“In the aftermath, we lay side by side, struggling for breath. I reached out, brushing my fingers lightly down his arm. Cesare seized my hand and pressed it to his lips. We remained like that as slowly the world righted itself.”

“You are bruised.''Am I? I hadn't noticed.''Lucrezia says you killed the bastard.'... Cesare's hands were shaking. Hard, sun-darkened hands made to hold a sword or lance unflinchingly, but they trembled against my pale skin.”

“Giulia clasped her hands together just below her bosom, blinked moistly, and flung herself at Borgia's feet. 'My lord! My darling! How could I not be overcome with concern for you? Truly, the burdens you carry would crush any other man. How fortunate we are that Our Father in Heaven has endowed our father here on earth with such wisdom and strength to see us through this difficult time.'What amazed me - and still does - is that men actually believe such drivel. Even a man as worldly, as brilliant, and above all as cynical as Borgia will nod complacently and accept it as his due. Nor did Cesare so much as raise an eyebrow. I supposed he heard the same sort of thing often enough himself.”

“Who is Nando?" Cesare asked. "Rocco's son," I replied. "A child." Make no mistake, Cesare was a selfish and ruthless man. The entire course of his life proves this. But for all that, he could on ocassion actually be a man - and by that I do not mean that he possessed scrotum and penis, as does the rudest hog rooting in a sty. He had an instinct to care for those weaker than himself, especially children, whom he liked and valued far more than he did most adults. But just then he was very young and lacking in the thin - in Cesare's case, extremely thin - veneer of civilization that most men manage to acquire as they pass through life. That being the case, he gave voice to what was, in all honesty, my own instinctive response to Rocco's news. "Merda." I could not have put it better.”

“Though he may have been more tolerant than most of his brethren, being addressed without deference by a woman of no particular lineage was more than the priest could bear. A tic sprang to life in his right eye. Glaring, he turned away from me and addressed himself pointedly to Casare. "Signore, we are about to perform the final sacraments for our late Holy Father! Surely you can understand that your presence here and that of your-" He paused, no doubt condsiering what he would like to call me. Some sense of self-preservation must have won out as he said only, "-companion is not appropriate?"Cesare had many skills- I have alluded to several of them - but he was utterly lacking in even the rudiments of tact. Indeed, his notion of diplomacy revolved around the conviction that the best route to peace lies in the grinding of one's enemies into the ground so thoroughly that the very fact of their ever having existed will be forgotten upon the wind.But he was in Saint Peter's Basilica, next to Jerusalem the holiest place in all Christendom. And if he caused any real problems, he would have no end of trouble from his father.Accordingly, Cesare gritted his teeth and said, "Don't fuck with me, priest. Just show us how to get into the garret.”

“The thick murmur of my name on his tongue was almost enough to push me over the edge as I clung to the sweetly strange need to hold him safe within my arms. Even, dare I say, within my body. Is it the conceit of every woman that she can provide such a haven? Is it the dream of every man to find it?”

“... I opened the door to a knock and found a ashen-faced messenger quailing at the prospect of facing an undead witch who was, as I shortly learned, the talk of Rome.The poor man thrust a package into my arms, declined any payment, and fled with such alacrity that I waited to make sure did not fall headfirst down the steps before stepping back inside my apartment.”