I peccati dei Borgia (Sins of the House of Borgia), Sarah Bower

Esatto... sono arrivata a Senigallia... Violante si è scoperta incinta di Cesare... invidia profonda.... Ramiro è già morto. L'autrice ha fatto morire Caterinella, e sono comaprsi Francesco remolino, versione del nome catalana, e AGAPITO!!!!! è 1 lettura interessante, forse tra i migliori romanzi sui Borgia che ho mai eltto, forse perchè si concentra su ferrara e non su Roma

Quando si dice non giudicare un libro dalla trashissima copertina... Ma sto zitta lo stesso, che tante volte un libro mi pareva caruccio fino a metà per poi sprofondare nello scatafascio. Lo leggo, promise.

“Forgive me. My lord cardinal, cousin Cesare.” Arresting her flight towards me, Angela dropped into a deep curtsey. The cardinal offered his free hand and she kissed his ring then, though the duke raised her to her feet and brushed her cheek with his lips, she continued to gaze at the cardinal through her eyelashes, with a charming affectation of modesty.
“Donna Angela,” reproached the cardinal, “I shall require you to take better care of my goddaughter in future.”
“Perhaps your grace should give me guidance in the matter.”
Horribly aware of my soiled and crumpled clothes, the wisps of hair matted to my forehead, my foul breath, I felt more inadequate and out of place than ever.
“Take a cup with me when you have attended to Signorina Donata,” said the cardinal, “and we will make a lesson plan.”
“Come, Ippolito,” said the duke, “we have done our good deed for today.” Though he said no more, I could feel the deeds he now contemplated hanging in the cold air of the corridor, and a curious thrill ran through me.
Seeing me shiver, Angela put her arm around me. “Bed for you, young lady. You have partied quite enough for one night.”
“Will Donna Lucrezia banish me?” I whined, both dreading and longing for her reply.
She laughed. “Good lord no. At worst, you’ll get a ticking off from Donna Adriana; at best, Lucrezia will just be amused. Elisabetta Senese once mistook the Holy Father for a chair cushion and sat on him. He was delighted. He gave her a great store of silk floor cushions that used to be in Prince Djem’s apartments. Her room looks like a harem now.”
“Who is Prince Djem?”
“Oh, he died years ago. He was the Sultan’s brother, but the Sultan paid for him to stay here so he wouldn’t have to murder him. Apparently that’s how the Ottomans secure the succession. They murder their brothers. We all loved Djem, especially Cesare, but Djem loved Juan the best.” She paused. I felt a calculating glance upon me, though we were far from the new, well-lit parts of the palace now, back in the maze of narrow, rickety passages where Madonna Lucrezia’s ladies-in-waiting had their rooms. “And I do mean loved. Juan was as pretty as a girl. Here we are.”