Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters

by Bertrice Small

  Damn! he thought. Well, best to discourage her now rather than have her mooning after him. “No, bambina,” he told her. “I came to see Bianca. Has your grandfather not told you yet? I plan to marry your sister.”

  Francesca’s face was suddenly frighteningly pale. Her green eyes grew wide with shock. “Marry Bianca? You are going to marry Bianca? She does not love you. She loves her infidel. Did my nonno tell you that? Or that he was her lover?”

  “I know all of that. Bianca only thinks she loves this Turk, but she will come to love me, and even if she doesn’t, we are a most suitable match,” Enzo Ziani said to the beautiful young girl standing before him. “And your sister will do her duty by both of our families, bambina.”

  “You would be content to marry a woman who will never love you when you could have a woman who does love you?” Francesca demanded of him furiously. “And do not call me a baby! I am not a baby! I am a woman, signore.” Then she flung herself at him, her arms going about his neck, her lips kissing him with a determined kiss. She released him as suddenly as she had entwined herself about him.

  “Is that a baby’s kiss?” Francesca asked him. “Is it?”

  Enzo Ziani was astounded. He had never imagined a girl that young could have such passion in her. “It was not a baby’s kiss, Francesca,” he told her, “but you must not kiss me again. You are too young to be my wife, and your sister is not. Eventually there will be a fine young man chosen as your husband. Be patient. Now, if you promise to behave yourself, I will not tell your grandfather of this incident.” He bowed to the young girl and quickly left the salon.

  Francesca burst into tears. It wasn’t fair that Bianca be married to the man that she, Francesca, loved. She wouldn’t let it happen. It couldn’t happen! Then she remembered that weeping would spoil her complexion and redden her eyes. Francesca brought her upset to an end. Then she went to find her sister.

  “You are not going to marry Enzo Ziani!” she said, finding Bianca seated outside in their grandfather’s small garden. “I forbid it! He is mine!”

  “Who told you I would?” Bianca wanted to know.

  “He did! You cannot have him, Bianca!” Francesca told her sister.

  “You may have him, and gladly,” Bianca said. “I have told him I will not wed him, and that he should wait for you.”

  “You told him that? Bianca, that is wonderful! Oh, you are the best sister in the world! I knew you could not be so cruel as to take the man I love from me.”

  “Now we must convince Nonno that you are the better bride,” Bianca told her younger sister. “Your prince wants a wedding at summer’s end.”

  “When is your prince coming?” Francesca wanted to know. “If he does not come and take you before then, they will force you to the altar.”

  “They can’t,” Bianca replied serenely.

  “Nonno always gets what he wants,” Francesca said. “Everyone wanted him to marry when his last wife died, but he said he had had enough of wives; he would be content with a mistress from then on. He has prevailed in that, and if your prince does not come to rescue you, he will prevail in this.”

  “Amir will come,” Bianca said assuredly.

  And indeed, Amir ibn Jem was preparing to go to Venice. He had been brought to his grandfather, Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror, upon his return home. The sultan had greeted him warmly.

  “I never thought to see you again in this life, Amir. What exactly did you do that required I ask you to return from Florence? Certainly you didn’t kill one of those fat and proud merchants?”

  “Worse, Grandfather,” Amir said. “I fell in love with a silk merchant’s daughter and planned to bring her home.”

  “Ahhh,” the sultan said. “Yes, if the silk merchant was influential—and he obviously was, since it was Lorenzo di Medici himself who requested your recall—that would present a problem. Ah, well, you will soon find another lovely woman to please you, and I am happy to have you back with me.”

  “But this is the one I want above all others,” Amir told his grandfather. “I have fallen in love with her. I must have her!”

  Sultan Mehmet looked at Amir. This was the one grandson who had never caused him a moment’s concern, unlike Amir’s father, Jem, who was forever quarreling with his brother, Bayezit, who had sired three sons on his wives. “How much trouble will it cause if you steal this woman?” the sultan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Amir answered honestly. “She is one of four sisters. She has been widowed. I know her family has sent her to her maternal grandfather in Venice in hopes of finding a second husband for her. They would not allow her to see me when I was imprisoned, but when I departed Florence she managed to come and stand by the road. I swore I would find her, Grandfather. I do not doubt that her love for me has not wavered in the months we have been apart.”

  “What if, by the time you reach her, she has been remarried?” the sultan asked.

  “I don’t know, but I do know she will do everything she can to avoid any marriage to another man,” Amir replied.

  “So you mean to make her your third wife?”

  “Yes. I took Maysun and Shahdi to my bed, and made them my wives at your request. They are good women, but I love neither. Taking Bianca as my wife will not lessen their position within my house. I know their fathers are not very important to you, but I will not shame their families or endanger the loyalty you have from those men,” Amir told the sultan. “But I want Bianca for the wife of my heart.”

  “What if you have a son?” the sultan wanted to know. “I would be in no danger from such a child, but he would be considered a danger by my heir, or his heir.”

  “If Bianca were to give me a son, he would be taught loyalty to his sultan, but if I sensed danger to my family, I would remove them from your realm.”

  “You cannot go west again,” the sultan told his grandson. “They would never accept an infidel with a Christian wife in the West.”

  “No, but I could go east or north or south if it were required of me,” Amir said. “If the choice were mine, however, I should retire to the Moonlight Serai with Bianca, who shall be called Azura, and my other two wives. I will only journey to the city when my business demands it, or the sultan wishes my presence in his house. You know I am not a man for power, Grandfather. I hope I have not disappointed you too greatly by being more like my English mother’s merchant forebears than my warlike Ottoman ancestors. I know my father is baffled to have sired such a son.” He smiled at his grandfather.

  The sultan nodded. “We get ahead of ourselves,” he told the younger man. “I have many days ahead of me, Allah willing, and you do not have your woman back yet.”

  “With your permission, I will make plans to fetch her,” the prince said.

  “I know nothing about such a venture, Amir, nor do I want to know. If you are successful, Venice will complain, and perhaps even Florence. I would tell them with a clear conscience that I know nothing of what you planned,” the sultan said with a chuckle, and he stroked the beard on his long face with a long hand. “They will not want her back once you have stolen her, even for all their protests.”

  “I understand, Grandfather,” Amir responded with a smile.

  “I am sorry to lose you in Florence. The information you were able to send me regarding the French, the Germans, and the rest of the western lords was very helpful. You were well liked, Lorenzo di Medici wrote me.”

  “The Florentines seem to be a clearinghouse for all the gossip in Europe. All the armies going back and forth seem to pass through the city. It is enormously prosperous, although probably second to Venice, since they have no port like the Venetians do.”

  “The Venetians have grown fat with their shipping. Much of Florence’s goods go through Venice. The merchant families there are just as influential as the merchant families in Florence, if not more so,”
Sultan Mehmet observed. “I should really like to have Venice for myself, but it is better to let them have the illusion of being a republic. The doge does what I want, and so I must be satisfied with that.”

  “So you are still conquering,” Amir said.

  “There are places yet that can benefit from Ottoman rule,” his grandfather responded with a smile.

  The two men shared a meal together. Then Amir was shown to a bedchamber and invited to shelter for the night. The next morning he departed his grandfather’s palace, and taking a horse from the royal stables he rode to his own home known as the Moonlight Serai. He had sent Krikor ahead several days before to alert his two wives that he was coming. They greeted him warmly, exclaiming with delight at the gifts he had brought to them. He spent the night with them both.

  Maysun was a tall, big-boned girl. She had dark brown hair and gray eyes. She had a sweet disposition, and was entirely content. His second wife, Shahdi, was more high-strung. A blond, brown-eyed Circassian, she had been disappointed to be given to an unimportant grandson of the sultan, although her family had been delighted. Still, as he was away much of the time, she had a freedom she might not have had with another man. Since she was a girl who had never been cloistered, this was a great relief to her.

  After having spent the night with both of his wives, and having satisfied the two of them to their delight, Amir told them he would speak with them later in the day. Then he went to bathe. As much as he had enjoyed Italy, he realized he was very content to be in his own home once again. He was never more comfortable than when he was here. Breaking his fast with hard-boiled eggs, fresh apricots, warm bread, and yogurt, he smiled broadly when Krikor brought him a small cup of dark coffee.

  “I’m going to go to Venice shortly to fetch Bianca,” he told his servingman.

  “Can you reach her before they marry her off again?” Krikor wondered aloud.

  “She is mine,” the prince said quietly.

  Krikor said nothing. He had never seen his master so determined as he was in the matter of the beautiful Bianca. But then, she had been just as passionate. Surely they were meant to be together. “I will come with you, my lord. You cannot go without me.”

  “I should never go without you,” Amir answered his faithful slave.

  “When do we leave?” Krikor asked.

  “Tomorrow. We sail from Istanbul to Venice, and back in one of my own ships. I don’t want to have to worry about loyalties, for we must be quick. It is possible we may be pursued. I don’t want Bianca in any danger.”

  “Knowing the name of her grandfather will aid us in reaching her more quickly,” Krikor said.

  “Send one of the eunuchs to bring my wives to me here and then go pack for us,” the prince instructed. “We will travel lightly. And I will want Darius with us.”

  Krikor smiled, nodded, and went off to do his master’s bidding.

  Several moments later, Maysun and Shahdi came into the chamber where the prince had eaten his meal and was now enjoying his coffee.

  “You sent for us, my lord,” Maysun said. Both women bowed from the waist.

  “Sit! Sit!” he invited them, and when they had made themselves comfortable he said, “I am going away again, but only for a short time. When I return I will bring with me another wife. Once she is with me, it is unlikely I will leave the Moonlight Serai again except at the sultan’s command. I will expect you to welcome her into your midst, my ladies. I will want you to pack proper garments for her to wear on our journey, and clothing for her good servant. I must rely on you both in this.”

  “If you mean to remain at home, my lord, are not two wives enough for you?” Shahdi asked him, pouting. “Why must you bring a stranger into our midst?”

  Maysun chuckled.

  “What is it you find so amusing?” Shahdi demanded to know.

  “This new wife is the woman of his heart, foolish one. Is that not so, my lord?” Maysun inquired of him, smiling.

  Amir laughed. “She is, my wise Maysun. She is.”

  “Then go and fetch her, my lord, so you will know true happiness at last. She will be most welcome in our home, which will soon be her home,” Maysun said. “If you love her, then we will too.”

  But Shahdi frowned unhappily. She had always hoped to win Amir’s heart one day. Now, looking at him, she saw it would never be possible, and was sad. Maysun reached for her hand, for she knew her friend’s hope. She had known it would never be.

  Chapter 12

  Enzo Ziani began to court Bianca, despite the fact that she discouraged him at every turn. Francesca turned sulky to her grandfather’s entire household, despite her sister’s reassurance that she was not going to marry her suitor.

  “If you are not going to marry him, then why do you encourage him?” Francesca demanded to know.

  “I am not favoring him,” Bianca protested. “Nonno brings me forcibly into the salon when Enzo Ziani arrives each afternoon. You see the footmen escorting me.”

  “I’ve seen him kissing you in the garden,” Francesca accused.

  “Then you have seen me struggling to avoid his kisses,” Bianca countered.

  “Has he touched your breasts? I will wager he has, you slut!” Francesca screamed jealously, for Bianca had beautiful breasts, and her own were smaller right now.

  “How dare you question me like this!” Bianca fought back. “I do not want this man for a husband, but I cannot help it if our families think otherwise. He comes each day to win me over. I reject him each day when he comes. I do not know what more I can do to discourage him, Francesca. This situation is not my fault, and I wish you would stop blaming me for it. Blame our grandfather, who is a stubborn old man!”

  “I hate you!” Francesca hissed and stalked off.

  The betrothal between the house of Venier and the house of Ziani was announced to Venetian society with a grand banquet. It was considered a triumph for both families. Prince Enzo was handsome and well liked. The Florentine bride was beautiful. The wedding date was set for the twentieth day of September. The dressmaker came with her assistants to make the bride’s wedding gown. They brought beautiful fabrics from which she might choose. They measured and twittered around her like a group of hungry sparrows in winter. She forestalled them as best she could, claiming the fabrics were not fine enough for her, insisting they send to Florence to her father for the cloth.

  Bianca was furious with both her grandfather and Enzo Ziani, neither of whom seemed to comprehend that her refusal to even consider this marriage to Enzo Ziani was sincere. They treated her as if she were a child, unable to make her own decisions, and so they wisely made them for her. Then to have Francesca skulking about, sulking and muttering curses at her, was not particularly pleasant. Not that she blamed her younger sibling. After all, what was the poor girl to think under the circumstances?

  “Oh, Agata,” Bianca said one day to her faithful servingwoman. “What if they are right? What if Amir has forgotten me? What if I wait but in vain?”

  “I believe your prince to be an honorable man,” Agata said. “If he said he would return for you, then he will return, mistress. You must not lose hope or your faith in him. He will come.”

  “It had better be soon,” Bianca said grimly. “We have been parted for months now, and it is already August.” And then Bianca had an idea. It was a wonderful idea, but at the same time a terrible one. What if on the wedding day Francesca took her place at the altar next to Enzo Ziani? The bride would be heavily veiled, and they could dye her sister’s hair dark. It would not be until Enzo Ziani raised that veil to kiss his bride that they would discover Francesca. But it would be too late then, for the marriage ceremony would have been performed and sanctified. Refusing the bride would cause a far larger scandal than accepting her. All Venice loved a good joke. They would laugh, but then they would consider how roma
ntic it was, and the noble sacrifice Bianca had made for the little sister she loved. Everyone knew this marriage was not a love match. Now it would be, and Francesca would have her heart’s desire. Ziani and her grandfather might fume privately, but Bianca would have more time to wait for Amir.

  “That is a wicked, wicked idea,” Agata said. “Your grandfather is correct in that she is too young.”

  “Would you have me forced to the altar instead? And then when Amir comes, I would have to run away, causing an even greater scandal?” Bianca asked. “So Francesca is wed a year before Nonno intended. Believe me, she is more than ready. Many girls are wed at twelve. She is almost fourteen. She wants her prince and I want mine. The two families still get their way with this union, even if the bride is not who they intended her to be.”

  “All of Venice will indeed laugh at such a happening,” Agata warned. “The two families will be made figures of fun, mistress.”

  “Only briefly, if they are clever and laugh with the rest of Venice. The story will be told that the younger sister wanted this handsome man, and so she cleverly stole him from beneath her elder’s nose on the very day of the wedding. It will be considered a great love story, and if Enzo is wise he will tell the world how fortunate he is to have a bride who loves him rather than one who does not,” Bianca said. “And then any scandal will die away, as it should when my disappearance becomes the next scandal.”

  “How will you account for your sister’s not appearing for this wedding?” Agata wanted to know.

  “Francesca has already proclaimed she will not go to see the man she loves wed to another,” Bianca said.

  “But will she go along with your little plot?” Agata wondered.

  “I shall not know until I can speak with her,” Bianca answered.

  But Francesca wasn’t of a mind to hear what her sister had to say. It was not until Agata had asked the younger girl’s maidservant, Grazia, to intercede with her mistress that she would listen to what Bianca had to say.

  “What is it you want of me?” she asked in a surly tone one morning when they had finished their meal. “Grazia says I should at least hear you out.”