Previously on The Borgias...
- I have waited a lifetime for this moment. - We will not fail you, Father!
Maybe Papa will become pope, and you can be who you want to be.
If he does become pope, I'll be what he wants me to be.
Cardinal Della Rovere, seven votes.
I shall fight you.
I do tend to win whatever battles I fight.
Back to Spain, Borgia! You can't wring any more favours from a dead pope.
I would say the one who would be suitable as Vice-Chancellor,
would be wise to support the Vice-Chancellor who would be pope.
You're not in mourning, Mother.
But perhaps I am. What are we gaining?
We have placed the papal mitre in the hands of an ape.
Does Papa have so many enemies?
As our father, perhaps not. But as pope...
I would gladly work for the pope or the pope's son.
Simony! I charge you now in public!
- They all want you dead. - Serve this to Orsini.
- We draw the line at murder... - Poison!
- ..do we not? - Give me control of the papal armies
- and I will protect us all! - We will have one son in the cloth,
and one in armour. You know our wishes!
Kings and popes and emperors belong to their peoples, not to their families.
There is a passage connecting the palace to the Vatican.
You are so beautiful, Giulia Farnese.
I have evidence that will bring this house crashing down around your ears!
Perhaps you could see that she takes a vow of silence.
You know the ways of silence.
Guards!
Whom can one trust in this Rome of ours?
- I believe trust needs to be earned, my lord. - Perhaps it has been.
His Eminence, Cardinal Della Rovere,
begs an introduction to His Royal Highness King Ferrante of Naples,
and His Highness' son, Prince Alfonso.
Your Royal Highness, good Prince.
He can't hear you.
He's deaf as a post. Has been for years.
The cardinal's come to discuss the deposition of the Borgia pope, Father!
You remember Borgia - the ambitious Spaniard?
He's appointed a veritable cascade of cardinals...
Can one say a "cascade of cardinals"?
Like a gaggle of geese, a clutter of cats, an army of ants?
Why not?
He's appointed a veritable cascade of cardinals!
Among them...his son.
His son!
Cesare Borgia! You remember him?
See?
He hears nothing.
It seems the good Cardinal Della Rovere has fled.
Where to, I wonder?
Wherever he can find an ally -
Florence, Milan...
I would hazard Naples.
Dear old King Ferrante, his hospitality is legendary.
- You've heard about his dining room? - I've heard the rumours.
If Della Rovere thinks Rome is a charnel house...
The good cardinal imagines that he alone hears the word of God,
but God saw what he was blind to.
What the Holy Church needs at this juncture...
is someone who can ensure its survival...
by whatever means necessary.
You have someone who...
can wield a good garrote, do you not?
Has it been rumoured that I do?
It has been whispered.
And if I did?
Maybe it is time for the good cardinal's collar to be replaced.
Replaced?
With what does one replace an ecclesiastical collar?
My memory fails me.
I think I understand you, Father.
Good.
Sometimes, one barely understands oneself.
Want, want, want.
Everybody wants.
France wants Naples, Spain wants Naples.
The whole of Christendom wants the New World.
And you, dear Cardinal, what do you want?
I merely want Naples to join in alliance with me to rid the papacy...
Of the stench of Borgia.
Mm-hm.
In return for?
A worthy inhabitant of the chair of St Peter's
would see the justice of the independent claims of Naples.
Naples is already independent, Cardinal.
- Spain would beg to disagree. - Ah.
An adversary.
Shall we show him, Father, how it pleased you to deal with your adversaries?!
Hm?
When you were in your magnificent prime?!
You see, he does remember.
What does he remember?
I am at a loss to say.
He remembers cruelty.
Have you commissioned your portrait yet, brother?
- I see no need. - Ah, humility.
As befits the cleric.
But the public might demand such a display from a soldier.
Poor Pinturicchio's going to run out of paint.
And we must pay for this extravagance!
- Have the abbeys all been emptied? - There is never enough.
Queen Isabella has rather precipitously expelled all the Jews from Spain.
The Marranos,
as they once dared to call us.
- They still insult us thus. - Well, I can assure you, my dear son,
there's not one drop of Jewish blood in you.
But as a stranger in a foreign land myself...
I...sympathize with their plight.
"The chosen people."
Once more in search of a home. They clamour to get into our state.
And they offer to pay. Handsomely.
There will be objections.
Well, there always are.
But I want my papacy to be like Joseph's coat of many colours.
And Jesus Christ our Saviour was, after all, a Jew.
He was also killed by Jews, Father.
Are you sure?
I thought he was crucified by Romans.
My father had many adversaries, Cardinal.
But all of them came to sing his praises.
And when they could sing no more...
he had them stuffed!
You see, he liked to dine, when his health was still good,
with those who considered displeasing him.
He's yet to find his Judas.
So, you think that a pope has earned a place at this table.
My intentions were not quite so...severe, Your Highness.
Why not?
They would happily seat you there.
These Borgias are Marranos - Spanish Jews.
They've no scruples.
You do them a disservice, if that's possible.
Scruples, they may have none.
Jewish blood... they have even less of.
- You're sure? - Mm-hm.
Perhaps then, they deserve the papacy.
I will discuss your proposals with my father's advisers.
I'd be delighted if you'd accept our hospitality tomorrow.
One of our sulphur baths.
It might improve Your Eminence's temper. Hm?
Good for the skin.
Tomorrow, Cardinal, tomorrow.
And lift it!
And the tapestries, you have to release them from the top.
See they are installed in my mother's villa.
Whatever one could say about the cardinal's politics,
- there is no questioning his good taste. - He's arrived in Naples, my lord.
Hold it up!
My father had a quaint turn of phrase.
He expressed a wish that the cardinal's collar might be replaced.
If he was to see my face, he would flee the city.
Well, stay in the shadows, then.
Isn't that where you are happiest?
I am embarrassed to admit I've never seen a garrote.
It is just a cheese cutter, my lord.
You must show me.
One almost feels pity for the melon.
My father deems Leonardo too expensive.
And, my lord, he rarely finishes.
He would have finished for me.
But we will show that Milanese mirror painter what true highlights should look like.
Raise it...
till the armour glitters.
Come!
You're on.
My beloved son.
Father.
Crimson is a colour that suits you.
Thank you.
But you regard this elevation as a burden.
You will be made cardinal tomorrow.
And you must beware that sin St Isidore calls the greatest of all,
which only the pope can forgive.
I believe it is called despair, Father.
You must never, ever despair.
Embrace me, Cesare.
Forgive... my ambitions for you,
but they have been such since the day you were born.
Had I not embraced a career in the church,
then perhaps things would have been different.
You are my eldest son.
It is your destiny to follow in my footsteps.
Tell me you accept this calling.
I accept.
The sensual delights of our Neapolitan Kingdom
have attracted many invaders, Cardinal.
When you have a paradise, you must use every means available to defend it.
My father has grown feeble with the effort.
King Ferrante.
Mm. I spoke with his advisers of your request.
- And? - Yes, they will consider it.
He will meet his maker soon, and he would confess,
if he can manage the words, to a pope before he dies.
We would rather it be a Christian one.
Enough!
Mm!
Immerse yourself, Cardinal.
The sulphur waters renew the flesh, soothe the spirit.
We'll all of us be dead, soon enough.
I will, with your permission.
Thank you.
- Cover me fully. - As you wish.
It is red, as a sign of the dignity of the order of cardinals...
signifying that you are ready to act with fortitude.
Red...
as a sign that you are willing to spill your blood
for the increase of the Christian faith...
into which you have all been baptized.
Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus,
Pater,
et Filius,
et Spiritus Sanctus.
Guards! An assassin!
That man there with the scarred back!
For God's sake, arrest him!
- That man there! - You! Stop!
Arise, our brother cardinals.
- Who is he? - Everyone out!
I can't see!
Stop him!
You bring carnage in your wake, Cardinal! Absolute carnage!
We have no need of carnage! We have no need of carnage!
You should leave Naples forthwith,
unless you want a place at my father's table on a more permanent basis!
So, you failed.
Is that a first?
Success in these matters is never a given, my lord.
Should I forfeit my trust in you, then?
It was a public baths, my lord.
I am Your Eminence now.
Have you not noticed?
Your Eminence, it was a public baths.
I disguised my face, but it was the wounds on my back that betrayed me.
Ah, goodness and probity make worthy adversaries, do they not?
This cardinal seems immune to corruption.
We should have him followed, then. By someone other than you.
Everything can be arranged, Your Eminence.
But no more cheese cutting - for the time, at least.
And no more scandal.
Juan requested Leonardo.
- And you wisely declined. - Well...
we have not yet acquired the wealth of a Florentine bank.
Your Holiness.
No, stay awhile.
Please.
We would have... your advice on a matter.
Of state?
Perhaps.
The Sultan of Constantinople
has requested that we welcome his half-brother, Djem, into our care.
As hostage?
Well...as foster.
It would remove him as a threat to the Ottoman succession.
Now, he would pay us
40,000 ducats every year for the privilege.
God knows, we need the cash.
I would have your advice, madam.
He's a heathen.
Well, he's a Mussulman. He prays to Allah.
You would invite heathens to Rome?
My father has invited the Spanish Jews to Rome.
- Yes. - He wants to amaze the Christian world.
He sees his papacy as a coat of many colours.
Well, we are all human, are we not?
Under the same God?
Well, there are many who would disagree with that thesis.
But the pope is not one of them.
The great Sultan Bayezid ll presents his brother, Djem,
to be Ambassador to the Court of the Pope of Rome.
He hopes his presence and the great pope's protection,
will lead to concord between their peoples,
to a mutual treaty of protection from their enemies.
For 40,000 ducats per annum.
Mohammed and your Jesus Christ were brothers, after all.
Why should we not be?
Why not, indeed?
A stag is easy pickings.
Where I grew up, on the Persian foothills,
the white tiger was our prey.
Do tigers come in white?
In all colours, my lady - white, yellow, brown.
- Why, I have even heard of tigers striped. - Striped?
- Never! - I killed one with my bare hands.
Have you seen a unicorn?
- I have spoken with them. - What language do they speak?
It is in a meter known only to Allah.
Ah.
I almost feel at home here, my Christian brother.
So many races, so many faiths,
so many costumes.
Where did they all come from?
They're Marranos - exiled Jews from Spain.
Ah, and they are welcome here?
My father, the pope, draws no distinction,
at least not where commerce rears its pretty head.
You mean they pay for the privilege of being here?
No more than you do.
Ah, but I am your guest, surely.
My brother contributes towards the expenses of my stay here,
but the hospitality you have shown me -
no one could pay for that.
She's growing, Rodrigo.
- May I still call you Rodrigo? - You may not, madam.
What am I to call you, then, father of my children?
You know very well, Vanozza.
She is growing, Your Holiness.
And I imagine your presence here has something to do with that fact.
It does indeed.
We can both be proud of her.
We can, my dear.
I am still your dear, then?
Always.
She must be married.
I know she must. But when?
Soon.
The vultures are circling our family.
Our Rome.
- We must protect ourselves. - Must we marry her to a vulture, then?
We must marry her.
Promise me one thing.
If I can.
She can meet her betrothed before she's bartered like a golden calf.
We can give her that, at least.
Have you heard the news, Djem?
There's so much news, my little one.
The news seems to change by the hour in Rome.
My news.
You have news?
I'm to be married.
- Oh, my dear. - Have you been married?
I have taken four women to wife.
- Four? - Mm-hm.
Where are they now?
In the seraglio of Topkapi Palace, Constantinople.
- How many wives can you have? - As many as Allah sees fit to provide.
As to concubines, an infinite number.
What is the difference, Djem, between wife and concubine?
No difference, really.
Ah, you can beat a wife, but not kill her.
- You can kill a concubine? - If she displeases you.
You can kill a wife too, but the displeasure must be grave.
I will not be beaten, Djem.
No. You are the pope's daughter.
You are the most beautiful treasure this Vatican contains.
If a husband tries to beat you,
I, Djem, will strangle him with my bare hands.
- We are awash with suitors. - Is this good news?
Well, only four are remotely suitable.
So few?
Every prince in Christendom wants to make suit.
But of the Italians - and I think you'll agree, only an Italian makes strategic sense...
Colonna. Sforza.
Medici.
D'Este.
- What of Alfonso of Naples? - Oh,
he would be ideal,
but both France and Spain lay claim to the Kingdom of Naples,
and the might of each eclipses that of all of Italy.
We must keep those options open... for now.
Come on, Djem.
It seems like Juan has found a brother.
Did he not already have one?
Oh, indeed, but how should I put it?
A brother in arms!
Ah!
Bravo!
Do not worry, my Christian brother, I would never do you harm. I love you.
- More, come on! - Next time, Djem.
Ah!
- 40,000 ducats. - If he lives.
What?
If he dies, and his body is delivered to his brother,
who hates and fears him, 400,000.
You would never.
No! It would be unthinkable.
We swore to be his protection.
- I'm just telling you. The request was made. - Good!
Sforza, Borgia.
If our families were to unite...
central Italy would be secure,
and, our cousin, Ludovico Sforza of Milan
has pledged to ally with our interests.
Your Holiness has requested a meeting with Giovanni Sforza, Lord of Pesaro.
He will understand how impossible that is...
without an agreement on a dowry.
A dowry?
But of course.
The Sforza family needs substantial funds to re-equip its armies...
for the coming storm.
My brother Meliaduse was Abbot of Pomposa.
His mother was a Medici, you know.
Yes, he died back in '52,
but you will remember my sister, Ginevra?
She married Pandolfo Malatesta of Rimini.
Or was that Luzia?
Union with my nephew might strengthen the boundless love...
between the families of Colonna...
and Borgia.
There is no barrier to his succession.
The prince, his elder brother, is confined to a madhouse.
Perhaps it runs in the family.
Our Venetian ships plough the oceans from here to the Orient.
Rome could benefit from a navy off the coast of Ostia.
Yes, but...
he is somewhat... young?
Oh.
I think he's deaf.
Are you deaf?
Dance with me, then.
Do I have to marry, Cesare?
No.
You can take the cloth like me. You can become a nun.
Live in sanctity and prayer, like Abelard and Eloise.
Did they love each other?
With a love as pure and all-consuming as the love of God.
So, then,
I shall become a nun.
For I shall never love a husband as I love you, Cesare.
I am afraid, dear sis,
that the pope does not ask you to love your future husband,
merely to marry him.
So, love and marriage, are they incompatible?
No, but I have been told that one does not imply the other.
Is that not sad, Cesare?
Most things in life prove to be sad, sis.
Again, I have been told.
And if my husband proves ungallant?
I shall cut his heart out with a dinner knife...
and serve it to you.
Sforza's the one.
Your Holiness approves of him?
As you have informed us, Della Rovere has fled Naples,
and is heading north.
Of course.
So, if Rome is united with the Sforza dynasty...
Mm-hm.
..Milan will close its doors to him if he seeks help there.
That is the outcome we wish for.
But these things are never certain, Cesare.
And what of Lucrezia?
Sforza is personable, not unlike your brother,
and her mother approves.
Must I ask again, Your Holiness?
What of Lucrezia? Her feelings?
You will not ask again!
You know the nature of these arrangements.
That...heathen outstays his welcome.
- How? - You have seen him dancing with Lucrezia.
So, send him home.
We can ill afford to.
There is the matter of a dowry.
Your Eminence.
That manservant of yours, Cesare.
Micheletto.
I'd borrow him awhile.
- You need his services? - For a day or two.
Is our father that short of funds?
He must raise a dowry for our sister's betrothal.
Can he not borrow from Florence?
Four hundred thousand ducats is hard to come by.
So, you need my Micheletto.
But you shall not have him.
- You have a soft spot for heathens? - Maybe.
And our sister loves Djem.
She would miss him at her wedding.
There are others of Micheletto's kind in Rome.
Find one, if you can,
but spare me the details.
His food is prepared by his personal cook, a blackamoor.
His meat must be bled, and wine is forbidden him.
- Does he not drink water? - Mint tea, my lord, spiced and sugared.
But cantarella and sugar do not always mix.
What is this...a cookery lesson?
A request was made for a private confession?
It is true I made the request, though I know little of the rite.
Djem.
It is indeed me, Cardinal Borgia.
And I have but one thing to confess.
And what would that be?
I wish to become a Christian.
Why, my dear brother?
Because of the kindness you Christians have shown to me.
I have found peace in this Rome of yours.
I have been reading the gospels, the words of St Matthew.
"See how these Christians love one another."
I would gladly embrace a religion of such charity.
You might find, dear Djem, that...
we're not always so kind.
White is so dull.
But surely a wedding dress should be white?
This dress... is for your betrothal, my love.
And given the size of your dowry, it should be of solid gold.
Open.
Oh!
I wanted, my dear Lucrezia,
to give you a taste of my homeland,
before the Lord Sforza plucks you forever from my view.
Please, brother, sit.
Moussa, thali! Food.
It's beautiful, Djem.
- Syre ri. - How do I eat it?
With your fingers - like this.
I also wanted to thank the three of you...
for your kindness towards me.
- Are you leaving us soon? - Oh, by the heavens, no.
I dread the day I have to leave the bosom of your kindness.
Our ways at the Courts of the Sultan can be cruel beyond your imaginations.
I have a good imagination.
Oh.
My brother's predecessor had the eyes of all his male relatives plucked out,
and brought to him on a silver platter.
Twenty-two of them.
- That's 44 eyes. - Mm.
Why on earth?
Because one who is blind could never take his place.
Clever.
Mm. So, to be among Christian souls,
among the bosom of a family such as yours, is fortune indeed.
I'll drink to that.
And to your future happiness, my dear Lucrezia.
Bismillah.
Your air is, uh...
- Djem. - Djem?
Forgive me, Cardinal. I have ruined your attire.
Djem!
Djem?
- Allahu Akbar. - Cesare!
You hired an amateur!
You forbade me your professional.
- You need lessons in killing? - Cesare!
I have been poisoned, Cesare.
My brother, the Sultan, has found a way.
And it can only have been through this blackamoor here - he has poisoned me!
Are you sure?
I am certain, as Allah is my witness.
Who else could have touched my food?
Guards!
Come, my brother...
we must speak with the professional.
Cantarella?
Mixed in with his sugar, my lord.
- Who recommended such a thing? - The blackamoor prepares his food.
He mixes the sugar with his tea. There was no other way.
Then he will be in agony for weeks.
You know of a better way?
- You spoke to no one of this? - I swear, my lord.
Take him out of here.
Somewhere safe.
And you, my dear brother - you must finish what you started.
I will clear the corridor of the guards.
Cesare!
Leave us.
You would kill our dear Moor?
I thought I had.
Cesare!
Take a breath.
You would not recommend cantarella, then?
Not with sugar, my friend, no.
Cool me down, brother.
Console me, brother.
A pillow? A towel, dipped in cold water.
You?
No, no!
So, our sister's dowry is done?
Here endeth the first lesson.
for the hospitality provided to the Royal Highness Prince Djem,
"400,000 ducats from the Sultan of Constantinople to the Holy See.
"A further 100,000 ducats,
"for the most excellent medical care provided to His Majesty,
"and a further 40,000 ducats,
"for funeral expenses."
Father God Almighty,
who wert, art, and shall be blessed world without end...
I beseech Thee,
watch over my daughter, Lucrezia...
and grant me guidance and wisdom.
I pray that I have made the right decision for her.