Bianca: The Silk Merchant's Daughters Read online

  “But I am not responsible for the behavior of those young men,” Bianca protested. “I like going to Mass with my mother. I like Father Bonamico.”

  “Your reputation must be preserved, Bianca. Sebastiano Rovere is the most sought-after and respected lawyer in all of Tuscany. His bride cannot be said to be anything less than pure and untouched. She cannot be like a common woman of the streets, whistled at and shouted after by strangers. The matter is settled.”

  Bianca opened her mouth to challenge her father again, but Orianna finally spoke.

  “It is little enough to ask, Bianca,” she said in her quiet voice. “Father Bonamico will come to the palazzo to hear your confession each week. You should find it flattering that your fidanzato is already jealous of you.”

  Bianca pressed her lips together and bowed her head in submission. “Yes, Madre,” she said. “I hope I will have the time I feel I need to grow used to this marriage that you have planned for me.”

  “Of course, cara mia,” her mother reassured her quietly. “It will not, cannot, be for several months at least. Your trousseau and your bridal gown must be made. This is not something that can be easily or properly done if it is done too quickly. Do not think about it, cara. Now run along and share this exciting news with your sisters and brothers.”

  Bianca curtsied to her parents and, turning, hurried from the library. She did not find the announcement that she was to marry exciting. She was horrified that her father could not have found another way to satisfy his debt to Sebastiano Rovere. How old was the man? Stefano was at least seventeen, and there was another, younger brother who might be the same age as her second brother, Georgio.

  She shuddered. It was disgusting that an old man should want a young wife. She was hardly pleased that his hold over her had already been put in place, and she was now forbidden to cross the piazza with her mother so she might attend Mass. How dare this old man impugn her honor? Did he think she would encourage the men who waited to catch a glimpse of her? It was unbearable!

  Entering the rooms she shared with her younger sisters, she found Francesca waiting for her. “Well, is it marriage?” the young girl wanted to know.

  “Yes. To Stefano Rovere’s father,” Bianca said with a shudder.

  “He is an old man!” Francesca exclaimed. “Why would Papa allow it? I did not think any of us would wed in Florence. Mama has never wanted it.”

  “I have no idea why this match has been made,” Bianca lied to her younger sibling. There was no need for the curious Francesca to learn of Marco’s error in judgment that had led to this disaster for her. “However, I cannot disobey Papa, as much as I would like to do so. I do not go to this marriage joyous.”

  “Well, perhaps since he is so old he will die soon. Then you’ll be a rich widow free to do as you wish. You can take a lover who will please you,” Francesca said practically and sanguinely with typical ten-year-old logic. She tossed her blond hair. “I will marry a prince one day.”

  Bianca did not reprimand the girl for the thought. It actually gave her hope. But she did say, “You will wed whom Papa chooses, but I hope for your sake he is a prince.”

  “When’s the wedding?” Francesca wanted to know. “I will need a beautiful new gown for it. Not as lovely as yours, of course, for it will be your day, but nonetheless I would show at my very best. Who knows who will see me.”

  “The date has not been set yet. I think our mother will protect me as long as she can,” Bianca replied. “She made some remark about trousseau and gowns.”

  “Our mother is very clever,” Francesca observed. “There are several proprieties that must be met. You will have to formally meet him. That must be done privately. Perhaps he will come and escort you to Mass one morning before the official proclamation. Your marriage to this man must then be announced with the proper ceremony, for both families are distinguished and you do not want unsavory gossip circulating regarding your association with him.” Francesca was much like their mother in that she studied all the social customs associated with their world. “That should take at least a couple of months, perhaps even a year,” the young girl said hopefully.

  “Perhaps,” Bianca replied, not telling her sister that she had been forbidden to go into public any longer. Santa Anna! If she could delay this union long enough, perhaps he would lose interest in her. Still, if Sebastiano Rovere did escort her across the piazza and people were made aware that she was his affianced, the crowd of eager young men might disperse for good. Then she would not be cloistered until she wed, after which she would be cloistered anyway. She would suggest it to her mother, who she knew enjoyed her company in church.

  Orianna came, as was her custom, to bid her daughters good night. Having done so, she took Bianca aside in the girl’s own bedchamber to speak with her. “Your poise in accepting your father’s decision was pleasing to me at first. I am happy to know you can behave wisely. However, you should not have fought with him. He does not want this marriage any more than you or I do, but he has no choice in the matter.”

  “Marco has told me of the reasons for this marriage,” Bianca said candidly. “Had he not, I should have collapsed with my fears. Is there no other way for my father to repay this debt to Master Rovere? Why is he so determined to have me for his next wife?”

  “Your father has made every attempt to do so, as you already know,” Orianna responded. “Rovere will have nothing less than you for his bride in order to settle the debt. I do not know if he has ever even seen you, Bianca. I believe he wants a blood tie in order to protect his own son, for if Marco were to go to the authorities first, it would be difficult to save Stefano from some punishment and would thereby tarnish Sebastiano Rovere’s reputation. He is a powerful man, but when a man is that powerful he attracts enemies both openly and secretly. They will always be seeking for a way to bring him down. But a marriage between our houses gives him the security of blood between us. And, too, your reputation declares you to be young, fresh, virtuous, and very beautiful. An older man with a beautiful young wife is much envied. Rovere likes to be admired and envied by others. Having you for a wife will be a coup for him.”

  “I know he is old, but how old?” Bianca asked her mother, thinking as she spoke that without her brother’s foolishness she would not be in this position.

  “Your father tells me he has thirty-six years to his life so far,” Orianna answered.

  “Madre di Dios!” Bianca half whispered. “He is twenty-two years my senior!”

  “Your father is older than I am,” Orianna reminded her eldest daughter. “An older husband is not such a bad thing, my daughter.”

  “Papa had at least seen you. He told me he first saw you in a gondola with Grandfather passing him by on the Grand Canal. Although his suit was accepted by your family, despite the fact he was a foreigner to them, he was expected to court you, and you had the time to come to know him. When you wed you were familiar with the man you were marrying,” Bianca pointed out.

  “Sebastiano Rovere will come to meet you, Bianca. It will be several months before I allow this marriage to be celebrated,” Orianna said. “Trust me to protect you, for I will not allow anyone to force this marriage any sooner than I must. But your father is frightened of this man, and I will not be able to hold him off forever.”

  “I understand, Madre,” Bianca replied. “And you may trust me to do what I must to protect our family. However, I wonder if Signore Rovere were to escort us across the piazza to Mass once or twice, the young men who come to see me would understand the significance of his presence and depart, never to return. I must tell you that I am offended that my own honor would be questioned by a man who does not know me.”

  “A clever argument, Bianca,” her mother said approvingly, “but first I shall attempt to convince Signore Rovere to change his mind by telling him it comforts me to have my eldest daughter by my side at Mas
s. If he forbids you, then he takes something away from me. We will see what that argument brings us. Certainly he would not deny a mother her daughter’s company, especially as you will soon be gone from this house. It would not be wise, however, to reveal to him that you are a clever girl. He would be stricter with you then if he knew it.”

  Bianca smiled and bowed her head slightly in appreciation. “Thank you, Madre.”

  Orianna smiled back at her daughter. She was not happy about this union her eldest daughter was being forced to make. But she would keep Bianca from Sebastiano Rovere as long as she possibly could do so. She intended to see that every obscure custom was celebrated with regard to this coming marriage. And when her husband and Rovere complained, she would weep and sob that it was her eldest daughter being taken from her. The first of her children to get married. Would they spoil all her joy in such an occasion?

  And, of course, a dressmaker must be brought from her own home in Venice to design and sew the trousseau that was to be made for Bianca. Venetian fashions were the finest, and she would sigh regrettably, more elegant and original than those in Florence. Of course, when word of that got out, there would be an uproar, but Orianna would hold firm. Her eldest daughter’s wedding gown and trousseau must be designed and sewn by the Venetians who would come to do so.

  Orianna smiled to herself. Oh yes, she could delay the inevitable for at least a few months’ time. If only she didn’t have to do so. If only Bianca could have a fine young man from Venice or a French duke for a husband instead of the most debauched man in all of Florence. She cursed her oldest son softly beneath her breath and then quickly took it back. Men could not help being the fools they were.

  Chapter 2

  The Moorish slave girl moaned as the thick leather strap descended upon her bared buttocks for a twentieth time. She silently and carefully counted the strokes her master laid upon her plump golden flesh. Two more and she would shriek piteously. Another and she would call for mercy. Usually he hit her twice more before he released her to fall to her hands and knees, buttocks raised. It was a routine she followed with him, and he never realized at all that it was she who controlled the situation.

  After beating her twenty-five strokes he would mount her and relieve the lust that mistreating her had roused in him. Afterwards she would praise his prowess and beg him for more, curling into his lap as he fondled and squeezed her breasts. Sometimes he could comply, but more often he could not. He was a man who needed to inflict pain in order to perform as a normal man might. Now it was said he was taking a new bride. The Moorish slave girl felt pity for the poor girl, whoever she was. She shrieked. Another blow followed. “Please, master,” she begged him. “I can bear no more!”

  “You can, and you will, my barbaric little bitch,” he growled at her. Two more blows followed. “Now on your knees, and service me!”

  The Moorish slave girl fell upon her hands and knees. Her bottom was burning from the beating he had inflicted on her with his leather strap. She elevated her buttocks and waited for him to plunge himself into her. He did not disappoint, for once aroused he was a most satisfactory lover. The thick, lengthy peg of hot, smooth flesh probed deeply, and she enjoyed a surge of pleasure before remembering her duties. “Oh yes, master!” she cried to him. “Your weapon is mighty, mightier than any I have known before you. Do not send me away when you take your new bride. I live but to pleasure you, my lord!” She squeezed him with the well-trained muscles of her sheath.

  His fingers dug into her scalp, and grasping a handful of her long hair he yanked her head back, demanding, “Who told you I was to wed, bitch?”

  “The household is filled with gossip, my lord. If I spoke out of turn I beg your forgiveness,” the Moorish slave girl whimpered.

  Releasing his hold on her hair, his two hands gripped her hips. “I have no intention of sending you away, Nudara,” he assured her. “You will soon have other duties, my pet. You will teach the little virgin I am marrying how to please me.” Sebastiano Rovere laughed darkly. Then he concentrated on pleasuring himself with his slave girl, fucking her hard and deep until his lust exploded in an unusually fierce burst of excess that left him—as well as a surprised Nudara—extremely satisfied.

  Afterwards, as the slave curled herself into her master’s lap, Nudara spoke daringly. “It is said she is the most beautiful girl in all of Florence, my lord. Is she?”

  “I have no idea,” he responded. “I have never laid eyes on the wench. I want, I need, a blood tie with her family. Marriage is the most powerful bond I can make. The girl is ready for marriage. She has begun to walk out with her mother, and in the process has attracted a number of admirers. Before one of them soils her, I will have her.”

  “A virgin of unimpeachable lineage will be worthy of you, my lord,” Nudara said.

  “Aye, she will,” he responded.

  Nudara began to caress him, her skillful fingers slipping beneath his robe to stroke him. “Take me again, my lord. Think of the girl’s beautiful, silken, smooth, ivory flesh beneath your hands; her hitherto untouched breasts, their little nipples puckering with your kisses; her plump thighs opening for you, and you alone,” the slave girl purred in her master’s ear. Then she licked it, blew softly, and feeling his new arousal beneath her buttocks, she quickly mounted him, her back to him, drawing his hands around to her large, full breasts.

  He grasped them, half panting, half moaning in her ear as he began once more to piston her. The images she had raised in his mind with her words had surprisingly aroused him. Was it possible that a new young wife would restore his vigor? Untouched flesh. He licked his lips as he strongly fucked Nudara. The Pietro d’Angelos would have kept the girl pure. He would be the first man to touch her. He would be the only man to touch her. She would be fearful that first night, and he would see she was. The thought of her fear was, in itself, arousing. He fucked Nudara harder, enjoying her moan of surprise at his renewed potency. He suddenly felt as if he could go on like this with her all night.

  But of course he couldn’t. He was expected shortly at the silk merchant’s house to be formally introduced to his bride-to-be. He would want to bathe before he went, and dress in his finest robe so that the little virgin would be truly impressed by his magnificence. Let her begin to understand the honor being done to her, to her family. While the blood tie was a matter of safety for him, it was a great honor for the silk merchant and his kinsman to be allied with the Rovere family.

  Releasing his lust a second time, he pushed Nudara from his lap. “Enough, you greedy little bitch,” he grumbled at her. “I will be too weak to go to my appointment.”

  Turning, she smiled at him. “I have pleased you today, my lord, and I am glad.”

  He said nothing more to her but shouted for his body servant, Guido, to attend him. The man came quickly, not wanting to cause his master’s good mood to fade.

  “Your bath is ready, my lord,” he said leading the way to the special chamber that was set aside for bathing in the Roveres’ palazzo. Not all houses, not even those of wealthy and important men, had such places set aside for just washing. It was much like a Turk’s home, but Sebastiano Rovere was a meticulous man in all his habits.

  “What do you propose I wear to meet my fidanzata for the first time, Guido?” he asked his servant as the man took the garment he had been wearing and handed it to another servant for disposal.

  “I would suggest that new, rich brown velvet robe you recently ordered,” Guido said. “It is trimmed with gold on the sleeves and neckline. The sleeves are also trimmed, as is the hem of the robe, in a pale, gold-brown fur. It is both elegant and impressive, master. An innocent maiden would be dazzled by a man who came before her thus garbed. Actually, any woman would be.”

  “Yesss,” Sebastiano Rovere murmured slowly in reply, picturing the garment and then seeing himself in it. “An excellent suggestion, Guido. Go an
d get it out while I am bathed. It will also do honor to her family if I am so grandly dressed, which should please the silk merchant and his wife. I am told she is the daughter of Venetian nobility.”

  “So it is said, master,” Guido agreed. Then bowing, he hurried off to prepare his master’s garments for this evening’s visit.

  Sebastiano Rovere gave himself over to the ministrations of the servants whose duty it was to bathe him. His vanity assured they were female, three Greek slave girls who always admired his male form and made complimentary remarks about his body. He knew that, despite his thirty-six years, he was in excellent physical shape, for he was usually careful in his diet, unlike most Florentine men, and he exercised, working with his fencing master several times a week.

  His new wife would have no complaints about marrying a paunchy old man. And if she were like most gently raised females, she would have been taught that fucking had but one purpose. Procreation. Since he wanted no more children, he would leave her mostly in peace after their wedding night. He had Nudara to serve his darker needs. And he had a beautiful and very expensive mistress who was paid lavishly to take no other lovers while she was under his protection. He was envied for his mistress, which pleased Sebastiano Rovere quite well. Now he would possess the most beautiful girl in all of Florence, and would be doubly envied.

  Having Bianca Pietro d’Angelo for his wife would add to his status as an important man. Her father was head of his guild, and as such served in the government from time to time, like all important men. But Sebastiano Rovere wanted one day to attain the elected position of chancellor. Rovere might not know it yet, but Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo was going to help him gain that post eventually.

  The slaves bathed him, washing his hair as well. They massaged his body with sandalwood oil. He left the bath, but not before pinching the buttocks and nipples of the slave girls, who giggled and made lascivious gestures at him, which caused him to laugh. His mood was buoyed even further when he saw himself in the fine new robe in which Guido dressed him. He was a handsome man, he had to admit to himself.