“The latest poetical sensation.” Ten sonnets had been published lately under the pen name of Avernus (the entrance to the underworld! How very mysterious!), written to the glory of some anonymous beloved named Aurora (the goddess of dawn, bringing light to Avernus’s darkness! How very romantic!). Whoever he was under his pen name, he had not overlooked a single cliché in the entire classical repertory of gods and myth as far as I could tell. And now of course, every woman in Rome fancied she was the inspiration for Aurora.

Except Giulia Farnese—she just shrugged and said quite without jealousy, “I know they weren’t written for me. You have to be chaste to be a poetical inspiration. Well, either chaste or dead, and thankfully I’m neither. No one dedicates poetry to live harlots!” Unfortunately, this conclusion did not stop my mistress from reading the wretched book cover to cover.

I dismissed bad love poetry from my mind and tilted my head back at the Princess of Squillace. “So, madonna, whom might you be meeting? Cesare Borgia?” Everyone in Rome whispered that Sancha was bedding her brother-in-law. Among many others.

Sancha tossed her head. “I could have you flogged, you know.”

“No, you couldn’t. I belong to La Bella, and while her taste in poetry is appalling, she’s very protective when it comes to her servants. Even ones as rude as I.” I flicked a page of my book over. “If it’s Cardinal Borgia you’re waiting for, then you will have a long wait. He was here, visiting Madonna Lucrezia, but he set off an hour ago.”

“What?” Sancha’s blue gauze veil drifted as she turned her head.

“The Holy Father, I understand, required his services. Some disturbance among the papal guard. The Duke of Gandia is their new Gonfalonier, but the Duke is out whoring and not to be found.”

“And Cesare just galloped off with never a thought?”

“Not of you, certainly.” The fire in his eye had all been for the troops His Holiness had conferred to the Duke of Gandia’s command. Cesare Borgia would certainly not pass up a chance at Juan’s post just for an afternoon tumble with his little brother’s wife.

“If he thinks I’ll be waiting here for him like a tame dog once he’s done, he can think twice,” Sancha sniffed. “Arrogant bastard.”

“He is at that.”

“He’s talked of you, you know.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Leonello, isn’t it? He says you’re clever.”

“We play the odd game of chess now and then. Sometimes I even beat him.”

“Does he ever mention me?”

“No.”

“You’re a rude little beast, you know that?”

“Yes.”