Borgia

April 1494 "Peace be with you"

The great gates to the city have been closed.

A messenger is sent to the monastery to escort Domenico and Savonarola here.

Your escort awaits downstairs. Then the ordeal by fire will commence.

You could still withdraw.

I'm not afraid of death. I always thought mine would come with a quick thrust of a sword.

Not a slow burn.

The Pope implores me to devise a way of saving my life...

whilst also saving our cause.

And you can?

Ah, Francesco.

- You asked to see me, Eminence. - Yes.

Last night I kept vigil, kneeling before the altar in the Duomo.

During those long quiet hours, the voice of St. Francis spoke to me in a whisper.

Saint Francis? What did he say?

He asked why this battle for Florence was not fought between Florentines.

He asked if his brother Franciscans have greater faith than the Dominicans.

- Of course we do. - Yes.

But St. Francis wants you to prove that you do.

How?

Cardinal Borgia, I will stand in your place.

- Savonarola will refuse. - How can he?

When Fra Domenico stands in his place?

The baby was stolen from the home of Adriana da Mila 24 hours ago.

- Yes, Holiness. - And your search has found?

Nothing, Holiness.

I suggest you redouble your efforts.

Does Lucrezia know?

- How does she fare? - How indeed?

Her brother is in Florence, about to burn, and her firstborn child is missing.

She is sick at heart and inconsolable.

Rise, oh Lord. And let your enemies be scattered.

Rise, oh Lord. And let your enemies be scattered.

Let his foes flee from him...

as smoke is driven away, so drive him away.

As wax melts before the fire, so let the wicked perish before the Lord.

Arise, oh Lord. And let your enemies be scattered.

Fra Domenico will hold the Eucharist.

This is sacrilege. We will not allow the body of the Redeemer to burn.

You, Franciscan, are not the arbiter of what Fra Domenico may hold.

- Like hell, heretical scat. - Don't touch me.

- Give me the Eucharist. - I will not, Franciscan savage.

Then you will burn in this world on...

I am a true believer.

I am a Prince of the Church and the son of a Pope. I will hold the Eucharist.

Take your places.

Bow your heads and pray in the presence of Almighty God.

Hear this. He who survives the flames, demonstrates true faith.

Rise, oh Lord. And let your enemies be scattered.

The same rains that cursed Rome...

now baptize Florence.

John Cardinal Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury...

Chancellor to Henry VII, King of England, Ireland and Wales.

Welcome to Rome, Eminence.

We trust the city agrees with you.

Holiness, if only I could abandon my life in London...

to the wiles of this most beauteous country.

The English always have an irrational love for Italy.

It is the food. You have gnocchi and ravioli...

in England we have mutton.

What brings you to us? Besides your love of pasta.

His Majesty King Henry VII sends his unwavering allegiance...

and word that his son, Henry Tudor, Duke of York...

humbly begs for the honor of Lucrezia's hand in marriage.

His firstborn, Arthur, is engaged to Caterina d'Aragona...

- daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella? - This is so.

And Henry is second in line behind Arthur to the throne of England?

Henry is only three years old.

As was Arthur, when he was betrothed.

We wish to convey our deep affection for King Henry.

Please present him this sword of honor as he battles pretenders to his throne.

We will consider His Majesty's generous offer regarding our much beloved Lucrezia.

Tudor wants this marriage to keep his wobbly crown from toppling off his head.

Holiness, sound policy would be for your daughter to marry an Italian...

and thus unifying our peninsula. Say, Prince Alfonso di Calabria.

Alfonso yes, but not di Calabria. Alfonso d'Este would make a fine suitor.

That grape has been plucked. He married my cousin, Anna Maria, not a week ago.

In fact, they make their way to Rome with my cousin Giovanni and his new bride.

Both couples seek a papal blessing on their recent nuptials.

Has Giovanni already overcome his affliction?

Agapito has arrived.

Agapito Geraldini...

Secretary to His Eminence Cesare Cardinal Borgia.

Have Lucrezia brought here from my mother's villa.

Holiness.

I have a report from Cardinal Borgia in Florence.

- A rainstorm? - You've got to admire God's theatricality.

The Florentines now believe Savonarola can survive any ordeal.

At each and every step that water bug evades us.

Cesare seems to be convinced that the monk is touched by the hand of God.

Agapito, bring me Cardinal Lanzol.

'The whole world knows that Christ's glory has not been spread by force or weapons...

but by a poor fisherman.'

Yet Savonarola now has an armed guard protecting his monastery.

And: 'He who defies me, defies God.'

This monk equates himself with Christ.

His bonfires have burned every vanity but his own.

He does not see his pride leaves him exposed.

Like the soft underbelly of an unsuspecting animal.

Is it pride? Or true righteousness?

Did not the high priests of Jerusalem crucify Christ?

Savonarola doesn't commit simony, he has no mistress and hasn't killed.

Not yet. No one is incorruptible, Eminence.

A town with no taverns is like a woman with no pussy.

Cousin, why are you here?

Is that how men greet family in Florence?

My father doesn't think I'm capable of handling Savonarola.

After everything I've done for the Pope, he now questions my loyalty.

- No Cesare, the Holy Father... - His doubt in me is contained within your presence.

I am not a fool. Do not come closer.

The Supreme Pontiff demands that Savonarola be silent or excommunicated.

If the wrath of Christ's Vicar does not change the monk's mind, he must die.

I see now my place in God's plan.

I am a Pharisee. For that, I do not need the help of either of you.

We have the Papal Guard searching around Carbognano for your son.

Why? So that you can send him away again?

Whether stolen or not, my baby is not mine.

We sent the child away for your own benefit, so that you could remain in the eyes of the world

virgo intacta and be married.

The King of England's son, Henry, longs for your hand in marriage.

And you command me to marry this Tudor prince?

No, Lucrezia. We...

I wish to know what you truly feel about this proposition.

Proposal.

Why do you pretend that I contribute to my own fate?

I do not pretend.

In the past when you were a girl I have made, as a father does, choices for you.

But now your role in this family is as valuable as that of Cesare.

You don't ask him to marry women he doesn't know or love.

We've demanded of Cesare a sacrifice far more precious than marital vows.

What of Alfonso di Calabria? He believes we are engaged.

He left for Naples to receive a princely crown from his uncle.

Tiny Bisciglie, a blotch on the Neapolitan map.

Henry Tudor brings us England, Ireland and Wales.

If you wish to know my true thoughts, then I too wish to know them.

Savonarola.

Savonarola, open the door.

Savonarola.

- Bring me to the friar. - You're a brave one to come here without your bravi, Borgia.

Let him step forward, Salviati.

You have a small army, friar.

I'm a shepherd, not a sheep. I will not be led to the slaughter.

Oh no, you will walk, head held high, to the slaughterhouse.

Let me guess why you're here.

The Pope has banned me from preaching.

Either of my own free will or by more persuasive means.

Disobey and face excommunication, or worse.

Be at ease, Salviati.

I beg of you, do not force my hand.

You beg of me? I pity your ignorance, Borgia.

- Mercy is for God to give. - Still, you choose to incite this turmoil.

- And within you lies the power to stop it. - My words and actions aren't mine, but God's.

He will decide when I must stop. Not me, not you and certainly not a corrupt pope.

Corrupt or not, he is the Pope. You're not.

But you have reached a crossroads, yes?

Who do you love most? God?

Rodrigo Borgia? Or yourself?

Those who were desperate to inhale the smoke of our burning flesh...

were left unsatisfied when the will of God descended upon them in little drops of rain.

You may ask: Friar, why are your brothers in Christ...

hell bent to make war upon you?

Because I dare say to a false pope:

May God split this Earth in two and engulf you.

The whole world is awash in the blood of innocents...

yet you and your sty of piglet priests lift not one hair of your eyebrows...

your faces buried deep in the trough of Rome.

Let the fire of my words burn its way into the anti-Christ's ears.

Let the fire of my words burn its way into the anti-Christ's ears.

Savonarola just condemned himself.

Let the fire of my words burn its way into the anti-Christ's ears.

Alfonso d'Este and Anna Maria...

Giovanni Sforza and Ginevra, bless you. Amen.

Gentle guests, on behalf of my family, I'd like to express my gratitude...

to His Holiness Pope Alexander for this marvelous feast.

I ask you to raise your glasses in honor of my cousins...

Anna Maria and Giovanni...

and their exquisite new spouses Alfonso and Ginevra.

- Salute. - Salute.

- What's the matter? - I'm exhausted.

- I have a long journey back to mother's. - Stay here tonight. In your old room.

- Papa... - I understand.

You're embarrassed being in proximity to your former husband and his new bride,

as well as Alfonso d'Este with whom you shared a flirtation, and his new bride,

while you are alone.

Giovanni and Alfonso almost came to blows over me.

And now I'm of less interest to them than an empty bottle of wine.

Do you blame me for my algido (coldness)?

- Come along. - I want to go to bed.

One moment and then you may sleep.

Giovanni, your wife is a work of art.

- Do you not agree, Lucrezia? - Yes.

Thank you, Holiness. I am well loved by the Gonzaga family.

- As is your bride, Alfonso. - You look beautiful, Anna Maria.

- Thank you, Lucrezia. - Enjoy.

Enjoy. We will not be satisfied until you go to bed drunk, fat and happy.

- Now you may retire, Lucrezia. - Why do you humiliate me?

On the contrary. None of them deserve to know what is wrestling in your heart.

Be your own greatest ally.

Have you given more thought about marrying young Henry Tudor?

- Savonarola will not see reason. - The insane rarely do.