and direct explanations when so many other counsellors used euphemisms or spoke of things he didn’t understand. The siblings appeared very understanding of his ignorance regarding politics, but they would exchange smiles above Ptolemy’s head or roll their eyes when he was looking away, basking in their own intellectual superiority. Lucrezia would coax Pharaoh down a path of thought and Cesare would deliver the final convincing argument, looking at her just before doing it, waiting for that tiny nod that told him Ptolemy was ready to hear it. And then, of course, they would make Pharaoh believe it was his brilliant idea all along. Even though they mocked him, they came to genuinely enjoy his company. He had a jovial spirit as Lucrezia had pointed out and he was eager to learn more about beautiful Egypt.
After a long day of work, Lucrezia had visited the baths, and now returned to her bedroom feeling relaxed and content. She kept stroking her own arm, her skin so soft after the olive oil massage, the scrub and depilation.
She met Michail in the hallway.
“Has my brother retired to his room yet?”
“No, my lady. He’s in the library. Do you have a message for him?”
“No, thank you. I will deliver it myself.”
She patted his forearm and let him go on his way.
A surprise gift awaited her on the bed: a reeds basket decorated with a lapis lazuli trinket. Smiling, she skipped over to the bed. Michail must have left it there on Cesare’s behalf. She opened the basket, and a loud hiss made the blood drain from her face. A cobra sprung from the basket, its copper-red hood spread, and struck forward with his venomous fangs.
Lucrezia scampered off and climbed on a wooden bench.
“Michail!” she yelled, voice shrill, hoping he was still within earshot.
The cobra slithered out of the basket. Its long, scaly body seemed endless. She held her breath as cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
Michail rushed into her room, sword raised. She pointed the snake with a shaking finger, and he brought his sword down, cutting off its head.
Relief turned her legs to jelly, and Michail caught her in his arms before she could fall off the bench. She leaned on him for a long moment, at least until she felt steady on her legs again.
She gave the dead cobra a wide berth as if it might pop two heads like Hydra. The basket gave no clue as to the origin of this “gift”, but in Egypt cobras represented royalty. This was a message from the queen or rather a threat. She knew who she had to go to for protection.
Cesare was working late in the palace library, moonlight and a torch illuminated the scrolls of legal decrees unrolled on the table before him. His hard work was paying off, Ptolemy listened to him more and more. Today, the king had even talked of a military campaign, to reconquer the territories in Phoenicia lost by his predecessors and thus regain the waning favour of his subjects. A military campaign, spearheaded by Cesare, to restore Alexander the Great’s empire. He was so close to having everything he ever wanted, and yet, deep down, he still craved his father’s trust and approval. How he wanted to tell his father everything about the increasing influence he and Lucrezia wielded at court. He needed to be told he’d made him proud. But Rodrigo would not say that. Not when Cesare’s actions went against his father’s plans for Juan’s and Lucrezia’s futures.
His sister had endured so much already to help their family, and now to advance Cesare’s career. The least he could do was help her gain freedom in return— something their father would never grant her, on the contrary, he wanted to shackle her further to Pharaoh with a pregnancy. She deserved better. And if she happened to think better was Cesare, he would do everything to prove her right.
Working so closely with her these last weeks, he had fallen even more in love with her brilliant and devious spirit. He hadn’t realized how central touch was to their relationship until he was deprived of it. Beyond lustful desire, holding her was to him like sun and water to a plant. But they had to be careful. Worse, was that some awkwardness remained between them since he had stopped her from stroking him under the sheet. Their interactions even lacked their usual teasing and flirting. And he had to sit there and watch as Ptolemy caressed and kissed her freely and Lucrezia acted amorously in return. It ached as much as any other wound on his body. “ She’s mine ,” he wanted to roar. How he regretted stopping her advances after his accident. But he had been in pain and feared he would not perform satisfactorily, if at all. He didn’t want to disappoint her. He found himself imagining what would have happened next, the strokes of her lithe hand. He remembered the way she had licked his lip, and pictured her doing the same along the length of his co*ck, with her big blue eyes looking up at him.
He heard steps coming into the library, light like a woman’s footfall. He smiled to himself; Michail had left the room to fetch him a beverage so they would have some time alone. Her hands landed on his shoulders and soothed the tension out of his muscles. Her breath brushed the shell of his ear. She smelled of cinnamon— not Lucrezia’s perfume.
He whirled around in his chair. Another woman stood behind him: Aikaterine in a purple tunic, her long brown hair twisted over her head. She circled him with an amused and arrogant half-smile. He understood why they called her a tigress: her manner was regal but with an undercurrent of menace.
“I thought I should like to see for myself what all the fuss is about,” she said.
“About what?”
“About you Borgias.”
He still needed a cane to move so he wasn’t quick enough to avoid Aikaterine sitting astride him.
“Your sister is very pretty and you’re not so bad yourself.” She ran a finger down his chest. “You’ve enthralled Pharaoh. I’m too old for him. His loss.” She leaned forward to whisper in his ear, “I have the appetite and stamina of a man.”
On those words, she cupped his co*ck through his tunic. Blood rushed to his groin. She smirked when he hardened under her palm. He blamed his erection on his self-imposed celibacy of the last few weeks and the fantasies he’d been entertaining.
He schooled his features and looked at her with all the contempt he felt for the family who had betrayed his own.
“What do you want, Aikaterine?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
She stroked him faster and, to his shame, a moan escaped his throat.
Michail returned. He made no mistake on the nature of the scene before him and reached for his blade. Aikaterine got off Cesare’s lap, hands up in mock surrender. With a last caress of his cheek, she said, “You know where to find me, Cesare Borgia.”
She walked to the door and waited for Michail to get out of her way. Her laughter echoed in the corridor.
What on earth was that about? Did she want to rattle him? To form an alliance? To come between him and Lucrezia?
"Sir,” Michail said, “someone put a snake in your sister's bedroom."
"What?"
Cesare leapt to his feet, and pain shot through his thigh. He grabbed his cane this time and rushed out of the library despite the painful throbbing in his leg.
When they reached Lucrezia's bedroom, the six-foot long cobra bleeding on the floor shocked him.
“She said it came from a basket left on her bed,” Michail explained.
Cesare clenched his fists and tendons stood out in his neck. His heart beat erratically.
This was more than a warning from a jealous queen. And it coincided with whatever Aikaterine was trying to do to him earlier.
Where was Lucrezia now? Why hadn't she come to him right away? “Why didn’t you bring her to me?” Cesare snapped at Michail.
He hung his head. “I will find her, sir.”
“You must.”
They dashed out of the bedroom and split ways to search for her throughout the palace. While the mercenary headed out of the residential suite towards the servants quarters, Cesare left in the direction of the royal apartments. In the dark halls, he came across a few people, one of them had seen Lucrezia going to the inner throne room. As he rounded a corner, he saw Aikaterine’s cousin, Ioannis. Even from the back, he recognized his thin, greasy jaw-length hair and wimpish stride, looking like some kind of drowned bear. To think Lucrezia had almost married this perfidious man.
Hearing footsteps, Ioannis turned around, and his lip curled at the sight of Cesare. But there was a mischievousness about his face too which raised alarms in Cesare’s head.
“Where’s Lucrezia?”
“That slattern girl—”
“Be careful, sir.”
“Probably playing with Pharaoh’s… snake.”
In an instant, Cesare had pressed his cane sideways across Ioannis’ throat. His eyes bulged and he fought back, but rage and adrenaline amplified Cesare’s strength. They knocked down a potted palm.
“Whatever it is you and your despicable cousin are trying to do, you will regret it.”
“How?” Ioannis struggled to talk but had breath enough to gloat. “We have the queen’s ear and she is ten times more capable than Ptolemy.”
A cry came from the throne room— Lucrezia. He released Ioannis, forgetting him entirely, and hurried in the direction of the sound. His own words came back to him: “if anything happened to you, I’d die”.
What he saw in the room stopped him dead in his tracks: Lucrezia astride Ptolemy, his face buried in her cleavage, her head thrown back in pleasure.
After a life-threatening incident, she had run to someone else.
The roll of her hips quickened, Ptolemy grabbed her behind with two hands and grunted like a beast as he spilled inside her.
He had seen her have sex with Ptolemy once before. But this was different, intimate. An intimacy shared with another man, not with her brother.
Lucrezia smiled at the satisfied king. She rubbed her nose with his. Cesare's heart broke.
