The vigour of this deed struck Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere and his friend King Don Ferrando into frantic silence. By a mere act of His Sovereign Will the Holiness of the Pope immensely had increased His Own potentiality. Two of the new creatures were scions of reigning dynasties, whose loyalty thereby was secured. The virtue and eloquence of the English cardinal were as twin towers of strength. The two French creatures were as a sop to France. The minor diaconate conferred on Don Cesare (detto Borgia) gave him a standing, from which the splendour of his youth might do great things. And the other cardinals were proved adherents, who, by being made to owe their promotion to the Lord Alexander P.P. VI, became bound (in so far as human foresight went) to His interests by the bond of gratitude. It was a most paralysing and disheartening stroke for the enemies of the Sovereign Pontiff; and the year 1493 ended amid renewed demands for a General Council from Cardinal Giuliano della Rovere, and renewed invectives from the Majesty of Naples. * * * * * On the twenty-fifth of January 1494, King Don Ferrando I died, in the seventieth year of his age and the thirty-fifth of his reign. He was a cautious and experienced politician; and, since the Lord Pius P.P. II, Lorenzo de’ Medici, and the great Duke Francesco Sforza-Visconti, the greatest secular statesman of his century. His policy was directed to the preservation of Italy from French invasion, and to the destruction of the Papal States. He was not harsh in his dealings with his subjects: but to his barons and to his opponents he behaved with cruelty and treachery. He liked to have his enemies always near him, either alive in the dungeons of his palace, or dead, and embalmed, and clothed in their habits as they lived. Yet he died regretted; for his heir, the thick-haired, thin-lipped, narrow-eyed, fat-jowled, asymmetrically-featured Don Alonso de Aragona, Duke of Calabria, enjoyed a reputation for violence and brutality the bare idea of which created universal terror. The game of politics entered on a new phase. The Christian King Charles VIII of France was burning for an opportunity of asserting himself; and had collected an army, ostensibly for a Crusade against the Great Turk, the Sultán Bajazet, really for purposes of French aggrandisement—purposes yet undefined. He was a self-conceited little abortion, this Christian King, of the loosest morals even for a king, of gross semitic type, with a fiery birth-flare round his left eye, and twelve toes on his feet hidden in splayed shoes, which set the fashion in foot-gear for the end of the fifteenth century in Italy; and, like all vain little men, he was anxious to cut a romantic and considerable figure. He announced a claim to the crown of Naples.