“Horses stray, everyone knows that.” Juan’s horse had been found by the papal soldiers Rodrigo had dispatched to search for the Duke of Gandia—just the horse, which would not have been so unsettling if the great stallion had not been found with one stirrup cut away and a splash of blood on its flank. Not horse blood, either, because the horse was uninjured. But I gave my Pope as reassuring a smile as I could muster. “Someone no doubt tried to steal the horse when Juan left it tied for the night, and it got loose. How many horses has Juan managed to lose this year, after all?” Usually by riding them until they dropped, and of course there was the one pretty little mare whose throat he’d cut with his own dagger because she had the temerity to throw him off in front of his soldiers . . . but Juan did have a fair number of horses stolen, since he could rarely be bothered to tie them properly, much less stable them.

“But we were supposed to meet today, to discuss the campaigns I’ve planned in Romagna!” Rodrigo burst out. “Even if he were dallying with some woman, even if he lost his horse and went looking for another, he would not have left me waiting with no explanation!”

Cesare looked up from the elaborate globe in the corner, where he had been fingering the etched coasts of the new land that Genoese sailor had discovered. Much of what we knew of Juan’s latest activities came from Cesare: his brother’s high spirits at Vannozza’s cena, the masked man who had come to deliver a message, the way he split from Cesare on the ride home and rode off toward the Piazza degli Ebrei, leaving his squire behind. “You have never worried overmuch when I kept you waiting, Holy Father,” Cesare murmured.

“Bah, you never forget yourself when dallying with women.” Rodrigo gave a distracted clap of the hand to his eldest son’s shoulder, and Cesare’s immobile face looked more masklike than ever. He had a hard tension running through him like a strand of fire, a tension that made me wonder if he just might have planned a beating or some other unpleasant surprise for his brother. But Cesare had been fully accounted for the rest of the night after Juan rode off, playing cards until dawn with Michelotto and some of his other soldiers. And if Cesare ever came to blows with his brother, I knew he’d do it himself and not hire bravos.

I wondered if my Pope would ever bring himself to think the same thing. If he did, he’d never speak the words aloud. He’ll never admit the thought that la familia could ever turn on each other.