From my position squashed among the papal guards I saw Lucrezia Borgia swallow, her slim throat moving behind a collar of pearls and emeralds—and I saw Giulia, standing just behind, touch a finger to her elbow and murmur something too quiet to be heard. “Chin up,” I rather thought she would be saying. “You are the Pope’s daughter, so head high! Don’t worry about your dress; it has so many jewels it will fall into line all on its own.” For days before the wedding, Giulia had coached Lucrezia in her fifteen-thousand-ducat wedding dress, around and around the garden. “Glide, don’t struggle. Move with your skirts, not against them. That’s it, look how beautiful you are!”

She wasn’t beautiful, she was just young. Painfully young, and almost swamped under the weight of stiff jeweled brocade and ornate headdress and loops of pearls. But Giulia’s coaching paid off, because Lucrezia Borgia lifted her head and glided into the sala, moving at the center of her jeweled skirts like a shackled young swan. A rustle of admiration crossed the throng, and Giulia gave a smile of pride as she followed.

Dio. So much fuss, so much anticipation, so much expense, and the wedding itself was over in no time at all. Lucrezia knelt before her father on a golden cushion, facing her bridegroom—Giovanni Sforza, Count of Pesaro, an agreeable-enough looking fellow of twenty-six with a long nose and a fashionable beard. He looked pleased enough as he listened to the notary drone, and I saw Lucrezia cast little sidelong peeping glances at her bridegroom.

“Illustrious Sir, are you prepared to pledge yourself to, and to receive pledges from, your lawful spouse, and to marry the Illustrious Donna Lucrezia Borgia, who is here present and promises to become your wife?”

“I do,” Giovanni Sforza said, “most willingly.”

Lucrezia Borgia repeated her vows in a firm voice (Giulia had coached her on that too); the rings were given; a naked sword was lowered ceremoniously over the heads of the bridal couple; a brisk homily on marriage was delivered . . . and the thing was done. Burchard sagged with relief; I rather wished there had been an assassin to liven things up.