The Borgias (2011–2013): Season 1, Episode 3 - The Moor - full transcript

Previously on The Borgias

I have waited a lifetime
for this moment.

We'll not fail you, Father.

Maybe papa will become Pope and
you can be who you want to be.

If he does become pope,
I'll be what he wants me to be.

Cardinal De La Rovere,
seven votes.

I shall fight you.

I do tend to win
whatever battles I fight.

Back to Spain, Borgia!

You can't wring any more favours
from a dead pope.

I would say
the one who would be suitable



as Vice-Chancellor would be wise to support
the Vice-Chancellor who would be pope.

- You're not in mourning, Mother.
- But perhaps I am.

What are we gaining?

We have placed the papal
mitre in the hands of an ape.

Does Papa have so many enemies?

As our father, perhaps not.
But as pope...

I would gladly work
for the pope or the pope's son.

Simony!
I charge you now in public.

- They all want you dead.
- Serve this... to Orsini.

We draw the line at murder.

Poison!

Do we know?

Give me control the Papal armies and I

will protect us all.
- We will have one son



in the cloth and one in armour.

You know our wishes.

Kings and popes and emperors
belong to their peoples,

not to their families.

There is a passage, connecting
the palace to the Vatican.

You're so beautiful,
Giulia Farnese.

I have evidence that will bring this house
crashing down around your ears.

Perhaps you could see
that she takes a vow of silence.

You know the ways of silence.

Guards!

Whom can one trust,
in this Rome of ours?

I believe trust needs
to be earned, My Lord.

Perhaps it has been.

His Eminence,
Cardinal Della Rovere,

begs an introduction to His Royal
Highness King Ferrante of Naples,

and His Highness' son,
Prince Alfonso.

Your Royal Highness,
good Prince.

He can't hear you.

He's deaf as a post.
Has been for years.

The cardinal has come to discuss the
deposition of the Borgia pope, Father.

You remember Borgia?
The ambitious Spaniard.

He has appointed a veritable
cascade of cardinals...

can one say a cascade
of cardinals?

Like a gaggle of geese?
A clutter of cats?

An army of ants?
Why not?

He has appointed a veritable
cascade of cardinals.

Among them his son.

His son.

Cesare Borgia!
You remember him?

See?

He hears nothing.

It seems the good
Cardinal Della Rovere has fled.

Where to, I wonder?

Wherever he can find an ally...

Florence, Milan...

I would hazard Naples.

Dear old King Ferrante;
his hospitality is legendary.

- You've heard about his dining room?
- I've heard the rumours.

If Della Rovere thinks
Rome is a charnel house...

The good cardinal imagines that
he alone hears the word of God.

But God saw
what he was blind to.

What the Holy Church needs
at this juncture is someone

who can ensure its survival...

...by whatever means
necessary.

You have someone who...

...can wield a good garrote,
do you not?

Has it been rumoured that I do?

It has been whispered.

And if I did?

Maybe it is time

for the good cardinal's collar
to be replaced.

Replaced?

With what does one replace
an ecclesiastical collar?

My memory fails me.

I think I understand you,
Father.

Good.

Sometimes, one barely
understands oneself.

Want, want, want.

Everybody wants.

France wants Naples.
Spain wants Naples.

The whole of Christendom wants
the New World.

And you, dear Cardinal,
what do you want?

I merely want Naples
to join in alliance with me

- to rid the papacy...
- Of the stench of Borgia.

Mm-hmm.
In return for?

A worthy inhabitant
of the chair of St. Peter's

would see the justice of the
independent claims of Naples.

Naples is already
independent, Cardinal.

- Spain would beg to disagree.
Ah.

An adversary.

Shall we show him, Father, how it pleased
you to deal with your adversaries?

Hmm?

When you were
in your magnificent prime?

You see, he does remember.

What does he remember?

I am at a loss to say.

He remembers cruelty.

Have you commissioned
your portrait yet, brother?

- I see no need.
- Ah, humility.

As befits the cleric.

But the public might demand
such a display from a soldier.

Poor Pinturicchio's going
to run out of paint.

And we must pay
for this extravagance!

- Have the abbeys all been emptied?
- There is never enough.

Queen Isabella has rather
precipitously expelled

all the Jews from Spain...

the Murranos,

as they once dared to call us.

- They still insult us thus.
- Well, I can assure you, my dear son,

there's not one drop
of Jewish blood in you.

But as a stranger
in a foreign land myself,

I... sympathize
with their plight.

"The chosen people."

Once more
in search of a home.

They clamour
to get into our state.

And they offer
to pay... handsomely.

There will be objections.

Well, there always are.

But I want my papacy to be like
Joseph's coat of many colours.

And Jesus Christ, our Saviour,
was, after all, a Jew.

He was also killed
by Jews, Father.

Are you sure?

I thought
he was crucified by Romans.

My father had
many adversaries, Cardinal.

But all of them came
to sing his praises.

And when they could sing
no more...

...he had them stuffed!

You see, he liked to dine,
when his health was still good,

with those who considered
displeasing him.

He's yet to find his Judas.

So, you think that a pope has
earned a place at this table.

My intentions were not quite so...
severe, Your Highness.

Why not?

They would happily
seat you there.

These Borgias are
Murranos... Spanish Jews.

They have no scruples.

You do them a disservice,
if that's possible.

Scruples, they may have none.

Jewish blood,
they have even less of.

- You're sure?
- Mm-hmm.

Perhaps then
they deserve the papacy.

I will discuss your proposals
with my father's advisers.

I'd be delighted if you'd accept
our hospitality tomorrow.

One of our sulphur baths.

It might improve
Your Eminence's temper. Hmm?

Good for the skin.

Tomorrow, Cardinal.
Tomorrow.

See they are installed
in my mother's villa.

Whatever one could say
about the cardinal's politics,

there is no questioning
his good taste.

He has arrived
in Naples, my lord.

Hold it up!

My father had a quaint turn
he expressed a wish

that the cardinal's collar might
be replaced.

If he was to see my face,
he would flee the city.

Well, stay
in the shadows, then.

Isn't that
where you are happiest?

I am embarrassed to admit
I've never seen a garrote.

It is just a cheese cutter,
my lord.

You must show me.

One almost feels pity
for the melon.

My father deems Leonardo
too expensive.

And, my lord,
he rarely finishes.

He would have finished for me.

But we will show that Milanese
mirror painter

what true highlights
should look like.

Raise it.

Till the armour glitters.

Come!

You're on.

My beloved son.

Father.

Crimson is a colour
that suits you.

Thank you.

But you regard this elevation
as a burden.

You will be made cardinal
tomorrow.

And you must beware that sin
St. Isidore calls

the greatest of all,
which only the pope can forgive.

I believe
it is called despair, Father.

You must never, ever despair.

Embrace me, Cesare.

Forgive my ambitions for you.

But they have been such
since the day you were born.

Had I not embraced a career
in the church,

then perhaps things would have
been different.

You are my eldest son.

It is your destiny
to follow in my footsteps.

Tell me you accept this calling.

I accept.

The sensual delights
of our Neapolitan Kingdom have

attracted many invaders,
Cardinal.

When you have a paradise, you must use
every means available to defend it.

My father has grown feeble
with the effort.

King Ferrante.

Mmm. I spoke with his advisers
of your request.

- And?
- Yes. They will consider it.

He will meet his maker soon,
and he would confess,

if he can manage the words,
to a pope before he dies.

And we would rather
it be a Christian one.

Enough!

Immerse yourself, Cardinal.

The sulphur waters renew
the flesh, soothe the spirit.

We will all of us be dead,
soon enough.

I will, with your permission.

Thank you.

- Cover me fully.
- As you wish.

♪

It is red, as a sign of the
dignity of the order of cardinals,

signifying that you are ready
to act with fortitude.

Red, as a sign that you are
willing to spill your blood

for the increase
of the Christian faith,

into which you have all been
baptized.

Benedicat vos omnipotens Deus,

Pater,

et Filius,

et Spiritus Sanctus.

Guards! An assassin!

That man there
with the scarred back!

For God's sake,
arrest him!

Stop!

Arise,
our brother cardinals.

Who is he?
Everyone out!

I can't see!

Stop him!

Benedetto!

Assassino!

You leave carnage in your
wake, Cardinal! Absolute carnage!

We have no need of carnage!
We have no need of carnage!

You should leave Naples
forthwith

unless you want a place
at my father's table

on a more permanent basis!

So you failed.

Is that a first?

Success in these matters is
never a given, my lord.

Should I forfeit my trust
in you, then?

It was a public baths, my lord.

I am Your Eminence now.

Have you not noticed?

Your Eminence,
it was a public baths.

I disguised my face, but it was the
wounds on my back that betrayed me.

Ah. Goodness and probity make
worthy adversaries, do they not?

This cardinal seems immune
to corruption.

We should have him followed,
then.

By someone other than you.

Everything can be arranged,
Your Eminence.

But no more cheese cutting...
for the time, at least.

And no more scandal.

Juan requested Leonardo.

And you wisely declined.

We have not yet acquired
the wealth of a Florentine bank.

Your Holiness.

No, stay awhile.

Please.

We would have...
your advice on a matter.

Of state?
- Perhaps.

The Sultan of Constantinople...

...has requested

that we welcome
his half-brother, Djem,

- into our care.
As hostage?

Well, as foster.

It would remove him as a threat
to the Ottoman succession.

Now, he would pay us
40,000 ducats every year

for the privilege.

God knows, we need the cash.

I would have your advice,
madame.

He's a heathen.

Well, he's a musselman.
He prays to Allah.

You would invite heathens
to Rome?

My father has invited
the Spanish Jews to Rome.

- Yes.
- He wants to amaze the Christian world.

He sees his papacy
as a coat of many colours.

Well, we are all human,
are we not?

Under the same God?

Well, there are many who would
disagree with that thesis.

But the pope is not
one of them.

The great Sultan Bayezid II
presents his brother, Djem,

to be Ambassador to the Court
of the Pope of Rome.

He hopes his presence
and the great pope's protection

will lead to concord
between their peoples,

to a mutual treaty of protection
from their enemies.

For 40,000 ducats per annum.

Mohammed and your Jesus Christ
were brothers, after all.

Why should we not be?

Why not, indeed?

A stag is easy pickings.

Where I grew up
on the Persian foothills,

the white tiger was our prey.

Do tigers come in white?

In all colours, my lady...
white,

yellow, brown.

- Why, I have even heard of tigers striped.
- Striped?

- Never.
- I killed one with my bare hands.

Have you seen a unicorn?

- I have spoken with them.
- What language do they speak?

It is in a meter
known only to Allah.

Ah.

I almost feel at home here,
my Christian brother.

So many races,
so many faiths...

so many costumes.
Where did they all come from?

They're Murranos...
exiled Jews from Spain.

Ah, and they are welcome here?

My father the pope draws
no distinction,

at least not where commerce
rears its pretty head.

You mean they pay
for the privilege of being here?

- No more than you do.
- Ah...

But I am your guest, surely.

My brother contributes towards
the expenses of my stay here,

but the hospitality
you have shown me...

no one could pay for that.

She's growing, Rodrigo...

- may I still call you Rodrigo?
- You may not, madame.

What am I to call you, then,
father of my children?

You know very well, Vanozza.

She is growing, Your Holiness.

And I imagine your presence here has
something to do with that fact.

It does indeed.

We can both be proud of her.

We can, my dear.

I am still your dear, then?

Always.

She must be married.

I know she must.
But when?

Soon.

The vultures are circling
our family.

Our Rome.

We must protect ourselves.

Must we marry her
to a vulture, then?

We must marry her.

Promise me one thing.

- If I can.
- She can meet her betrothed

before she is bartered like a golden calf.
We can give her that, at least.

Have you heard the news, Djem?

There is so much news
my little one.

The news seems to change
by the hour in Rome.

My news.

You have news?

I'm to be married.

- Oh, my dear.
- Have you been married?

I have taken four women
to wife.

- Four? - Mm-hmm.
- Where are they now?

In the seraglio of Topkaki
Palace, Constantinople.

- How many wives can you have?
- As many as Allah sees fit to provide.

As to concubines,
an infinite number.

What is the difference, Djem, between

wife and concubine?
- No difference, really.

Ah, you can beat a wife,
but not kill her.

- You can kill a concubine?
- If she displeases you.

You can kill a wife too, but
the displeasure must be grave.

I will not be beaten, Djem.

No.
You are the pope's daughter.

You are the most beautiful
treasure this Vatican contains.

If a husband tries to beat you,

I, Djem, will strangle him
with my bare hands.

- We are awash with suitors.
- Is this good news?

Well, only four are
remotely suitable.

So few?

Every prince in Christendom
wants to make suit.

But of the Italians...
and I think you'll agree,

only an Italian makes
strategic sense...

Colonna. Sforza.

Medici.

D'Este.

- What of Alfonso of Naples?
- Oh...

He would be ideal.

But both France and Spain lay
claim to the Kingdom of Naples,

and the might of each eclipses
that of all of Italy.

We must keep those options
open... for now.

Come on, Djem.

It seems like
Juan has found a brother.

Did he not already have one?

Oh, indeed, but...
how should I put it?

A brother in arms!

Ah.

Bravo!

Do not worry,
my Christian brother.

I would never do you harm.
I love you.

- More, come on!
Next time, Djem.

- 40,000 ducats.
- If he lives.

What?

If he dies, and his body is
delivered to his brother,

who hates and fears him,
400,000.

You would never.

No!
It would be unthinkable.

We swore to be his protection.

- I'm just telling you.
The request was made.

Good!

Sforza. Borgia.

If our families were to unite,

central Italy would be secure,

and our cousin,
Ludovico Sforza of Milan,

has pledged to ally
with our interests.

Your Holiness has requested
a meeting

with Giovanni Sforza,
Lord of Pesaro.

He will understand
how impossible that is,

without an agreement
on a dowry.

A dowry.

But of course.

The Sforza family needs
substantial funds

to re-equip its armies
for the coming storm.

My brother Meliaduse was
Abbot of Pomposa.

His mother was a Medici,
you know. Yes,

he died back in '52.

But you'll remember my sister,
Ginevra?

She married Pandolfo Malatesta
of Rimini.

Or was that Lucrezia?

Union with my nephew might
strengthen the boundless love

between the families of Colonna

and Borgia.

There is no barrier
to his succession. The prince,

his elder brother,
is confined to a madhouse.

Perhaps it runs in the family.

Our Venetian ships plow
the oceans

from here to the Orient.
Rome could benefit from a navy

off the coast of Ostia.

Yes, but...

...he is somewhat...

...young?

Oh.

I think he's deaf.

Are you deaf?

Dance with me, then.

Do I have to marry, Cesare?

No.

You can take the cloth like me.
You can become a nun.

We'll live in sanctity
and prayer, like Abelard

and Eloise.

Did they love each other?

With a love as pure and
all-consuming as the love of God.

So, then.

I shall become a nun.

For I shall never love a husband
as I love you, Cesare.

I am afraid, dear Sis,

that the pope does not ask you
to love your future husband;

merely to marry him.

So, love and marriage...
Are they incompatible?

No. But I have been told that
one does not imply the other.

Is that not sad, Cesare?

Most things in life prove
to be sad, Sis.

Again, I have been told.

And if my husband proves
ungallant?

I shall cut his heart out
with a dinner knife

and serve it to you.

Sforza's the one.

Your Holiness approves of him?

As you have informed us,
Della Rovere has fled Naples,

and is heading north.

Of course.

So if Rome is united
with the Sforza dynasty,

- Mm-hmm. - Milan will close its doors
to him if he seeks help there.

That is the outcome
we wish for.

But these things are never
certain, Cesare.

And what of Lucrezia?

Sforza is personable...
not unlike your brother.

And her mother approves.

Must I ask again,
Your Holiness?

What of Lucrezia?
Her feelings?

You will not ask again.

You know the nature
of these arrangements.

That heathen outstays
his welcome.

How?

You have seen him
dancing with Lucrezia.

So?
Send him home.

We can ill afford to.

There is the matter of a dowry.

Your Eminence.

That manservant
of yours, Cesare.

Micheletto?

I'd borrow him awhile.

- You need his services?
- For a day or two.

Is our father that short
of funds?

He must raise a dowry
for our sister's betrothal.

Can he not borrow
from Florence?

Four hundred thousand ducats
is hard to come by.

So you need my Micheletto.

But you shall not have him.

- You have a soft spot for heathens?
- Maybe.

And our sister loves Djem.

She would miss him
at her wedding.

There are others
of Micheletto's kind in Rome.

Find one, if you can.

But spare me the details.

His food is prepared by his
personal cook, a blackamoor.

His meat must be bled,
and wine is forbidden him.

- Does he not drink water?
- Mint tea, my lord, spiced and sugared.

But cantarella and sugar do not
always mix.

What is this?

A cookery lesson?

A request was made
for a private confession?

It is true I made the request,
though I know little of the rite.

Djem.

It is indeed me,
Cardinal Borgia.

And I have but one thing
to confess.

And what would that be?

I wish to become a Christian.

Why, my dear brother?

Because of the kindness
you Christians have shown to me.

I have found peace
in this Rome of yours.

I have been reading the gospels,
the words of St. Matthew.

"See how these Christians love
one another."

I would gladly embrace
a religion of such charity.

You might find,
dear Djem, that...

...we are not
always so kind.

White is so dull.

But surely a wedding dress
should be white?

This dress... is
for your betrothal, my love.

And given the size of your dowry,
it should be of solid gold.

Open.

Oh!

I wanted, my dear Lucrezia,

to give you a taste
of my homeland.

Before the Lord Sforza plucks
you forever from my view.

Please, brothers, sit.

Moussa, thali!
Food.

It's beautiful, Djem.

- Syre ri.
- How do I eat it?

With your fingers.
Like this.

I also wanted
to thank the three of you

for your kindness towards me.

- Are you leaving us soon?
- Oh, by the heavens, no. I dread the day

I have to leave the bosom
of your kindness.

Our ways at the Courts
of the Sultan can be...

...cruel
beyond your imaginations.

I have a good imagination.

Oh.

My brother's predecessor had the eyes of
all of his male relatives plucked out

and brought to him
on a silver platter.

Twenty-two
of them.

That's 44 eyes.
Why on earth?

Because one who is blind
could never take his place.

Clever.

Mm. So to be
among Christian souls,

among the bosom of a family such
as yours, is fortune indeed.

I'll drink to that.

And to your future happiness,
my dear Lucrezia.

Bismillah.

Your air is, uh...

- Djem.
Djem?

Forgive me, Cardinal.
I have ruined your attire.

Djem...

Allahu Akbar.
Cesare!

You hired an amateur!

You forbade me
your professional.

- You need lessons in killing?
Cesare!

I have been poisoned, Cesare.

My brother the Sultan has
found a way.

And it can only have been
through this blackamoor here...

he has poisoned me!

Are you sure?

I am certain,
as Allah is my witness.

Who else could have
touched my food?

Guards!

Come, my brother.

We must speak
with the professional.

Cantarella.

Mixed in with his sugar,
my lord.

- Who recommended such a thing?
- The blackamoor prepares his food.

He mixes the sugar with his tea.
There was no other way.

Then he will be in agony
for weeks.

You know of a better way?

- You spoke to no one of this?
- I swear, my lord.

Take him out of here.

Somewhere safe.

And you, my dear brother.

You must finish
what you started.

I will clear the corridor
of the guards.

Leave us.

You would kill our dear Moor?

I thought I had.

Cesare!

Take a breath.

You would not recommend
cantarella, then?

Not with sugar, my friend, no.

Cool me down, brother.

Console me, brother.

A pillow. A towel,
dipped in cold water.

You?

No, no!

So our sister's dowry is done?

Here endeth the first lesson.

"for the hospitality provided to
the Royal Highness Prince Djem,

"400,000 ducats from the Sultan of
Constantinople to the Holy See.

"A further 100,000 ducats

"for the most excellent medical
care provided to His Majesty,

"and a further 40,000 ducats

for funeral expenses."

Father God Almighty,

who wert, art, and shall be
blessed world without end,

I beseech Thee,

watch over my daughter,
Lucrezia.

And grant me guidance
and wisdom.

I pray that I have made
the right decision for her.

♪