IN 1499, TWENTY-NINE-YEAR-OLD Niccolò Machiavelli's romantic conquests far outnumbered his political successes. With chestnut hair cropped tightly around his long thin face and a meticulously barbered beard, he cut a dashing figure in Renaissance courts. His dark, glittering eyes were his most striking feature: quick to appraise a situation, narrow with wry humor, or wink at a pretty serving girl.
Born in 1469, Machiavelli came of age in the golden twilight of Lorenzo the Magnificent's Florence. His father, Bernardo di Niccolò di Buoninsegna, of the old yet impoverished Machiavelli line, had obtained a law degree but could barely scratch out a living for his wife and four children. Niccolò, the oldest, was endowed with a good humanist education but had no training in the practical skills that might make him wealthy. In the spring of 1498, however, the ambitious young man landed a job with the Great Council of Florence, thanks to his public and vocal disapproval of Girolamo Savonarola. As chief of the Second Chancery and secretary of the Ten of Liberty and Peace, Niccolò's task was to keep the governing bodies apprised of potential military and political problems. With a salary of 192 ducats a year and a prestigious position, Machiavelli's prospects were looking very favorable. "Il Machia," as his friends called him, was already a political player, but his second diplomatic commission, in July 1499, would reveal the young man to be less adept than he had imagined. His mission was to persuade Caterina Sforza, the countess of Forlì, to renew the contract with Florence for a contingent of her troops commanded by her son Ottaviano. The tricky part of the negotiations lay in the fact that Florence not only intended to reduce Ottaviano's salary from seventeen thousand to ten thousand ducats but also had never paid him for his earlier service. Nor did the council want an alliance with Forlì whereby Florence would have to guarantee the safety of the town, despite the fact that they wanted Caterina to send them her best soldiers. She had already refused to renew her contract under these insulting conditions in January and showed no sign of changing her mind.
The friends of the rising diplomat, however, were blind to the difficulties of the task. Caterina Sforza, they breathed in awed whispers, the most famous woman in Italy! Didn't she capture the Castel Sant'Angelo while pregnant? Hadn't she outwitted her husband's assassins? Was it true that she was the most beautiful woman in the world? Biagio Buonaccorsi, Machiavelli's closest friend, was green with envy. Three days after Machiavelli's arrival in Forlì Buonaccorsi wrote to him, begging for a portrait of the thirty-six-year-old celebrity by return mail, preferably rolled instead of folded so as not to damage the image.
Men like Machiavelli and his friends were intrigued by Caterina's reputation for boldness, of a sort not limited to the battlefield. She had gone through three husbands and, rumor had it, countless lovers. Whereas Caterina's first husband had been chosen for her, she was the one who decided to enter into her next two marriages. The stories about her, true or false, fueled the fantasies of many star-struck Italians.
Machiavelli set off to visit the countess, looking forward to adventure and success. Probably he thought he would charm the countess into conceding her soldiers immediately and then spend a pleasant interval in Forlì, enjoying her favors. But in 1499, with the death of Giovanni de' Medici, Caterina was fully immersed in the business of taking care of her family. According to reports from Rome, her second son, Cesare, was doing the family proud. Caterina discreetly disclaimed any credit for her son's merits, writing that her nineteen-year-old was "still fresh from the nest, and if he doesn't yet know how to fulfill his offices, Your Excellency will excuse him considering that he was raised by a woman."1 Meanwhile Caterina, through her agents, convinced Cardinal Raffaello Riario to renounce his title of archbishop of Pisa in favor of his cousin Cesare.
Caterina was also negotiating a military appointment for thirteen-year-old Galeazzo and a marriage, once again, for her only daughter, Bianca. After the failure to wed Bianca to Astorre Manfredi, she had toyed with an offer from the count of Caiazzo, although she eventually demurred because "he was somewhat advanced in age."2
Ottaviano remained unmarried as well. In May 1498, Caterina had been surprised to see the bishop of Volterra in her court, proffering an unexpected bride for her eldest son: Lucrezia Borgia, the daughter of Pope Alexander VI. The Borgia pontiff was already Ottaviano's godfather and the proposed match would catapult Ottaviano into the most powerful family in Italy, but Caterina shrewdly read between the lines of the offer. The blandishments included gifts, lands, and titles, but Caterina was not so dazzled that she did not see that the pope expected her to abdicate immediately in favor of Ottaviano, leaving the state in the inexperienced hands of her nineteen-year-old son. Furthermore, Lucrezia had already been married, at age thirteen, to Lord Giovanni Sforza of Pesaro, Caterina's cousin. The marriage had been annulled three years later for alleged impotency on the part of Giovanni Sforza, despite the fact that his first wife had died in childbirth. Caterina knew that the Borgias used marriages as political steppingstones and unscrupulously discarded spouses when they were no longer useful.
Yet Pope Alexander pressured Caterina, deploying her own uncle Cardinal Ascanio Sforza to persuade her, as well as trying to enlist the Medicis. Caterina answered the pope in less than delicate terms, bluntly stating that her son was busy learning the art of war, a warning that she was training him to defend his lands. She also decried the poor treatment of her cousin, claiming that she had no intention of marrying her son to a woman "who had slept for three years in her husband's bed and with one of our own family to boot; for which he could not but derive great shame and infamy from the illustrious lords in many respects."3 She reproached her own uncle, claiming that she doubted that Cardinal Ascanio could in good conscience ask her to give her son "someone else's wife."4 In short, Caterina wrote, when she did decide to marry her son, it would be to a person whose family was not actively plotting against her and "contrary to and repelled by her continued well-being."5 By doing this she well may have saved Ottaviano's life, for Lucrezia's next husband, Alfonso, duke of Calabria, was murdered by her brother Cesare in June 1500. But the countess had made a powerful and ruthless new enemy in Pope Alexander VI.
Caterina had rightly read the papal intent. In 1499 the Borgias were preparing to extend their greedy fingers into Romagna. In May, Pope Alexander VI made his intentions clear with a papal bull in which he declared Caterina iniquitatis filia, "a daughter of iniquity."6 This Old Testament term was used to refer to unjust rulers or tyrants. Even in this case Caterina broke new ground for her era: this was the first time the epithet had ever been used for a woman. The pope, citing tyranny and three years of unpaid tribute, was deposing the Riario rulers in favor of his son Cesare. In response, Caterina immediately dispatched her envoy Giovanni delle Selle to Rome to negotiate and eventually pay the thirty-six hundred ducats owed in tribute, if necessary, but the pope refused to meet with him. It was clear that Caterina could expect to encounter a papal army in the near future.
Caterina would need the friendship of Florence. The king of France was on the move. Now allied with Venice, he was marching toward Milan. Her most powerful ally, Duke Ludovico the Moor, would soon be completely absorbed in repelling this advance and thus unable to come to the aid of Caterina. If the French captured Milan, the city on the Arno would be her only friend. As the French rolled over the Alps and the papal army moved north, the two forces would meet on the strip of the Apennines, the mountains where Tuscany and Romagna were joined. Caterina couldn't afford to antagonize Florence, and Florence couldn't afford to lose Forlì as a friendly neighbor.
Machiavelli arrived at Forlì in the cool morning hours of July 17, but Caterina kept him waiting until the afternoon, when Giovanni da Casale, acting as Caterina's chancellor, received the young diplomat. As the hot summer sun waned, Casale accompanied Machiavelli to the inner sanctum of Ravaldino, Il Paradiso. In the countess's beautifully decorated private apartments overlooking the Apennines, Niccolò first came face to face with the legendary Caterina. She was simply but elegantly dressed, with the white widow's veil concealing her blond hair. In aspect, she seemed anything but the passionate firebrand she was reputed to be. Machiavelli began with an eloquent outpouring of Florence's love for the countess and her family and their appreciation for her loyalty. It was this "affection they had for her and her merits," rather than any real need for her services, that impelled them to offer to renew Ottaviano's contract at a rate of pay applicable to times of peace, ten thousand ducats.
Caterina wryly responded that "the words of Florentines were always so very pleasing to hear."7 On the other hand, she observed, their actions tended to provoke displeasure. Her "merits," so lauded by the polished phrases of the envoy, had never been recognized in any material way. Throughout Italy, she said, Florence was reputed to be a grateful republic, one that remembered its friends as well as its enemies, but in her case "now showed ingratitude for one who had done more than any other ally."8 In supporting Florence so staunchly and loyally, Caterina had incurred the wrath of Venice and had been attacked for her fidelity. Closing their interview, she promised to think things over; Machiavelli was escorted from Paradise and left to his purgatory of waiting.
While Machiavelli composed his letter to Florence, optimistically recounting the first meeting, Caterina informed Milan of their encounter. At the same time she enlisted her secretary to entertain Machiavelli and gauge what Florence was really willing to offer.
After two days of waiting, Machiavelli was summoned back to the castle to meet with Caterina. He found the countess at her most charming as she invited him to understand her position. She too loved Florence, and indeed she and her family had been honored with Florentine citizenship as of 1498, but she carried a proud family name and had to consider her honor. Indeed, now that she also bore the name of Medici the question of honoring such exalted lineages was foremost in her mind. She explained that the duke of Milan, pressed for reinforcements against the advancing French, had already offered a condotta for Ottaviano at the same pay. Machiavelli parried by turning to another, less pointed subject, a simple purchase of gunpowder, cannonballs, and potassium nitrate for making explosives for the Florentine war against Pisa. Caterina again demurred, apologizing that her supply wasn't sufficient to defend the borders of her own small realm, but she was in the midst of purchasing some from Pesaro that she would be happy to share with Florence. She also had infantry for hire, "well armed, good men and ready immediately," who had been personally trained by her. As the negotiations drew to a close that day, Caterina gently revealed that she would lose face by accepting the dishonorable conditions Florence was proposing, especially if Florence didn't honor the terms of the first contract.
The number of well-placed Florentines in her court, as well as her readiness to offer men and supplies, had convinced the young diplomat that "every day he saw clearly evident signs"9 of Caterina's friendship toward Florence. As his later treatises would show, he was sensitive to a ruler's fear of losing reputation or face. He recommended that Florence demonstrate its appreciation for the countess in deeds, not words, and championed her request for the back pay due her son and a new condotta for Ottaviano at twelve thousand ducats. Machiavelli was hoping that with some cash and an honorable position for her son, Florence could keep Caterina's loyalty without having to formally promise to protect her state, should it be attacked. He suggested a little flattery and a few gifts to woo Caterina as a military bedfellow, but offered no promise of marriage.
The next day Caterina gave the Florentine envoy a glimpse of her dowry. As he watched from the ramparts of Ravaldino, fifty mounted crossbowmen rode in review under the watchful eye of the countess on their way to the duke of Milan. The well-made weapons expertly handled by the crack troops impressed Machiavelli. The following morning, Machiavelli was treated to the sight of five hundred infantrymen marching in perfect formation. These seasoned troops were also on their way to Milan, and Caterina made sure that Machiavelli knew that the duke had already paid for them three days earlier. Machiavelli saw how quickly she could muster her men and how well they were trained, and was duly smitten.
On July 23 Machiavelli hurried to the countess's chambers with the news that Florence was willing to raise Ottaviano's pay to twelve thousand ducats but found Caterina silent and distracted; she abruptly got up to leave five minutes after they had sat down. A perplexed Machiavelli returned to his chambers, confused as to what Caterina had in mind. A messenger arrived shortly after, bearing Caterina's apologies. She was "worried sick" over the illness of Ludovico, her infant son by Giovanni de' Medici. She would be happy to conclude the treaty as soon as possible under the stated conditions; the back pay owed Ottaviano, the new condotta at twelve thousand ducats, and a written statement of Florence's obligation to "defend, protect, and maintain her state." Machiavelli balked at the last condition, saying to Caterina's secretary that he could not sign such an agreement without authorization from the Signoria of Florence. He suggested that he could offer a verbal promise, but nothing written. Caterina's closest adviser, Giovanni da Casale, accepted the terms, promising that tomorrow all would be concluded. A confident letter then went from Machiavelli to the Signoria, claiming that the deed was done: Caterina and her state would be at their disposal, but Florence would not need to offer more than the occasional trinket.
The next morning Machiavelli appeared in the countess's chambers for the signing. Arriving at this fourth meeting, Il Machia thought all was settled, but Caterina turned the tables. "After sleeping on it," she decided she required the written obligation of Florence to defend her lands. She was sorry, of course, that she "had indicated other ideas through Giovanni da Casale," but Machiavelli should not be surprised, for "the more things are discussed, the better they are understood."10 While Machiavelli had thought the seduction of Caterina was complete, she made it clear that the courtship was only beginning. Stung by his misreading of the situation, he showed his shock and hurt through both his words and gestures, betraying his inexperience. Only later would Machiavelli learn to conceal his true thoughts behind a mask of wit and irony. Caterina remained unmoved during his protests and Machiavelli had to inform Florence of his failure. Machiavelli soon left Forlì and Giovanni da Casale traveled to Florence to continue negotiations directly with the Signoria.
Caterina's abrupt about-face was not only a professional embarrassment for Il Machia, but undoubtedly it humiliated him in the eyes of his friends. Later, Machiavelli would take his revenge by denouncing Caterina in all of his famous treatises: as a tyrant in theThe Prince and as the ribald woman on the ramparts who was willing to sacrifice her own children in both Florentine Histories and Discourses on the First Ten Books of Titus Livius. But one can glimpse the Caterina he once admired—the alert general, worried mother, and charming countess—in the pages of On the Art of War, where he describes her defense of Forlì against the French: "She would have the spirit to await an army, as neither the king of Naples nor the duke of Milan had done. And though her efforts did not turn out well, nonetheless she earned the esteem her valor deserved."11
When midsummer 1499 arrived, Caterina was hovering over little Ludovico's bedside. The child was burning with malarial fever, and none of Caterina's remedies could halt its advance. By August 3, she was in despair. The year before she had lost Ludovico's father, and the infant was all she had left of her greatest love. Writing to Ludovico's uncle Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de' Medici, she intimated that the fever had arrived twelve hours earlier than expected and that it was higher than the last time. "I don't know what else to say"12 are the simple sad words of a mother on the brink of losing her beloved son. Asking for prayers, the only remedy left to her, she returned to her vigil at her son's bedside. Five days later, her prayers were answered. She wrote a few tentative words of hope to Lorenzo in Florence: "He has recovered enough that if nothing else happens, we hope he may be cured of this illness. Thank God for everything."13
The boy recovered, and Caterina set about enjoying the waning days of summer. She ordered special sugar confections from Florence and received cases of pomegranates from her friends in the convent of the Muratte. She purchased a new saddle of Florentine leather and began teaching Ludovico her own greatest passion, riding. In these days, Caterina's thoughts rested solely with her family. Her younger sister Chiara arrived in Forlì that summer. Once a cheerful girl lapping up her sister's stories on her bridal route from Milan to Rome, now Chiara was older, sadder, and financially ruined by her husband's mismanagement. Desperate, Chiara had thrown herself on her sister's mercy. The countess interceded with the duke of Milan so that Chiara, who had arrived in Forlì "destitute and derelict," could leave for Milan with the personal assurances from Duke Ludovico that he would see to her needs. Caterina also concerned herself with finding a husband and dowry for Giacomo Feo's sister, who was in her late teens and still unmarried.
Caterina's most serious worry was about the future of her youngest son, Ludovico. Giovanni de' Medici, albeit from the less wealthy cadet branch of the Medici family, had been well-to-do, and as his only son, Ludovico was entitled to his inheritance. As soon as she could leave Ludovico, she traveled with Ottaviano, Luffo Numai, and other important Forlivesi as witnesses to meet with the Medici representatives. Before a notary, she declared the fact that she had hidden so desperately from the duke of Milan. She and Giovanni de' Medici had been married in September 1497, and Ludovico was the child of that marriage. Caterina assumed the guardianship of their son and then gave the equivalent of an exclusive interview with the chronicler Andrea Bernardi, ensuring that her story of the marriage, birth, and guardianship would be recorded. Giovanni's brother Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco, however, was a greedy man, only too happy to take advantage of Caterina's distance from Florence to absorb his brother's inheritance. Lorenzo wanted inventories of the grain business Giovanni had shared with Caterina and the personal possessions left in Forlì. He had already had Giovanni's silver plate packed off to Florence within days of his death. The letters between Lorenzo and Caterina increased in hostility as she took more of an interest in the Medici estate and noted more and more discrepancies in Lorenzo's accounting. The tension would mount for several years until matters finally came to a head in an out-and-out legal battle that would last half a decade.
The arrival of the bubonic plague abruptly halted Caterina's pleasant summer. By the end of August, the illness was raging through Forlì. The bane of the Renaissance era, this terrible disease came from a bacterium hosted by rats, traveling from the infected rodents to humans via fleas. Its onset was marked by a high fever and enlarged lymph nodes, known as buboes, which typically killed victims within three to four days. Europe's first experience of the Black Death had occurred in 1348, when it claimed a third of the population. One hundred and fifty years later, its cause remained a mystery but most well-informed rulers knew of efficacious ways to limit its spread. Caterina had seen the plague before and though she personally feared it little, she knew its capacity for devastation. This time the stakes were much higher. With Cesare Borgia and the French closing in, a plague would weaken the defenses of Romagna; the sickness would have to be defeated in Forlì before it could contaminate other areas. Caterina sealed off her city. No market, no traveling shows, no large assemblies. She brought in special doctors to assist the ill and priests to console the dying. Food and necessities were distributed to the populace free of charge. The city was divided into sectors and subjected to strict rules of hygiene. Those infected were immediately isolated in the Church of San Giovanni while a confraternity of volunteers collected the dead for hasty burial outside the city walls. The clothes, belongings, and even the houses of the incurable were burned, which brought many protests. But these stringent measures saved the region; the casualty count was 179 people, much lower than expected, and the sickness did not reach any of the surrounding countryside.
No sooner had the plague subsided than the mail brought bad news: the French had entered Lombardy. Duke Ludovico had sent his finest condottiere, Galeazzo Sanseverino, count of Caiazzo, north to meet the oncoming French, who were led by the Milanese traitor and exile Gian Giacomo Trivulzio, but Sanseverino never intercepted the opposing army. Trivulzio arrived at Alessandria and at Caterina's childhood home of Pavia, both of which had capitulated without a fight. As the Venetians advanced to Lodi, Count Sanseverino was nowhere to be found; sensing certain defeat, he had abandoned the cause. Ludovico the Moor fled Milan on September 2 to seek asylum with the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I of Hapsburg, related to the Sforza family through his marriage to Caterina's sister Bianca Maria. On August 31, one of Caterina's trusted agents in Florence, a priest named Francesco Fortunati, sent a hastily scribbled warning to the countess. "These are the times to have both men and money ... The moment is coming when they will need to be spent."14 Fortunati was so fearful for his own safety that he also pleaded with her not to show his letters to Giovanni da Casale, Caterina's Milanese chancellor. No alliance was safe, no friendship honored. Each man would have to fend for himself.
Caterina continued her deliberations with Florence through Giovanni da Casale and even succeeded in convincing Niccolò Machiavelli to inform the French king that she was an ally of the Florentine Republic. Meanwhile she kept an agent, Vincenzo Calmeta, to further her suits at the court of King Louis XII, who was now the king of France and claiming the lordship of Milan.
But on October 31, the eve of the Feast of the Dead, Caterina received grave news. A letter from Vincenzo Calmeta informed the countess that he had finally been granted an audience with King Louis XII to discuss her case. Also present was Gian Giacomo Trivulzio. Calmeta swore that he had done everything in his power but that nothing could stop the ax from falling on Forlì. Trivulzio had confided to Calmeta that the French army had little interest in Forlì and that the true enemy of Forlì was the pope. The French had tried to avoid the wearisome campaign in Romagna by protesting to Pope Alexander VI that they had used all their war funds in capturing Milan, but he replied that his needs were minimal: some artillery and the loan of a few soldiers. The pope himself would pay for the siege of Forlì. In short, as Calmeta's blunt message proved, Caterina had been betrayed by all. The Florentines would not object for fear that Alexander would attack Pisa to give it to Cesare. Even Cardinal Riario and Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere had managed to put aside their differences to join the plot against her in Rome. "Everyone is waiting for your undoing and ruin, most of all Rome, from whence comes all this evil."15 Louis XII dismissed any appeal that Caterina might make with a few words: "We are not the judges of the pope, nor can we forbid that he act as he wishes in his own jurisdiction." The king continued this pious lip service, telling Calmeta that "her captains had the right to defend against any other power; but against the pope who is your overlord it is not lawful."16 Calmeta then begged the countess not to lose heart and to bolster her courage, for invasion was imminent. The following day, the pope issued his death sentence on Caterina's rule with a note written in his own hand. The Riario family was officially deposed and instructed to surrender Forlì and Imola immediately.
Caterina, always at her best when faced with the worst, immediately began readying her state for attack. On November 1 she called the governing Council of Forty and obtained promises of loyalty to Ottaviano. Starting with her own little farm, she ordered all rural buildings within a quarter mile around the city walls to be razed and gardens and trees cut down. Forlì would offer no food or shelter to her invaders. The bell tower of the city palace was outfitted with a lookout post so that the citizens could be warned instantly when the troops arrived. Rural inhabitants, who lived "three artillery shots away," were ordered to take all their belongings from their houses, harvest all the wheat and hay, and leave the land bare. She leveled all the parks in a mile radius around the city, again commencing with her own. Every citizen was to have rations on hand for four months. Caterina would personally assist those who could not afford to lay down such stores.
She sent some of her finest horses to the marquis of Mantua, who had long been angling for the fine creatures that Caterina bred herself. With her forests razed and her enemies at the gates, there would be no time to hunt and ride, but perhaps she could win back a little friendship. She mentioned the pope's persecution and her intention to resist the oncoming army. "We will not abandon our home, but we will defend our possessions as long as we can, and perhaps they will not find [the conquest] as easy as they think."17She readied weapons and medicines and drilled her troops, anticipating the moment of confrontation. Florence, while publicly indifferent to Caterina's plight, sent weapons and supplies to her. Alexander VI, in his continuing effort to isolate Caterina completely, threatened the Signoria in a letter of November 16 with dire consequences should the Florentines continue to assist his enemies.
Aware that the beautiful and brave countess was as legendary as his own son Cesare, Alexander took steps to deflect sympathy from her. To cut off any hope of alliances for Caterina, the crafty pope wrote to the Signoria in Florence on November 21, accusing the countess of attempting to poison him. The story bruited by the papal agents was that these two men of Romagna were sent by Caterina to pretend they had a letter from the people of Forlì and to introduce the poison once they had gained admission to his presence. Here the versions differ, one claiming that the men had been handed a vial prepared by the countess herself, the other stating that she had given them letters that had been enclosed in the grave of a plague victim for two days. One of the two, the story went, decided he could make more money off the affair by telling the pope, informing His Holiness just in the nick of time. As preposterous as it sounded, Cardinal Riario scented imminent danger and fled the same night in disguise. The name had become a death sentence. Cardinal Riario, who had not known such fear since his days as a hostage after the Pazzi conspiracy, first took refuge with the Orsini family, long-standing Riario allies, but then smuggled himself across the Siena border and caught a boat for Savona near Genova, his hometown. Alexander continued to spread his own brand of poison, ensuring that every court in the land was informed about Caterina's attempt to murder the pontiff. It was an old but effective ploy. Twenty years earlier, Caterina's late and unlamented husband Girolamo had tried to lure Lorenzo the Magnificent into a similar trap. The papal claims of foul play achieved their aim; everyone understood that helping the countess would be a very serious offense against a very powerful man. Florence, however, despite all its quibbles with Caterina, proved the most loyal of her friends. They refused to sell gunpowder and ammunition to Cesare Borgia. Taking a leaf from Caterina's book, they claimed that they had run out. Meanwhile they continued to ply the king of France with requests to put Forlì under his protection, warning him that the political ambitions of the Borgias were boundless and that someday soon they would come into conflict with his own. Fearful for their own precarious position, the Florentines secretly aided Caterina, hoping that her defense would buy them enough time to convince the French king to leave Tuscany in peace.
Caterina's last preparations were made in early December. While the rest of Europe was counting off the days of Advent, waiting to celebrate the birth of Jesus, Caterina was waiting for the arrival of the man whom many would dub the "Antichrist," Cesare Borgia. The city of Imola had already surrendered, but the castellan, Dionigio Naldi, was detaining Cesare at the fortress of Imola to gain a few more precious days for the countess. His honorable surrender on December 11 awakened the Forlivesi to the cold reality that there were no more obstacles between Cesare and Forlì. The next day, Caterina sent Ottaviano to Florence, where her other children and her sister had taken refuge. This time, no one would use her loved ones as leverage against her. She would have liked to have her oldest son fight by her side, but having fostered and followed his military career from the beginning, she knew that Ottaviano had inherited more of his father's trepidation toward the battlefield than his mother's boldness.
Caterina called her people together once more. Would they resist the Borgia storm together? The frightened Forlivesi were losing heart. Undecided, they referred the question to the Elders of Forlì, who also wavered. They timidly suggested that although they knew no one could defend the city better than she, perhaps Caterina should emulate the duke of Milan and leave town, so as to minimize the damage to its people. They proposed this weak solution as merely a "temporary retreat," arguing that she could save herself and her citizens and then return when the pope died.
Then, more villainously, on December 14 Luffo Numai, who had consigned the city of Forlì to Caterina after Girolamo's death, and Giovanni delle Selle, who had risen to great heights under her reign, abandoned the countess and the defense of Forlì. Undoubtedly hoping to negotiate even better political positions under Borgia rule, they swayed the people of Forlì to take the state from Caterina and her children and confer it upon the enemy. Crying "The People, the People!" Numai and delle Selle rang Caterina's warning bell in the city palace before riding to Imola to offer the submission of the Forlivesi to Cesare Borgia, who gladly accepted. The Forlivesi raced to the Abbey of San Mercuriale in thanksgiving and took up the statue of Mercuriale, their patron saint, carrying it in procession out to the main square, where they lit candles and made an improvised shrine above the monument to the twelve thousand French soldiers they had repelled and massacred three hundred years earlier. No longer the proud resisters of foreign invaders, the Forlivesi became the shame of Italy. On December 19, 1499, heavy rains extinguished the candles around the statue of Mercuriale. The clatter of hoofbeats grew louder as a white horse carrying the Borgia commander entered the square. The enemy was at the countess's door.