Agata peeped out the window. “Your grandfather has just gotten into his gondola. He looks quite elegant today in his deep blue velvet robe. It is trimmed with gold and pearls like your gown. Ahh, here is the bridal gondola come up to the palazzo quay. ’Tis a good thing neither of you is sensitive to flowers, for I have never seen so many before.”
Bianca hugged her sister gently. “Thank you for helping me,” she said.
“Helping you?” Francesca laughed softly. “You are helping me, dear sister, and I shall be forever grateful.”
“I will escort the bride downstairs,” Agata said. “Stay hidden here, mistress, until I return, and the wedding party is gone.” Then she opened the door to the apartment that the two sisters shared, and leading the bridal figure, she descended the stairs into the beautiful circular entrance hall. Agata was dabbing at her eyes with a scrap of linen, and the other servants who gathered to see the bride nodded to one another, touched by her devotion to her mistress. Agata, they knew, would be going to Enzo Ziani’s palazzo in another day to serve her mistress in her newly wedded state.
Once the bride and her servant were outside the palazzo and on the quay, gloved and liveried footmen helped the bride into her flower-bedecked transport, spreading the skirts of her gown so they would not wrinkle. The big gondola pulled away from the quay, and led by her grandfather’s vessel, glided down the small canal and into the Grand Canal. Francesca looked out the glass windows, enchanted by the beautiful sunny September morning, made even more beautiful by the colored glass. The cityscape on either side of the water appeared magical. Since her arrival in Venice a year and a half ago, she had hardly been out of her grandfather’s palazzo and garden except for a few important and formal events at which Prince Alessandro wished to display his soon-to-be-marriageable granddaughter.
Francesca’s heart was beating with excitement. In less than an hour she would be married to the man of her dreams. If he was disappointed at first, her love for him would erase that disappointment quickly enough; she was absolutely certain of it. She would be Enzo’s wife, and she would devote herself to making him happy, bearing his children, and raising them beautifully, as her own mother had done. Bianca was a fool to throw away such a wonderful future by waiting for a man who would probably never return for her. Her older sister would probably be sent back to Florence to mitigate the brief scandal that would arise from this day’s events. Heaven only knew what their mother would do to her. Francesca giggled, quite pleased with herself.
Suddenly outside there was shouting, and her gondola was bumped several times by another craft. Francesca peered through the windows to see what was happening. A number of large barges filled with cargo had cut off her vessel from her grandfather’s gondola. And it seemed she was surrounded on all sides. How inconvenient, Francesca thought, irritated. She didn’t want to be late for her wedding. And then the velvet curtain shielding the opening to the cabin was roughly pulled aside by a bald-headed, black-bearded man with one gold earring in his nose and another in his left ear. Reaching in, he caught her lace-gloved hand and yanked her forward.
Francesca screamed, pulling back. “What are you doing?” she demanded of him. “Let me go! Let me go!” She attempted to pull her hand from his, to no avail.
The villain ignored her demands and instead yanked harder, unseating Francesca, which caused her to lose her balance entirely. Pulling her from the cabin, her attacker tossed her over his broad shoulder as if she were a sack of meal. He leapt from the bridal gondola into a smaller gondola hidden between her vessel and the barges. To those watching, it was an amazing feat of balance. He could have just as easily fallen into the water with his burden, but the large man was light on his feet.
Roughly pushing his captive down into the boat, he pulled a dark cloth over her head. Francesca was still screaming for help that didn’t come. The truth was her voice wasn’t even heard over the shouting of the bargemen, Alessandro Venier’s servants, and her own gondoliers, now splashing about in the waters of the canal where they had been tossed. What was happening to her? Who was this man dragging her from the wonderful life she had planned? Francesca began to cry. She was suddenly very frightened, finding it difficult to breathe, and her belly was roiling in her cramped, overheated position. Without warning, she fainted.
When she opened her eyes again she found herself suspended in the air between the little gondola below and a larger vessel above. Beneath her, she saw the oars of a galley. Francesca shrieked as her body, still sheathed in the wedding gown, swayed. She was being winched up, she realized, as a ship’s rail appeared just beneath her. Several men ran to bring her on board, gently swinging her over the rail, lowering her to the deck, and unfastening her from the device that had held her. Freed, Francesca found her legs were somehow managing to keep her upright despite her terror.
“Beloved!” A tall, handsome man hurried forward. He was dressed in full white pants sashed in dark green and a white shirt open at the neckline, which displayed in part a bronzed chest. His face was clean-shaven but for a well-barbered dark goatee, and his eyes were a gorgeous shade of dark blue. “Did I not say I would come for you, Bianca?” He lifted the veil covering her face, looked at her, and stepped back in surprise. “Who in Allah’s name are you?” he demanded. He whirled about, roaring, “You have taken the wrong woman, you fools!”
Francesca began to laugh as her fears evaporated with the knowledge of who this man must be. “No, no, signore, do not berate them. My sister and I exchanged places this morning, for I love Enzo Ziani and she insisted her prince would come.” Then without warning her belly rebelled and she vomited all over the toes of his dark boots.
“Who are you?” he asked her, signaling a seaman to clean the mess up with a bucket of seawater. “Let us walk the deck,” he said to the bride, “and you will tell me.”
“I am Francesca Pietro d’Angelo, signore, Bianca’s younger sister. I have been living with my grandfather here in Venice since I turned twelve a year and a half ago. I was being prepared for a Venetian marriage. Then our parents sent Bianca here, and Nonno decided that Bianca was to wed my Enzo.” Francesca went on to explain the whole plot to him.
Amir ibn Jem could not help but laugh when she had finished. His clever Bianca had been fortunate in having this younger sister who was willing, nay, eager to help her.
“Where is she now?” he asked Francesca.
“Hiding at Nonno’s palazzo,” the girl answered him. “If you wish to rescue her, you don’t have a great deal of time, signore. And you must escape Venice as well, for they will know it is you who has taken her. She has insisted for months to any and all who would listen that you would not fail her. Where are we now?”
“Anchored in the middle of the lagoon between the island of San Giorgio Maggiore and the Lido,” Amir replied. “How far is that from your grandfather’s palazzo, Francesca?”
“The little canal to his palazzo is towards the end of the Grand Canal just past Santa Maria della Salute. I can show you, for you will have to get me back.”
“I apologize for spoiling your wedding day,” Amir said.
“It wasn’t really mine,” Francesca responded. “I will marry Enzo one day, but when I do he will know it is me, and that I love him. I was foolish to believe otherwise. I think everyone is correct. I am too young to marry right now. But had you not kidnapped me, signore, I should not have had the time to realize it. There is a great deal more to marriage than just a beautiful gown and a flower-bedecked gondola, I am told. But we must hurry now or you will lose the opportunity to regain your own love.”
“I told my bargemen to keep everyone busy until my ship had a chance to make the open sea. They will do their best to delay the search for the stolen bride, but you are correct in that we must hurry,” Amir told the young girl.
He gave orders in a language that Francesca didn’t understand, and then she found h
erself being lowered once again into the small gondola. Amir swung himself down beside her, and then they were being poled away from the prince’s ship. The gondolier rowed very quickly across the lagoon and into the Grand Canal. Francesca directed him to the little side canal where her grandfather’s palazzo was located.
“The servants will all be busy preparing for the wedding feast, and drinking Nonno’s wine while he is not there to catch them,” the girl told the prince. “If we are careful and quick we can slip into the house easily.”
And they did, hurrying up the wide marble staircase and going down the hall to the apartment that the two sisters shared. Agata jumped with surprise when Francesca came into the room, but then seeing the familiar figure of Prince Amir she gave a little cry, which caused Bianca to come forth from her bedchamber.
Seeing her sister, she gasped with surprise, but then she saw Amir. Her aquamarine eyes widened, and then filled with tears. “You came!” she said, and the tears spilled down her pale cheeks.
He stepped forward, enfolding Bianca into his arms. “I came,” he agreed. “Did I not promise you that I would?”
“It seems as if it has been forever,” Bianca told him.
“We have not much time in which to make our escape, beloved,” he told her.
“Agata, come and help me get the dark color out of my hair,” Francesca said.
“Do not be long,” the prince warned the servingwoman. Then, taking Bianca aside, he explained to her the farce that had transpired as he kidnapped the bride and had her brought to his ship.
Bianca found the whole thing very funny, and laughed as she had not in many months. But then realizing that they were still in danger, she stood up. “What shall I take?” she asked him.
“Nothing but Agata, if she would come,” he said. “I have the proper garments for you both upon my ship, beloved. Your Venetian finery would not be at all suitable for the life you are to lead. Are you still certain you would come with me, Bianca?”
“Yes! And yes a thousand times, Amir ibn Jem, heart of my heart,” she told him.
“Agata, come! We have to go now or we risk being caught.”
Francesca’s hair was now free of the dark dye, but wet. She ran to Bianca and hugged her hard. “Be happy, dearest sister!” Then she whispered, “He is quite outrageously handsome, Bianca. I don’t blame you.”
“I’m so sorry your wedding to Enzo was spoiled,” Bianca told her younger sibling. “If you truly love him, Francesca, do not settle for another.”
“I won’t,” Francesca replied. “But first I will make him jealous. Now go quickly before you get caught, and your prince imprisoned. The doge would love such a captive.”
The two women and the prince left the apartment and hurried downstairs to flee the palazzo. Francesca had been correct. The servants had been so busy drinking their master’s wine, and preparing for the wedding feast expected to commence shortly, that the fugitives had managed to come and depart without ever being seen. They entered the waiting gondola. Within a short time, they were rowed out of the Grand Canal and across the lagoon and hoisted up onto the deck of the galley. The gondolier, to their surprise, came too, for he was actually one of the prince’s men. The little vessel floated off.
Bianca and Agata were escorted to a large cabin, where Amir left them to change into their Turkish garments while he gave orders for the ship to escape Venetian waters before the precious cargo it carried was discovered. The clothing, while totally different from what they had worn all their lives, was beautifully made. They each pulled on pantaloons, which they sashed at the waist, a modest long-sleeved shirt, a sleeveless vest, and comfortable slippers. There was a single sheer silk veil for head and face that they quickly realized was for the younger woman. The clothing was exquisitely made, of the finest materials. One set was the shade of a ripe melon, and Agata had immediately realized it was for her mistress, as it was decorated with small jewels and gold fringe. The other, which she now wore, was plain but actually a very pretty sea blue in color.
When the two women ventured back onto the main deck, suitably clothed in their new garb, it was to see the shining towers and domes of Venice fading into the distance, and the open sea stretching ahead of them. A new life awaited them, and Bianca looked happier and more at ease than her servingwoman thought she had in months. Agata did not know what awaited them beyond the sea ahead, but Bianca’s joy was too potent to ignore. Whatever they faced, it would be good, the servingwoman decided.
Chapter 13
By midafternoon, all of Venice had heard the tale of how the Venier bride had been kidnapped on her wedding day and spirited away. It was suspected that she had been taken by some lawless Turk—a prince, it was said. Alessandro Venier’s servants were quick to gossip, and they said the girl had been saying for months that her prince would come for her. And she had made no secret of not wanting to wed the charming Enzo Ziani, while her younger sister continued to proclaim her love for the man.
How delicious, the gossips in the Piazzetta and Piazza San Marco decreed as they strolled up and down in the presence of the city’s best courtesans. The Ziani family was insulted by the bride’s kidnapping, but they could hardly blame the old prince for what happened. Still, they wanted someone to blame. Instead of building such an extravagant gondola in which to transport the bride, could not Alessandro Venier have made better security arrangements for his granddaughter? Yet they had taken Bianca’s words about her prince no more seriously than had her own family.
Alessandro Venier was himself shocked by what had happened. He decided to blame Francesca for the debacle. “You wished bad fortune upon your sister,” he accused her, “and this is the result of your wickedness!”
“I did not want her to wed my Enzo, it is true,” Francesca said, “but I would never wish bad fortune upon anyone, Nonno. This is your fault for insisting that Bianca wed a man she did not wish to marry. But you can redeem the Venier name by offering them me. I will be fourteen in less than seven months, and you said I should wed at fourteen.”
Alessandro Venier looked sharply at his granddaughter. “What do you know of what happened, Francesca? How did this infidel manage to get word to Bianca? And where is her servingwoman? I would speak with her.”
“I imagine Agata is with Bianca,” Francesca said sweetly. “She is very devoted to my sister, Nonno.”
“This kidnapping did not happen by chance! If the servant is with the mistress, then someone else in this house knew what was to transpire, and aided them,” Alessandro Venier said furiously. “Was it you, Francesca?”
“Nonno! How could I have possibly contacted some infidel I have never laid eyes upon and concocted such an event as transpired today? I had nothing to do with it!”
Of course she hadn’t, her grandfather thought. He was grasping at straws in an effort to salvage a bad situation. The truth was that even if they managed to regain custody of Bianca, the Ziani family would not have her now. By running off with her infidel, she had embarrassed them publicly. Even if Enzo Ziani were madly in love with her, he could not accept her back. Francesca interrupted his troubled thoughts with an even more troubling question.
“What will you tell my parents of this day?” she asked her grandfather.
“Go to your room,” he said. What was he going to tell his daughter? That she had raised an impossible and disobedient child? The truth was that Bianca’s first marriage was at the root of all this trouble today. If Orianna and her husband had not allowed themselves to be frightened by Sebastiano Rovere, God curse his soul, Bianca would have made a happy Venetian marriage and there would have been the end to it.
But they had practically forced the girl into the arms of that decadent monster, and now a second marriage had caused the foolish girl to rebel. This situation was not his fault, Alessandro Venier decided. It was the fault of Bianca’s parents, an
d he intended to lay it at their door.
He would, of course, have to mend fences with the Zianis. Bianca’s dowry was of necessity forfeited to them as a penalty. Then he dangled Francesca’s larger dowry before them. He had added to his favorite granddaughter’s dower portion himself. The family demurred. He pressed the issue. Enzo Ziani was publicly mourning his loss before all of Venice, drinking and whoring every night until he was the talk of the city.
“He is not of a mind now to wed again,” the Ziani patriarch, Piero Ziani, told his old friend, Alessandro Venier. “The family wishes to allow him to indulge his grief and his embarrassment, but he must wed again soon. We need an heir. I will be frank with you, Alessandro. Francesca is beautiful and accomplished. But she is too young for my grandson, Enzo. Carolina was fourteen when she married him, and see how that turned out. No, we must seek an older woman, perhaps seventeen or eighteen, who will have a better chance of bearing a live child for us. Bianca was perfect. I regret what happened on what was to have been their wedding day.”
“No more than I do, Piero,” his companion said.
“Do you know for certain who took her?”
“It would appear that her kidnapper was Amir ibn Jem, the grandson of Sultan Mehmet. She knew him slightly, for he was her neighbor when she stayed at the Pietro d’Angelos’ villa,” Alessandro Venier said, telling but a half-truth.
“Enzo told me that he said he would come for her,” Piero Ziani murmured.
“The words of a romantic fool. Who could believe such words but a romantic and even more foolish girl? And who would have thought he would actually come?”
Piero Ziani nodded in agreement. “Certainly he was just more than a neighbor to love her so,” he said. “If it were not my family who has been embarrassed, or my grandson whose heart has been broken, I should be admiring of such a feat of daring. Enzo asked the doge to complain to the sultan and demand the girl back, but of course the doge said no. The scandal will die, and we cannot endanger our relations with someone as powerful as Sultan Mehmet over a stolen bride. Besides, no vows were spoken.”
Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters Page 24