Borgia (2011) s03e14 Episode Script

1 Fifteen oh-seven.
We Borgia are Rome, now and for eternity.
The Farnese attempt to make Rome their own I know where Cesare is.
Now perhaps we can talk about the future of my brother.
We should kiss your ring.
Lucrezia struggles to trust her new family I too know the pain of a family at war from within.
I want to bring Giovanni and little Rodrigo with us to Ferrara.
Giovanni is legally Cesare's son, not yours.
I am sorry, child of mine.
Please forgive me.
Ippolito d'Este, you are hereby banished.
If I had blinded Ippolito, you would have executed me! while Cesare Borgia remains imprisoned in Spain.
I wanted to raise our family to the heavens.
And behold, an angel of the Lord stood next to him, and a light shone in the cell.
The angel struck Peter on the side and woke him saying, "Get up.
Quickly.
" - And the chains fell off Peter's wrists.
- I am not Peter.
I am Prometheus.
I brought mankind fire.
And for my generosity, I am shackled to a rock.
Let us take a pause.
You to rest your fingers.
Me to Aah.
Juanito, take him to the kitchen.
Have wine, and bring me some.
- There is also this, from Corinthians - Enough fiction, padre.
What of the real world? What of my wife, my daughters, son, mother and sister? Sadly no news.
Except your Charlotte's brother, King Jean, faces civil war.
King Ferdinand wants to absorb Navarre into Spain and has hired a French mercenary, Louis de Beaumont, to lead the subversives.
Navarre, the most insignificant kingdom on Earth.
Cesare Borgia, you have been found guilty in absentia of attempting to assassinate His Most Catholic Majesty, Ferdinand d'Aragon.
You will be brought to the Plaza Mayor in Madrid, where you will be given a chance to repent before you are executed.
Prepare for departure.
- And so the day has come.
- The day of reckoning.
The day of escape.
You have examined every nook in this suite and found no cranny to squeeze your freedom through.
I was up at dawn, devising a near flawless plan.
In order to put this escape in motion, I lack only one ingredient.
What ingredient is that? - You.
- Me? - Be my guardian angel.
Break my chains.
- And risk retribution? Why? Because you are a man from another time, another place.
You were a Jew that became a Christian to avoid Ferdinand's Inquisition.
You became a priest to hide your truth deeper into the bowels of Holy Mother Church.
Yes.
I stood silent as my fellow Jews were tortured.
Will you stand silent as I am tortured? How did you learn my story? We Borgia are masters at uncovering that which strives to remain hidden.
- I will keep your arcanum safe.
- And I will aid your escape.
But to go where? Navarre.
Gold smuggled to me by my brother-in-law King Jean.
He begs me to come to Navarre and quell the rebellion.
Alea jacta est.
Eminence.
- Eminence.
Greetings.
- Ippolito.
Welcome back from exile.
The year passed fast.
Or slow, Ferrante, when one longs for the familiaritas of home.
Lucrezia Borgia, duchess and regent of Ferrara, will hear petitions.
Where is Alfonso? Venice, negotiating an alliance with the doge.
In his absence our brother appointed Lucrezia as regent.
Not you? I see that my husband's brother Ippolito has rejoined our family.
Salutations, Gracious Lady.
I have a petition.
I ask you to intercede with my half-brother Giulio, whom I have wronged and whose forgiveness I seek.
Yes, I can see you.
Not fully, but well enough to know if a dagger comes my way.
The Holy Masses said here, in your name, have healed your sight.
Anger has healed me, a vision of vengeance.
Giulio, no.
You must forgive Ippolito.
Forgive.
Only you, Lucretia, could say such words to me and not be assaulted.
Your heart is too pure.
We're not discussing my heart, but yours.
Let the light of God shine in your heart, if not your eyes.
Giulio.
I am the most humble of penitents, sorrowful over my complot.
Desperate to be your good brother.
- Please, will you absolve me? - To ask is easy.
To do so is not.
Now you see the way I see.
Though your cabal could not have been more despicable I pardon you.
Share the sign of peace.
To celebrate the feast of San Santiago, have a cup of wine.
Warden de Guzman would not approve.
He is too deep in his cups to care.
If our Lord served his apostles wine at the Last Supper, how could a small sip by you fine men be wrong? The guards gulp wine as fish gulp the sea, unaware that each taste is polluted.
They are already dead.
A priest who kills.
You would thrive at the Vatican.
Stop! Stop! Go after him! - Come on, Juanito.
- Borgia is escaping! Hurry! Stop Borgia! - He is getting away.
- Summon more guards.
Yes, sir.
More guards! More guards! I cannot see.
Is he alive? It is too dark.
- He has a horse! Get Borgia back! - Hurry.
Get on the horse.
Let us go.
Urgent news from Spain.
Cesare Borgia has escaped.
A reward of 5000 ducats is offered to the man who returns Cesare Borgia to justice.
Signed: Jiménez Cardinal de Cisneros, Archbishop of Toledo, Grand Inquisitor of Spain.
Five thousand? We will increase the sum to 10,000! Twenty! - And I will contribute another 10.
- And I another.
Another 20! My hero, home at last.
With peace in hand.
Give welcome to Eduardo Ferrete, ambassador of Venice.
We have had our share of peace in Ferrara as well.
God's breath, I am amazed and anxious to hear the details of this happy reunion.
But the business of government must be attended to first.
The doge and I have worked out a pact of mutual defense and security.
Wait, I am not alone on this great occasion.
I ask my superior duchess to place her signature beside mine.
And my brothers, Ferrante, Sigismondo and Ippolito.
- You have forgotten Giulio.
- Oh, yes.
Giulio, please sign.
My palm is cramped from being too long in a fist.
I decline.
Wait here while I walk alone.
My father often spoke of the calming effects of Jativa's orchards.
A meal extraordinaire.
We are grateful for your presence, Holiness.
- A liqueur? - A parfait d'amour, if you have some.
- Of course.
- Fresh from France.
Holy Father, your success on the battlefield is stunning.
Recapturing Perugia and Bologna.
The Papal States will be unified, if not by piety, then by severity.
But grim war is hardly conversation for such an enchanting evening.
What of Cupid's bow, Giulia? Which fortunate man is wooing you? I have given up the male species.
I have had my fill of the ambitious, the dashing, the brilliant.
I would prefer to do some good works for my fellow Christians.
And in that way win Roman hearts.
A necessary goal if your brother is to sit on the papal throne.
Once we are stiff in our tomb.
- Pope Julius, I - Alessandro should succeed you.
- He would make a marvelous pontiff.
- With you as his counselor.
We have no doubt.
La Bella.
- Hola.
- Who are you? Be at ease, young Duke.
I am your uncle Cesare.
- The outlaw? - To some.
- To others - Why are you here? We are familia.
I see that della Rovere has ousted dead Borgias as well as living ones.
Our mother's sister, who cares for us, uses the worst words when speaking of our murdered father, our papal grandfather and you.
Every ducat has two sides.
No Borgia is perfect.
Yet we have tried to make a difference.
Did our father? Was he a good man? Yes.
Yes, he was.
And he would be filled with dulcet delight to see how handsome and beautiful you are.
You must try, in the ever-shifting tides of your life, to be better beings than your father, your grandfather and me.
- Imitate your Aunt Lucrezia.
- I would like to meet her.
She sends us gifts on our birthdays and our saint's days.
I am not surprised.
She is God's grandest soul.
May I kiss you, Uncle? That would give me endless joy.
And you? Even great men, Duke of Gandia, crave affection.
Whose horse is this? Who are you? He is here! Borgia! Borgia in the chapel! Cesare Borgia is in the chapel! Ah, Giulia.
Welcome.
Sit.
You are curious why we beckoned you.
A papal summons is always titillating.
We have a question to ask, a question of a very personal nature.
Who was better in bed, Rodrigo or Cesare? Holiness, I will not answer.
And if we, as supreme pontiff, order you to reply? I would hope the Holy Father would not place my soul in such a danger.
Clever girl.
Another question.
Would you enjoy kissing us? Not our ring our lips.
Again, I will not respond.
This time, we insist.
A kiss must come unexpected.
To ask for a kiss deflates its purpose.
Very clever.
Which makes us want to taste your tongue all the more.
On the street, they whisper that you suffer from the French disease.
And I fear you want to sleep with me not because of who I am, but because of who I slept with before.
You compete with Rodrigo Borgia even dead.
And with Cesare.
You may go.
- Well? What did he want? - As I predicted.
Sex.
- Did you? - No.
I thought I could, but Alessandro, I just murdered us both.
Lucrezia, please forgive me for my cruelty to your cousin Angela.
- For bedding and then abandoning her.
- I do forgive you.
In that kind act I see that you have feelings for me.
Profound feelings, just as I do for you.
In my blindness, the image of you is the only one that remains luculent.
- I love you.
- I must go.
No, no.
Stupid me.
I had intended to make a clear and forthright presentation.
- Presentation of what? - Our future.
An opportunity has arisen that will alter our lives.
Before you came to Ferrara, my father made an enemy of Count Albertino Boschetti.
I know that name.
Did not Alfonso recently rule against the count's claim to the fief of San Cesario? Yes.
And so Alfonso too is an enemy.
Boschetti is a wealthy man, willing to finance a change in government.
- A coup to overthrow Alfonso? - Such words are misleading.
Such words mislead to tragedy.
Be careful what you say as I must inform - my husband of your plans.
- And cause my death? If I do not tell Alfonso, you will cause his death! Did I not say that to include her was folly? Ferrante? You are a part of this madness? When Alfonso falls, as next in line, I will be duke.
A far better duke.
- And you will play a major role.
- Is no one to be trusted? You are.
If I did not love you down to the center of my soul, would I have risked all in telling you? She will expose us.
Until I can make you my wife, you are my prisoner.
His Holiness commands the presence of Giulia Farnese Migliorati.
Judgement day dawns, Fregnese.
Giulia Farnese Migliorati, we have long suspected that you were of the lowest moral character.
You doubt my moral character? You tried to seduce me.
Silence! We were testing you.
But you proved yourself surprisingly veracious.
So, we will reward you.
We hereby name you papal governor of Carbognano.
Holiness, I am awed by your gift.
I was certain you despised me.
Principle gives birth to dogma, but motive justifies the exception.
You will make an outstanding magistrate.
But please, try to obey our orders.
My dear Cesare, I do not know if you will receive this letter, wherever you are, but now I am held captive.
A spider could not weave these webs of intrigue as intricately as the d'Este.
The irony is, if I speak, Giulio and Ferrante will die and I will remain duchess.
If I refrain, Alfonso and Ippolito will die and I will remain duchess.
- Have you come to kill me? - My love, are you all right? Yes.
How did you know to find me in Giulio's villa? This man, with the delightful name of Tuttobono, has been in my secret employ, while serving here, in Giulio's household.
So, your plea for forgiveness was a mere tactic to lower Giulio's guard.
Fully expecting that he would be treasonous, yes.
I did not, however, suspect Ferrante's vast ambitions included usurping the ducal throne.
- The traitors have been apprehended.
- You will execute them? As cruelly as I am able.
I learned a few tricks while in Rome watching Pope Alexander dispense justice.
Yes, my father could be vicious, but where did such actions get him? He lies in a box, as dead as the men whose lives he destroyed.
You have often condemned your father for beheading his cousin.
Have you now, in age, become that which disgusted you in youth? Yes.
His Highness Prince Cesare Borgia of the Romagna.
- Where in the blazes of Hades is he? - Here I am, Majesty.
No bowing, brother.
- My wife, Queen Catalina.
- More beautiful than your portraits.
As are you, Prince Cesare.
And these are our children.
I see a line of kings and queens, generals, cardinals, and, I venture, one poet.
We had heard that you were injured.
A minor inconvenience.
I am fully well.
More alive than fate would have me.
We are blessed that our sister Charlotte's dear husband graces Navarre with his eminence and pleased that Prince Cesare has agreed to lead our army against the rebels.
Let the word go forth to Louis de Beaumont and to Ferdinand d'Aragon that Jean d'Albret and Catalina de Foix are the true and sole king and queen of remarkable Navarre.
Borgia! Borgia! Borgia! Borgia! The king and queen seek admittance.
You should have the royal physician examine your arm.
No.
I want no one to know of my pain.
- I rely on your discretion.
- Of course, Your Highness.
Show Jean and Catalina in.
- Your Majesty.
- I have told you, no bowing.
- I am a minor king, while you are - A prince without a throne.
Cesare, you choose to sleep outdoors? After so many months locked inside four walls, I celebrate the open air.
Still, separated from my wondrous Charlotte, I am not nearly happy.
My sister wishes for nothing more than to visit Navarre.
But our cousin, King Louis, refuses to grant her leave.
My heart will not beat until I am reunited with Charlotte, and meet my daughter.
But we'll not wallow in what cannot be.
I wish to confer with your military, to strategize our victory.
They await you in the war room, with enormous anticipation.
Good.
We must First, I must ask, is there any chance of a negotiated peace between Spain and Navarre? None.
We are French, and Ferdinand will never accept a Gaul ruling Iberian soil.
He wants a united Spanish peninsula and will not stop until he conquers every windmill.
And there is something else, more personal.
Ferdinand held my mother as a hostage, accelerating her death.
The king confuses lust of power for love of family.
Catalina, your mother's memory will be avenged.
Merci.
Would that we had enough money and men to restore you to your throne.
In time, dear Jean.
I have been well tutored about the wisdom of patience.
Juanito, fetch me paper and ink.
I have numerous letters to write.
Cesare lives.
He is coming home.
Cesare has sent declarations to the kings of France and England, the German emperor, the dukes of Italy, saying that he will soon return to his throne in the Romagna.
As if he were merely on a holiday.
If he is restored, you will never be pope.
If he is restored, we will both be dead.
Write to Ferdinand.
Tell that Spanish speck, we demand Il Valentino's head delivered to us, like John the Baptist, on a silver platter.
Tear down this tomb.
We want no trace of Rodrigo Borgia to exist.
Not even his dust.
These stallions were recently captured in the wild, where they ran free.
And so we will break their spirit in order to mount and ride them.
But first, I will grant them one last run down this corridor, trampling whatever lies beneath their hooves.
Alfonso! Brother, please! In the name of our mother! Do not bring that pious woman into this ugliness.
If she were alive, she would set the horses loose.
Do you not want to plead for your life, bastard? I am blind and will not see death coming! You will hear its thunder.
On three.
One Lucrezia, you said you could not stand to watch.
And yet I must.
- These men are your brothers.
- Giulio is not my brother.
Your denial is the cause of this anarchy.
A hound will be beaten for only so long and then bites.
Though the bastard abducted you, you take his side.
No! I am trying to preserve the d'Este family, despite the fact that each of you do whatever you can to annihilate it.
You cannot change the fact that Ferrante and Giulio are your blood.
Will you be able to live with that same blood unwashable from your hands? Now you will end their lives and change ours forever.
Our hopes for a better world.
Our sense of who we are.
Ready! One! Two! I never intended to go through with the execution.
I meant only to frighten you in the way your devilish deeds have frightened me.
Unearth them.
Send them to another sort of hole.
The abyss of jail beneath the Castello Estense.
In praise of a generous God and our beloved Lucrezia, I commute these death sentences to a lifetime of solitary imprisonment.
Listen! Listen! I have a theory, not yet fully developed, which states that Ptolemy was incorrect.
What?! The Earth is not the center of the universe.
- Your Grace.
- Good evening.
Sorry to interrupt.
Sit.
- Lucrezia, may I have a word with you? - We're in the middle of a session.
Yes.
Yes, of course.
I am sorry, I just You are always busy and we never talk.
Go on.
We're not the center of the universe? The Earth spins on its own axis, around the Sun.
You speak blasphemy, Copernicus.
The only blasphemy is to the mind of man, which assumes that life rotates around us.
In the mind of God, however, we are nothing but snowflakes, falling in winter, melting in spring.
Rebel forces do not fight in the traditional manner, with battle formations, in daylight.
They stalk us at night, striking without trumpet or drum, from behind boulders or from the trees above.
Ambushes, raids, sabotage.
They're guérilléros waging little wars.
They take the element of surprise to a higher level.
- I am impressed.
- Impressed? Learn the rules, respect the rules, dissolve the rules.
I admire any man who shifts the status quo ante bellum.
Admiration will not win the war.
The challenge is to surprise those who surprise.
If they attack us at night, we must turn night into day.
I cannot help but wonder What if Juan had not been murdered? Would I have remained a cardinal? What if Pedro Luis had not been murdered? Would he have been in Naples instead of de Cordova and guaranteed my safe passage back to the Romagna? What if the malarial fever had not plagued both father and son? If the reign of Pope Alexander had lasted another year, or even six months, would I now be emperor of Italy? What if Lucrezia and I had consummated our love? "What if" is a game for philosophers and school boys.
You are neither.
Tonight, you were in a battle for the first time since you were captured.
I once said, your eyes held no fear.
Now they do.
- You are wrong.
- You are afraid of failure.
- No.
- Of death.
- No.
- You are afraid of the unknown.
Where once courage flourished, terror now astounds your senses.
I can still see you as a baby, sucking on your mother's tit, with fierce determination.
You wanted it all, even then.
And I remember you, staring down at me with glacial eyes.
Because even then you confused me.
You have many gifts: intelligence, charm, physical prowess.
But you have one weakness which overwhelms your virtues.
When you were taken prisoner, you surrendered your body, but not your pride.
You're Narcissus, in love with your own reflection.
Do I have greater pride than other men? No.
I have greater achievement to justify my pride.
- Pride has made me fearless.
- Until now.
Your love of self is your greatest sin against God.
I do not believe in God.
Then it is your greatest sin against those you love, those who love you the world, life.
Your recent defeats may simply be the universe demanding her fair share.
Pride is my shield.
I cannot lower it and survive.
You can.
But first you must step off the finite and reach for the infinite.
How? Start by accepting the fact that you will never again rule the Romagna.
Never again abide in Rome.
Never again see Lucrezia's face.
Never.
Go back to Hell! Highness? Do you need me? Juanito, what do you want in life? - I want to serve you, Highness.
- No, for yourself.
Who do you want to be? I would like someday to be a soldier, so that I can become a gentleman.
You are more noble than any noble I have ever known.
And as of today, you are a soldier.
I will give you this armor.
And I will serve as your squire.
Sit.
- Highness - Remain seated.
- You are being too humble.
- A first.
We have fresh reports.
The rebels occupy the castillo in the town of Viana.
- Viana? I have never heard of Viana.
- No one has.
Show me on the map.
To which king are the citizens of Viana loyal? Ferdinand.
They blame me for the current famine.
Ah, so their support for Spain is derived not from patriotism, but from aching stomachs.
Before the attack, we will feed them.
Empty every larder.
Little Viana must have the most sumptuous feast in its history.
And in doing so, you will strengthen their bodies.
Thereby, sapping their resolve.
We must offer them a cornucopia of reasons to surrender peacefully.
Is something the matter? If I get up there, I will have to give the signal to advance.
Yes, of course.
You lead us.
Do I? Can I? Listen to yourself.
"If I get up there, I will have to give the signal to advance.
Do I? Can I?" Always I, I, I.
We The papal "we.
" Aut Caesar aut nihil.
Be nothing, Cesare.
Be no one.
Disappear into the infinite.
Onward! Highness! Highness, I have news.
The people of Viana, in gratitude for the bounty of food you have provided, submit to the sovereignty of King Jean and Queen Catalina.
Highness, the rebels do not submit and remain barricaded in the castillo.
Open the gate.
Surround the fortress! Because of the famine, we believe the rebels inside are low on provisions.
- Cesare Borgia.
- Louis de Beaumont, contar of Lerin.
I am Louis de Beaumont, son of the contar.
Your father has sent you to surrender.
No.
I come to say that we are prepared to die, to the last man.
- Our souls in our swords.
- Then you will die.
Either bleeding on the walls or more slowly, from the gnawing of hunger.
I have read Machiavelli's essays about you.
Now, I see that you are even greater than your legend.
Legends be damned.
We are here to serve a just cause.
A warning: Viana is a strange place, where even extraordinary men are humbled.
This day is ours.
Worrying about Cesare will not save him.
But I have heard nothing for weeks.
- My sweet sons.
- Bembo, if you please.
Yes.
Let no one dispute me on this.
The d'Este family is far worse than the Borgia.
Two brothers in chains, another whose brain is scrambled.
The fourth a reptile.
My sister distant, harsh.
And I am the worst.
A family extirpated by its own conniving.
Though I am undeserving, I still have a family.
Thanks to you, Lucrezia.
Please try to love me again.
We were in love, once upon a time.
Like in a fairy tale.
In every fairy tale, couples face adversity.
But at the end, they live.
Happily.
Ever after.
To make that wish come true, I have brought our whole family together.
- Giovanni.
- Mama.
Enter.
De Beaumont's men are abandoning the castillo.
They have crept out in the darkness.
How could the rebels escape if the castillo is circled by our soldiers? - The storm, our men took shelter.
- Abandoning their posts.
This is Navarre, not French cavalrymen nor Gascon mercenaries.
- What day is this? - March 12th.
Three days before the Ides.
Round up the troops.
Ir ahora.
We go after the rebels! There is no greater gift than life! There is no greater sacrifice than death! If tonight I die, I die grateful for each moment in which I have lived! Let us ride.
Let us seize the moment and serve the truth, caring not if this moment is our last! Your Graces, a stranger asks for an audience.
He claims to know you from your days in Rome.
- Agapito Geraldini.
- Agapito! I would prefer an embrace, old friend.
- You bring tidings of Cesare? - Yes.
We already aware that he is in Navarre, commanding King Jean's legions.
I have a more recent report.
He had some rebels surrounded, but they managed to escape during fierce a rainstorm.
Cesare rode after them, his soul on fire.
An evil omen.
I am not going into that storm.
We must turn back.
He was in such a passion that he was unaware the Navarre troops did not follow him.
The rain continued, clouding his eyes and weighing his body down.
Finally, he came upon the rebels.
They had splintered into small bands to avoid detection.
Cesare cut them into tiny pieces of flesh and bone.
- Killing 10.
- Killing 20.
Killing 50.
Until one struck him with a lance.
The lance went in just above the chest armor, piercing Cesare's armpit.
He fell, on the same broken arm.
Yet still Cesare rose and fought.
Lucrezia! Lucrezia! Lucrezia! Lucrezia! The two rebels, not knowing who Cesare was, stripped him of his armor.
They stripped him of every piece of clothing.
One of Cesare's soldiers rode up The boy saw his master lying in the mud, face disfigured.
This is Cesare Borgia! Hours afterwards, some peasants found Cesare, bleeding but alive, and took him to their hut.
His troops found Cesare on the soaked soil a short time later.
He laid there in the rain, throughout the night, unclaimed.
Until? He died.
Cesare Borgia is dead.
My son is dead? Our Cesare is dead.
My love, do not be strong.
Show your grief, I will hold you.
No.
He would not want me to cry as a little girl cries but to mourn as a woman does.
He has prepared me for this day every day of our lives.
Your Grace, forgive me.
Long ago, Cesare asked me, when the day of his death came to deliver words to your wife that are hers alone.
I understand.
I will make arrangements for us to go to Navarre.
No, husband.
Cesare is not there.
Fearful that a written final will might fall into the hands of his enemies, Cesare made me his living testament.
You were his greatest friend, Agapito.
To my wondrous sister Lucrezia, who has meant more to me than any being, who has taught me the joy of love and family, forgiveness and sacrifice.
I present to you four caskets.
The first is but a sampling of the wealth which I have hidden and to which only you will have access.
This precious metal will secure your safety.
So that your marriage to Alfonso will be based on true emotions, an not necessity or fear.
My cardinal's hat.
Because, despite my protestations, God always has and always will be integral to the Borgia family.
My ceremonial helmet.
I did not unify Italy, but I have shown the people of Italy how a man of vision and vigor leads.
A symbol of our passion: unique, beautiful, grotesque.
And finally Know this, Lucrezia.
My death frees you of all bonds to the past.
Dearest soul, live.
Live today, live for the days to come.
Forgive Rodrigo, Juan, your ridiculous Cesare.
Forgive us one last time, so that we, too, may be free.
I kiss your hand.
I kiss your lips.
Wherever forever is, I will love you.
Here, in this scant piece of ground, lies he whom all of the world feared, because war and peace were in his hands.
My sister, Charlotte Borgia d'Albret, and Cesare's daughter, Luisa.
In the beginning