Bianca

by Small Bertrice

  He thrust and he thrust and he thrust into her softness, but then sensing her passion peaking a second time, he released his own joy, for he could not hold it back any longer. Burying his face in her long ebony hair, he cried her name once, “Bianca!” as he was drained of this first desperate need for her.

  They lay still joined for some time, their combined breathing calming itself as they were restored to a state of peace. Finally he withdrew slowly and reluctantly from her wonderful body. Silently their hands found each other, fingers entwining as they stretched out next to each other. She nestled close to him, her head settling upon his shoulder. Reaching out with an arm, he pulled her as close as he might.

  “I love you,” he said quietly.

  “I love you,” she responded. “You are the only man I have ever or will ever love.”

  The admission filled him with untold happiness, for she had captured his heart and soul in her two small hands. His grandfather’s harem was filled with women sent for the purpose of expressing loyalty. Most never shared the sultan’s bed. When Mehmet wished to honor someone, he would usually give away these women, who, having been trained in the arts of passion while in the harem, were excellent examples of feminine perfection with a thorough knowledge of female skills.

  This was how Amir had obtained the two women who were his wives. Gifts from his grandfather, both were good women rendered sterile before their arrival in order that Amir would father no children—particularly male children who might one day challenge the Ottoman’s rule. There was little chance that Amir, son of Jem, son of Mehmet, would ever inherit the throne. And if by some quirk of kismet he did, then he would take fertile women to give him sons and daughters.

  Both his wives were pretty, although neither could be called a beauty. Maysun was three years older than he was, and Shahdi was a year younger. He was fond of them, for together they kept his home a pleasant and orderly dwelling. He slept with them occasionally, and treated them well so that they were content in their lives. But love them? No. He did not love them. He had never loved them. He had never loved anyone until he had set eyes upon the woman who now cuddled next to him replete with passion.

  They were now lovers and for the next month spent every waking and sleeping moment together. They were oblivious to anything but each other. Krikor, the prince’s slave man, grumbled with the changes in his master’s life. He did not like change, he said. Still, he could not help but chuckle now and again at Bianca and Amir. Agata and the other women servants of Luce Stellare smiled and sang at their work, very content to see their beautiful mistress and her beloved prince so happy. Bianca deserved some happiness, the women of the villa agreed. It was past time.

  Then one day a messenger arrived bearing a message from the lawyer representing Sebastiano Rovere’s estate. He wished to speak with the widow himself, and requested that she return to Florence. Bianca considered it, but then she sent back a message in her own hand telling the lawyer that if he wished to speak with her, he must come to Luce Stellare. She had no intention of leaving her home.

  To her surprise, the lawyer came, and with him her two stepsons, Stefano and Alberto Rovere. Bianca was forced to house them, as her isolated home was nowhere near a village or an inn. “I don’t want you here when they are here,” she said to Amir. “If they see I have taken a lover, they will assume I left their father for you.”

  “Such a thing would not have been possible,” the prince said to her. “How could we have met in the first place?” He didn’t like the idea of leaving her alone with her late husband’s sons or the lawyer.

  “Common sense is not something the Roveres have. Now that he is dead, they will do what all families do. They will attempt to make him the victim of a bad wife in order to preserve some bit of respectability for him. They would not bother with me at all except that as his widow I have come into an inheritance,” Bianca said.

  “Will you accept it?” he asked her, both curious and jealous.

  “No, Amir, of course not. I want only my dower portion back in full, with interest. I cannot continue to live on my father’s generosity, Amir, nor do I want to, for it means I must obey my father once again. I will purchase the villa from him, and invest my monies with the di Medici bank. I would be independent. Lorenzo is not his late grandfather, Cosimo, but he will see that I am taken care of, I am certain,” Bianca told her lover. “Once I counted him a friend. I hope that he still considers me such.”

  “I want you to marry me,” the prince told her. “I want to take care of you, Bianca. I want to keep you safe from any harm.”

  “You already have two wives, Amir. And you cannot marry me,” Bianca said quietly. “You are an infidel. I do not believe the sultan’s grandson is about to convert to Christianity, is he?”

  “No,” he admitted with a sigh. “That in itself would be treasonous for me.”

  “Then we are at an impasse, cara mia. Yet I am perfectly content to remain your lover,” she told him. “I have no obligations. My family sacrificed me to save themselves, and I am not likely to ever forget that. I love them, but I will not be ruled by them again.”

  He looked at her, surprised. “What has happened to you?” he asked her.

  Bianca smiled. “Your love has made me strong, Amir. I do not want to be a frail female dependent on a father, or a husband. I can take care of myself. It pleases me to live in my own house. It pleases me to have Amir ibn Jem as my lover. I will be owned by no man ever again now that I know what real freedom is all about.”

  Astounded, he said, “And what happens when you are no longer pleased to have me as your lover, Bianca?”

  Bianca saw the hurt in his eyes. She had been too candid with him. She had injured his pride. It was a mistake she would not make again. “Oh, my love,” she said, throwing herself into his arms, “I shall never grow tired of your passion. More likely you will grow tired of me when I grow old and plump.”

  His arms tightened about her. He was just discovering what a clever woman she was. It was frankly quite a shock. He kissed the top of her ebony head. “I will go home, and leave you to manage your not-so-welcome guests,” he told her. And think on this sudden turn of events, he said silently to himself. I love her, but can I manage an independent woman?

  She heard the tightness in his voice. “Amir,” she said, looking up at him now, “do not be angry with me, my love. Of all those I know, I thought you would understand better than any my need for true freedom.”

  He sighed. “I do,” he admitted, reluctantly realizing that he actually did understand. “I have the same needs as well, beloved. That is why I reside here in the Republic of Florence instead of my own home on the Black Sea. Still, to hear you give voice to your desires surprises me. You have never before spoken of such things.”

  “I could not speak such thoughts before my husband’s death,” Bianca explained.

  “No, you could not, could you?” he agreed. He tipped her face up to his, and gave her a quick kiss. “Send to me when your guests are gone, beloved.”

  “I will,” she told him.

  And then he was gone, calling for Krikor to join him.

  Bianca watched him go, and then with a sigh turned to begin preparations for her guests. “Put the brothers in the guest chamber facing the sea, and the lawyer in the one facing the gardens,” she told Filomena. “Cook simple meals,” she instructed Gemma. “I don’t want them settling in for a long stay. And serve passable but not the best wines. A day or two is all I can bear of such company.”

  “You should send to your father,” Agata said.

  “Why?” Bianca demanded.

  “He can advise you. I do not think it is wise for you to speak with these people without someone there to see to your interests,” Agata replied.

  “I want nothing from Rovere but that which is mine,” Bianca said. “I will not profit from his death, well deserved as it was.”

  “You deserve something for the time you spent with that demon and the misery he
visited upon you,” Agata said indignantly.

  Bianca smiled, and patted her servingwoman’s hand. “Whatever he has is cursed in my eyes. I would not bring his bad luck into my house,” she explained, knowing that Agata would understand that.

  “Ahhhh, yes!” her loyal servant responded, nodding. “Now I see, mistress. You are so very wise. Your mother would be pleased.”

  “I shall invest my dower portion with the di Medici bank,” Bianca said. “Now let us prepare for our guests, for the sooner we can accommodate them, the sooner they will be gone.”

  The Rovere brothers and their lawyer came. All were dressed in black as a sign of their mourning. Bianca greeted them in a red gown trimmed in gold thread and tiny black jet beading.

  “You do not mourn your husband, signora?” the lawyer, whose name was Renzo Guardini, asked her disapprovingly. He was a tall, thin man with a pinched face.

  “I had not seen my husband in almost two years, Signore Guardini,” Bianca replied. “Until he arrived at my villa shortly before his demise. In the brief time he was here and before he was driven off, he beat me severely while his men attempted to rape my women servants. I was seeking an annulment of our marriage, and he obviously did not approve. He was a monster. I am not a hypocrite to mourn a man I despised and whose debauchery was legend. I hope he is roasting in hell.” She smiled. “Let us go to my library, which is a suitable place in which to conduct business,” Bianca suggested, as she led them from the entry of the house where she had greeted them into the more comfortable surroundings. “There is a tray with glasses and wine, signores. Please help yourselves. My household staff is small and limited to women servants only, although I do have two men for the gardens and stables.” She seated herself, and her guests did too after helping themselves to her wine.

  “Your husband has left you a very rich woman,” Signore Guardini began.

  “I want nothing but my dower portion plus the interest it would have earned in a respectable bank from the time I was betrothed to him until his death,” Bianca said.

  “Signora, you do not understand,” the lawyer said. “Sebastiano Rovere left his widow half of his fortune as well as his house and all of his slaves.”

  “Did he indeed?” Bianca was genuinely surprised, but then she saw her father’s hand in that. Rovere had agreed because he wanted the most beautiful girl in Florence for his wife, and he didn’t expect Bianca to outlive him.

  “He did indeed,” Guardini said sourly, his tone implying she didn’t deserve it.

  “I want only my dower portion plus interest,” Bianca repeated. “I certainly don’t want the house where I was so unhappy. I will free the poor slaves he held but for one.”

  She turned to Stefano Rovere. “Take Nudara, and sell her along with her damnable donkey to the highest bidder. Then give the monies you obtain to the Reverend Mother Baptista at the convent of Santa Maria del Fiore outside the city’s gates.”

  “That slave girl is worth a fortune,” Alberto Rovere protested, “and you would give that fortune to some shabby convent outside the city? I wonder if they would even take monies obtained from such a sale.”

  “As they are unlikely to know, and they are poor, I imagine they will be grateful for such an unexpected gift,” Bianca said sweetly. “But should you dare to tell them the origins of their good fortune, Alberto, believe me when I promise you that you will suffer for your perfidy. My Agata will see that the evil eye is put on you. And I will curse you myself with a certain inability to perform. Some good should come from that vile bitch.”

  “There is a fortune to be made with the wench!” Alberto insisted. “If you could see how she takes that animal’s doughy cock with little cries of pleasure, and then wiggles her plump ass, you would understand. The public would pay through the nose to see such a spectacle. Give her to me! I will give you half of all I earn with her, and you can give that to your favored convent. No one need know that we are the ones profiting.”

  Bianca looked at her stepson with distaste. Madre di Dios! He favored his father in his deviant tastes, which was unfortunate, but then with an unpleasant flash she remembered him on her wedding night. Catching herself, Bianca drew a deep breath. “Alberto, your brother will sell Nudara for me to the highest bidder with the monies to go to Santa Maria del Fiore. If, as you say, there is a great demand for this creature, then a publicly announced but private auction will bring out many bidders, and a great deal of gold.”

  He looked at her with Sebastiano’s cold dark eyes. “I want Nudara, and if you do not give her to me, I will—”

  “Will what, you pitiful little monster? You are about to make a great match, I am told. I wonder how they would feel knowing the kind of man they are entrusting with their virgin daughter. And you will know how to be certain she is a virgin, Alberto, won’t you?” Bianca said softly, but her eyes were like blue ice. “Of course, if your dear father was blackmailing them as he did my father, your marriage may not take place at all. The girl is a very wealthy heiress—pretty, I am told, and a desirable match. I am astounded they would choose you for her husband.”

  “We are in love!” Alberto said.

  “Then be satisfied that you and Stefano will split your father’s considerable wealth instead of having to share it with me. There are things I know that your family would prefer not be revealed to the public eye. Do you understand me?”

  He nodded but then said, “When did you become so hard, Bianca?”

  She laughed. “I am not hard, Alberto, except where I must be. If I could survive your father’s treatment of me, however, I can and will survive anything, including your attempts to force me to your will.”

  “This is not how things are done,” the lawyer Guardini said, pursing his lips.

  “Stefano, you are the eldest. What say you?” Bianca asked.

  “I will see that your wishes are carried out, Bianca,” he told her. He turned to the lawyer. “She is to have exactly what she asks for, her dower portion plus interest, and the monies from the sale of the slave will go to Santa Maria del Fiore. The other slaves held by my father will be freed, and given a year’s wages as if they were free men.”

  “The di Medici bank will decide the interest owed,” Bianca told them sweetly. Then she said, “Thank you, Stefano, for your generosity.”

  “I agree,” Stefano said. “Brother?”

  “I agree as well,” Alberto replied, defeated.

  “Then is our business done?” Bianca asked the lawyer.

  “I must draw up the papers making these changes,” Guardini said sourly.

  “Please feel free to use the library. There is parchment in the drawer of the table you can use. And ink too. When you are done I will read it over, and if it suits me I will sign it. You will stay the night, of course, signores.”

  She could read; why was he not surprised? Guardini wondered. He had heard that Sebastiano Rovere’s widow was a properly raised woman who was meek and obedient. This woman did not fit such a description at all. He had not heard until his client’s death that his wife had left him. He was not a part of Rovere’s circle of friends, and the truth was he hadn’t wished to be. Rovere had wanted his own representation to be competent and dull. Renzo Guardini was just that, and content to be so.

  Rovere’s widow was like her father. He realized that, in spite of himself, he was admiring of her. He remembered the silk merchant seated in his chambers with Rovere, dictating the terms of the marriage contract. It was he who had insisted that if Rovere predeceased his daughter, half of his estate would go to the widow. Guardini had been shocked by such a request, and even more shocked that Rovere agreed to the terms. His client had just laughed and said, “If she can outlive me, she will have earned it.” The silk merchant had nodded grimly.

  Well, she had outlived him, but chose not to profit from her husband’s death. He shook his head. Yet having met Bianca Pietro d’Angelo now, Guardini could not help but consider if she had a hand in her husband’s death. She would n
ot be the first woman to pay for the assassination of her spouse. But then where would she have gotten the monies for such a deed? She had been in hiding from Rovere, and her honest surprise at learning she had inherited half of his estate, an estate she would not accept, really ruled out any malice on her part. No. Rovere’s wife had simply benefited from the man’s ability to make enemies. And the belief that he could escape justice had been Rovere’s downfall.

  The lawyer set to work writing a document to be signed by Bianca and by Rovere’s two sons, who were now each twice as rich as they had believed themselves to be. It took him some time, for he was not used to doing such work himself but rather assigning it to his notary, but by late afternoon he had written the document out four times. A copy for Bianca; one for each of her stepsons; and another for the court. The document stated that Bianca Pietro d’Angelo renounced the bequest made to her by her late husband, Sebastiano Rovere, with two exceptions. Her dower with interest calculated by the di Medici bank would be returned to her, not her father; and the slave woman known as Nudara would be sold, the profit from such sale to go to the convent of Santa Maria del Fiore.

  “It’s a simple enough document, but quite legal,” Guardini said. “You are empowered to act for yourself as Rovere’s widow. Sign here, signora.”

  Bianca signed the four documents, passing them next to Stefano, who then pushed the parchments to his younger brother. All three parties having signed, Guardini put his own signature and seal to the documents. Then he gave one to Bianca and one each to Stefano and Alberto Rovere. They then adjourned to the dining room for the meal, and afterwards were shown to their chambers by Filomena. The next morning the three men departed after being fed a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and wine.

  “Will you be returning to Florence now?” Stefano asked her as his horse was brought from the stable.