Previously on The Borgias...
Father, we must discuss our brother.
He is hurtling towards ruin.
And he will drag this whole family with him.
You're pathetic.
You want to inhabit my shoes.
Wear my armour. Carry my sword.
You will end your life in a clerical skirt.
lt is a daughter's duty to marry her father's choice.
She will love whom she chooses. She is a Borgia.
I would have married as you bid, but if I had followed my heart.
So, the future of this family is in thrall to your heart?
You stand accused
of defying papal orders to cease your heretical preaching.
I will walk through this fire
to show I speak God's truth!
Savonarola's been disgraced.
He is being hauled to Rome as we speak.
- Has he confessed? - He will.
When the rack embraces him, he will confess.
Present yourself as a Franciscan.
Seek employment as his taster.
If hired, you will bide your time.
You may have one chance only to deliver a fatal dose.
One day you'll realise that everything I've done has been for your own good.
Like you took care of Paolo? A stable boy.
For the good of the family.
Exactly so.
Leave my baby! Juan, leave my baby alone!
What happened to you, Juan?
You were such a lovely child.
Tell me about poison.
I would happily kill tonight.
And break your father's heart?
Help him through his dark night.
Don't let envy rule your heart.
He loves his errant son, does he not?
More than he loves his dutiful one.
No killing then.
Hearts may yet be broken.
Have you come to beg forgiveness for your insult?
You are already forgiven.
We're Borgias. We never forgive.
Make your confession and all this will end.
You want that, don't you?
An end to all this pain?
You sign this, and it's done.
What do you say?
Yes. Yes.
Release him.
You sign here.
Here!
Put him back.
You were to bring me two things.
A confession from the heretic and your brother.
Tell us you have at least one out of the two.
Savonarola will break on the rack. His confession will come any day now.
It has been too many days already.
And our second son?
- I had all of Rome searched. - And?
Make more effort.
A man doesn't just vanish into the wind.
Everywhere you have searched before, search again.
Again, Your Eminence?
Yes, make more effort. Find him!
You've searched his friends' palaces,
brothels, gaming halls, taverns, the like?
Yes, Your Eminence. Many times.
Start with the mortuaries.
Stop.
Who are you?
I am Prince Alfonso D'Aragona,
Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno.
What are you doing here?
I am suitor to the Lady Lucrezia,
daughter of His Holiness, Alexander VI, Pope of Rome.
Indeed. Lucrezia Borgia?
Poor boy.
Come. I will take you to her.
So you are suitor to the Lady Lucrezia.
I am.
A great responsibility for one so young.
Take off your cloak.
If I remove my coat, what will you remove in return?
We will see.
The Lady Lucrezia has a great many suitors.
Some are wheat and some are chaff.
And it falls to me to separate the one from the other.
I am neither wheat nor chaff.
I am Alfonso D'Aragona, and I am flesh and blood.
Turn around.
If it pleases you.
It pleases me.
Now you must do the same in return.
If it pleases you.
It pleases me.
So, what now?
How far does your Lady Lucrezia care for this game to go on?
There is no limit.
Just as one would have one's groom break in a new horse,
so it is with my lady's lovers and me.
Before, he ate only sardines and drank only water.
So I poisoned the water and then he drank wine.
I fear I will fail you.
God has chosen you for this glorious path.
This Pope is on the brink of a chasm.
One breath,
your breath, will topple him.
When the moment comes,
you will know.
God will tell you.
- I know what you are. - Yes?
I have had your kind stoned to death
and their corpses dragged through the streets.
"My kind"?
Men who lay with men.
Sodomites who corrupt young, innocent boys,
who artists use as angels.
I have cleansed Florence of her sin.
And yet, here I am.
Your last chance.
Will you confess?
To you?
Never!
To your master?
Yes. None else.
Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno.
Yes.
What are they like, Bisceglie and Salerno?
Beautiful.
But for all the world, I would rather be here.
- Do you find Rome so appealing? - Not Rome.
Here.
When you speak of me to the Lady Lucrezia...
If your account is favourable,
can you and I...
Never. We must never see each other again.
If you are hers, you are hers alone.
So tell her I was inept, or coarse, or beyond ugly,
and come with me and be mine alone.
You would turn down the Pope's own daughter for me?
Why?
Because I have never known a woman so lovely.
Poor boy.
It's time for me to go.
Who would have thought a body could stand so much pain?
They've tortured the man near to death.
The strength of a faith misguided is still a strength.
He thought he could walk through fire.
I disabused him of that notion.
You have broken his hold on power.
You have broken the bones of his body.
All that you lack is his confession.
Exactly so.
That which was said publicly must be recanted publicly.
Even in death, he would be poison.
Rome needs this confession.
Then...
Give it to them.
He is pleased to see his grandfather.
We don't see enough of him.
We have other things on our mind.
Juan will come home. He always does.
Well, Juan is not our only concern.
There are other matters of State and family.
"State and family" must mean marriage.
You have another suitor standing by.
- Well, Prince Alfonso D'Aragona. - Well, I've heard of him.
He's arrived at last.
- He's a child, is he not? - Well, no. He's young.
A boy of clay to mould into a man of my liking.
We would have you meet him and not dismiss him out of hand,
but meet him as a dutiful daughter should.
If it is my duty, I shall meet with him.
- Strictly as a duty. - Yes.
Nanny, I think little Giovanni's done a... You know.
Come here.
- Yes, there you go. - Holiness.
- May I, My Lady? - I'll take him.
Oh, dear.
Presenting the most gracious Lady Lucrezia Borgia.
This is Prince Alfonso D'Aragona?
Yes.
Duke of Bisceglie and Prince of Salerno.
I...
Well, I...
- Yes? - I...
Does he just make noises?
Yes, I will marry him.
He has all the sweetness of an apple on the tree.
I will marry him tomorrow if you wish it.
You may kiss me.
On the cheek.
What a most charming and welcome eventuation.
We feel invigorated!
Your Holiness.
How refreshing that our children are still able to surprise us.
Eminence.
We have a body, Your Eminence.
What? Well, tell us.
There is a body.
Out!
Who... Who is this?
No one, Your Holiness. It's a mistake.
You've been searching the mortuaries?
Did our son order this?
No, I did.
You consider him dead?
I consider the possibility.
Do you truly want to do this?
Truly, no.
But we must.
How long must this continue?
We both know you cannot stand much more.
I have run dry of screams.
Then end it. Admit your heresy!
My strength fails me.
My will fails me.
I saved you for this very purpose. Now you sign it, and end it.
I am weak and...
And no will.
No. No.
You went too far!
He's alive.
- Just. - God speaks to me!
Whatever you do to me, God is ready.
I thank God for your confession.
He cannot speak of this.
You bastard!
Guards!
You will burn for your blasphemy!
No, it is you who will burn.
And with my last strength,
I damn this unholy Pope.
I shout to the world
the falseness of this confession!
Hold him. I'll have your tongue.
Hold him!
These poor creatures were all brought in last night?
Yes, Lady. The carts come in all night long.
The haul from the river's in here, sir, if you'd like to see.
Six or seven a night, like as not.
Holiness.
Take him home.
Holy Father, I bring you the signed confession
of the heretic Savonarola of Florence.
What happened?
He was...
Dragged from the Tiber.
Dogs, cats...
The stillborn offspring of prostitutes.
And our son.
Leave us, Cardinals.
Who would do such a thing? Who would dare?
- Who had cause to wish him harm? - Any one of the many he harmed.
What?
- What do you say? - Nothing, Father.
What do you say?
You asked who would do such a thing.
The answer is, many people, Father. Many people.
We don't understand.
Here lies your brother, murdered in cold blood,
and you speak as if...
"Many people." "Many people," you say?
Do you count yourself among their number?
- Why... - Father.
- Let her speak! - What would you have me say?
You know what he did to me!
What he took from me! You all do!
And you stood by for the honour of the family.
I have wished him dead 1 ,000 times.
And now you want me to mourn him?
I'm sorry, Father, I cannot.
And you? He was your brother.
You show no tears?
Are you stone?
I wept them all out for him long ago.
Over and over, I watched him fail, and I wept.
You should know. You were there.
And still, you granted him your every favour.
Take yourselves both
away from our sight!
Clean him up.
Bring him back to life as if he were our own Lord Jesus Christ.
Yes, Eminence.
Do your work.
How could we have missed such enmity
in the bosom of our family?
You saw with a father's eyes.
And you?
Would you have had him dead?
No. No.
He was our son.
But there were times, many times,
when I wished that he had not been born.
Let him go.
Arrange the funeral and say our farewells.
No. He is our son. He will not be buried.
- I will not let him go. - We have to bury him.
No burial. Do you hear me? No burial!
Hell is too good for you!
Burn for eternity!
Burn in hell, you satanic dog!
On your feet!
Burn, Friar!
Burn in hell, you scum!
You betrayed the Church and the people!
Traitor!
- Burn the heretic! - Liar!
Now you're gonna burn!
You're a liar and a hypocrite!
- Burn in hell, Savonarola! - Enjoy the flames!
- Rot in hell! - Go to hell!
Go to hell!
Holy Father.
It is time.
Torches, forward!
Torches!
Wait.
We have read your confession.
We know every poisonous detail of your heresy,
each one of the multitude of your sins.
And yet, we are all sinners.
Our sacred trust holds,
even at this moment,
this heartbeat between this world and the next.
Do but repent, and your sins may be forgiven.
Whatever you have done,
we are disposed to grant you our absolution.
Let him burn.
Hot enough for you now?
Cesare?
Little sister.
I would ask you something.
Then ask, and it is yours.
I would ask you to marry me...
As you wish. My word is my word.
We shall run away, change our names perhaps.
Live out our days in some small fishing village by the coast,
where no one will ever guess who we once were.
To Alfonso.
Yes, yes, I know.
You would have me marry you to him.
Yes.
Do you love him?
I think he is good.
I believe I can love him.
So you have a good man at last.
But I cannot marry you.
I truly wish it.
These hands have seen too much
of blood and sin to join two such tender creatures.
These hands bear a Cardinal's ring.
Until today they have.
But no longer, I think.
So...
Lucrezia is to be married.
The brightest and
bleakest of days.
They say you're not eating.
We fast,
we abstain,
we scourge our flesh,
we take all mortification,
and still we are punished.
This is not God's doing, Father.
Everything is God's doing!
Until we find his murderer,
though we scour all Italy, Juan shall not be buried.
There must be a funeral. It is arranged.
No! We will not send him to purgatory.
He will have no rest until we find who did this!
There can be no hiding place so deep that we will not seek them out!
There will be no need of that.
Do you know who did this?
I do.
Well, then, tell us!
You truly wish to know?
Well, we...
Must.
Then first I ask that you hear my confession.
Your confession?
And I further ask that you release me from my vows as Cardinal, and...
And I ask for your forgiveness of my sins.
What sins have you committed?
I have protected the papacy against her enemies
when none other would stand his ground.
I have made my family strong in the face of those who would weaken it.
I have brought low the heretic Savonarola
and outwitted the army of the French king,
and all this, Father, all this,
I have done for Rome and the Church,
and for you.
Tell me your sins.
It is this,
and only this,
that I have taken upon my head.
The act that none other would dare commit,
though its commission benefits all.
I swore a vow long ago
that I would put an end to anyone who brought dishonour on our family,
dishonour on Rome, dishonour on you.
So you see, Father,
the robes of a Cardinal no longer sit easy on my shoulders.
A Cardinal's ring makes it harder to grip the hilt of a sword.
I beg you will release me of my vows,
and you will grant me your forgiveness.
Father?
I release you from your vows.
I have met with the committee of ceremonies.
The funeral is being arranged.
Your father won't hear of it, Cesare.
- He won't even consider it. - He doesn't need to consider it.
There will be a requiem mass.
The city bells will be muffled, there will be 16 black horses
drawing a carriage dressed in black silk to bear the coffin.
That is the funeral.
But first,
your betrothal.
We are cancelling the celebration. Surely, it cannot go ahead.
Surely, it must go ahead.
It is for me to decide, and the decision was made.
Cesare, listen to me. It is not possible.
No. It must stand.
Life does not hold its breath for one man's grief.
Yes, and wounds take time to heal!
Not a word more! Please! It is decided!
Grant him peace.
So, tell me, Cesare, what exactly are we celebrating?
Your sister's betrothal or the death of your brother?
My love for my sister outweighs my grief for my brother.
Grief?
Then why do you force this false joy upon us?
We are dancing on your brother's grave.
Mother. Mother. He's here.
We would speak with you.
Father.
Bring us some wine.
It is good, Holiness.
What's happened to your hands, Father?
We have buried our son.
And we realise now
that we have brought this upon ourselves.
Father?
You are our own doing. What you've done is our doing also.
We brought you to this.
You say we granted every favour to him.
But our favours fell on him so easily, of their own accord.
You are too much like me.
A man feels less favour
for his own image reflected.
If I cannot have your affection,
can you at least grant me your forgiveness?
I...
Father...
Father.
No. Father!
Help!
Father!
Guards!
- Holy Father! - Rodrigo!
God!