Previously on The Borgias.
Now is the time of reckoning.
Our task is of vengeance.
But you must know by now, Cardinal.
Work with us,
not against us.
We are family! We are one!
And we will only triumph as one!
We will have none of that. You are brothers, after all.
Is His Holiness lacking something?
Does my presence no longer fill him with joy?
You're very young, beautiful.
You are more Eve than Adam.
We propose a celebration for the entire populace of Rome.
Whatever the cost.
Let Rome be full of joy!
I gave my body to you.
I broke my marriage vows.
You bought those three weeks with murder.
Admit it, Cardinal.
I will search you out.
You may find a nunnery, but you will never be free of me.
Tell me again, my love. Who is his father?
A groom. Paolo.
Impossible loves.
They can become an addiction.
You fear for the constancy of your lover's affections?
Don't do as I did.
Allow him his fancy.
Let him look both ways.
But be sure one of those gazes falls on you.
Excuse me, old man.
Which way is Rome?
Can you not smell it, from here?
Does Rome smell?
It stinks.
What do you want in Rome?
I have a child there.
Pity the poor child, then. Rome.
Good!
We had a dream
that we were a trinity upon this bed last night.
What if it was no dream?
And we were three indeed?
Was it by
our invitation or by yours?
Our memory is...
I'm afraid it was I, Your Holiness.
Shall I be whipped for my offence?
You should be bound and whipped and ravaged.
When?
Often.
You may leave us, Sisters.
- Your Eminence. - Your Eminence.
Sister Martha.
Cardinal.
You know what this is?
It is the fresco you have so graciously commissioned, Cardinal.
Of the founder of our order.
Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music.
But it lacks a model.
- Which is why I have asked for you. - I am afraid I cannot.
And I am afraid you must.
I am the Abbey's benefactor, after all.
Saint Cecilia was renowned for her beauty.
But Saint Cecilia was no nun, Your Eminence.
But if you would allow me...
You offend me, Cardinal!
Perhaps.
I am sorry for it.
But I would restore this hair to what it was
before God snatched it from me.
Cardinal, please.
I know, I know. I blaspheme.
But it's for a higher purpose.
Can you restore her hair, Pinturicchio?
Gladly.
And can you make those lips live again?
From a throne to a Judas chair. Who would have thought it?
Certainly not Prince Alfonso.
Did you revive him often?
Seven times, through one long night.
Can you imagine pain, Doctor?
Pain such as this.
I imagine it hurts.
- But enough of this sophistry. - Indeed.
To work.
Your Eminence.
You will die, Your Eminence,
if you eat nothing,
drink only rainwater!
I can trust only the rain, Sister.
We cook our own food!
Who provides the grains? The meat?
Is there no persuading the Cardinal?
Perhaps
a monkey.
A monkey?
A Capuchin monkey.
You are looking for a lady, young handsome man?
How did you know?
I imagine everyone walking these streets is looking for a lady.
What's her name?
Come on, now. She must have a name.
Lucrezia.
I know a few Lucrezias!
She is noble, my Lucrezia.
You saying I'm not noble?
I would not be so bold, my lady.
Your lady?
Right.
I am your lady.
And I'll find you your Lucrezia.
Can you never rest?
Where do you sleep?
Under silk covers, last night.
No, on a normal night?
On a straw bed on a studio floor.
So you know the streets of Rome?
The slums, the tenements.
You live among the common people?
I am one of them, Your Holiness.
Not for long, I would hazard, knowing your talents.
Does the Pope of Rome not know his flock?
You see the gilded cage we live within.
We meet princes and potentates and prelates.
But very few of the common people.
We might need your assistance.
Cardinal Sforza. You have come to view
our Roman treasures?
Etruscan, I would wager.
The Cardinal is an expert on such matters.
The Cardinal has seen Donatello's David
and marvelled at the source of its eros.
- Now he knows. - The Cardinal thinks
there may be scandal perhaps?
The Cardinal does not care.
What the Cardinal does care about
are the Vatican finances.
Yes. You will excuse us, young maestro.
This nice young man here is looking for a Lucrezia.
Do we have any Lucrezias?
I'll be Lucrezia, for a consideration.
Her name is Magdelena.
I am Lucrezia.
Shut up, you trollop.
We'll all be Lucrezia for you.
Do we have a second name?
Borgia.
Lucrezia Borgia?
She'd cost more than a shilling.
You do her a disservice, my lady.
And I must consider this conversation to be at an end.
You mean the Pope's daughter?
I'd try the Vatican if I were you.
The Vatican finances...
Are like Cardinal Piccolomini's hair.
- Getting thin? - Cardinal Piccolomini is bald.
But he had hair once. And our beloved Vatican had finances once.
But His Holiness' celebrations have reduced them
to a state akin to baldness.
But you are the Vice Chancellor.
Vatican finances are your responsibility!
Do something about it!
We have hardly begun our task for the renewal of Rome.
The restoration of its historic monuments,
our transformation of the lives and futures of its common people.
What does His Holiness know of the lives of the common people?
I would remind the Cardinal that, unlike him, we were born amongst them.
His Holiness' roots were in Spain, I believe.
When he came here he was already a great prelate.
So I would ask him again, what does he know of the lives
of the common people of Rome?
Well, perhaps the Cardinal would be so kind one evening
as to walk us amongst them?
His Holiness must know that that is impossible
for either of us.
As, I'm sorry to say, is this project of renewal.
Does the monkey have a name?
Let us call him Julius.
Julius Caesar.
- Stop. - You mock me, fair lady.
If I did, forgive me, kind sir.
My name is Paolo.
Beatrice.
I mistook you for a client.
A girl has to work.
Must you so debase yourself?
If I do not lift my skirt, I'll starve.
Better to starve, surely.
What, like the rest of Rome?
They were fed yesterday.
But today, they starve.
But there is such wealth in evidence here, my lady.
How could anybody starve?
There is wealth, of course.
But we starve.
Whilst Lucrezia Borgia dines on a silver plate.
With a fork.
You have heard of a fork, Paolo?
No, my lady.
It is all the rage now.
And I'll bet Lucrezia Borgia dines with a fork of solid gold.
Your day of celebration, Holy Father, was a great success.
Triumph.
The mob does need bread and circuses.
The mob?
- He means the people. - I mean the mob.
Isn't the mob made up of people?
Is this a riddle, Holy Father?
Wouldn't you be one of them if you took away your titles,
gonfaloniere, your dukedom,
your linens and your laces
and your filigree codpiece?
It was a riddle. A bad one.
Well, riddle me this.
When Adam delved and Eve span, who was then the gentleman?
There are distinctions, Father,
in the natural order of things
between the peasant and the nobleman.
Between the stallion and the mule.
Between us and the common people?
Of course.
But we all have an eternal soul.
Tell me,
if we were to go out one evening amongst the common people,
which of you, our family, would guide us?
You would need protection, Father.
The Pope cannot just walk amongst that rabble like one of them.
Why not? Our Saviour did.
Yes, but he was not the Pope, was he, Father?
You see, it was a riddle, after all.
Be careful.
How can people live like this?
Because they have no alternative.
- That shoe's worth something! - Let her go!
- Fancy shoe. Fancy blade. - Go, go, go, go, go, go!
Who are you?
Alms, alms!
For the love of God! To feed the infant!
That child is dead.
To bury the infant then!
A grave costs money, even a pauper's grave!
Come!
The Roman emperors had their faults, Your Holiness.
As do we.
But they kept order on their streets.
And they provided water for their people.
They built aqueducts, they provided sanitation.
Yes, and now people sleep in filth.
Pigeons everywhere.
Where do they come from, these pigeons?
This was a bath house once,
dedicated to the Goddess Sulis Minerva.
Now the orphans of Rome make their bed amongst its ruins.
Among the rats and the pigeons?
Go on!
Did Rome once provide for them?
The pigeons?
No, Your Holiness. The orphans.
There is an entire branch of the curia
dedicated to charitable works.
But its bounty never reaches them.
Well, we must see that it does. Come.
All right.
We will have you, Giulia Farnese,
go through their curatorial accounts.
And ensure that money for the poor actually reaches the poor.
Three!
Will I have your full authority?
You will.
And we shall set ourselves another task.
To rid this city of its infestation of pigeons.
And then we'll see who will be the most successful.
Is this a challenge?
A wager.
Which is the greater task, poverty or pigeons?
Four!
Now we will have two solidus on number one.
- One! - And we win!
You must insist the Cardinal eats.
I will, Sister.
He has a terror of food, since the event.
But if little Julius here deigns to eat,
the Cardinal will partake, too.
I understand.
See him safe to the monastery in Perugia.
The brothers will arrange his passage to Rome.
God be with you, Your Eminence.
Cardinal Versucci.
Your Holiness.
Please.
You have been in charge of the office of public works for how many years?
As long as I have been Cardinal, Your Holiness.
Two decades, then.
After which time the orphans of Rome find themselves destitute,
and the Cardinal has built himself how many palaces?
Three.
You see the irony there?
The poor will always be with us, Your Holiness.
The poor. Like the pigeons.
I beg your pardon? Your Holiness.
Does the Cardinal believe the pigeons will always be with us?
Is this a riddle?
We will have curatorial funds used for their declared purposes.
Money destined for the poor should go to the poor!
So we will have you go through
the last two decades of your accounts
with one we have designated to supervise them.
The lady Giulia Farnese.
What Your Holiness proposes is unthinkable!
What? That monies destined for the poor should go to the poor?
That a woman should have access to curatorial accounts.
Can a woman not count?
- Add, subtract? - Count her children, perhaps.
There is a new method, Cardinal,
devised by the Florentine bankers.
It is called double entry bookkeeping.
It proves a valuable tool in tracing all missing funds.
So, the Cardinal shall help you in your efforts
to source those missing funds
while we shall attend to another matter
of worrisome import.
Your Holiness.
Cardinal.
So, you say a falcon eats pigeon?
When he can get one, in his natural habitat.
What is his natural habitat?
The forest of Umbria, Your Holiness.
He should be in paradise here in Rome.
Think he's hungry now?
Starving, Your Holiness.
Well, then.
Look it!
You must get me a battalion of those birds.
These are dangerous roads, Sister.
I have heard so.
But you have a precious load there.
Why do you say so, sir?
To keep it so well hidden.
But then
you keep your own beauty hidden.
Forgive me, Sister.
Sometimes goodness needs the help of a little badness.
Lord have mercy.
You can ply your sad trade upon the Vatican steps?
There's no better place, my love.
And a cleric's skirt is easier to lift than a codpiece.
I have spent many profitable hours beneath them.
Paolo?
Paolo!
However noisome this Roman air,
the Roman populace deserves their glimpse of us.
They have a thousand eyes, the mob,
and those eyes must be fed, occasionally.
Will you make your wish at Agatha's fountain?
Yes, brother.
I would throw a coin in the waters
and say a prayer for my little Giovanni.
On blessed Saint Agatha's day.
I hate Saint Agatha's day.
Stay close to me.
Go away.
Let me hear your wish, sis.
My wish is for the fountain's ears alone, Juan.
Make your own.
- Narcissus. - Lucrezia.
My God, what effrontery!
A peasant to a Pope's daughter?
I should colour this market with your blood!
Let him be! Let him be!
You know this commoner?
I do not.
Then I will cut out his impertinent tongue.
Do not ruin this day for me, dear brother.
Let the commoner keep his tongue.
He may need it in the future to explain his impertinence.
There will be more impertinence?
No, my good Lord.
And I beg your lady's pardon for any offence.
If there is anything I can do to make good my offence?
There may be.
Then, my lady, I would hear of it.
Say a prayer by this fountain.
At midnight.
- Midnight. - And beg forgiveness of Saint Agatha.
Now be gone, while you yet have a tongue to speak with.
- I beg pardon, my Lord! - Scatter!
Thank you, kind Father.
You look happy.
I have seen heaven.
I've seen it, too.
From a different angle.
Was your heaven worth it?
Yes.
And if I understood her rightly, I'll see her again.
Who?
Lucrezia.
My heaven.
Paolo. You just made me cry.
Please don't.
Unless they be tears of happiness, of course.
Just promise me
you'll be careful.
You have your spies, do you not?
- Who told you that? - Why, a spy, of course.
We would have our ear to the ground in Naples.
Naples is unhealthy, Father.
So we have heard.
Prince Alfonso is no longer with us.
That is tragic indeed.
He would have made a good match for your sister Lucrezia.
What's a prince without a kingdom?
It will not always be thus.
King Charles cannot remain in Naples forever.
Unless he wants to die of the pestilence himself.
But if he does have plans to leave that blessed kingdom,
we would be the first to know of it.
Watch over him this evening, nurse.
- May I? - Please.
I have business to attend to.
Certainly, my lady.
Was that my coin?
How would I know?
Because there was a wish attached to it.
My Paolo. Is it really you?
It is nobody else, my lady.
- I have missed you so. - As I have missed you.
But you know, my love, it is impossible.
Impossible?
Have you not yet read your romances?
I know, I know.
You still cannot read.
It's a bit past her bedtime, isn't it?
Hush, would you.
So why did you come?
To punish me with longing?
I would see my son.
It was a son, was it not?
It was.
A beautiful little boy.
I would see my boy before I die.
Please, Paolo, do not mention death.
For you may die, if you stay in Rome.
Then I will not stay in Rome.
But if there is any kindness in your Borgia blood,
you would let me see you with my son before I leave.
Were you not whipped, Paolo?
My back was at your husband's mercy.
Oh, Lord.
Is that what it is like?
Love?
It must be.
I'll save myself for business then.
One night.
If you promise me that you will leave Rome.
Is Rome so deadly?
For innocents like you.
So promise me.
And meet me here again tomorrow night.
I promise.
Do I hear the rattle of gold in your pocket, sir?
This coin is for the fountain.
It would find a better home here.
Those lovers, do you know them?
That's the Pope's daughter, Lucrezia Borgia.
To so shame herself in public?
With whom?
Are you paying, sir?
Some country bumpkin.
Father of her bastard child.
You would earn more of that gold coin?
Where should we go, kind sir?
Nowhere.
But I would have that bumpkin followed day and night.
So I needn't lift my skirt tonight?
No. Not tonight.
Is he sleeping, nurse?
He did miss his mother.
Cesare.
You have a lover, sis?
No, brother.
But this child has a father.
A stable hand.
Who has come to Rome.
Unwise.
You disapprove?
Not yet.
- But I know those who would. - My father.
Your brother.
My husband whipped him. My brother would flay him.
Which is why you go out hooded.
At night. Like a phantom.
Cesare, he suffered for me in absolute silence.
He would have died for me.
The least I can do is let him see his child.
You loved him, sis?
I did.
Perhaps I do.
Then you must see him.
You would help me?
Once.
And only once.
Just tell me what to do.
Find us a room.
Where we can spend one night together away from prying eyes.
One night.
You promise?
I promise.
Go to our mother's house, tomorrow evening.
She needs to see her grandchild, does she not?
And?
Leave the rest to me.
You afraid, boy?
I was waiting.
I had hoped for someone.
One a lot prettier than I, perhaps yes?
Perhaps.
Are you saying that I'm not pretty?
I have killed for less.
But not tonight.
Come.
You are looking for your love. Yes?
Then come.
- What is your name, boy? - Paolo.
Tell me about love, Paolo.
I know nothing of love.
Should I absent myself?
So my presence doesn't implicate me?
In what, Mother?
A love that would displease your father.
Is there such a thing?
No.
Your father is the Pope of love.
But I would keep this tryst a secret, Mother.
Yes, I am aware.
Affections can be lethal in this Rome of ours.
- He has a right to see his son. - He does.
But only once.
Come, Mother.
Let us dine together.
- Have you dismissed the servants? - Of course.
Tell me.
Love.
What does it feel like?
It hurts.
Like life.
Yes?
Like Micheletto.
My baby! Let me hold him.
- Does he have a name? - Giovanni.
Giovanni. Say "papa."
He's the most beautiful thing I've yet seen.
I feel sorriest for him.
This needs to be our secret, Mother.
You know how I love secrets.
Four noble women, all from the house of Castile.
So you would marry me to Spain?
Well, it would be quite a natural alliance.
And Lucrezia?
Would you marry her again?
In time.
To a nobleman or a commoner?
What? A commoner?
Is that wine going to your head?
Stop drinking for a while and make a choice!
Sister slut.
Fuck off, whoever you are.
What are you, you're busy tonight?
Yes.
But tonight, I keep my skirts on.
Pity.
No pity at all. It pays better.
What does?
Spying.
Makes a change from fucking.
Spying.
For who?
That gentleman there?
How did you know?
I read your mind.
Were you expecting visitors?
No.
I see you've found your way home, brother.
- Home. - Like a pigeon.
In your cups you have forgotten,
- your home is no longer here. - I would speak with my mother.
- Of what? - Of a peasant from Pesaro
who's had his way with our dear sister
and made his way to Rome.
To what purpose?
If she finds that dog sniffing around our family,
I would have news of it.
She is sleeping, Juan.
And you are drunk.
Do you really want her to see you like this?
Tomorrow then.
Best tomorrow.
Was that an infant crying?
It was from my dovecote.
You loved those doves.
Yes. And you woke them.
Shame on you.
Do you love me, brother?
I would kill for you.
But do you love me?
As I love myself.
Which, these days, is not a lot.
You are observant.
But you love your family.
And your family name.
Borgia.
He must feed now.
And I must leave.
I wish it were different.
But, yes, you must.
And by the back door, the back streets.
I would gladly die for you both.
I know.
So go now, my love.
I would have you live.
I will write.
You know I cannot read.
Well, you must learn then.
Who walks with me?
I mean you no harm, kind sir, whoever you may be.
Suicide.
A sin even the Pope can't forgive.
Because dead men can't confess, can they?
Tell your tale to the river.
Yes.