The Borgias ep. 7, Death, on a Pale Horse - Recap

How do you solve a problem like a Borgia? How do you calm your loins when he's around?

French camp! As the army packs up their greesly things, Della Rovere and that blond general stroll through the camp chit-chatting about purveyors of greesliness. "Tell me, Cardinal," asks General Blond, "What is the Italian for cannon?" "We have no such word, General." Ditto for battery, cannonball, and something that sounds like "ordinance". General Blond snickers. I'm thinking snickering at Della Rovere is practically a hobby for most of them by this point. And that's where the French word "delarovère" (“pansy-ass holy man”) comes from. Kidding. Anyway, the conversation makes no sense, since it's not established exactly what language they're speaking. And no, "accents" is not a language.

So now that we're all prepped and foreshadowed, we move on to: Legs! The legs from the opening titles, in fact! I'm surprised they're only showing up now. Anyway, it's Juan and Sancia, talking all sorts of nonsense and rolling around and being hot and stuff. And I'm going to defend Juan's hotness for a moment: that haircut is not his fault and he looks a lot like James Purefoy. We can't all be Françios Arnaud, nor can we all get François Arnaud's wig. Something distracts Sancia, and she hops off Juan's testes and pendentes to look out the window. Little Gioffre (who is still Little Gioffre to me - I don't care who he is, where he's from, don't care what he did as long as he loves playing with Lucrezia's dolls) is chasing pigeons or something. Sancia is charmed by this; I think she loves Little Gioffre as much as I do. It's a funny thing, when your husband gives you baby pangs, but for some reason I don't think Sancia is put off, 'specially since she's got Juan's pasty "vigour" to play with.

 Lucrezia and Cesare! ...are still not having sex. Fast forward.

Kidding. As they walk out into the courtyard, Lucrezia sighs that she'll need to go back to Sforza the Rapist. She has a crazy sense of wifely duty, or daughterly duty as the case may be. She and Cesare have that in common. But Cesare's pissed. "I should keep you here in chains, I suspect you would be happier," he says all frustrated. "Why do you question my happiness?" Lucrezia coos. I don't know, sweetie, ask your face. It looks like a slapped ass. Cesare agrees. "You know longer walk on air. Where is my young sister hiding?" That line is a little unfortunate. I was really enjoying Holliday Grainger's acting until that anvil crushed her into Holliday soup. He asks, sort of trying to be conversational, what Giovanni's hobbies are, presumably so he can send Michelotto out into the Pesaro forest dressed as a tree. (I'd really like to see that.) She answers, "Hunting... the marital bed." Now why would you bring that up? You're supposed to be good at evasion! Cesare tries and almost fails not to puke. "I dislike him already," he understates. "There was a reason for my marriage," she almost rebukes. Then, "Remind me of it?" Chezzie's got nothing; he storms off. Wait, so is she trying to keep Cesare out of the loop or is she asking for his help? Because, Show, you can't have both. (I mean you specifically can't have both. You could, if you were a better-written show. But you're not. So you can't.)

Also, I'm officially taking bets on Giovanni's death - date and method. I accept dollars, euros and booze.

Lucrezia rides out all sad-like, Francesca bringing up the rear. Oh come ON, Show! Francesca's legit. Next time she's in Rome give her something to do. Example: laxatives in Cardinal Nose's rabbit baked in milk. No reason, I just think it would be funny.

Cesare and his blue balls walk down a stone corridor with that raspy hair-chopping nun from last episode. They exposit that Cesare's the main patron of the abbey, and that he's not been around, and apparently their new novitiate Sister "Martha" is a good egg, and then he enters a cloister. "Sister Martha," he says in a perfectly normal tone of voice. Ursula bitches, "Do I detect some levity in your tone, Cardinal?" No, you morose hag, you didn't. Ursula only discovered that Cesare was the Cardinal benefactor of St. Cecelia after she'd taken her vows, which "even [she] can see the humour in". Tell your face. And anyway, why is that even a problem? Is the Cardinal benefactor just a fancy term for "Nun Pimp"? Is "Convent" Latin for "ho den"? I don't think so. But Cesare seems to, given the velocity with which he lunges for her. She darts, whining that no man may touch her now. "The one who touches me, who lives inside my heart, who visits me nightly [ooer], died on the cross many centuries ago." Cesare laughs at that. "I have another rival." BLASPHEMY! Ursula is not impressed. Neither am I, with her. Then Ursula prophesies boringly that Cesare's immense "power" will shake up Italy in some way. Very good, Sister Obvious. And he laughs at her again, and she kicks him out. And then she cries and pants and clutches her ovaries, I mean rosary.

Aaand it's scheming time! Rodrigo has received intelligence that a buttload of frogs are marching towards Milan. Cesare's like "My God!" because he doesn't watch The Borgias. Then Rodrigo exposits, though we've heard it a thousand times so it's barely exposition, that the troupes will get through Milan in a cinch, and Florence? No damn idea at all, except that, if they march through Florentine territory, Florence "will do something". Rodrigo's highly unimpressed. "French arms may alter the WHOLE equation!!" he squeaks, flapping his hands around hilariously. And it's just a pile of ohshit. "We are facing... a battle for our very survival," hams Rodrigo. Then a PA rushes the reel to the editing room so they can cut that last line into the trailer.

Pesaro in a sunshower is a very pretty place, especially when Lucrezia and Paulo are canoodling in the middle of it. They talk nonsense about thunder. Well, mostly Lucrezia does . "It is God rehearsing His wrath, it is Jove flexing his muscles... it is my husband throwing off his splint." So that's a big downer. Paulo is utterly confused as to why they can't continue their secret boffing, but Lucrezia's a romaaaantic. (For his benefit at least.) "Have you not read your Boccaccio? Your Petrarch?" she coos. Bit unsensitive. Paulo looks a bit affronted. "You know I can't read," he mumbles. It's sad... has she offended him? Well, if so, she does not give a shit and a half, so she literally says "If you did you'd know... young lovers are always doomed." He doesn't know how to shut her up with words so he starts makin' out with her instead. It does the trick.

Later, she walks in through the kitchen, all wet. Francesca thinks it's very funny. She puts a comically small towel over Lucrezia's shoulders. Then Giovanni walks in. Awkward silence. "You are... wet, my lady," he says, trying for a smile. "I am, but not for you," Lucrezia doesn't say. He awkwardly orders Francesca to have her dry before dinner, and to not have her be wet again. Francesca's like "Well, she's married to you, so that's half the battle right there." Too many "wet" jokes? Probably. He tells Francesca that he wants to speak with Paulo tomorrow. Like, does anyone work there aside from Francesca and Paulo?

Cesare in his hot big boy attire and Cardinal Sforza in his fancy red dress saunter down the hall discussing Ludovico Sforza's dumb stupid decision to let the French pass through Milan and you know what? It's totally Rodrigo's fault. Who's dumb idea was it to threaten him with his locked-up nephew anyway? Not the Cardinal's. Cardinal Sforza agrees; in the face of Cesare's rising panic he displays mostly resignation and extreme eye-rolling. Finally, Cesare asks him outright whether they're still cool, whether they can count on Sforza's support. "Yes, yes," he sighs, and tries to shake him off. Cesare chases him down and warns him that Giovanni Sforza had better be cool as well. Finally Sforza is just super done with him and his pedantic threats. There's a glimpse of an interesting Cardinal Sforza character, except it's different from his initial slimy schemer characterization and even more different from the screamy-sex cousinfucker characterization and wildly divergent from the lame-ass do-nothing waste of film they've had him be most of the rest of the time. I could blame the actor, but I've been having fun blaming the writers for everything else, so I'll just keep doing that if nobody objects.

Dinner time, and Lucrezia is dry. She's also completely tactless, browbeating her hubby about why would he want to speak to the groom, his employee, and whether it's wise for him to hunt again. He's like, "Know what's even wiser? Sex is even wiser. Hoocha hoocha hoocha." Lucrezia's like fuuuck my life.

So, back in her bedroom, looking all tousled and pretty, she takes matters into her own damn hands, spilling water from the washbasin (I mean, I assume it's the washbasin, could be a chamberpot, which would be funnier) over the floor in a very specific path to the bed. Because, you know, of that old superstition where the man has to walk the exact same path from the door to the bed every single night or his testes will fall off.* She hears him coming and arranges herself pleasantly on the bed, even slipping her nightgown off one shoulder. He likes what he sees. "You're a vision," he sighs. She is; she's lit like a painting. "Even for a Borgia?" she bitches. He brushes off that last remark, and right as he starts talking about an heir he slips hilariously on the spill and goes "ARGH" as he timbers down. "My lord," says Lucrezia, absolutely not surprised enough and barely hiding her smirk. He just keeps screaming and making funny faces as she "helps him up" (i.e. shoves him around, I guess trying to break his spine as well).

*There is no such superstition.

Rodrigo sulks by the bed with a glass of wine as Giulia Farnese gets ready for bed. He's talking more politics and we hear the word "Lucca" and it's all pretty bleak until Giulia climbs over him to get into bed, and he realizes, "Perhaps the leg of our beloved Italy will provide some solace." She turns him down flat. "Whaaaat," he Scars. Then he goes over the whole geography a-fucking-gain but before he can shove his elderly fingers into France she gently informs him, "It's that time of the month." "Ah," he concedes, holding his hands up in surrender. "Most men consider it unclean," she flirts. Which is a weird way to flirt, but they're weird. "But we are not most men," Rodrigo proclaims. Which is also weird, taking the Papal "we" into the bedroom. Also, maybe not unclean, but certainly messy, why would you want to do that to your pretty sheets? Oh, right, because you're rich.

Lucca. The unimpressive guards stand behind the battlements while an army that's a bit of an overkill if you ask me marches in formation over the rolling green slopes. Oogly King Charles, General Blond and Della Rovere sit on horseback up front while a bunch of spear-carrying extras, both real and CGI, prep for the grisliness. A messenger rides to the fore and, in an even more froggie accent than Charles, says that they have their surrender, if they agree to discuss terms. "Let us show them terms," Charles scoffs, before giving the signal. FIRE! Cannonballs pummel the wall of Lucca, sending citizens fleeing from the rubble and soldiers tumbling ass-backwards from the battlements. Debris flies off the wall in little poofs. One of the cannons blows the front door (made of wood, which is a bit thoughtless, I think) right off its hinges. The army cheers like they just did something incredibly difficult and awesome. They're ordered forward. Della Rovere is molto confused. They charge through the door, bottlenecking, sweeping like a blue and silver tide through the walled city, citizens fleeing. A couple of Luccan guards go down, slashed easily through the neck. It's claustrophobic. General Blond asks if he should order restraint. Charles goes, "What is restraint? Is that Italian for 'fag'?" and order more carnage. Which they deliver, happily. Extras jog. Extras huddle. Extras slash little girls in the back. Little girls and grandmas and anyone else they could muster up. Della Rovere suddenly remembers he's a priest: he shoves a soldier aside and cradles a freshly-skewered woman in his arms, but there's nothing to say because it's his fault, and anyway there are bodies dropping all around him and there's absolutely nothing he can do. He can't run, he can't cry, he certainly can't laugh, and suddenly Savonarola's magnified voice repeats that portentous monologue about blood running through the streets - and it's powerful, until the editors slip a wee clip of that scene in there in case we'd forgotten about Savonarola, but we hadn't, so it ends up being heavy-handed and a bit stupid-looking.

Later, in a dining room filled with French men eating and drinking and going "beh oui, hon hon hon", Della Rovere nastily turns away a waiter. Charles notices and reproaches him for not eating. Dellaro reproaches him right back: "Yeahhh, dead little girls have never really whetted my appetite, I'm weird like that. Perhaps I should retire." "NON," says Charles all King-like. "I shall not allow it. You invited us to this carnage, you shall at the very least partake of it with us." Dellaro's still acting shifty, so Charles bangs the table and screams, "YES! YOU WILL DINE WITH US! YOU WILL NOT RETIRE!" Ok, Charles, we get it, your ugly. God. I believe you. Happy? Well, the real tragedy, according to Charles, is that the soldiers won't get another sweet opportunity like this one to loot a town, because after today, surely nobody will say boo when they come marching through. Which is worse for the soldiers, because apparently Charles pays them shitty. "And they were so looking forward to Florence," sighs General Blond, "But, we live in hope!" They raise their glasses to Florentine carnage. Dellaro still hasn't gotten it yet, so he requests permission to ride ahead and get Florence's approval of Charles' terms ahead of time. So Charles and Blond banter over terms, which are ridiculous, involving fuckloads of money, billeting of the soldiers, and 'ostages from the major families. Dellaro can't imagine they would agree. "Well then, we look forward to battle," says Charles all excited.

Florence. To the mellow soundtrack of Savonarola's preaching (something about death on a pale horse), Della Rovere rides toward the Duomo. Ugh, why does anyone listen to Savonarola? He for sure spits when he talks. Also the crowd is again very female-heavy; I'm starting to think male extras in Hungary are hard to come by. Dellaroro listens, feeling sick with guilt. And I'm not sure why he's wasting time visiting his boyfriend when there are terms to negotiate.

BEAN HEAD! AND ALFONSO! Bean Head's looking a little waxier than usual. And Alfonso's considerably more subdued here in private than in public. "I bring news, Father, of apocalypse." He sniffs. Then he giggles, but it's forced. "If you can still here me." He sits by his father, holding a bowl of stew, and goes over the current events. There's a tremble in his voice, which he's trying to stifle, especially as he talks about maybe having to flee Florence. And then he puts on his "My life sucks the most" pants and snaps, "Father. I need at least a sign." He brings the spoon to his father's lips. Nothing. He hastily prods Ferrante's face. Nothing. Bean Head's bean head flops as Alfonso weeps.

Excuse me for a moment, there's something in my eye and I'm afraid the resulting deluge will short-curcuit my keyboard.

Back. And so is Cesare, bursting in on Rodrigo's prayers. Rodrigo asks if he's heard about Lucca. Cesare goes, "I see your decimated Lucca and raise you a dead Ferrante." And now that my dear Alfonso is not in the room forcing my sincerity, I can gather up the snarkiness to mention how Ferrante already looks like he'll fit right in with his mates at the Table of Eternal Despair. (Actually, how funny would that be, if Alfonso plopped him by the ol' TED?) Rodrigo paces and rattles off their remaining allies. "Under what leadership?" asks Cesare. "Of the Gonfaloniere, the Duke of Gandia, Juan BORGIA," Rodrigo snaps. Cesare marvels at how blinded he is by affection, but Rodrigo insists he's out of options. Cesare has an idea. "Father," he says, grabbing Rodrigo by the shoulders, "Give me control of them." Yes, please do that, and not just because of all the ladies who desperately want to see Cesare covered in blood and dirt and screaming and fighting. Do it for yourself. Do it to shut him up. And then follows kind of a funny conversation, which would be funnier without the annoying Dramatic Music scoring, about how Cesare has no experience, but "Does Juan?" and Well, he's been bred for this moment, but all he's done is play games of war, but he'll have the condottieri to advise him. And maybe Florence will resist them and buy them some time. But probably Florence won't.

And also, I know from cast interviews and some dialogue hints that they're trying to sell Juan as a favoured son, but they have FAILED, do you hear me, FAILED. I mean, yes, there is someone who loves Juan, and who is loving Juan more than Cesare these days, but that person is not Rodrigo. That person is me.

So at the next meeting of the College, Rodrigo announces his decision to excommunicate Florence if they let the French through. "Rabblerabblerabble!" says the College. "The Medicis. The Pazzis. Machiavelli. The WHOLE Signoria!" "Rabblerabblerabble!" "And Savonarola, because fuck that guy!" "Rabblerabblerabble!" (Although it sounds more like "yehhhasldfdsjf", which could be Hungarian for "rabblerabblerabble".) One of the Cardinals snottily points out that if Rodrigo's aim is to excommunicate all those who oppose him, he might as well excommunicate half of Christendom. Rodrigo takes this as an insult, for which I absolutely do not blame him, and he delivers a hilarious blustery monologue about his own infallibility with much finger-shaking and pointing and fire and brimstone. It's starting to look like the beginning of the end for Rodrigo Borgia, Pope Alexander VI. And in the silence that follows, Rodrigo puts forth his final excommunication in a day filled with excommunications: "upon that heretic, apostate, Cardinal. Giuliano. Della Rovere." Rabble. "We ask for your support in this most solemn declaration. We demand your compliance, so..." He gestures for them to do something. "Show of hands," he reminds them. What's the Latin for "awkward silence"? It's a comedic moment in a scene full of churchy shit that is as dry as Lucrezia, and it is sold completely by Jeremy Irons. Fuck yeah, Jeremy Irons. "Please," he hisses. Cesare looks around, knowing how bad it'll look if his is the first hand up. Cardinal Sforza raises his hand, but it's because he's asking permission to speak. Rodrigo grants it, cowed and frustrated, and stomps back to his chair. Measured and rational, Cardinal Sforza warns him against delivering the Church's highest ordinance willy-nilly. For the first time, Rodrigo finally accepts that he's not going to get his way. He will slap the shit out of Cesare later on.

Meanwhile, over dinner, Giovanni rattles off the facts (in his own words) to Lucrezia, who lies that she knows little of politics. Giovanni shrugs that Rodrigo's days are pretty much numbered. In no small words, Lucrezia tells him she will have none of that shittalking, and unless she's much mistaken, "I do believe the Sforza armies, yours and your cousin Caterina's, were pledged to his cause." Well, says Giovanni, Caterina's already crapped out, and "Is it dishonourable to assist in the deposition of a Borgia Pope? As dishonourable, perhaps, as removing a littler swine from the Vatican walls." Lucrezia gags. He asks if she's sick. "Yeah, sick of your face," she doesn't say. Anyway, if Florence admits Charles and his armies, "then the Sforza arms may march with France." Bosom heaving, Lucrezia pulls herself to her feet. "It is unwise, my lord, to upset me thus," she stammers, which could sound like the plea of a docile little wife, but despite her clearly deteriorating state, her words sound like a threat. She falls heavily onto the table, and Francesca escorts her out of the dining room.

"Who can we trust," whines Rodrigo, "in this charnel house called Rome?" "You can trust me," says Giulia. Rodrigo resists the urge to shout "WOOHOO, CALL THE CATERERS, TONIGHT WE CELEBRATE" and instead talks shit on the Sforza armies. Anyway, the sum total of this scene is that Giulia is going to check up on Lucrezia, and Rodrigo's going to ring up this awesome old Franciscan he used to know in his seminary days, shifting to "I" when talking about his younger self and back to "we" when he switches to present tense. It's quite a pointless scene and anyway I read it all beforehand in the episode description.

Florence! Over dinner, Piero de Medici and Machiavelli take in Della Rovere's terms with varying degrees of bemusement. Machiavelli's all affronted, but Piero just keeps repeating "You heard what happened in Lucca" and saying "Yes". Machiavelli sighs the sigh of a man who can't wait to die so his genius will finally be recognized. "And now, my lord Medici, that you've surrendered the republic of Florence, can I at least pour the wine?" Piero doesn't say "yes", but Machiavelli does it anyway. Machiavelli, kind of impressed by the Lucca fallout, is of the opinion that genius is afoot and asks hopefully if any of it belongs to Della Rovere. Della Rovere politely tells him to stuff it.

The French army marches toward the Florentine gates. Della Rovere, Machiavelli and Piero de Medici welcome them on horseback, backed by what I assume is the entire Signoria, also on horseback. Machiaelli kind of bitchily brings up the rumour of Della Rovere's potential excommunication. Della Rovere's like "Back at ya, kiddo." Machiavelli's like "MINE!?" Now it's Della Rovere's turn to act smug, but Machiavelli just Machiavells, "Perhaps that just depends on one's definition of surrender." With that, he rides forward to kill two birds with one stone: a) to welcome the French king, and b) win first prize in the Pan-Italian Judge Claude Frollo Lookalike Contest. Don't believe me?

Having spent a good twenty minutes making those tacky crappy pictures for no reason other than my own amusement, I now continue with Machiavelli "politely" asking Charles to please not hold his lance out in front of him like he was going to fuck Florence in the mouth with it. "My lance at rest?" he repeats like he's never said those words before. Anyway, somewhat confused as to why he's agreeing with anyone, he tilts his lance up and proceeds forward, but it knocks against the top of the portcullis, jolting him out of this weird state of cooperation. "Signore Machiavelli?" he calls, all smugly. "Our lance at rest prevents our entry to your fair city." Aha! Bitch who da king of metaphors now!?!? But Machiavelli is unfazed. "Perhaps, your Highness, if it were to be angled backwards." What... the fuck? "And of what would that be a symbol?" "Of your Highness' infinite resourcefulness," says Machiavelli, without skipping a beat. Machiavelli don't skip no beats. Machiavelli never claps on the down-beat. Della Rovere puts on his "oh shit" face. Charles backs up a few paces. There's a moment, a brief moment, where it looks like he's going to lower his lance and make himself a tidy Machiavelli-kebab. And then, defying all logic, all habit, all prior characterization, he tips his lance backwards and, smiling like a baby that just got complimented on the size of his poo, rides forward into the city. You guys, Machiavelli is magic. And thus was born that well-known military tradition of, er, riding into town with your lance angled backwards.*

*I have no idea whether such a tradition exists.

Sforza courtyard - Paulo adorably adjusts a horse's bridle as a very frazzled Giulia Farnese trots into the yard on a white horse. "Am I in the right place?" she pants, and no wonder, since she probably got high-way robbed about six times en route considering she appears to have travelled from Rome on her own in her best purple cloak and burgundy gown. Really. "Residence of Lucrezia Borgia?" "Sforza," Paulo corrects. He helps her off the horse and she shows herself in. (Because I'm so sure she rode all the way from Rome all alone.) Paulo watches her go with a dark look - Oh come on, Show, what's with Paulo and his dark looks? It might be more impressive if he ever gave off anything but a dark look, but he doesn't, so it's not.

A servant presents Giulia to Giovanni, and his cousin Caterina, formerly referred to here as Lady Sforza, the pretty lady that negotiated the marriage contract - and you guys, I wikipedia'd her, and she is one thousand kinds of legit. And also she's played by that broad who's definitely been in something you've seen. (Notting Hill for me.) And they gave her fuck all to do last time we saw her. It's criminal, is what it is. Caterina realizes what a potential wealth of information she has standing before her and begins pumping Giulia for information as subtly as she can, which isn't very subtle. "I would save my arms for battles I can win," she purrs. Giulia tries to keep up, regurgitating whatever Rodrigo's told her, and frantically resisting the urge to pull up her skirt so she can refer to her leg. It would be like counting on your fingers; it would be embarrassing. Eventually it's pretty clear that Caterina is pleased to sit this one out, and she's convinced Giovanni to do the same. Giulia's like "Hm, interesting," and then asks if he's said all this to his "dear wife". "She's too young to understand such matters," he dicks. Giulia stands and leaves without a word. And let's talk for a moment about Caterina's ensemble: it is black. It is crazy. And it is awesome. That is all.

Vatican, or something. The old coot Rodrigo summoned is chilling out, sitting college-kid-style against a pillar. They hug. Rodrigo removes his sash and drapes it over his mentor's neck, asking to please be treated like a simple priest again.

They slip into a confessional, Rodrigo kneeling in the confessor's box this time. It could be juicy. It could be honest. But instead it's the same old Rodrigo bullshit, going on about how he "isn't passionate about it anymore" and "what's the point" and "I can't face failure even if it is God's will". Yeah, yeah, it's the same line I delivered midway through my bachelor's degree. We all have problems. The friar delivers a monologue that's reassuring to Rodrigo, but completely unsatisfying and rather boring for me. Next.

Giulia tends to Lucrezia in a way that is completely motherly and heartwarming. If I wasn't sure about her before this, I'm completely ok with her now. Says Lucrezia, "Djem is in my dreams again, Giulia, and he still cannot speak." And apparently Lucrezia still believes the old party line about the swamp fever. Giulia's a bit less dismissive this time because Lucrezia's one sick cookie, and asks her to list her symptoms. "I wake up nauseous, I expell the contents of whatever I ate the night before, I sweat... it comes and goes. Mornings are the worst." Giulia takes it in and asks about her lovelife. Or rapelife. Lucrezia tells her honestly that it's been nil, or "plenty of nuttin'" (cookies to whoever gets that reference). "How strange," says Giulia, though her tone belies the competent motherbear adrenaline beginning to pump through her veins. She calmly tells Lucrezia that they're going to need to make a break for it at first light, and then sets about establishing that Lucrezia has friends in the house that can help them out. There's Francesca, she says, and Paulo the groom, which is excellent, Giulia thinks, because they can get them horses, and in like two seconds she's figured out that in this case Paulo is definitely a person of interest. Finally Lucrezia gets around to asking what the hell is up. "Lucrezia, my love, I recognize the symptoms of your illness. And it's not called marsh fever. …You're with child." Lucrezia begins to tremble with fear - but not with shock.

Credits.