Original subtitles

May 1494. Trinity Sunday.

Giulia.

You returned. Giulia.

Come back.

We're sorry. We did not mean to hit you.

No, Lucrezia.

No.

You are back from Lyon.

Giulia. Stay.

Giulia. When we open this door, we want you on the other side.

No tricks.

- Do not go through that door. - Giulia.

- Holiness... - Get out of my way.

May 1494 The Blessed Trinity

May the reception of this sacrament...

Oh Lord, our God...

as also the confession of our Faith...

in the Holy and Everlasting Trinity...

and in its Undivided Unity...

prosper us in body and soul.

These poisons made my soul feel so lofty.

Yet in truth they divided my soul from my flesh and my brain.

The three must rejoin...

like the Trinity. I will endure.

I will renew myself.

We are the Vicar of Christ.

Remarkable.

You bring musicians and pages and nobles and bravi and grooms

and yet still all eyes look to you alone.

There is only one woman whose love I want. And one man whom she still may love.

And one King who can separate the two. And none of them were among these common folk.

A sign of welcome, or a threat.

Cesare Borgia, envoy of His Holiness Pope Alexander VI.

Ah, my old friend.

Dressed so much more extravagantly than last I saw you...

the night you murdered the Shahzadeh Djem,

butchered four of my soldiers, torched my encampment

and used the Cappadocian horses, which you had gifted me, to escape.

I did not murder the Shahzadeh.

- Do you not bow? - Of course. Particularly to Your Highness.

We send to you, Most Christian King, our hearts...

that is to say, our son, Cesare...

who is prized by us beyond all measure.

Let him be a signal of our endless affection for you...

your Queen and for France.

I understand I missed quite the arrival.

- What happened again? - I counted at least 14 carts with gifts

and 16 armored thoroughbreds.

I saw at once those horses were Italian.

Their shoes were made of silver.

Your Highness, I have travelled up the Apennines...

across the Alps, over the fields of Provence...

to talk to you about the night I killed a man.

This man whom I killed had been viciously intimate with my mother.

When I learned of the assault, I was...

I felt myself disappear...

and became a man made of straw.

Who here knows such devastation?

We all do.

When I learned the identity of the assailant, I found him.

He happened to be French.

And I looked him in the eye and I stuck him with my dagger.

I twisted the blade until his insides bled.

He whimpered and collapsed...

and I had won.

The world minus another devil.

Who here knows such victory?

- Some of us do. - And how does it feel?

- Triumphant. - How else?

- Blissful. - How else?

Frightening.

Because the only way to rid the world of evil, is by putting yourself in its path.

Exposing your own insides.

Calm are the complacent, never rising from their chairs.

Calm are the judgmental, never putting themselves at risk.

But show me a man who feels fright...

and I will show you a man with values and loved ones.

With the blood of his heart filling his muscles.

Because he is willing to stake his last breath...

on something that is more than nothing.

I have taken a life.

I have created a son.

I have been in love.

Each time I was afraid.

Those who do not know such fear...

do not know courage.

Majesty, at this moment, the crescent of Islam darkens the world.

Catholic mothers suffer at Muslim hands.

Pilgrims to the Holy Land are massacred.

There is a trail of straw men from here to Jerusalem.

Take your army. Light them on fire.

Prove yourself the Most Christian of Kings.

You tried to apologize at my wedding reception and I refused.

- I am sorry. - I am sorry that I hurt you.

When I learned that I was to be a father, I became giddy.

A man is never giddy unless he hears such news.

- I understand. - So...

you still love me?

- I do. - Then why are you on that horse?

Do you love me?

How can I remain in Rome, with my leg now unquestionably healed?

My wife will accept few excuses.

I thought my marriage a punishment from God.

With my son once again in my arms, I know...

that for the sake of his happiness, I must be happy as well.

Let me try again.

You asked me to teach you how to defend yourself, but women are not supposed to fight like men.

Then women should not be hit by men.

- With which hand did Pope Alexander strike you? - His right.

Better.

Eminence. Signora.

His Holiness requests your return to Rome.

And Francesc Gacet requests yours.

Since when is the Captain-General of the Papal Guard a messenger boy?

If you refuse to obey, I will come back to Capodimonte, not as a messenger,

but as the Captain-General, with the full force of my guard.

You ungrateful conniving cow,

tell whatever man clasped between your legs to dismount.

We demand that you return to Rome this instant.

If not, we will judge the evil of your soul and you will suffer.

What a lout.

- Gacet says Alexander is sickly. - Because of the vitriolo.

Let him go away. It is best.

Our family has accepted his generosity. We owe him his wrath.

He's an old lecher...

who will die, if not now, by the next fever or a sour grape.

Where will that leave Laura? The illegitimate daughter of a dead pope's whore?

Rodrigo believes in family. He will arrange provisions for his child.

For Vannozza Catanei's children, yes.

He gave her a husband. Several. To provide an income and...

Angelo, dear, please. Do not hurt yourself.

If that vulture does not leave you alone, Giulia...

- I will kill him. Where is my sword? - Calm down.

Please, calm down.

Alessandro, go to Rome. Tell Rodrigo to put down his filthy pen...

and secure a marriage for your sister.

- Any word from Giulia? - She is no antidote.

Bring Vannozza Catanei.

- Highness, please. - Step away. I'm coming through.

Your Highness, no. Highness, please.

The Borgia have all turned mad.

- Princess, what is this? - I must see Father.

- Please, dismount at once. - He is dying?

- No, the illness is temporary. - Then, as Camerlengo, you speak in his voice.

Alfonso d'Este must be named to a position in the Vatican hierarchy.

You dabble in politics now, Highness?

I trample cockroaches, secretary. Does not Ferrara too often favor Milan over Rome?

Duke Ercole is a pious dolt.

He even supported Savonarola.

What better way to make a Duke an ally than by employing his son?

She has good logic.

We have not had a Papal Archivist since the sudden demise of cardinal Zeno.

The salary is substantial, yes?

The office is in Rome. Is that not all the payment you seek?

Cesare, do you not enjoy venison?

I'm sorry. My wits are not with me.

There is a woman, one of your ladies-in-waiting...

Carlotta d'Aragona.

Carlotta.

I love Carlotta.

Love? From a Borgia?

- I grant my blessing. - No, she's betrothed to your cousin.

- Which one? - Guy de Leval.

Ah, yes. I had forgotten.

These palace courtships...

When I gaze upon the two of you, Majesties, I am tormented by jealousy.

Jealousy? Of us?

The love between you.

Love is a trait that Jesus displayed.

Compassion for others.

I can see that you have known such love.

Our son, Charles Orlando, died four months ago.

He was three years old. Our only issue.

- How cruel to lose a child. - Yet, I did not cry.

Such weakness, such indulgence never felt proper for someone of my birth.

During my son's funeral cortege...

I followed his tiny body as we approached the Cathedrale de Saint Martin.

Passing my subjects who lined the streets...

I remained, as always, stoic.

And then Cardinal Briconnet whispered:

Your Highness, you do not need your people's respect...

because you have their love.

And I looked upon the mourners...

and I saw all of France...

bereaved.

I touched my boy's hand...

and I wept every tear...

I have ever withheld.

What my people showed me, was true love.

- Yes. - But...

you do not speak of love, Cesare Borgia. You speak of romance.

Romance is for young girls.

- I am a man. - Ah, so you really speak of lust.

What did Jacob feel when he set his eyes upon Rachel?

- Name that and you will know of what I speak. - No scripture, please.

Cesare, I can see that you are a man in need.

So, following Christ's example, I will show you compassion.

Charles, do not bargain on that girl's future.

She has a chance to have a good life by marrying whom she chooses.

- Unlike us. - Are you still a sporting man?

With our racing horses and your bullfights?

- I favor nothing more than competition. - Guy de Leval is a Breton.

- My countryman. - He is my cousin and my subject.

Beat me at a palm game and I will forbid Guy from marrying Carlotta.

- Carlotta is my lady-in-waiting. - She could do no better than the son of the Pope.

You challenge me to a palm game?

I am a master.

- I accept. - Not now. Tomorrow.

Tonight we have lust to discuss.

And food to digest.

The Pope gave Cesare 200,000 ducats to spend for his campaign to Lyon.

Yes, he was resplendent, but his absence leaves a gaping hole in the Treasury.

Holy Father epitomizes fiscal restraint, except in terms of his own children.

While in Capodimonte, I devised a way to bolster Mother Church's finances.

- What do many of the Roman noblemen have? - Eminence, I am in no mood to play puzzles.

Money and facial hair.

I propose a tax on beards.

The rich will pay to prove that they can afford to.

And the poor will look better without the scrags.

You will present your plan at today's Consistory.

Should I not first tell the Pope?

Is this your attempt to ferret out the state of Alexander's health?

My sister wants to remarry.

When next you meet the Pope, you will not even mention the name Giulia Farnese.

My love...

Do your new duties as Prefect of the Papal Archives

give you the freedom to travel the city mid-day?

The Archives are in total disarray.

The monks who serve me have been fobbed off from other departments due to their incompetence.

And the place smells.

Oh, what I endure to be near you.

Poor soul.

- Alfonso. - Yes?

Come see baby Giovanni.

I am dirty from the hunt.

four, five, six, seven, eight.

To keep our sanity, we count our footsteps.

With eight, we make a circle.

There's a chip in my toe. That's not what we meant.

We cannot speak the right words.

I will bandage your hands to keep you from scratching the wounds.

- You slept with Della Rovere. - I did not.

While I was a Cardinal Vice Chancellor and he a mere Bishop.

I did not.

After my uncle died and I was locked in the conclave.

I did not even know you then.

Water, water, water.

The proposed tax is voluntary. If you do not wish to pay, shave your beard.

This is what comes from putting the papal purse in the hands of a pauper.

A beard... Brothers. Silence.

A beardless Rome will improve the city's overall cleanliness.

Clean-shaven men foul the streets just as much as those with whiskers.

The seat of the Holy Mother Church must have an appearance of civility.

The seat of Holy Mother Church is empty.

You're trying to line your pockets while Borgia is incapacitated.

This is no true session unless a Pope is present.

I concur. How dire is his health?

The Pope has a mild fever and an upset stomach.

Whilst he recovers, the Pontiff names a regent.

Fregnese?

Pope Alexander VI hereby anoints as Vice Chancellor of the Holy See...

Cardinal...

Rafaele Riario-Sansoni.

- What is this? - Oh, Della Rovere...

always the sinking ship to Sansoni's rat.

As Camerlengo I have proven myself true to the Word of Christ.

What in holy hell is this?

I am honored and accept the position. I will attend to the office dutifully.

Is this Borgia's signature or another of your forgeries?

My first act as Vice Chancellor will be to approve the proposed taxation on facial hair.

Where is Borgia? We demand to see Borgia in the flesh.

Our second act is to reinstate Giuliano Cardinal Della Rovere...

- as Papal Legate to France. - Have you abducted the Bishop of Rome?

Does he even live? Are you hiding a corpse?

The Pope has a mild fever and an upset stomach.

I love you.

And I accept you for who you are.

Why can you not love me for who I am?

Because you do not truly love me for who I am.

- I am merely an echo of someone else. - You are wrong.

I love only you.

Already warm, I see.

When the stakes are as high as one's future happiness, a man must do all he can.

I married Anne to control Bretagne.

Not for love or romance or lust.

But then I felt all three.

She did not.

I challenged you, because in your defeat I hope to see for a brief moment...

my wife smile at me.

If you were to lose, then you should grant me the thoroughbreds you brought to Lyon.

- Do you accept? - I accept.

And the chest of gold in your possession.

I accept.

I will serve first.

Pareil.

If I win, you will help me mount a second campaign against King Federigo,

the father of your one true love.

You keep adding conditions to our wager to see when I will say: "She isn't worth this much."

She is.

You serve.

Pareil.

- The game has begun. - I am praying for His Highness.

Have you told Guy?

I will pray as well.

For King Charles to win?

For Almighty God to choose.

Ace.

I won.

- You will keep your word? - Yes.

I will tell Guy.

But first, I ask you to contemplate the passion which you have for Carlotta.

- Is it love or is it obsession? - Are they different?

Come.

Let us make ourselves presentable for my cousin, Guy de Leval.

Bad news should not be delivered in sweat-stained clothes.

If you do not mind me saying so, you run gracefully.

The reason why I adore this game. When I play, I can forget who I am.

Are you hurt?

My husband does not want you to visit.

- You were right about the smell. - Look at this mess.

Not a single letter or memorandum has been thrown away since the time of Pope Nicholas.

How am I to organize it?

Burn it.

- Set the room ablaze. - No.

Then I would not have a hiding place to enjoy you...

away from that idiot Neapolitan.

- Where is my wife? - She has gone in search for a document in the Papal Archives.

I will have a servant fetch her.

Your eyes are so pretty.

- Your Highness... - People praise Lucrezia's beauty...

yet here you are. Standing right next to her.

- The eyes of Cleopatra. - Yes, Highness.

My suitors go on endlessly about my eyes.

But it's all they ever notice. Me?

I have yet to see a pair of eyes which make me blink.

Your Majesty called for me?

Yes, dear cousin.

I summoned you...

Highness?

Guy...

I summoned you to impart news...

which you will not enjoy t...

Doctor.

Bring a doctor.

He is near death.

You cry.

In bitterness, there is security.

When one goes, so does the other.

You will keep his promise?

Leave this room, Borgia.

He may not live.

His cousin and heir, Louis, Duke of Orleans has been sent for.

Even when I win, I lose.

And when you lose, you must win. As you did with Charles, charm Louis.

Once, I killed a witch, who with her last breath cursed me.

So too Savonarola.

Strange. When I believed in God, I did not believe in curses.

Your righteous indignation was quite convincing, cousin.

As was your moral superiority.

Perhaps, instead of priests, we should have been actors.

Even as Papal Legate to France...

I am not convinced that you can keep Cesare from becoming King of Naples.

Then I will cheer him onwards. Just as you will be Borgia's biggest supporter.

Until you hurt him.

Your entourage awaits you at the Piazza del Popolo?

Yes, a hundred of my bravi...

- Giuliano, what have I done? - We are being watched. Judas.

Judas.

My passport to France.

Goodbye, Borgia sycophants.

Cardinal Farnese.

An urgent message from your sister.

Angelo's soul has gone to Heaven.

Mama remains in Capodimonte to prepare his body for burial.

I am sorry to give you such sad tidings on this happy day.

- Why happy? - Has Silvia not told you?

You and I are going to have another child.

When will this end?

My insides have nothing left to give.

The poison is almost completely removed from your system, Rodrigo.

You said that this morning. I cannot do this.

Bring me some vitriolo.

- Rodrigo... - You heard me.

Get some vitriolo.

We are the Pope. You're a cunt, Vannozza.

You're excommunicated. I curse you, you Muslim sodomite.

Make way for Louis, Duke of Orleans.

Out of my way. Out of my way.

Where am I walking?

- Where am I walking? - Your Grace.

I am sorry to meet you under such circumstances.

Cesare Borgia.

I understand that my cousin's injury happened during a game with you.

You must immediately banish all feelings of guilt.

You are utterly innocent and I and Jesus and the good people of France consider you thus.

- Thank you, Your Grace. - Look at you, sturdy young man.

What was Charles thinking, opposing you?

Still, I will insist upon a rematch, to defend the name of Anjou.

Guy, show me to my cousin.

Ah, Charles.

- What say you? - My Lord, we are moments away.

- Where is Anne? - When the queen heard of your arrival, she excused herself.

My cousin and I have not always agreed on foreign policy or family matters.

But he is my sovereign.

To see him die here, like a withered crone...

It is a tragedy.

- What are you doing? - Help me.

- Stop this. - Come on, Louis.

Guy, the door.

- Clear a path. - Which way are we going?

This way.

No, we have him.

Yes, Cesare Borgia...

this is better.

Where is the crown?

There you are, Majesty.

Her Majesty, Queen Anne.

- My Lord. - My Queen.

Please rise, Your Royal Highness.

The King is dead, long live the King.

The King is dead, long live the King.

The King is dead, long live the King.

Francesc.

Vannozza.

We are ready.

- It goes on your head. - I must await the coronation.

Otherwise, I tempt fate.

Wearing the crown will take some getting used to. I thought...

if I just have it laying around, I'll be more at ease.

Have you informed your wife that she will be queen?

Oh, my wife. Dear Jeanne.

Not yet.

Anne does not have to leave the royal bedchamber.

Of course she does.

The Queen, now the Dowager Queen, must return to Bretagne and...

You love her.

I will hate to lose such strategic lands. The Tudor King...

You love her.

Come, Highness.

As a man in love, I can recognize the signs of a man in the same turmoil.

When one is royalty, appearance is supreme.

As King, I can do anything that my subjects would allow.

- You are forced to lead a moral life. - A regulated one.

I am the son of Pope Alexander VI.

He who decides morals.

He who alters regulations.

Ah, alright.

I get to see the Borgia mind at work.

I can secure for you a papal annulment from the Duchess Jeanne.

So you may love whom you love.

And keep Bretagne away from England.

Oh, I see that we shall be good friends.

I will do all I can to ensure your happiness.

In return, you will do all you can to ensure mine.

I see that we shall be best friends.

King.

Cesare must become a king.

Of Naples or Italy.

The first Borgia whose children will inherit respect...

instead of fighting for it.

Their name. Their blood. A dynasty to outlast time.

The Vice Chancellor would like to present you with a gift, Holiness.

- Who? - Riario-Sansoni.

- I appointed him Vice Chancellor? - Yes.

Are you well enough for an audience, Rodrigo?

Yes.

Holiness.

In gratitude for my promotion...

and in celebration of your recovery...

I present you with this exquisite Crucifix.

Who did this? Which genius?

- He waits outside. - Bring him to us.

Buonarroti.

I present you the artist Michelangelo Buonarroti...

formerly of Florence.

- How did you create something so divine? - With my hands, Good Father.

Many men work with their hands.

Few connect to the eternal.

We are so distant from Christ now.

In 1500 years He has become an idea alone.

I need to know the Jesus who was also flesh.

He had a head and a heart, a penis and an arse.

His tongue could taste grapes and his teeth could ache.

His hands may have felt callous when they caressed another skin.

God created the human body, Good Father.

We are duty-bound to celebrate such an extraordinary creation.

Yes.

Yes.

We count on Gracious God, ever old, ever new.

You shall design our tomb.

Subtitles by MemoryOnSmells http://UKsubtitles.ru. Edited by bifutake.