Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters

by Bertrice Small

  Alessandro Venier nodded in agreement, but in truth he was infuriated by the Ziani family’s attitude. Then he realized that his friend was correct. In the grand scheme of things, Bianca was an unimportant girl. Venice was not going to war with a powerful trading partner over her. What was done was done. “If Enzo is not in any hurry to reconsider my granddaughter Francesca,” he said to Piero Ziani, “remember that her mother birthed a healthy son nine months after her marriage. Marco is almost twenty now, Piero. Orianna wasn’t much older than her daughter, Francesca. All my daughter’s children have survived infancy and early childhood. Seven children. All healthy. All living.”

  “Let us see what happens in a month or two,” Piero Ziani said.

  Alessandro Venier had to be satisfied with that. He wrote to his daughter, Orianna, telling her everything that had transpired, cleverly shifting any blame for Bianca’s escape onto Orianna’s and Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo’s shoulders. The Venier family had been made the laughingstock of Venice, and it was their fault. They should have kept Bianca in Florence until she had rid herself of her obsession for her infidel. And if she hadn’t done so, then she should have been incarcerated in a cloistered convent where she would not bring shame upon their two families, as she had by running away. They must now consider her dead to them. Her name must never be spoken within the family ever again.

  As for Francesca, he would do the best he could for her.

  Reading her father’s letter, Orianna was both furious and heartbroken by turns. To have been so defied by her own child angered her. To lose her eldest daughter brought her to tears. Still, her father was correct. Bianca’s name must be forbidden to them. Her memory expunged. By choosing her infidel prince she had put herself beyond the pale of polite and respected society. Bianca was now dead to them all.

  But sailing down the Adriatic coast, Bianca could think only of how happy she was once again. There being no real privacy upon the ship meant that any intimacies between her and Amir would have to be postponed for the interim, but she didn’t care. They were together once again. A pavilion had been set up for the two women at the farthest end of the ship’s stern. There were a silk couch and several leather and wooden chairs upon which to sit, and two small tables inlaid with tile. They spent most days here beneath a blue-and-gold-striped awning, which protected them from the direct rays of the sun. The ship’s crew was not allowed near. Only Amir could join them.

  The voyage they would make would give them time to grow used to several changes in their lives. Their clothing was but the start. Bianca would no longer wear the beautiful gowns she had grown up knowing, nor Agata her practical skirts. Turkish garb was, to their surprise, very modest. They wore pantaloons with a blouse and over it an embroidered sleeveless vest. A sash at the waist secured their garments. They were covered from neck to ankles. When they went up on the deck, each woman wore a pelisse with a hood that could be drawn up, and Bianca’s face was veiled. But the biggest change of all was that Bianca would now be known by a different name.

  “Bianca,” Amir said, “means ‘white’ and is indicative of your old life in Florence and Venice. From this day forth, you will be known as Azura, for your beautiful eyes of aquamarine.” Amir took her two hands in his and kissed them. “My beautiful Lady Azura,” he murmured to her.

  I am Azura now, she thought happily. A new name. A new life. It was good. To her surprise, she found it easy to slough off her old identity of Bianca. With it, she left behind all the darkness and misery of the past. But she did feel a certain sadness in leaving her family. Still, had they not as easily discarded her to Sebastiano Rovere in order to save her brother, Marco? Her only value to them had been how they might use her to help the family. Her happiness had meant little to them, but she had done the unthinkable. She had taken her own life in her two hands and made her own choice as to how she would live it. Gazing at Amir, she knew she had made the right decision.

  Taking advantage of the autumn winds, their vessel raced down the Adriatic Sea towards the Mediterranean. They passed the islands of Corfu, Paxos, Cephalonia, and Zakynthos. Although his vessel was well armed, Amir found he was relieved to escape any attack by the very fierce local coastal pirates. An assault on his ship would have been beaten back, but he didn’t want the two women aboard to suffer such a frightening event.

  As they rounded the Peloponnese, he pointed out the island of Kythira, birthplace of Venus and ancestral home of the Venier family. The days were warm, although now and again they faced a rainy day. But then they were in the Aegean Sea, passing between Lemnos and Lesbos, cruising into the straits of the Dardanelles and finally the Sea of Marmara early on a misty morning. Slowly, as they reached the fabled city of Istanbul, the fog was burned away by a bright sun.

  Azura had stood watching the city take shape before her. It was, she thought, even more beautiful than Venice. The city was constructed on seven hills upon a high, narrow spit of land between the Marmara and a bay known as the Golden Horn. As their ship grew closer, Azura could see the streets and buildings tumbling in disorderly fashion down the hills to the sea. They passed palaces and gardens built along the edge of the water.

  “The Russians call this city Tsarigrad, which means ‘Caesar’s City,’” Amir told her. “The Northmen who come call it Mickle Garth, which means ‘Mighty Town.’”

  “It’s amazing to behold, my lord,” she told him. “Will we live here?”

  “No. I will want my grandfather to know we have returned safely, but then we must make a three-day trip to my home. As I have told you, it is on the Black Sea. We will continue on this vessel, and while we are here you will remain aboard. It is unlikely the sultan will want to see you, beloved. If asked, he must appear ignorant of your and my actions. Venice is an important trading partner for us.”

  “Men!” Agata snorted when he had gone. “I will wager the doge sent no one after you, mistress. Christian and infidel will cry religion when it suits them to do so, but neither will permit any interference between them with regards to their trade.”

  Azura laughed. “You are correct,” she agreed, but as she spoke she was watching Amir as he left the ship and mounted a great white stallion that had been brought for him to ride from the docks to his grandfather’s palace. A coal black man, bare-chested and garbed in cloth-of-gold pantaloons, held the beast, which was beautifully caparisoned in a fine red leather saddle and a bridle of silver. There were six Janissaries who surrounded her prince as soon as he was mounted, and they rode off.

  Azura watched him go, thinking that in three more days they would be at the palazzo she would now call home. No, not palazzo. Serai. The Moonlight Serai. Amir had been teaching her Turkish, and although she had never before spoken any language but her own, she found she was picking it up surprisingly easily. It would allow her to speak with his other two wives, which was important to making friendships with them.

  Agata was not having as easy a time, however. “It twists my tongue,” she complained, but she nonetheless struggled on, discovering to her surprise that she understood more of the language when it was spoken than she herself could speak. That, she realized, could prove useful to her and to her mistress. If the new household into which they were being fitted thought she could not understand them, Agata could learn more information that might help them. She explained this to her mistress.

  “That is very clever, Agata,” Azura told her. “Amir tells me that his two wives are ready and eager to welcome me, but I am no fool. I cannot be certain of that until I know them. Their servants will talk in front of you, and you will be able to keep me informed. I shall be the third wife, Amir says, but first in his heart.”

  “These infidels are permitted four wives, I have learned,” Agata said. “I do not deny he loves you, mistress, but you will have to work hard to keep his favor.”

  Azura nodded. “I know,” she said. “I have said nothing before, but I
knew this before I decided to come with him, Agata. I knew back at Luce Stellare that if I followed him, I would have to share him with the others. But I have loved him almost from the first moment we met. I should rather have part of him than none of him.”

  “You are a rare woman indeed, mistress,” Agata said sincerely.

  “Or a fool,” Azura said with a wry smile. “Still, I am happier with him than I have ever been with another.”

  Yes, she was, but these past weeks at sea, bereft of his passion, a passion she had been denied for so long now, had been difficult. Why was it that people believed women could not have the same longings as men? She ached all over from the lack of his touch, and the few kisses that they had managed to steal since they had been reunited had made her need only worsen. And now she must share his passion with two other women! Yet even such thoughts could not disturb the newly named Azura’s happiness. She had made her choice and there was no going back.

  Sultan Mehmet greeted his grandson warmly. “From your smile I am led to believe you have attained your heart’s desire, Amir,” he said.

  “I have,” the prince answered, bowing low before his grandfather and ruler.

  “And how much trouble did you cause in Venice to attain it?” the sultan asked.

  “Has their representative complained?” Amir countered.

  “No,” the sultan answered. He signaled a slave to bring refreshments, indicating that he wished his grandson to remain for a time.

  “Let me tell you a tale of adventure,” Amir said, and when his grandfather nodded, he began. “Once there was a prince so desperately in love with a beautiful lady that he would do whatever he had to do to make the lady his own.” Amir then went on to tell the sultan of how, unbeknownst to the prince, his lady love and her sister had switched places on her fateful wedding day. He related the comedy of how the wrong girl had therefore been kidnapped and brought to the prince’s vessel. How upon discovering the ruse, the prince had had to return the wrong maiden and fetch his lady. How they had then escaped Venice, undoubtedly leaving behind chaos and scandal for the two families involved. He used no names, so even the attending slaves, who got caught up in the story, could not possibly claim that the prince in the tale was Amir.

  Sultan Mehmet roared with laughter as he considered Amir’s eagerness to be reunited with his lover, only to discover it was her younger sister. He was admiring that the girl had kept her wits about her despite her fright, and helped Amir straighten out the whole situation. “So in Venice no one knows it was the younger girl who would have wed the man she loved, and not his lady love? An adroit plot, my boy. You have claimed a clever woman for yourself. I can only hope she will get on with Maysun and Shahdi. Nothing is worse for a man than a quarrelsome harem.”

  “My wives are pleasant and easygoing women,” Amir said. “They will welcome Azura into our home.”

  “You have named her Azura?” the sultan asked.

  “For her eyes, Grandfather. Her eyes are the most amazing shade of aquamarine,” Amir explained.

  The sultan smiled a slight smile. His grandson was indeed a man in love. It was fortunate for them both that he had not inherited his father’s disobedient nature. Mehmet knew he could thank the English kadin who had been his son, Jem’s, favorite for that.

  She was a wise girl that they had named Zayna, meaning “beauty,” who had quickly learned the ways of the harem. She had carefully protected her only son, teaching him utmost obedience to the sultan. By the time she died, when Amir was yet a boy, he had learned his lessons well. Amir was the only one among his male sons and grandsons that the great sultan trusted not to betray him.

  The sultan’s own sons were always quarreling. His eldest son Bayezit’s sons were as ambitious as their father, each having different mothers aspiring to see their own son rule one day. But Jem’s only son had wisely taken himself from the midst of it all once he was old enough to make such a decision. He had become a merchant prince living in Florence, sending back bits and pieces of information and gossip to his grandfather from time to time.

  He had disappointed his own father in doing so. Now Amir was back within the bounds of Mehmet’s empire. Would he really be content to be a country gentleman with his women, his dogs, and his horses? But then he would also have his three trading vessels, and his interest in them had always been very strong.

  “My lord grandfather.”

  The sultan’s thoughts were interrupted. He focused his dark eyes upon Amir.

  “My lord, I would ask a boon of you. I would have Azura come to the Moonlight Serai as my legal wife. Will you represent her before your personal imam so this may be done today?”

  “Of course!” the sultan said enthusiastically. “You do this lady great honor, Amir.” Then he called for his imam to come to them. A scribe joined them in order to write up the papers that would make the woman known as Azura legally married to the Ottoman prince known as Amir ibn Jem. Under the law, it was not been necessary for Azura to be present at such an event. When it was done, the imam prayed for the health of the sultan and his empire before Amir departed back to his ship carrying the legal parchments declaring Azura to be his wife.

  He found her and Agata in the large cabin of the vessel eating their main meal of the day. While Azura bemoaned the lack of that wonderful Florentine invention, the fork, she seemed content enough to use her fingers now, picking up small pieces of roasted lamb with two fingers and scooping the saffroned rice up with three in a spoonlike motion. He joined them, seating himself cross-legged at the head of the small table.

  “You found your grandfather well, my lord?” she asked him politely as she ceased eating herself and prepared him a plate of food with Agata’s help.

  “Very well, and pleased enough with me to have his own imam and scribe see to the legalities of our union, beloved. You are now officially my wife,” he told her.

  “Do I not get to come to my own wedding?” Azura asked him, sounding slightly annoyed. “Remember that you swore I should not have to give up my own faith, Amir.”

  “You do not,” he said.

  “Then we must have a priest of my faith bless this union,” she told him.

  “You will not find a priest in all of the empire who would bless such a union, beloved,” he told her honestly. “You must be content to know that within the laws of my grandfather’s empire you are now considered my legal wife, Azura.” He drew the parchment he had carried from the palace out of his robes. Unrolling it, he held it out to her. “There is the sultan’s signature on this document. He acted for you as your parental guardian. He did you a great honor.”

  The old Bianca rose briefly, but she forced her away, allowing the woman she now was, and must be, to speak for her. She had chosen this life freely. She had gladly walked away from everything she had been born into so she might be with this man. “Was it a nice wedding?” she asked him mischievously. If she was already damned to a fiery hell for this marriage, her words were not going to make it any worse for her with God.

  “It was simple and quick,” he said, reaching out to grasp her hand and squeeze it. He was not a fool. He knew how much this acceptance cost her, but that she was willing to endure it only proved her great love for him. He kissed the hand in his.

  “Shall I leave you, mistress?” Agata asked. The servingwoman could feel the tears pricking at her own eyelids. The love between these two people was overwhelming.

  “No.” The prince answered for them both. “I had best go topside and give orders for our departure.” He scrambled to his feet and left them.

  “How very much he loves you,” Agata said.

  “I know,” Azura responded. “I know.”

  Their ship sailed from its dock on the Golden Horn and made its way through the narrow straits of the Bosphorus. On either side of them, beautiful green hills edged the water. Finally th
ey exited the straits into the Black Sea. Their route kept them within sight of the shoreline, for this sea could be fickle. The storms that came up quickly were apt to be very dangerous and deadly. Then, on the third morning, Agata awakened Azura excitedly. “Come! Come and see,” she said to her mistress. “We have anchored, and Moonlight Serai is within sight! It is like a pristine white jewel in the green hills, mistress! It is beautiful. In all of Florence or Venice, I have never seen anything so beautiful!”

  Azura arose from her bed and came to look. “Oh, how lovely!” she exclaimed, gazing out at the small palace that would soon be her home. It was set upon a high cliff above the sea. There would be outbuildings, of course, and gardens, for Amir loved gardens. She didn’t think any place that he called home would be without gardens. She was eager to see all of it. “Let us quickly dress,” she said to Agata.

  The cabin door opened and Amir came in. “Ahh,” he said, pleased, “you are awake and can view your new home, beloved.”

  “When may we go ashore?” she asked him excitedly.

  “Shortly,” he told her. “I must go and see that the messenger I sent from Istanbul arrived safely and that all is in readiness for you.”

  “A messenger?” Azura said, curious.

  “A pigeon,” he told her. “It is how I communicate with my grandfather or my women when necessary, or my captains communicate with me when their vessels arrive in port after a voyage. It is very convenient.”

  “Oh, look!” Agata cried. “A flag has just been raised from the rooftop of the Serai, my lord. It is green and has a crescent moon upon it.”

  “We are being welcomed,” Amir said with a smile. “Obviously my message was received by my head eunuch, Diya al Din. He manages my household as a majordomo would serve a noble house in Venice or Florence. The eunuch serving as guardian of my harem is called Ali Farid.”