Borgia

Giulia.

You returned. Giulia.

Come back.

We're sorry. We did not mean to hit you.

No, Lucrezia.

No.

You are back from Lyon.

Giulia. Stay.

Giulia. When we open this door, we want you on the other side.

No tricks.

- Do not go through that door. - Giulia.

- Holiness... - Get out of my way.

May 1494 The Blessed Trinity

May the reception of this sacrament...

Oh Lord, our God...

as also the confession of our Faith...

in the Holy and Everlasting Trinity...

and in its Undivided Unity...

prosper us in body and soul.

These poisons made my soul feel so lofty.

Yet in truth they divided my soul from my flesh and my brain.

The three must rejoin...

like the Trinity. I will endure.

I will renew myself.

We are the Vicar of Christ.

Remarkable.

You bring musicians and pages and nobles and bravi and grooms

and yet still all eyes look to you alone.

There is only one woman whose love I want. And one man whom she still may love.

And one King who can separate the two. And none of them were among these common folk.

A sign of welcome, or a threat.

Cesare Borgia, envoy of His Holiness Pope Alexander VI.

Ah, my old friend.

Dressed so much more extravagantly than last I saw you...

the night you murdered the Shahzadeh Djem,

butchered four of my soldiers, torched my encampment

and used the Cappadocian horses, which you had gifted me, to escape.

I did not murder the Shahzadeh.

- Do you not bow? - Of course. Particularly to Your Highness.

We send to you, Most Christian King, our hearts...

that is to say, our son, Cesare...

who is prized by us beyond all measure.

Let him be a signal of our endless affection for you...

your Queen and for France.

I understand I missed quite the arrival.

- What happened again? - I counted at least 14 carts with gifts

and 16 armored thoroughbreds.

I saw at once those horses were Italian.

Their shoes were made of silver.

Your Highness, I have travelled up the Apennines...

across the Alps, over the fields of Provence...

to talk to you about the night I killed a man.

This man whom I killed had been viciously intimate with my mother.

When I learned of the assault, I was...

I felt myself disappear...

and became a man made of straw.

Who here knows such devastation?

We all do.

When I learned the identity of the assailant, I found him.

He happened to be French.

And I looked him in the eye and I stuck him with my dagger.

I twisted the blade until his insides bled.

He whimpered and collapsed...

and I had won.

The world minus another devil.

Who here knows such victory?

- Some of us do. - And how does it feel?

- Triumphant. - How else?

- Blissful. - How else?

Frightening.

Because the only way to rid the world of evil, is by putting yourself in its path.

Exposing your own insides.

Calm are the complacent, never rising from their chairs.

Calm are the judgmental, never putting themselves at risk.

But show me a man who feels fright...

and I will show you a man with values and loved ones.

With the blood of his heart filling his muscles.

Because he is willing to stake his last breath...

on something that is more than nothing.

I have taken a life.

I have created a son.

I have been in love.

Each time I was afraid.

Those who do not know such fear...

do not know courage.

Majesty, at this moment, the crescent of Islam darkens the world.

Catholic mothers suffer at Muslim hands.

Pilgrims to the Holy Land are massacred.

There is a trail of straw men from here to Jerusalem.

Take your army. Light them on fire.

Prove yourself the Most Christian of Kings.

You tried to apologize at my wedding reception and I refused.

- I am sorry. - I am sorry that I hurt you.

When I learned that I was to be a father, I became giddy.

A man is never giddy unless he hears such news.

- I understand. - So...

you still love me?

- I do. - Then why are you on that horse?

Do you love me?

How can I remain in Rome, with my leg now unquestionably healed?

My wife will accept few excuses.

I thought my marriage a punishment from God.

With my son once again in my arms, I know...

that for the sake of his happiness, I must be happy as well.

Let me try again.

You asked me to teach you how to defend yourself, but women are not supposed to fight like men.

Then women should not be hit by men.

- With which hand did Pope Alexander strike you? - His right.

Better.

Eminence. Signora.

His Holiness requests your return to Rome.

And Francesc Gacet requests yours.

Since when is the Captain-General of the Papal Guard a messenger boy?

If you refuse to obey, I will come back to Capodimonte, not as a messenger,

but as the Captain-General, with the full force of my guard.

You ungrateful conniving cow,

tell whatever man clasped between your legs to dismount.

We demand that you return to Rome this instant.

If not, we will judge the evil of your soul and you will suffer.

What a lout.

- Gacet says Alexander is sickly. - Because of the vitriolo.

Let him go away. It is best.

Our family has accepted his generosity. We owe him his wrath.

He's an old lecher...

who will die, if not now, by the next fever or a sour grape.

Where will that leave Laura? The illegitimate daughter of a dead pope's whore?

Rodrigo believes in family. He will arrange provisions for his child.

For Vannozza Catanei's children, yes.

He gave her a husband. Several. To provide an income and...

Angelo, dear, please. Do not hurt yourself.

If that vulture does not leave you alone, Giulia...

- I will kill him. Where is my sword? - Calm down.

Please, calm down.

Alessandro, go to Rome. Tell Rodrigo to put down his filthy pen...

and secure a marriage for your sister.

- Any word from Giulia? - She is no antidote.

Bring Vannozza Catanei.

- Highness, please. - Step away. I'm coming through.

Your Highness, no. Highness, please.

The Borgia have all turned mad.

- Princess, what is this? - I must see Father.

- Please, dismount at once. - He is dying?

- No, the illness is temporary. - Then, as Camerlengo, you speak in his voice.

Alfonso d'Este must be named to a position in the Vatican hierarchy.

You dabble in politics now, Highness?

I trample cockroaches, secretary. Does not Ferrara too often favor Milan over Rome?

Duke Ercole is a pious dolt.

He even supported Savonarola.

What better way to make a Duke an ally than by employing his son?

She has good logic.

We have not had a Papal Archivist since the sudden demise of cardinal Zeno.

The salary is substantial, yes?

The office is in Rome. Is that not all the payment you seek?

Cesare, do you not enjoy venison?

I'm sorry. My wits are not with me.

There is a woman, one of your ladies-in-waiting...

Carlotta d'Aragona.

Carlotta.

I love Carlotta.

Love? From a Borgia?

- I grant my blessing. - No, she's betrothed to your cousin.

- Which one? - Guy de Leval.

Ah, yes. I had forgotten.

These palace courtships...

When I gaze upon the two of you, Majesties, I am tormented by jealousy.

Jealousy? Of us?

The love between you.

Love is a trait that Jesus displayed.

Compassion for others.

I can see that you have known such love.

Our son, Charles Orlando, died four months ago.

He was three years old. Our only issue.

- How cruel to lose a child. - Yet, I did not cry.

Such weakness, such indulgence never felt proper for someone of my birth.

During my son's funeral cortege...

I followed his tiny body as we approached the Cathedrale de Saint Martin.

Passing my subjects who lined the streets...

I remained, as always, stoic.

And then Cardinal Briconnet whispered:

Your Highness, you do not need your people's respect...

because you have their love.

And I looked upon the mourners...

and I saw all of France...

bereaved.

I touched my boy's hand...

and I wept every tear...

I have ever withheld.

What my people showed me, was true love.

- Yes. - But...

you do not speak of love, Cesare Borgia. You speak of romance.

Romance is for young girls.

- I am a man. - Ah, so you really speak of lust.

What did Jacob feel when he set his eyes upon Rachel?

- Name that and you will know of what I speak. - No scripture, please.

Cesare, I can see that you are a man in need.

So, following Christ's example, I will show you compassion.

Charles, do not bargain on that girl's future.

She has a chance to have a good life by marrying whom she chooses.

- Unlike us. - Are you still a sporting man?

With our racing horses and your bullfights?