“You should have given him your pity with your knees shut. You think his testimony of impotence will carry any weight when you’re six months gone with his brat?”

That just fetched a fresh storm of weeping, which neatly covered my startled huff of breath on the stairs. Lucrezia Borgia, heavy with her husband’s child when they were trying to prove nonconsummation of the marriage? Oh, Dio.

Cesare’s deadly quiet voice continued. “Who else knows?”

More tears from Lucrezia, and I thought I heard Pantisilea begin to blubber as well, but Carmelina spoke steadily enough. “Three, Eminence. Pantisilea and I have tended all Madonna Lucrezia’s needs—she has stayed in bed, none of the sisters here know—”

“Three. You two, and who else? Perotto?”

“I had to tell someone!” Lucrezia hiccuped. “I was in agony, and he was so kind—”

“Three,” Cesare cut her off. “Good. Perhaps it may be handled yet. You, Pantisilea or whatever your name is, cease your whimpering and fetch wine. You, cook; I remember you. Food, whatever will keep my sister strong, but not much of it. Keep her slim. She is not to leave these chambers, and no one is to see her but you two and Perotto. He will handle her errands outside these walls as they need doing, and you will serve her within. And if any of you breathe one word of the Countess’s condition, to the nuns or to any other, I will have your throats slit. Now, get out.” Carmelina and Pantisilea flew from the room as though flung from a cannon, faces white as they hurtled down the stairs without even seeing me.

Careful, I wanted to say to Carmelina. Oh, be careful, Signorina Cuoca, this is not a secret you want. But from the flash of her set, terrified face as she passed me, I did not think she needed the warning.

Inside the chamber, Cesare Borgia had lapsed back into Catalan. “’Crezia,” he said. “’Crezia mia, stop weeping. Your speech for the hearing; we will practice it again. Dry your eyes.”

“I can’t appear before the cardinals like this!” Lucrezia shrieked.

“Of course you can.” I heard a yelp and a rustle of bedclothes—it sounded like the Cardinal was dragging the little Countess out of bed. “Look at yourself in the glass—it will all be concealed easily enough. A dress with a high waist and a heavy skirt, a furred cloak. It’s deep winter; no one will question it.”

“They’ll see—”

“They’ll see what they are told to see: my pretty sister swaddled against the cold. Now, your speech . . .”