WHILE IN ROME the count and countess were enjoying a respite from political strife, trouble was already brewing in their new lands. In 1480, the little town of Forlì in the heart of Romagna had a slightly larger population than nearby Imola—about ten thousand people, including both residents within the walls and country dwellers.1 The two Riario states, Forlì and Imola, were separated only by the tiny village of Faenza. Any hope the count had of consolidating his two lands would require possession of Faenza, but the Manfredis who ruled the town were backed by the military might of the Este family in Ferrara. For half a millennium, Forlì had known little stability, bouncing back and forth between church possession and domination by a succession of petty tyrants. The town's turbulent history, marked by bloody battles and destruction, had rendered its inhabitants highly suspicious of any new regime, including that of the Riarios.
For almost fifty years, Forlì had been governed by a local family, the Ordelaffis. In defiance of Duke Francesco Sforza, Caterina's grandfather, Antonio Ordelaffi seized power in 1438, largely through the help of the Venetians. Antonio's son Francesco, or "Cecco," had succeeded his father, but he was soon murdered by his brother Pino, who stabbed him to death after failing to kill him with poison. In a rare gesture of clemency, Pino refrained from killing Cecco's sons and merely sent them into exile. Pino then claimed the rule of Forlì in 1466, taking the name Pino III Ordelaffi. Following the scandalous fratricide, Pino went on to become a sort of Renaissance Bluebeard. He poisoned his first wife, Barbara Manfredi from neighboring Faenza, out of jealousy. Then, in a dramatic show of public grief, he commissioned an exquisite marble tomb, still in the Abbey of San Mercuriale today, one of the first Renaissance works of sculpture to grace Forlì. Within a few years, Pino's second spouse, Zaffira Manfredi (from the Imola branch of the family), also died of poisoning, along with her mother. This time Pino didn't bother with a fancy tomb. According to a local diarist, his next bride, the beautiful Lucrezia Pico della Mirandola, "was very cautious about what she ate."2
Despite his numerous wives, Pino never managed to produce a legitimate heir. He finally settled upon his bastard son Sinibaldo and formally recognized him. When Pino fell fatally ill in 1480, shortly after fighting for the pope against Florence, he was so detested that the people of Forlì rose up to speed his demise. He was dragged down the stairs of his house and into the central piazza, where he expired as the Forlivesi spat on him, kicking and beating him into the next world.
The newly widowed Lucrezia didn't waste time. She assumed the regency for fourteen-year-old Sinibaldo only moments before Cecco's three exiled sons, Antonio Maria, Francesco, and Ludovico, stormed into Forlì with a contingent of troops from Ravenna to reclaim the town. But unlike Bona of Savoy, who had marshaled powerful allies to stave off her brothers-in-law, Lucrezia found herself alone. Her only recourse was to close herself up in the strongest fortress of Forlì, Ravaldino, and wait out the siege. With things seemingly at an impasse, events suddenly took a surprising turn: the new lord of Faenza, Sinibaldo, mysteriously died in the fortress.
Meanwhile, Sixtus IV and Girolamo had been circling like vultures as the struggle of the Ordelaffis played out. When Sinibaldo died, they seized their opportunity. Declaring the Ordelaffis' claim invalid, they sent a contingent of soldiers to take possession of Forlì and turn it over to Girolamo.
Lucrezia, however, proved herself a gifted negotiator. She left the fortress with 130,000 ducats and a baggage train of thirty-two carts, and moved into a new castle given to her by the pope. Shortly thereafter, the clever widow remarried. The three sons of Cecco, on the other hand, retreated empty-handed to Faenza to await their next opportunity.
Girolamo did not visit his new lands immediately. Instead, he sent his extremely able and trusted condottiere Gian Francesco Maruzzi, known as "Il Tolentino," to serve as governor. Speculation was rife over Girolamo's reluctance to leave Rome. Some thought the pope was ill and Girolamo was afraid to leave lest Sixtus should die; others suspected he was relying on the advice of astrologers, who were counseling him as to the most propitious time to arrive in Forlì.3 Most likely, Girolamo was so busy scheming to garner power in Rome that Forlì seemed unimportant by comparison. After a time, a delegation of notables of Forlì came to Rome to take stock of their new ruler. Girolamo made a good first impression, welcoming them graciously and sending them back to Forlì with promises of lucrative positions and good news for the citizens: they could expect a certain amount of tax relief.
The Ordelaffi brothers, for their part, were seething with anger at being deprived of what they regarded as their rightful inheritance. Upon their return to Faenza, they had immediately begun plotting against the new count of Forlì. On October 13, 1480, they struck, sending sixty men with orders to take control of the fortress of Ravaldino. The band, abetted by two local priests, was to assassinate the keeper and occupy the castle. Fortunately for the Riarios, Il Tolentino had a nose for conspiracies. The loyal governor discovered the plot, rounded up the rebel band, hanged the two puppet priests, and exiled the remaining soldiers. The Ordelaffi brothers licked their wounds and awaited another chance. Tranquility returned, but the incident gave the Riarios a taste of intrigues to come.
Finally, in the spring of 1481, Girolamo and Caterina began preparations to visit Imola and Forlì. An immense baggage train, piled high with the finest possessions of the Riario household, departed under a heavily armed escort, accompanied by the Riario children, Ottaviano and Cesare. Caterina was pregnant again, and the servants packed an array of the latest and costliest fashions in different sizes to accommodate their mistress's expanding figure. The party traveled at a leisurely pace, putting in few hours on the road and stopping every evening at aristocratic estates or humble inns along the way. Two weeks later, the Riarios arrived two miles outside Forlì and for the first time laid eyes on the town that would be their new home. The territory of Forlì sprawled over eighty-eight square miles of Romagna, but the town center was enclosed by an irregular brick wall, 3.3 miles long. This thick shell was punctured by eight gateways, where merchandise passing through was tallied and taxed and foreign visitors were registered. The town was dwarfed by the fortress of Ravaldino, which dominated the southern roads leading to the Apennines. Its crenellated walls, towering over a wide moat, were the first thing the Riarios saw as they approached.4
The new rulers paused at the house of a local landowner, Marino degli Orcioli, to determine, in counsel with the count's astrologers, the most propitious hour of arrival. During the wait, however, a fire broke out in the palace destined to be home to the new count and countess—an inauspicious omen. A local friar, who sympathized with the Ordelaffi brothers, attempted to stir up sentiment against the Riarios by declaring that "the Ordelaffis had entered the city with a mighty wind; now the new lord was entering with fire." To the more superstitious of the Forlivesi, wind was associated with the Holy Spirit, and fire with Hell.
Those grim portents were dispelled, however, by the well-planned first appearance of the Riarios. At sunset, the party rode past Ravaldino to enter the Porta Cotogni. One of Forlì's largest gates and the site of the principal customs office, the Porta Cotogni opened onto the main thoroughfare of the town, the Strada Petrosa (the paved street). The arrival of the Riarios was the grandest procession in the history of Forlì. Nobles carrying banners and lances marched at the head, as brass horns announced their passage through the narrow streets. Clergymen decked in richly embroidered liturgical robes walked in stately order; their white-gloved hands bore jeweled reliquaries, and one held high a golden crucifix that glinted in the last rays of sunlight. Acolytes waved palm fronds, as had the people of Jerusalem upon Jesus' triumphant entry on what came to be celebrated as Palm Sunday. Myriad pennants proudly proclaimed the artisan trades, and the leading citizen of each of the four neighborhoods of Forlì marched in the throng.
Caterina, Girolamo, and their children were resplendent in multicolored silks. The count's soldiers wore silver cloaks over their armor, while the knights of his escort were dressed in gold brocade. The people of Forlì crowded the alleys and climbed onto balconies to catch a glimpse of the splendid retinue, which included members of the ancient noble Roman houses of Orsini, Colonna, and Savelli. Decked head to toe in fine pearls, rare jewels, and sumptuous fabrics, the rainbow of courtiers looked more than worthy of their renowned heritage.
The aristocratic assemblage rode under a triumphal arch—similar to those still visible among the ruins of the Roman Forum—and entered the main square of Forlì, where the count and countess would reside. Here they encountered a group of actors masquerading as the great citizens of old, striking dignified poses on a victory chariot: the legendary founder of the town, Claudius Livy; the celebrated Roman playwright Titus Maccius Plautus; and the town's first bishop, Saint Mercuriale, joined other native heroes in welcoming Girolamo into their midst, with odes and hymns. Guido Peppo, the local classicist and philosopher reputed as being "well-versed in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew," acted as keynote speaker, delivering an elegant laudatory oration.5
The party rode up the few steps to their new palace. Although five months pregnant, Caterina dismounted gracefully and watched serenely as the young men who had gathered to see the famous beauty scuffled over the privilege of taking the bridle and leading her horse away. Several gentlemen of Forlì stepped forward for the honor of carrying the countess up the stairs to her new palace. Unlike Girolamo, who was nervous when crowds pressed in on him, Caterina touched the outstretched hands and appeared delighted by the attention. She smilingly promised the gentlemen who had taken charge of her horse that if it was returned to her well tended, she would give them the jeweled overdress she was wearing—a promise that she duly kept.
Upstairs in the reception room of the palace, the people of Forlì were awed by the array of silver and other wares arranged in large open cabinets. For eight days the townspeople had watched mules and carts delivering huge trunks and crates to the house, as the residence was prepared for the arrival of the new lords. When at last they were allowed to see the treasures of the pope's nephew, the display did not disappoint. Finely wrought silver ewers and plates and gold vases were stacked on shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. A major purpose of this display, worth some hundred thousand ducats, was to reassure the people of Forlì that the Riarios would not need to squeeze their land for revenue, but indeed would bring riches to this little town of artisans and farmers. Every day the objects on the shelves were changed so that the people could admire the seemingly endless resources of Count Girolamo. Even Antonio Appiani, the sophisticated and well-traveled ambassador to the duke of Milan, conceded that the count "had made an astounding display." Appiani was particularly impressed by Caterina, writing that although "she had had two children and was pregnant with her third," she looked "beautiful and lively and was well-furnished with jewels."6
In provincial Forlì, men, women, and children jostled for a glimpse of the famous young countess who dazzled the Forlivesi with the latest fashions. Every detail of her dress was noted by the town's noblewomen, who would soon be striving to achieve the same look. On the evening of the welcoming banquet, she wore a turban that framed her radiant youthful face. Trailing from the headdress was a long veil of woven silver threads embroidered with pearls. The border featured a pattern of a rising sun, with rays penetrating a cloud underscored by her personal motto, DIVERSORUM OPERUM, "manifold works." As with the finest couture, her unique robe was months in the making. During her four weeks in Forlì, locals noted that she never wore the same dress twice. Her wardrobe and gems served their purpose: the people of Forlì were enchanted by their new countess.
Flame-colored silks draped the banqueting hall where Girolamo accepted more homages of poetry by the town's literati. Caterina and Girolamo then greeted the farmers from the countryside, who presented them with gifts of livestock and chickens, beeswax, wheat, and jams as well as fruit from the local orchards.
At the height of this display of affection and jubilation, Girolamo rose to address his new subjects. "People of Forlì," he began, "I promise that I will be a good son of this city and father to the people." He then went on to confirm the promise he had made to the delegation in Rome. The dazi, the taxes levied on entering the city and on purchasing grain for personal use, would be removed. Girolamo solemnly vowed that he would "maintain that promise in perpetuity," stating that "neither I nor my children shall repeal it or even remember it."7 This munificent but shortsighted policy met with wild applause and cheering but was in fact a time bomb. On that evening, July 15, 1481, Girolamo still enjoyed his position as the pope's favorite nephew, who could dip his hands into the papal coffers as often as he liked. This largesse, however, would last only as long as his uncle lived.
No concerns about an uncertain future were evident as the noble company danced and dined. To one local diarist, it seemed like the beginning of a golden age. Leone Cobelli, born and raised in Forlì, was a dancer, teacher, musician, and painter, and he was enthralled by Caterina from the moment he first laid eyes on her. Cobelli was playing the baldosa, an instrument similar to a guitar but with thirty copper strings, for the gala. In the musicians' gallery, the scent of Caterina's perfume wafted over him as she danced and her fair skin and hair glowed golden in the torchlight. That night he wrote his first lines describing Caterina and "the most beautiful dance I have ever seen or think I ever will."8 Not of a station that made him eligible as a confidant of the aristocratic countess, Cobelli would vent his passionate interest in Caterina by studying every aspect of her life during her years in Forlì. Beginning on that magical evening, Cobelli appointed himself as Caterina's personal historian. (Mostly he would watch her from afar; his one substantial personal encounter with her proved unpleasant.) His Chronicles of Forlì remains one of the most interesting sources for the stories, scandals, and fashions of Caterina's time in Forlì.
The next morning, Caterina appeared at Girolamo's side on the palace balcony, and together they tossed coins into the crowd below. They then took their seats to watch a spectacle created specifically in their honor. A large wooden castle resembling a fortified town had been constructed in the center of the main piazza. Forty young nobles and a priest took their places within the four towers, representing the citizens of Otranto on the Adriatic coast of southern Italy, defenders of their land. On August 2, 1480, Otranto had been captured by the Ottoman Turkish fleet of Sultan Mehmed II. The attack was sudden and unexpected, and many feared that "if God had not intervened, we would have been in their hands in short order."9 This event had so shocked Italy that it put an end to the war between the Florentines and the pope, who united to face a common enemy. Although the sultan had died two months earlier, in May, which caused rejoicing throughout Italy, Otranto still remained in the hands of the invaders. Fear of the Turks forged a bond among the people of the Italian peninsula. Thus, the re-creation of the Otranto siege held vital meaning.
Two hundred young men posed as the attackers, eagerly storming the castle to win the prize of five yards of precious velvet and four gold ducats. After a violent struggle lasting about an hour and a half, during which many people were wounded, a certain Francesco da Caravaggio claimed his reward as the first to enter the fortress, but at the cost of his eye. The afternoon ended with a joust between the Roman nobles Paolo Orsini and Giovanni Colonna, with the new governor, Il Tolentino, joining in. Although the riding was superb and the arms and weapons of the latest models, the crowds were disappointed that no winner was declared. Yet they soon forgot their displeasure as music began for a dance and food appeared for a feast.
The couple remained for a month of festivities in Forlì, but while the countess, heavily pregnant during the hot summer months, made the effort to visit and socialize with her new people, Girolamo closed himself up in his apartments.10 Despite the smiles the two evinced in public, the first signs of a rift between Caterina and her diffident husband began to show during this sojourn. Caterina actively engaged the citizens, unafraid to walk among her subjects; Girolamo, always wary of strangers, shied away from social situations. Even in mid-August, when they moved on to Imola, Girolamo kept to his rooms after attending the initial banquets and festivities. Yet after ten years of his rule, the Imolesi had every reason to love the count. Although he had barely visited the town, Girolamo had made numerous improvements. Inspired by his uncle's precedent in Rome (and subsidized by the papal purse), Count Riario strove to foster goodwill among his new subjects. The city wherein the Milanese orator Gian Luigi Bossi had disdainfully taken note of small houses and unpaved streets was now a jewel in the crown of Romagna. Girolamo had lured the builder Giorgio Fiorentino from Tuscany to construct houses in the style of the Medici family's properties, with expensive rusticated stone bases and elegantly arched windows. High arcades of loggias spanned façades throughout the town, sheltering the people of Imola from the elements and lending a lofty mien to the city squares. Over the course of four years, paved roads had replaced muddy streets.
Nonetheless, Girolamo was never to be seen. Soon enough the Imolesi were murmuring. What was the new count afraid of? Was he ill? What was wrong with him? Appiani suspected that Girolamo was too weak to govern the two cities. The insightful ambassador rightly guessed that the count was afraid of assassins, particularly in Forlì. When in Romagna, he preferred to remain in Imola, since unlike the Forlivesi, the Imolesi were not prone to violent action and confined their rebellions to lively chatter over a bottle of Sangiovese wine.11
Girolamo's distrust apparently extended to Caterina as well. Ludovico the Moor, the acting duke of Milan while he served as regent for Caterina's brother, extended an invitation to Caterina through his ambassador, Antonio Appiani, to come to Milan and visit her family for a month. The countess told Appiani that she yearned to visit Milan, but when she had mentioned the possibility to her husband he had brusquely denied her request, and "not without anger," as she put it. When Appiani suggested that he might speak to Girolamo himself on behalf of the duke, the worried wife begged him not to, for fear that Girolamo would think that she had engineered his intervention, and it would all end in a messy fight.
Appiani, however, had his orders from the duke and sought an audience with the count, explaining that Caterina's family had not seen her in several years and would like to meet their nephews. Girolamo could not be moved. In his first response, a false one, he stated that he "wouldn't know how to live without her"; this was belied immediately when he mentioned his intention of leaving Caterina in Romagna when he returned to Rome. When Caterina heard that Girolamo intended to leave her behind, she made plans to go to Milan as soon as he departed. Nevertheless, Appiani was left with the distinct impression that the count would neither come to Milan nor allow Caterina to do so. It was not uncommon for Renaissance wives to travel to see their families even during pregnancy, and Milan was a relatively short journey on even terrain. But ever since Ludovico the Moor had been crafty enough to come between Bona of Savoy and Cicco Simonetta, Girolamo had good reason to worry that the duke would lure Caterina into serving the interests of Milan instead of those of Rome. For the time being, Caterina would have to remain in her home in Forlì.
Disappointed that peace with Florence had been achieved, Girolamo was already stirring up more trouble. No sooner had the pope declared the reconciliation with Florence than Girolamo had cast his eye on Faenza, the little town that stood between his two holdings in Romagna. The count schemed to close the gap between Forlì and Imola by taking control of that little Manfredi state. But to conquer the Manfredis, he would have to first weaken their powerful protectors, the Este family of Ferrara.
Ferrara was a flourishing duchy neighboring the most important states of northern Italy: Florence, Bologna, Milan, and Venice. Ercole d'Este, the warlike and powerful ruler of the prosperous city, had wheeled and dealed with both the papacy and the Holy Roman Emperor to amass a wide swath of land from Modena to Reggio as well as the town of Ferrara. A handsome man with soft graying hair, he had also contracted a brilliant marriage with Eleanora of Aragon, the daughter of King Ferdinand of Naples. During the conflict between Florence and the papacy, Ercole, as papal condottiere, should have fought in the interests of the papacy. But he had decided instead to defend his neighbor, Florence, thus incurring the enmity of Pope Sixtus and Girolamo. During the nine months that Caterina was carrying their third child, plans for vengeance were gestating in Girolamo's mind.
In early September, Girolamo and Caterina, now in her eighth month, set out on a voyage to the Republic of Venice. A mighty baggage train of thirty-six mules and twenty-one carts announced the arrival of the couple in Ravenna, and on September 8 they cruised into Venice on special gondolas constructed for the arrival of exalted guests. The ruler of Venice, Doge Giovanni Moecenigo, accompanied by 115 members of the nobility, sailed out to meet them. Sleek black gondolas glided silently across the Grand Canal as the sun sparkled on the ripples in their wake. The doge, from his golden barge, greeted Girolamo effusively, heralding him as "a true son of Mars." One might wonder if he was wryly alluding to the count's penchant for causing bloodshed rather than his martial abilities and courage.
Venice, with its dark and winding canals, was a breeding ground for intrigue. Lorenzo de' Medici knew Girolamo's trip meant more than the ostensible excuse of recruiting the Venetian navy to free Otranto from the Turks. He correctly suspected that the real plan was to ally with Venice against Ercole d'Este. In the name of Pope Sixtus, Girolamo offered to carve up Ercole's territories, giving Reggio to Venice while keeping Faenza for himself.
But the crude cunning of the count was no match for the sly tactics of the Venetians. As one report to Lorenzo the Magnificent said, Girolamo "saw more things that provoked displeasure than gratitude."12 The doge honored him with fabulous balls and banquets and lavished empty titles on him, but Girolamo never got what he came for. The Venetians did not want to risk war with the powerful father-in-law of the duke of Ferrara, King Ferdinand of Naples.
It is doubtful that Caterina found the Venetians congenial. Straightforward herself, she probably sensed their duplicity as she dined on the tiny, sweet Adriatic shrimp scented with heady spices, which had been obtained through Venice's questionable dealings with the Turks. Florentine ambassadors, always attentive to relations among their restive neighbors, wrote reports alluding to how the Venetian ladies feigned friendship, but behind the Riarios' back they sneered at the provincial manners of the Romans.13
Girolamo feared that Caterina might speak indiscreetly, and it appears that her husband did not confide his plans to her. On August 16, shortly before the trip to Venice, Caterina wrote a cheery little missive to the wife of Ercole d'Este, Eleanora of Aragon, asking for new hunting dogs. Clearly a connoisseur, Caterina requested "a singular and special gift of a pair of greyhounds that were great runners and capable of running down the hares of the Roman countryside, which are very fast, and a pair of good bloodhounds" for following scents and trails. She also asked for a pack of retrievers to work with her falcons "so well trained and valiant that I hope to be able to say when they catch a wild animal, 'Those are the dogs given to me by the illustrious duchess of Ferrara.'" She wrote engagingly, recognizing their common love of hunting and Ferrara's supremacy in the matter of hunting dogs; she seemed unaware that her husband was plotting to usurp her new friend's realm.
On their return from Venice, the couple took a longer route to avoid passing through Ferrara. They stopped in the tiny village of Cotignola, where Caterina's great-grandfather, Muzio Attendolo, had been born. There the villagers poured into the dusty streets to see Caterina, raising the cry of "Sforza! Sforza!" and welcoming her to "her home."14 To Caterina, it must have been heartening to hear her proud family name echoing in the streets, after the pain of being refused a visit to her home and family. Soon enough that name would be honored in a far greater setting than Cotignola.
The Riarios' second arrival in Forlì was not as felicitous as the first. Already sparks of discontent were igniting among the Forlivesi, and Lorenzo de' Medici was attempting to fan them into flames. The powerful Florentine had not forgotten the murder of his brother, and now that Girolamo was near at hand, it was time to strike. Ercole of Ferrara was only too glad to help, given Girolamo's attempts to usurp his rule. It was easy enough for them to find some discontented tradesmen of Forlì whose work brought them to Florence and Ferrara. The so-called Artisan conspiracy was thus hatched in late September to kill both Girolamo and Caterina along the road between Imola and Forlì on the last leg of their return from Venice. Il Tolentino, the faithful factotum whose ear was always to the ground, discovered the plot in time to save the count and countess. But when Girolamo heard of it, he flew into a rage. "How can it be that people of Forlì want to kill me and restore Ordelaffi?" he cried. "Is this the thanks I receive for getting rid of their taxes?" As he railed against the people of Forlì, he overlooked his real predicament. He had antagonized two of the most powerful men in northern Italy, whose families had ruled for several generations. As a newcomer from a foreign family, he would always be at a disadvantage. He instructed Il Tolentino, however, not to say a word about the conspiracy, lest his authority appear to be in jeopardy.
The next day, Girolamo went to Mass at San Mercuriale, unaccompanied by his family and friends but surrounded by three hundred armed soldiers. This show of strength was meant to remind the Forlivesi that the pope's nephew could, as he desired, bring riches to the town or summon an army. No parties or dances attended Girolamo's last days in town, and when the count set off on October 14, he took several citizens of Forlì as guests to Rome, with the announced intention of entertaining them in the Eternal City. In reality they were hostages.
In the wake of the Artisan conspiracy Caterina traveled a different route to Rome, with an escort of fifty horsemen and ten female attendants. Stopping in Imola, the safer of the two cities in the Riarios' realm, she left the children and a conspicuous portion of the family treasures, along with their summer clothes. She met up with her husband in Rimini and together they embarked on the road to Rome. Caterina was riding on a mule in a sort of carriage made of two baskets, as she was now nine months pregnant. For most expectant noblewomen of the Renaissance era, the ninth month was generally treated as a "lying-in period," during which they would wait in their chambers for labor to begin. Caterina displayed strength of both body and mind in making this trip, as certainly everyone, including her husband, would have tried to dissuade her from doing so. Willing to risk a haphazard roadside delivery, Caterina obviously had no intention of leaving her husband in Rome alone. On October 26, only a few days after her arrival, Caterina gave birth to her first girl, Bianca. The child was named for Caterina's grandmother, who with Bona of Savoy had helped raise her. The delivery was uncomplicated and her husband surprisingly solicitous, hurrying to her bedside and declaring himself "more pleased with a girl than a boy."15
Girolamo waited until November, the month of the dead, to exact justice for the Artisan conspiracy. When he and his family had resumed their life in Rome, Il Tolentino hanged five men in the main square of Forlì and exiled many others. A few months later, however, the count recalled several of the exiles in an effort to instill a spirit of forgiveness and restore goodwill in the town.
Throughout the Italian peninsula, a quiet mood masked undercurrents of war. Despite Venice's refusal to assist Girolamo in obtaining Ferrara, the Most Serene Republic picked a fight of its own with Ercole d'Este. The subject of the dispute was salt. In the ages before refrigeration, salt was a precious commodity, necessary for preserving food. Ancient Rome had grown wealthy by controlling the salt mines to the north, and in Renaissance Italy salt was so precious it could be used as currency. Venice controlled huge salt marshes on the Adriatic coast and therefore almost all the salt production and distribution.16 Ferrara coveted this million-ducat business and started extracting salt from Comacchio, a territory it leased from Venice. The Venetians, still "official" owners of that land, forbade this undertaking, but Ercole ignored them. War began in the spring of 1482.
The northern Italian powers, Milan and Florence, always distrustful of Venice, leapt to the aid of Ferrara. Genoa, on the other hand, assisted its fellow maritime republic. Yet the costliest battle of the Salt War would play out in Rome.
King Ferdinand of Naples, father-in-law to Ercole, dispatched his son Alfonso, duke of Calabria, to relieve beleaguered Ferrara. The troops were well trained and seasoned after having finally freed Otranto from the Turks the preceding autumn. On April 23, 1482, Alfonso approached the borders of the Papal States with three thousand infantrymen and twenty squadrons of cavalry and asked permission to pass through papal territory to assist his brother-in-law at Ferrara. Although the duke had been the only leader to answer Sixtus's plea to save Otranto while Girolamo had been scheming in Venice, the pope refused him. Indignant, Alfonso, with the help of his Roman allies, entered the Papal States anyway and proceeded to devastate the countryside.
As captain of the papal armies, Girolamo was summoned to defend Rome. He assembled his infantry and set up camp by the southern gate on the Via Appia, steps away from the cathedral of Rome, Saint John Lateran. But instead of seeking out Duke Alfonso, he and his men waited inside the city walls. Girolamo claimed that he was ensuring that the Romans themselves would not revolt, but in fact Girolamo, though quick to order that others be assassinated, was circumspect when he himself faced actual combat.
Caterina, whose father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had won their fame and their lands through boldness in battle, must have found the conduct of her husband disgraceful. The Sforza name had never before been associated with cowardice. Adding to her woes, scandalous stories were coursing back to the Vatican palaces from the camp. Girolamo Riario, captain of the papal army, whiled away the days playing dice with his soldiers on the high altar of the cathedral, above the very table where Saint Peter and the first popes had celebrated Mass in the first century A.D. Horrified clerics reported that the soldiers sat on cases and boxes containing the most famous collection of relics in the world as they swapped obscene tales.17 The nave of the church, once fragrant with incense and filled with harmonious chant, now echoed with blasphemies. Caterina no doubt burned with shame. Her father, with all his failings, had always shown respect for the sacred, and Bona, despite Duke Galeazzo's many betrayals, had made the soul of her murdered husband her foremost concern. At the beginning of these tensions, Caterina had offered to go to Milan with her husband to "calm and pacify these issues,"18 but nothing came of it. From that letter in January 1482, Caterina wrote nothing more until the final battle of the Salt War played out in August of that year.
Caterina, barred by gender from negotiating for her husband among the temporal powers, became his advocate before God. Like many other women of her age unable to intervene in earthly affairs, she invoked divine assistance. And because Caterina always threw herself wholeheartedly into her endeavors, she did more than light a few candles. According to her eighteenth-century biographer Antonio Burriel, her pale figure, emaciated from fasting, knelt for hours in a penitent's robes at the altar or distributed alms to the poor. She certainly prayed for peace, but probably also that her husband would desist from destroying the last shreds of respectability he enjoyed in Rome.
Spurred by complaints from the peasants around Saint John Lateran, whose lands had been raided by Girolamo's soldiers, Pope Sixtus appealed to the Venetians in the hope that new forces would break the stalemate. The Venetians sent a condottiere from Rimini, Roberto Malatesta, who arrived in Rome with his own well-trained troops to the relief of the Roman people, who now believed that the destructive impasse between Alfonso, the duke of Calabria, and Girolamo, the count of Forlì, would be broken. On August 15, Malatesta and Girolamo marched their troops in review before the pope. Nine thousand infantry paraded through the city before heading out to meet Duke Alfonso's army, now swelled with followers of the Colonna and Savelli families.
After a few skirmishes, the day of the decisive battle came. The question would be settled on August 20 at Campo Morto. The very name of the battleground, "the field of death," presaged what would be the most violent conflict of the decade. Generally, wars among the Italian states resulted in few casualties; the mercenary soldiers who fought them tended to circle one another, with only an occasional clash of arms, while the overlords negotiated. This day would be different. The battle began at 4 P.M., when the brutally hot summer sun began to wane, and continued ferociously until 11 P.M., two hours after darkness had fallen. The papal troops were victorious. Caterina, waiting anxiously in Rome, was among the first to receive the good news. From the moment the rider burst into the papal apartments to inform Sixtus, Caterina was already writing letters announcing that "with maximum honor and our victory they had broken and dispersed"19 the troops of the duke of Calabria. Two thousand lay dead on the field, while many more succumbed to the "bad air" of the marshes in Campo Morto—one of the highest death tolls of any battle fought on Italian soil in the fifteenth century. Stagnant water and rampant malaria made the area a lethal trap. Meanwhile, 360 of the enemy's noblemen were led to Rome, where they were imprisoned in the papal fort of Castel Sant'Angelo to await trial.
Sadly, Caterina saw little improvement in her husband's behavior. While Roberto Malatesta led his troops in the battle, fearlessly throwing himself into the fray, Girolamo stayed at his camp to "guard the tents." Although he tried to take credit for the victory, too many people knew of his cowardice; therefore Pope Sixtus ceded the honors of war to Malatesta. Like the great generals of antiquity, Roberto triumphantly entered Rome on the same road Scipio Africanus had taken after conquering Hannibal. One cardinal walked before the victor, holding the bridle of his warhorse, while the rest of the College of Cardinals marched behind him in a scarlet train. The streets of the city resounded with the cries of Romans hailing their liberator. The pope came out on the steps of Saint Peter's to meet Malatesta and personally accompanied him into the basilica for a Mass of thanksgiving.
With Girolamo exposed as a coward, Caterina, humiliated, retired in disappointment. Instead of seeing her consort parading through the streets like a caesar of old, she now saw him relegated to the retinue. And the worst was yet to come. Nine days after the battle, Roberto Malatesta, hero of Campo Morto, died of dysentery. The pope himself came rushing to administer last rites to the dying man and ultimately erected a monument to him in Saint Peter's. Most people thought that Roberto had contracted the illness on the battleground, but malignant voices insisted it was poison, administered by the envious Girolamo. Theories of foul play gained credence when Girolamo galloped to Rimini in a vain and shameful attempt to usurp the dead warrior's state from his infant son. Florence moved quickly to block this attempt, and the thwarted count returned empty-handed yet again. In fact the pope himself, knowing nothing of Girolamo's plans, had already confirmed the rights of Malatesta's son Pandolfo the day after the warrior's death.
The Battle of Campo Morto temporarily dulled the appetite for conflict among the states of Italy. By November, Milan, Florence, Ferrara, Naples, and the Papal States had agreed to an armistice, and on December 13, 1482, the return to tranquility was celebrated in the pope's new church, Santa Maria della Pace—Saint Mary of Peace—built to commemorate the end of this war.
By Christmas 1482, Caterina realized that despite her husband's high position and ornately trimmed garments, nothing of substance existed within.