But how was she to open a dialogue with him after rebuffing him so strongly? Of course! What an idiota she was! She would write to him and have Darius deliver her note. The next day she tucked a scrap of parchment beneath the hound’s collar when she was ready to send him home to his master. Bianca could have sworn the animal was smiling, his mouth open, his tongue lolling, as he loped off.
Amir smiled. When taking the note, he read: Are you really a prince?
The next day Bianca opened his reply. I am Amir ibn Jem, the sultan’s grandson, it read. Yes, I am really a prince.
A daily correspondence began to go back and forth between them.
Is it true you sell antiquities to Lorenzo di Medici?
A Florentine who is not a merchant enjoys no esteem whatsoever, he replied, quoting the famed saying among the Florentines.
Bianca smiled as she read his answer and responded, But you are a foreigner. You were not born in Florence.
I am a Florentine by choice, my lady.
I thought all Turks were warriors.
When you are the sultan’s grandson it is better to be a merchant.
Why? Was your father a merchant?
My father is a warrior. He quarrels constantly with his brother over who shall inherit my grandfather’s throne one day. Eventually my uncle will kill my father, for he is more determined to be sultan and better suited to it. Royal Turks kill anyone, including family, that they consider rivals to their personal ambition.
If you do not want to be sultan one day, then I understand your desire for anonymity and privacy.
Could you not tell me your name?
It was such a simple request, and he had told her his name. She didn’t have to tell him her whole name. She could tell him her first name. Bianca was not an unusual name. I am called Bianca, she wrote.
Now that we are friends, Bianca, and I hope you will consider me as such, may we meet one afternoon upon our beach and talk face-to-face?
I am a respectable woman, Prince Amir. If you understand that, if you understand that I am not seeking an adventure, then perhaps I could agree to your suggestion, Bianca wrote him back.
Bring a servingwoman with you if you fear for your good name, Bianca. I will not be offended. I would have you at ease with me, and not fearful that I will set upon you in some shameful manner.
“Well, well,” said Agata, who was privy to her mistress’s correspondence with the prince, “he is thoughtful of you. If you were a maid, of course, you should have to refuse, but you are not. You have been very lonely, I know. As long as the behavior you and this man exhibit is proper, and I am there to assure it, I see no reason you should not talk with him, mistress. Perhaps he may even have word of what is happening in the city since your mother has not felt secure enough to write to you.”
Tomorrow, he read later that day when he opened the little piece of parchment he found beneath Darius’s collar. Amir smiled to himself. He had not been so intrigued with a woman in a long time, but like the skilled hunter he was, he had let her come to him on her own terms. He was not surprised to see her coming towards him the following afternoon in the company of another woman. Perhaps she really was a respectable woman, but how respectable remained to be seen. He considered now that she was a wealthy and powerful man’s discarded mistress, given a villa and sent away because she had become an inconvenience for whatever reason. Certainly the woman of a good house would not be alone, as she was.
He wore white trousers and a white tunic that extended to just below his knees as he walked towards her, his dark boots crunching the pebbles beneath into the sand. The white suited his sun-bronzed complexion and dark, wavy hair. The dog was by his side.
“Now he looks like a Turk,” Agata said softly. “And he is very handsome.”
She is beautiful, Amir thought as they approached, and young too. What fool of a smug Florentine has tossed her away so casually? She wore a silk gown, lavender in color. The puffed sleeves were plain and the dress had no train. It was a simple garment, but the fabric was of the best quality, he could see. Of medium height, she carried herself well. The aristocratic little face was not one of a peasant. Her hair was ebony. It wasn’t dyed to suit the Florentine fashion of blond or red. Her skin was clear and very pale. Her eyes were light, although at the moment he could not tell what color, for she had them lowered politely. Yes, whoever she was, she was of high station and had manners.
“Your eyes are blue!” she exclaimed, surprised as they came close enough to truly see each other. “I did not know that Turks had blue eyes.”
“My mother was English,” he said. Then he bowed politely to her, and taking up her small hand in his, he kissed it. “Your presence honors me, madonna.”
An odd thought struck Bianca as he released her hand. His kiss had seemed like a brand upon her flesh. She felt her cheeks growing warm with color.
“Your eyes are like aquamarines,” he said, “but then I am certain many have told you that before. I apologize I cannot be more original for you, Bianca.”
“I am told the color of my eyes comes from a northern ancestor, signore,” she responded.
“Let us walk,” he invited her. “Darius and your servant will act as our chaperones.”
It was mid-September. The warm air held a faint hint of autumn today. The turquoise sea was calm, its waves small and delicate, barely making a ripple upon the water as they fell with a gentle sigh upon the sand of the shore. Above them the ever-present gulls soared, complaining to one another in the light breeze. Bianca and the prince walked in silence for a time and then Bianca spoke.
“Why do you live here instead of Florence?”
“I do not like your city of Florence,” he admitted. “I don’t even keep a palazzo there. When I am forced to remain overnight, I sleep in a small apartment above my warehouse, but few know that. It gives me an excuse to avoid entertaining. My tastes are simple, and I have little patience with ostentation. I leave that to others who seem to need the acclaim such excess brings them.”
“Do you belong to a guild?” she asked him.
“Not really, although the Arte di Calimala have said they consider me one of their own, despite my foreign origins,” Amir told her with an amused smile.
“The cloth merchants are very important,” Bianca said, “and your carpets are fashioned of wool and some of silk,” she pointed out.
She was educated enough to know this, and he was more curious than ever. “Who are you?” he asked her.
Bianca stopped a moment before moving on again. “I cannot tell you that, signore, and I beg that you do not press me further. I will tell you that it became necessary for me to flee the city. My very life is at risk, even now. The villa in which I reside belongs to my family. I am a respectable woman, not a courtesan, but if I am to remain safe I must remain unknown to you.”
“I will respect your wishes, Bianca, if you will agree to continue to walk with me,” he said with a smile.
“I will agree, for I find your company pleasant, signore.”
For several weeks, Agata accompanied her mistress each day as she walked with the prince. Then there came a day when Agata was sniffling, sneezing, and snuffling.
Bianca bade her remain at home, for it was a windy day. “I can go without you. I believe you will agree that Prince Amir has proven himself now.”
Agata was feeling poorly enough that she didn’t even suggest that Bianca let one of the housemaids chaperone her. She just waved her mistress off.
He asked after her about it, of course. “Where is your dragon?” he teased her.
“Ill, but not seriously,” Bianca said. She bent and patted Darius. “His coat is so beautiful. How do you keep him that way?”
“Krikor brushes him daily,” the prince answered and took Bianca’s hand in his for the very first time.
Though she was startled by the warm fingers suddenly curling about hers, she decided she liked it and said nothing. Agata did not come with them again, and each day Amir took Bianca’s hand in his as they walked. But soon the weather would grow rainy and chilly with the late autumn. They would not be able to walk together, and the thought of it made Bianca very sad. It had been just over a year now since she had escaped her husband and come to Luce Stellare. She had grown to enjoy the prince’s company.
Then one day a sudden rainstorm swept in on them from the sea as they walked. They were too far from either villa. Amir quickly led them into the mouth of one of the caves that edged the beach beneath the low cliffs. They stood watching the rain pour down in a silver sheet. It had been chilly before. Now the rain made it seem colder.
Bianca pulled her cloak tightly about her, but she was unable to contain her shivering. He put an arm about her, drawing her close against him, and then he spoke, breaking the deep silence that hung between them. “Tell me why you fled Florence.”
And to her great surprise, Bianca found herself explaining to him her brother’s foolish actions that had caused Sebastiano Rovere to literally blackmail her father into giving her to the dissolute lawyer as his third wife. “When my mother was finally allowed to see me many months after the wedding, I told her of what I had suffered with Sebastiano. She immediately removed me from his house. My family hid me in Santa Maria del Fiore convent until they were able to spirit me to Luce Stellare, which had belonged to my paternal grandmother’s family. I have lived here for the past year while they have attempted to gain an annulment for me. My family warned me that they would not communicate with me until they had good news, for Rovere had put a watch on our palaz-
zo in the city,” Bianca explained. “I have heard nothing, and so I must assume that so far their efforts have come to nothing. I am certain he has used his kinsman Cardinal Rovere to block their efforts, but my mother’s family is not without influence with the Church. I know that my grandfather in Venice will be working to free me. Now you understand why I have been so cautious, Amir.”
“You have trusted me enough to tell me this,” he said softly, suddenly happy. He knew of Sebastiano Rovere by reputation. He was of unsavory renown. To think this exquisite girl had suffered at the hands of such a man was unbearable, and he now understood much more than he had previously.
“You have given me no reason not to trust you,” Bianca said. “But now that I have, my very life is in your hands. If you expose me, Sebastiano will surely kill me. He could hide my absence for a few months, but eventually it would have become public knowledge that I have left him and am seeking an annulment. And if he finds me, I will suffer greatly at his hands before the relief and release of death. He is an evil man.”
“I do not know him,” Amir told her, “but his character is that of ill repute, according to the gossip. He was jailed recently for a despicable act, but his victim died before she might testify in court against him. His cronies eventually saw to his release, as there was no witness remaining except those men themselves who, it is said, were all involved in the crime. The girl’s family was of a lesser guild.”
“I suspect I was gone from the city by then,” Bianca said. “What did he do?”
“It is not something that should be discussed with a decent woman,” the prince told her. “I will say the victim was an innocent virgin of a respectable family, kidnapped, and brought to your husband’s palazzo, where she was raped many times by his guests and others. There was talk of something else but it is not for your ears.”
“The little donkey,” Bianca whispered fearfully in spite of herself.
“Yes,” the prince said. “How do you know of such a thing? By Allah! He did not commit such a monstrous and savage act on you, did he?”
“He was considering it, but I escaped him just before the creature came into the house. He has a Moorish slave girl who is quite dissolute. Even more so than my husband. I am certain she was involved,” Bianca told Amir.
His arm tightened about her. No wonder she lived in terror of Sebastiano Rovere. He was a monster and did not deserve to live. Nor did he deserve Bianca. She, however, was bound by her Christian church’s law to the brute until she could obtain an annulment—or one of them was dead. The lawyer, however, was a slippery fellow. He could and would probably delay any bill of divorcement of his marriage until he could revenge himself on her. The rain continued to pour down.
Whom had Rovere married? She had told him all but her family’s name. He cudgeled his brain to remember. The most beautiful girl in Florence, it had been said at the time. Who was she? Who was . . . The silk merchant’s daughter! Of course! Bianca was the daughter of Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo. The family was a large one and beyond respectable. No wonder the man had panicked and sacrificed his eldest daughter to protect his own wife and other children. He would make it a point to learn more about the family when he went into the city next.
There was a rumble of thunder, and Darius whined.
“I know who you are now, Bianca. I will not betray you,” the prince told her.
She looked up at him, and he wanted to drown himself in her aquamarine eyes.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Unable to help himself, he brushed her lips with his own, but when he sought to deepen the kiss she put two fingers over his mouth. “No, signore,” she chided him, her beautiful eyes meeting his. “Remember that I am a respectable woman. While I seek to free myself from Sebastiano Rovere, I am still, unfortunately, his wife. I will not add adultery to my sins.”
“You have no sins!” he declared passionately, catching her hand up and kissing it.
Bianca smiled.
“The rain is stopping,” she told him. “I must go now.” She gently removed the protective arm he had about her shoulders and felt a sudden loss. She had been so safe with that arm about her. Safer than she had believed in over a year. She gave Darius a pat, slipping from the cave’s mouth to hurry down the beach and up the path that led to her villa.
He stood watching her go, the taste of her still on his lips. He had two wives back in Turkey. Women taken at his grandfather’s request, but he had never been in love. He had no harem to satisfy his desires. It startled him to realize that he had fallen in love with the silk merchant’s beautiful daughter. He realized she was not a woman to fling herself into an affair, no matter how lonely or unhappy she was. She would never have him while Rovere remained her husband. Something had to be done about that.
One day, when she was free, he intended to take her home to his palace, which was set in the green hills above the Black Sea. He would keep her safe at the Moonlight Serai. He would never allow Bianca to be afraid again. “I love her, Darius,” he said to his companion dog. “I will love her forever, no matter what her people or mine say. I can but pray she will feel the same. She is the other half of my soul. I know that now.”
Chapter 7
“Praise blessed Maria!” Agata said as Bianca entered the house. “I am so relieved you have returned. Where were you in this storm?”
“Standing in the entry to one of the caves below, for the rain caught us unawares,” Bianca answered her. “I thought it would never stop. Poor Prince Amir, for he has a farther distance to go before he reaches home, and the downpour has begun again.”
Bianca did not see the prince for several days, for the rains continued. It was better that way, she decided. That brief, innocent kiss had set her senses reeling. She had wanted him to continue to kiss her, but praise Santa Anna, to whom she prayed daily, she had managed to retain her sense of propriety when she hadn’t wanted to do so at all. Amir’s mouth had been warm and his breath fragrant. She had never realized that a simple kiss could be so sweet, so tender, so tempting, but his kiss had been just that. It had offered her far more than she had the right to accept at the moment. Would that ever
change?
Sebastiano’s lips were cold, hard, his breath foul. Her husband’s kiss demanded she surrender everything that she was, so he might possess it. In the brief and delicious touch of the prince’s lips, there had been the mysterious promise of a shared ecstasy to come. Bianca wept silently into her pillow that night, and for the first time in her life felt desire for a man. If only her family could obtain the annulment they sought for her. If they did, she would be no man’s chattel ever again.
She would accept Amir as her lover, for his every action in recent days had told her that he wanted her. Did he love her? How nice it would be if he did, but it didn’t matter to her at all. She would gladly be his mistress, no matter what the world thought of her. But she would not have another husband, and no one would change her mind.
The next day, to her surprise and excitement, a messenger arrived from Florence with word from her family. The courier was not one of her family’s servants but rather in the service of the Medici, as his proudly displayed badge revealed. He accepted a hot meal from Gemma in the kitchens, and then told her he was off for Pisa, for he carried messages for the Medici bank there from Lorenzo himself.
Bianca called Agata to her so she might share whatever news there was. Breaking the red wax seal with her mother’s signet, the dome of San Marco, impressed into it, she opened the parchment and read aloud.
My dearest daughter, it began in Orianna’s elegant and familiar hand. The news is not what I had hoped to be able to send you after all this time, but all is not lost. The knowledge that you have left Sebastiano Rovere is now public, as is our quest for an annulment for you. Padre Bonamico has presented our request for your marriage’s dissolution to the Holy See itself, traveling to Rome to do so. Your husband has appealed to his kinsman, Cardinal Rovere, to block any such action. Your grandfather in Venice has countered with his own pleas to the two cardinals from his own city. Regretfully, these matters take time, and the bribes both of our factions have paid so far to gain the Church’s ear have been considerable. Unfortunately, more time is needed to gain a favorable result for our side. Lorenzo di Medici himself is sympathetic to your plight, and has offered his own courier to carry this message to you. But our family is not without its own resources, influence, and friends. Your husband carries on, as usual holding the orgies for which he has now become infamous, and appears less and less in the justice courts of the city. Honest folk have become distrusting of him. It is possible that his worsening and dissolute life will kill him sooner rather than later. Your father’s business continues to thrive, as do your siblings. Francesca will be thirteen in the spring, and I have decided to allow her to accompany me to Mass then rather than wait until next year. Your grandfather wishes her to marry into a Venetian family, and so would have her join him and my stepmother after she turns thirteen so she may become used to Venetian ways, and to Venice itself. I wish you were here to see her, my darling Bianca. She misses you greatly. Your father and I miss you also, but take comfort in the fact that you are safe at Luce Stellare. God bless you until we meet again. Your loving mother, Orianna Pietro d’Angelo.
Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters Page 12
