Bianca

by Small Bertrice

  “Yes, my prince,” Krikor said drily with the assurance of a longtime servant. “I will do the impossible for you, as always.” He was a short man, plump with good living, and he had been with the prince since his youth. “Why are you so interested in the inhabitants of that little villa? Ah! You have seen the lady! Is she beautiful, my lord?”

  “I saw little,” the prince replied, teasing his servant. “She was well cloaked, as a proper woman out in public should be.”

  “Is she young? Old?” Krikor persisted, knowing well there was more.

  “Young, I think,” the prince answered. “She kept her head down and her eyes lowered, but she was not bent, and her step was sure. She is a mystery, Krikor, and you know how I dislike mysteries. I must have them solved.”

  “Mystery and intrigue,” Krikor said. “It is what comes of having been raised in a harem until you were seven. If only your mother had lived longer. She was wise beyond her years, my lord.”

  “My father’s harem was hardly lively,” Amir said. “The rebellious prince who sired me was a great disappointment to the few women he kept. He had too little time for them or me; quarreling with my uncle Bayezit over who will inherit Sultan Mohammed’s throne is of more import to him. I will always believe my mother died of sheer boredom, Krikor, for she was an intelligent woman surrounded by half a dozen vapid beauties whose only interest was in attracting their lord and master.”

  “Yet you have managed to retain your grandfather’s favor in spite of your father’s bad behavior, my lord.”

  Amir laughed. “I have no desire to rule an empire, or to lead armies as my father does. My uncle will eventually win the struggle, for he is more determined and far more clever. The Janissaries are favorable to Bayezit. He does not lead armies, but rather finds the best men to do so for him, thus guaranteeing him victories. The men of my family may be martial in attitude, but I always keep in mind my relations’ penchant for disposing of troublesome male heirs,” Amir said, chuckling ruefully, and Krikor nodded, grinning.

  “As a merchant in Florence, I am hardly a threat to the empire builders to whom I am related. The information I send to the Ottoman regarding the affairs of the Florentines and their neighbors helps him in his decisions on how to deal with these Italian states. I have proven my value to the sultan in this capacity. My grandfather does not need another warrior. I know my uncle Bayezit, while wary of any of Jem’s sons, will not move against me as long as I continue peacefully in my pursuits as a dealer in antiquities and fine carpets for the wealthy. Remember, Krikor, that my mother’s people were merchants; that is how she ended up in a harem.”

  “It has made you wealthy,” Krikor noted. “But do you not miss Constantinople? And what of your two lovely wives, my lord?”

  “Aye, sometimes I miss that golden city,” Amir admitted. “But remember, my home now is on the Black Sea away from the city in my little palace. As for the lady Shahdi and the lady Maysun, I took them as wives at the sultan’s request, for he wished to honor their families. They are sweet women, but I hold no passion for them, else I should have brought them with me. The courtesans of Florence keep me well entertained.”

  “And yet the woman on the beach draws your curiosity, my lord,” Krikor observed shrewdly.

  “She does, and because she does you will find out who she is for me,” the prince said. “I must know!”

  “I will do my best, my lord,” his servant promised.

  The next day, Bianca walked earlier so as to avoid her neighbor. “I can take no chances of him learning who I am. He might be one of those men who attend those dreadful orgies my husband gives.”

  “Few know what that devil’s young wife looks like, for he rarely allowed you to show yourself after the Medici showed an interest in you. Your husband is a jealous man. As if you would be unfaithful!” Agata said indignantly.

  “Lorenzo di Medici could have been my brother. He was my friend, and nothing more,” Bianca said. “I valued his friendship. But I never knew most of the men who attended those dinners. At least they were the more respectable of Sebastiano’s acquaintances. This man who passed me on the beach does not look debauched, nor did he stare at me rudely, as a lewd man might.”

  “He didn’t speak at all?” Agata asked.

  “Nay, he simply went by, never breaking stride. I was very relieved, I must tell you,” Bianca admitted. “An acquaintance would have required us to exchange names. Even if no one is aware that I have left my husband and seek an annulment, anyone learning my name might ask questions in the city. My husband would surely hear of it, and be upon me before I could escape him. I can’t go back, Agata! I can’t!”

  “You will not have to, mistress,” Agata assured the young woman. Though how she bears this lonely life, I do not know, she thought. She was lonely too, but at least she had the company of Filomena and the other women in the house for companionship. Bianca had no one really of her own age and station with whom to converse. And when were the Pietro d’Angelos going to communicate with them?

  On her next walk, Bianca was suddenly accosted by a beautiful, long-haired hound. He was golden in color and unlike any she had ever seen before. He bounded up to her, wagging his featherlike tail, and immediately stuck his long wet nose into her hand. Bianca laughed and patted the dog’s elegant, aristocratic head. His fur was soft, although his coat was heavy; even his legs were covered in the long, feathery fur.

  “Where have you come from, you lovely fellow?” Bianca asked aloud, as if expecting the exotic creature to answer. Much to her surprise, the dog fell into step with her as she continued on her trek. She found she was actually enjoying the animal’s company. Then she saw the beast had a narrow gold color about its slender neck. Bianca stopped and knelt, looking closely at the collar. It was engraved with the following words: My name is Darius and my master is Prince Amir. Could this be the prince who was her neighbor? Then she heard someone calling for the dog. Standing quickly, she saw a short man hurrying towards them.

  Breathless, he bowed low to her. “I pray Darius has not offended you, madonna,” the man said in accented Italian. “He does not usually run off as he did today.”

  “No,” Bianca replied. “I quite enjoyed his company, but I am glad you have found him, and relieved to know he has a home. He is a beautiful animal.”

  “My name is Krikor, madonna. I am the slave of Prince Amir, who is your neighbor,” he replied, bowing again.

  Bianca acknowledged his courtesy with a tiny movement of her head, but then she turned away. “I must go,” she said.

  “The prince will want to know who to thank for finding his dog. He is quite fond of Darius,” Krikor said.

  “No thanks are necessary,” Bianca assured him, and hurried away.

  The prince laughed when his servant told him of the encounter he had with Bianca. “The lady wishes to remain anonymous,” he said, “which but increases my curiosity. Are there any visitors to Luce Stellare, Krikor? Perhaps the lady has an important lover she does not wish to expose.”

  Krikor shook his head. “To the best of my knowledge, my lord, she lives alone with a small staff of servants. I have never seen anyone on the road stop at her home, but I do not sit and watch day and night. My instincts tell me she is afraid of something, which is why she maintains her privacy so zealously.”

  “Let Darius loose each day when she walks,” Amir instructed. “He will come home without you fetching him. I see I must be patient in order to unravel this puzzle of my beautiful neighbor, but I will decipher it.”

  Bianca was surprised to find Darius coming to meet her the next afternoon when she reached the beach. He gladly accepted her pats and then trotted along as she walked. Bianca was no fool. After a few days, she realized Darius’s appearance was not a coincidence. Certainly the dog had not gotten loose on his own again. He had been released to join her. Her neighbor was curious, which presented a problem.

  “Walking upon the beach is one of my few pleasures,” she said to
Agata. “Eventually this prince will follow his animal. He will ask questions I do not wish to answer. What if he recognizes me? I cannot walk on the road. He is spoiling it for me.” She was becoming agitated just thinking about it.

  “Put a note beneath the dog’s collar telling its master that you wish to maintain your privacy,” Agata suggested. “If he is a gentleman, he will comply with your wishes.” The servingwoman slowly and steadily pulled a hairbrush through her mistress’s long ebony hair in an effort to soothe her. She knew Bianca enjoyed the dog’s company. They must find her a pet or two to keep her distracted from her situation. Filomena would know how to accomplish such a task. She should have thought of it before.

  “If only my mother would write to me,” Bianca fretted. “We are so isolated.”

  “When there is something to communicate, your mother will write,” Agata told the young woman. “Better she is careful than bring your husband down on us.”

  Bianca took Agata’s suggestion, and the next day when she returned home from her walk she first stopped to carefully push the note she had written beneath Darius’s gold collar. “Go home now,” she told the dog, stepping onto the path leading up to her villa. She stopped briefly part of the way up to watch as the dog loped down the beach towards his own home.

  The prince always knew the approximate time his hound returned and waited for him. Seeing his master, Darius trotted over to him, pushing his long nose into the man’s hand. “Well, well, back from your walk already,” Amir noted. “Did she ask after me? Is she as lovely as I think she is, or is it my imagination?” Then he saw the small parchment tucked beneath the dog’s collar. “Ahh, she has sent me a love note,” he chuckled and drew the parchment from the collar, opening it carefully.

  Signore, it began. While I certainly enjoy your dog’s company, I hope you will not consider it an excuse to intrude further upon my privacy. It was signed The Lady from Luce Stellare. Amir laughed ruefully. Did his neighbor not consider that her demand but whetted his appetite further to know who she was?

  The next afternoon, Bianca found a new note beneath Darius’s collar. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she pulled it out and opened it. Who are you? the note read. She crushed the parchment and stuffed it into the pocket of her cape. The afternoon after that there was another message attached to the dog. Tell me your name, it begged. She smiled, unable to help herself.

  “He is flirting with you,” Agata said, chuckling.

  “He shouldn’t be. Until I am told otherwise, I am a married woman,” Bianca said.

  “But he doesn’t know that, and perhaps it doesn’t matter to him. Men are like that, mistress,” Agata responded.

  “He cannot know who I am,” Bianca replied. “Must I cease walking upon my own beach because this man is harassing me?”

  “You can walk,” Agata told her. “He will grow bored with this game if you do not play with him. Men can be such children.”

  So Bianca walked, and each day Darius would join her, but there were no more notes beneath his collar. Then one afternoon the dog appeared before her carrying a small covered basket in his mouth. He stopped, placing it before her on the pebbled sand, and sat down, looking up at Bianca anxiously. She heard a distressed sound from the willow container and lifted the lid. There, within, was a small, very furry white kitten.

  “Oh!” Bianca exclaimed, unable to help herself from lifting the kitten from the basket. “Aren’t you a darling!”

  The small creature trembled and meowed piteously at her. Bianca cuddled it close, making little soothing noises in hopes of comforting it. It was the most beautiful beast she had ever seen. On closer inspection she saw it had a gilt leather collar studded with tiny seed pearls. She kissed the kitten’s head and seeing a note within the basket took it up with her free hand to read: My name is Jamila. Please give me a home, gracious lady of Luce Stellare. Bianca laughed softly. What was she to do? She could hardly refuse such a charming request.

  Jamila managed to escape the confines of her hand and crawl up to her shoulder. Once there, she snuggled into the crook of Bianca’s neck and began to purr. With that perfect feline maneuver, Bianca was lost. “You are a wicked little thing,” she scolded the kitten softly. Then plucking it from its perch and tucking it back in the basket, she began to walk home again while Jamila complained and cried to be picked up and cuddled. The household of women fell in love with the kitten immediately.

  “How could I refuse to take her?” Bianca asked them helplessly, and they all agreed that she couldn’t, even Agata. Jamila quickly established herself as queen of the household, and Bianca was happier for her presence. She tucked a note beneath Darius’s collar the next day, thanking her neighbor for the kitten.

  The summer came, and still she heard no word from her family. Bianca could only surmise that Sebastiano Rovere was refusing to allow an annulment. The fact that he still had the power of life and death over her was unnerving. Nevertheless, she took comfort in the fact that he didn’t know where she was; if he did, he would have come for her. The thought of going back to his large, dark palazzo with all its secrets frightened her. She avoided thinking about it, instead reveling in the warmth and sunshine of the summer months.

  One afternoon as she walked her beach, she saw her neighbor standing on the heights above. He waved, and before she could stop herself Bianca waved back. Then she chided herself for her foolishness, but he had not taken the casual waggle of her hand as an invitation to join her, for which she was relieved. He was not there again for several days, but the second time he waved at her she was bound by her first actions to answer him back. Then she turned and walked quickly back towards Luce Stellare.

  Bianca had to admit that she was as curious about her neighbor as he seemed to be about her. Who was he really, this man they called the prince? Was he really a prince? A foreigner, Filomena and Gemma said dourly. A foreigner—and foreigners were dangerous. He was a prince, little Rufina assured her mistress. She had spoken with a servant from the neighboring villa who was her male cousin. The prince, Rufina said, came and went back and forth to Florence.

  Fascinated in spite of herself, Bianca asked the girl, “What does he do in the city?”

  “Luigi says he is a merchant of carpets and rare things,” Rufina told her. “The great Medici himself patronizes this prince’s undertaking.”

  What would Lorenzo di Medici buy from this prince? Bianca wondered. But then she recalled that Lorenzo had a passion for antiquities and rare things, as well as for beautiful women. If this foreign prince catered to the di Medici tastes, then he would, if he had not already, make his fortune, for the di Medici did not quibble over the price of any item they desired. Their various homes were filled with beautiful paintings, sculptures, and other items of great value. And the rest of the wealthy in the city would follow the di Medici and buy from this merchant prince as well.

  Bianca considered that her neighbor might be as interesting as the elderly silk merchant whom her father used to bring home for a meal now and again before the old man died. In his youth and middle years, this man had traveled to China, bringing back bolts of fabric greatly prized by the wealthy of Florence. He told wonderful stories of his adventures, which she and Marco were allowed to sit and hear.

  It was the first glimpse of the world outside of her father’s house that Bianca had ever had. She had once even told her parents she wished she might travel, but they had laughed and said her future was a wonderful marriage and a family of her own. Well, Bianca thought, that had not turned out quite as her parents had planned. She would have been better off traveling to faraway places. Perhaps this prince had marvelous stories to tell, but then, she wasn’t a child any longer. She was a woman in hiding from a brutal and dangerous husband who would probably kill her if he could find her.

  Still, Bianca reasoned with herself, she hadn’t spoken to another human except Agata and the house servants in months. She had never heard of this foreign prince until she discovered him to be h
er neighbor. Certainly she would have known something of him if he had been known to her family or to her husband. And like her villa, his was always quiet and peaceful, with no guests or other visitors. Perhaps, just perhaps, she might allow him to speak to her. Perhaps she would even speak with him.

  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.