Orphan of the Olive Tree - Historical Romance Saga

by Patzer, Mirella Sichirollo

  Luca glanced at his father, who sat next to Carlo, engaged in conversation about a stallion they wanted bred to one of their mares. He frowned at his father’s slurred speech and bloodshot eyes. Luca reached over and moved the wine pitcher away from his father’s reach. As usual, his mother and Prudenza sat at opposite ends of the table, far enough away to avoid speaking, but close enough to keep a wary eye on each other. Luca never understood why they disliked each other so much, but it had been that way ever since he could remember.

  It felt good to be home after competing at horse races from Rome to Genoa. He tapped his foot to the sound of minstrels. They played a lively tune with flutes, harps, and drums, while people danced. Among them, his betrothed, Giustina Benevento, who smiled and twirled to the lively music accompanied by his brother, Lorenzo. His betrothed since childhood, she was now eighteen years old, definitely of marriageable age, but so far, Luca had been able to postpone the marriage.

  Although they were twins, Luca and his brother were as different in appearance and personality as two people could be. Lorenzo had blond hair and fair skin, and loved everything to do with nature. The earth and its bountiful promise of splendid grapes, plump olives, and golden wheat enchanted him. He took pride in growing new trees and plants and keeping the vegetables and flowerbeds free of weeds. The one thing they had in common was their mutual love of horses. Under Nanino’s tutelage, his twin had learned to groom and recognize good conformation in order to breed strong, majestic horses. Luca, however, excelled at equestrian skills. He loved riding, galloping at exhilarating speeds with the wind in his hair.

  Luca was proud of his own ebony hair and dark brown eyes. Now at the age of twenty, he knew that his good looks attracted many a young woman.

  He thrived on competition. At the age of six, his parents took him to a horse race. Ever after, all he thought about was racing a horse of his own. At first, he competed in smaller, local races, those held on the eve of a larger event where younger men could demonstrate their abilities before the assembled townsfolk. To his surprise, he won almost all the races he entered. The rewards were small, but with his winnings, he managed to purchase and breed stronger, faster horses.

  A burst of raucous laughter across the piazza caught Luca’s attention. Nanino sat at a long table with other villagers. He had just thrust his left fist into the bend of his right arm in an obscene gesture and yelled at the burly blacksmith sitting across from him. “Don’t assume my small stature means a small mind.” He tapped his oversized forehead with a pudgy forefinger. “I may be shorter than the length of three arrows from nock to head, but my brain is big.” He gave a ribald laugh and leered at a passing maiden. “Some of my parts might be short,” he said rising to his feet and extending both arms forward, “but the part that counts the most is not.” He emphasized this point by thrusting forth his pelvis. “I’d be happy to prove it to any woman so willing.” Nanino grinned as the crowd burst into guffaws and jeers.

  Luca grinned, shaking his head at the small man’s antics. He leaned back in his chair, took a long drink of wine from his goblet, and turned his attention to Giustina Benevento, who now danced the saltarella with his brother. Luca liked the lively dance because of its swift music and leaping steps. Giustina’s breasts bounced with every twirl and leap. Strands of tawny hair escaped the long, tight braid that fell nearly to her heels. She laughed with each turn and jump, and her gentle brown eyes glimmered by torchlight. He could not deny her beauty, yet she aroused nothing more in him than brotherly affection.

  The music ended and Lorenzo took Giustina by the hand and returned to the table, their faces flushed, their laughter mingling with that of others. When they plopped down across from him, Luca could not help envying the easy rapport that was present between them. Even when they were children, Giustina had always favored Lorenzo.

  Giustina fanned herself while she smiled at Lorenzo, who leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Whatever he said made her giggle and blush. Luca saw them pause and exchange a deep, lingering look – one that not only reflected the dancing light from torches, but a glimmer that arose from deep within them. For the first time, Luca realized they were in love. Why had he not noticed before? He sat stunned, sorting through a maze of conflicting emotions – surprise and disappointment, relief and confusion, but jealousy was not among them.

  He watched as Lorenzo handed Giustina a slice of bread and her hand lingered on his. His future wife’s heart belonged to his brother. The realization did not upset him; it only saddened him to know he stood in the way of their happiness.

  Luca had no delusions. Marriage was a duty, a necessity to produce heirs, and Giustina would make a dutiful wife, but now that he knew they loved each other, she should marry his brother, not him. Why had no one thought of it before? He wanted to savor the life of a fantino, for successful jockeys like him were revered and treated well. Besides, his skill at bareback racing had already earned him a small fortune. He was not ready to quit.

  A group of jesters tumbled and somersaulted into the piazza. One had stuffed his clothes with straw to simulate breasts. Spotting Nanino, the jester ran to him and rubbed the rough breasts against the dwarf’s face. Nanino played along by reaching into the cleavage and pulling out a handful of straw and slapping the man’s rump. The audience pealed with laughter. The antics continued until nearly everyone was reduced to tears. The jesters accepted their applause with bows, and then hurried out of sight, their cowbells clanking as they went.

  Several men extinguished all the torches except for four, one at each corner of the square. A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd. In the dim light, four drummers entered the piazza. They commenced beating an unusual primal rhythm.

  An exotic looking woman danced into the center of the gathering. Her arms and legs writhed with every drumbeat and her unbound raven hair flew about her in glorious waves. Her dark, olive-toned skin, invited speculation that she had been transported to Venezia and was now likely earning her keep for some wealthy merchant squandering her talent and beauty. Perhaps even as a courtesan.

  Her sensuous dance, performed with such abandon, enchanted Luca. The lower half of her gold silk gown twirled and billowed around her firm body, giving glimpses of well-toned legs and womanly curves. Above delicate leather slippers, tiny silver bells chimed from each ankle. She danced erotically, her hips gyrating. The movements slowed. Her arms undulated like graceful, sensual swans high above her head and then all around her body. Everyone and everything came to a standstill.

  Luca took a long sip, unable to turn away from the allure of the exotic beauty. The dancer twirled and leaped until she stood before Luca, capturing his whole attention, casting him an enticing look. From her shoulders, she removed a veil and covered them both with it, pulling herself ever closer to him. He could smell a hint of lavender mixing with the sweat glistening in her cleavage. Her dark brown eyes burned with desire as she licked her lips to taunt him. The world around him disappeared as she consumed all his senses. She leaned her head closer. He fought the desire that fired his loins and stifled the impulse to pull her onto his lap for a kiss. “I want you,” she whispered, hidden in their secret world beneath the veil.

  The music stopped. She flicked the veil away, her bosom swelling against her bodice with each breath. The men in the crowd rose to their feet, cheering and applauding, while the women looked away or whispered in serious, hushed tones to each other.

  Luca did not move. He kept his eyes on the vision before him. Boldly, she gave a deep curtsey, revealing bountiful, firm breasts. Luca could not help grinning at the magnificent display. When she straightened, she gave him an enticing smile. Then, in a swirl of gold, she whisked around and pranced gracefully away as quickly as she arrived, the tinkle of her ankle bells fading as she went.

  Luca glanced at Giustina. Her face was cold and expressionless as a statue. She swirled the contents of her drinking cup and stared into it. Lorenzo distracted her by whispering something in he
r ear. She responded with a forced smile.

  Aroused, all Luca could think about was the dancer. The world beckoned with many temptations and he would indulge himself tonight with the young beauty whose eyes held the promise of carnal delight. Already, he envisioned her firm body gyrating sensually above his. The image sent a pang of desire coursing through him and he hardened.

  The hour grew late and the people dispersed in mirthful groups. He downed the contents of his cup, rose to his feet, and set off after the girl, certain that her firm body awaited him somewhere in the darkness beyond his sight.

  39

  Giustina watched Luca disappear into the night like a lion stalking its prey. She knew he sought the woman whose seductive dance had enchanted every man there, none more than Luca. The woman had shamelessly directed her every move at her future groom. Captivated by the scene, Giustina had not been able to take her eyes off Luca as the dancer beckoned him with her eyes, swaying hips, and sultry smile.

  Most women would have felt threatened, angry, or jealous. Giustina’s only emotion was a strange aloofness that mixed with a twinge of embarrassment at the blatant display of carnality by the woman toward her intended. It mattered not to her whether Luca bedded the woman. He was so handsome that women vied for his attention and sadly, not only was she accustomed to it, it stirred no jealousy within her.

  “Come, bella.” Lorenzo smiled. “That was the final performance. It is late. Let me walk you home.”

  Giustina rose, linking her arm through his. They followed her parents down the street. She remained silent as they strolled through the darkness, the cool night breeze refreshing upon her skin. Lorenzo too, was quiet; the only sound was the crunch of pebbles beneath their feet.

  Raised with the twin brothers, Luca had been more like an older brother to her: protective, kind, and always patient. It was Lorenzo whom she truly loved, sweet, gentle, Lorenzo. From the time they were small, Luca’s rambunctious personality and competitive spirit contrasted with her desire for peace and simplicity. Where she was quiet, Luca was loud. When she suffered from shyness, he thrived on attention. He preferred meats and bread. She favored vegetables and fruit.

  “Are you upset?” Lorenzo asked.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “Good. It meant nothing. Luca has always attracted such women’s notice.”

  “I should be used to it by now, shouldn’t I?” His attempt to comfort her warmed her heart. Lorenzo understood her. He knew when to console, when to laugh. In childhood, when she had trouble keeping up with the two boys, he had always slowed down and wiped away her tears. With Lorenzo, she shared a love for the earth, for growing and harvesting, for the pure pleasure of eating what they had cultivated. Long ago, however, their fathers had made a blood oath to bind their two families through their first-born children’s marriage, and that fell to her and Luca. Unfortunately, as always, Lorenzo, since the time he was born, had no recourse but to defer to his brother.

  Giustina glanced at her mother, who walked ahead beside her father. Although her mother had never approved of the betrothal, and had argued vehemently against it, her father always refused, claiming that a blood oath could never be broken. Now, after all these years, with the betrothal common knowledge, her mother would not risk scandal to have it rescinded. Lately, her mother had even come to accept it, for Luca had earned a small fortune as a successful horse racer and breeder. His wealth surpassed had Lorenzo’s, Enrico’s, and even that of her own father.

  Therefore, Giustina had resigned herself to a loveless future with Luca, although her heart would always belong to Lorenzo. She glanced at him now. His eyes blazed softly. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. The touch sent her heart racing. She squeezed his hand, lingering in the feel of it, wishing the sensation would last forever, but she quickly withdrew it. She couldn’t risk her father or mother turning around and noticing.

  40

  Lorenzo seethed over his brother’s antics with the dancer. He had watched as Giustina beheld the sultry dance by the woman who seemed to have performed only for Luca. If Giustina was upset, however, she did not show it. Her face had remained stoic throughout.

  “What are you thinking about?” Giustina asked, her voice wistful.

  “Of you and how well you danced the saltarella tonight.” The sound of her laughter gladdened his heart. “You certainly led it well. It took a long time before I recovered my breath.” In his mind, he recaptured the vision of her as she danced: her rose-colored cheeks, her laughter resonated like tiny musical bells. He had never loved her more than this night, and yearned to tell her so. “Giustina, are you certain you aren’t bothered by what happened? I know I was.”

  “No, I’m not. I care deeply for your brother, but I do not love him.”

  “You don’t?” He had always known it, but this was the first time she had openly admitted it. His heart surged with hope, but the knowledge that love did not matter to their parents extinguished his joy. If only that blood oath had never been sworn, matters might be different.

  She raised her face to his, her beauty bathed by moonlight. “Don’t you know that it is you who I have always loved?”

  Years of stifled emotion rose to the surface. “Giustina, I have always loved you. I cannot imagine a world without you – without the ring of your laugh, the melody of your voice, the gentleness of your touch.” They walked on, more slowly than before, to prolong every precious moment. “I dream of being with you.” Lately, visions of Giustina by his side harvesting grapes from their vines, pressing the olives for their rich green oil, or sharing simple meals beneath the cool shade of the fruit trees of their homes filled his thoughts.

  “I do too,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “I dream of you as my wife, of awakening with you each morning and sharing meals surrounded by the laughter and antics of our children.”

  “Dreams that can never come true, Lorenzo.”

  Her words cut through him. His shoulders sagged. “I am tormented by your betrothal to my brother.”

  “Can we do nothing to change it?”

  Lorenzo shrugged. “I will try to persuade my father to change his mind. If he does, he can convince your father.” In reality, he doubted their fathers would overturn the blood-oath sworn between them so many years ago, but he was determined to try.

  They continued to walk, both retreating into their own thoughts until they arrived at the spot where the path divided, leading to their respective homes.

  “Good night,” Giustina said, taking his hand and pressing it softly against her cheek.

  “Good night, bella.” Lorenzo had always loved her, and now, he knew she loved him in return.

  She released his hand and turned to go.

  He stood mired in misery, watching her every step until she caught up with her parents, who had stopped to wait for her.

  His heart ached, the hurt palpable. How could he stand by and watch his brother wed her? Was he doomed to live his entire life with the woman he loved so close, yet so utterly beyond reach? He knew he could not. He must speak to his father at the first opportunity to persuade him that he should wed Giustina.

  Like a light in the darkness, a tiny spark of hope came to life in him. He turned down the path to his home, his step made a little lighter.

  41

  Luca arrived home well after dawn. He was about to climb the stairs to the bedchamber he shared with Lorenzo, when his father called out to him from the kitchen.

  “Buon giorno,” his father greeted him at his entrance, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. “At least for some of us it is morning, while for you it is the end of the night.” Enrico sat at the kitchen table before a bowl of figs, a wheel of cheese, and a loaf of yesterday’s bread. It was the pitcher of wine, however, that caught Luca’s attention.

  “Break your fast with me.” Enrico gestured to the chair opposite.

  “I’m not very hungry, so if you don’t mind –”

  “Sit.” His father sc
owled.

  Luca pulled out the chair and slumped down onto it.

  Enrico poured himself a full tankard of wine and offered to fill one for him, but Luca shook his head. “Don’t you think you should wait till later to drink?”

  Enrico silenced him with constricted eyelids. “Look to your own transgressions first, son, before daring to preach to me.” He raised the cup to his lips and defiantly took an extra-long swallow. Then he slammed the cup on the table and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “I’m not going to ask where you’ve been. You’re a grown man; a fantino no less.”

  “Good, because I’m in no mood to answer.”

  Anger flared in Enrico’s eyes, but quickly faded. “Son, I am proud of you and all that you've accomplished.”

  Luca grabbed a fig. “I can’t deny that good fortune has smiled on me once or twice. I like the taste of it.”

  Enrico broke off a piece of bread, dipped it in his wine, and popped it into his mouth. “When are you coming home?”

  “I am home.”

  “For good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Enrico leaned back in his chair. “Your mother and I are not getting younger. It’s time for us to rest and hand over the running of this place to you.”

  Luca tossed the fig from hand to hand. “You have Lorenzo, who tends the farm. You have no need of me.”

  “You are the first-born son and this is your inheritance.”

  “But I am a fantino, an accomplished jockey and horse breeder, not a farmer. Lorenzo is the one who loves the earth.”