Bianca (37 page)

Agata came to bid her mistress farewell. She was not pleased by this sudden change in their lives. “I do not want to leave you,” she said. “Who will take care of you if I am not here, mistress?”

“I need you to look after Atiya,” Azura told her. “God forbid anything should happen to me; who would tell Atiya of her heritage? Maysun and Shahdi love my daughter, I know, but it is you, Agata, that I entrust with her life. The prince and I will not be far behind you, I promise. There is only a little left to do.” She wrapped her arms around her faithful servant and hugged her. “Go with God, Agata.”

“I will not fail you, mistress,” Agata promised, brushing away the tears that had suddenly overcome her and begun to slip down her worn cheeks.

“I know you won’t,” Azura said, patting the woman on her arm. “Go now!” She watched sadly as Agata departed the harem. This would be the first time in all of her life that she had been without Agata’s companionship and care. Earlier, Azura had bidden her child farewell, nursing her a final time, drinking in her infant beauty, before kissing the sleepy baby and turning her over to the slave woman who would now be responsible for Atiya’s nourishment.

One of their own household now, the slave woman had recently weaned her own child. She was healthy and grateful to be taken from the prince’s farm fields into his household staff along with her child, also a little girl, who would serve as a playmate for Atiya. And she was grateful to Agata, who had discovered her and suggested her to the beautiful third wife, who everyone knew was the prince’s true love.

Now Azura watched as Agata joined Maysun, Shahdi, and the rest of the women servants trekking down to the beach, where they were ferried out to the large vessel at anchor awaiting them. The second of the prince’s ships was now also anchored in the cove and had been being filled all day with the rest of Prince Amir’s possessions and with the slaves. The third ship was due on the morrow. It would carry the prince and Azura, along with his horses. Azura’s cat had been sent with Agata, for Atiya enjoyed its antics. Darius, the prince’s favorite hound, would travel with his master.

She watched from the empty harem as the first two vessels finally weighed anchor and departed. They were now alone but for Diya al Din and half a dozen male slaves who cared for the horses. They ate a cold meal that the cook had left them the night before. Afterwards, Azura walked through the little palace thinking how sad and lonely it now was without the inhabitants who gave it life. Even in her husband’s bed with Amir next to her, the night seemed extra dark and silent.

Azura hardly slept. Every sound was cause for suspicion. Dawn brought little relief from the fear that had suddenly crept into her. She sensed something she could not quite put her finger upon, but it was not good. The skies above were gray with the threat of rain. Amir had the horses in the stable led down to the beach to await his third ship. The sea was oddly calm, and they could see their ship’s sails on the horizon as the vessel came nearer and nearer.

“I think it better that we wait on the beach,” the prince told her as he draped a long dark cloak over her shoulders.

Azura felt a pang of sadness. It was time to bid good-bye to the Moonlight Serai. A home she had come to love. A place where she had been happy, where her only child had been born. She sighed deeply. It was surprisingly painful. She had not ever felt such an emotion, not even upon leaving her childhood palazzo in Florence.

It was at that moment that Diya al Din hurried into the chamber. “My lord, there is a large party of horsemen on the hills above the palace. We must leave quickly, my lord!” His face was pale with his fear.

“Come!” Amir said, leading both his wife and his servant from the chamber. They hurried into the gardens and taking the path from its far end moved quickly down the steep route to the beach below. There they found the two barges from the prince’s ship already loading the horses for transport out to the vessel that had just arrived in their little harbor. The blindfolded animals were being led quickly onto the flat carriers, which were then rowed out to the waiting ship. A door in the vessel’s side was opened, a ramp pushed forth, and each horse was led into the cargo hold, where stalls had been built especially for the beasts and their grooms.

It but remained for a boat to come ashore to pick up the prince, his wife, and Diya al Din. His chief household eunuch suddenly gasped, growing almost gray, and pointing to the horsemen upon them. The prince pushed Azura to Diya al Din and drew his scimitar. “Get her to the boat!” he shouted. “Carry her through the water if you must!”

“I’m not leaving you, Amir!” Azura cried, shoving the eunuch away.

It was too late. The horsemen surrounded them. Fierce Tartars with dark eyes and long moustaches. Their horses danced about the three. But then their leader, a young man, burst out laughing, realizing that they believed him to be the enemy. “Amir! Do you not recognize me? I am your cousin Selim,” he called out, jumping down from his stallion.

The prince felt the tension in his shoulders ease. He had not seen Selim since he was ten. The young man clearly was several years older now. Was he fifteen? Sixteen? Seventeen? He looked well-grown. “I thought you were governing your province, cousin. And where did you get your Tartars? Surely they are not the ones hired by
kadin
Besma to kill me and my family.”

“No, no,” Selim replied. “The bitch’s Tartars are just now descending upon your home. They will be very disappointed to find it emptied of chattel, livestock, and goods, for I’m certain they were promised all they could loot in addition to the monies that have been paid them for this foul deed. As soon as you are safely aboard your vessel, we will go up and engage them. Now give me your gold signet ring. Besma wants it as proof you have been slain, and if my men are to collect the other half of her bounty, we will need it. She did ask for your finger, so we shall have to find one upon which to put your ring, lest any suspicions remain in her dark heart.”

Amir burst out laughing. “You mean to steal her gold from her, Selim? You will slay her hired men and substitute your own for her assassins with the purveyor of all things, Sami? And how in the name of Allah and the seven djinns did you learn of what was to transpire here? No! Do not tell me. I think I know, but better you not confirm it.” He pulled the gold signet ring from his finger and tossed it to his cousin. “Here, and with my blessing,” he said. “Of course it will be difficult to find a finger as elegant as mine,” he teased the younger prince, “but if it means she believes me dead, so much the better. But poor Ahmed will never rule, no matter her efforts.”

Selim’s gray eyes met his cousin’s deep blue ones. He nodded, saying softly, “No, he will not, cousin.” Prince Selim then held out his hand to Prince Amir to shake. The two men embraced. “Allah keep you safe, cousin,” Selim said.

“And you also, cousin,” Amir replied. “Whenever you have need of my loyalty, it is yours to command, Selim.”

“I will remember that,” the younger man said. “Now go quickly!”

The little boat transporting them out to Amir’s ship was awaiting him. Diya al Din and Azura were already in it. He waded out and climbed aboard, turning to give a final wave to Prince Selim. His cousin acknowledged the salute from his saddle, and then, turning, raced up the hillside with his own Tartars. Almost immediately they could hear the shouts of battle beginning as the sultan’s son and his men met the assassins of
kadin
Besma, who found themselves outnumbered but were deterred from flight.

Aboard the larger ship at last, Azura stood by the rail as it set sail. Her eyes went to the Moonlight Serai, shining and white in the sunlight, cradled by the soft green hills that surrounded it. She felt Amir’s arm go about her shoulders as the sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She could see the small figures of the Tartars battling through their gardens, flames rising from the empty barn that had once housed their horses. “I do not know this Besma,” Azura said, “but I think for the first time in my life I hate someone.”

“She is not worthy of your scorn,” Amir told Azura. “And all of her efforts are for naught, beloved. We are together, and we are capable of making a new life in El Dinut for ourselves and for our family. I believe our destiny is to live into old age, happy together. We will see our daughter grow to womanhood, marry, and give us grandchildren. These things will never be Besma’s, but they will be ours.”

“I pray for it, Amir,” she responded, but her heart was still sad to see the place that had once been their home being destroyed. Would it ever again be someone’s home?

“I am an expert reader of kismet, beloved,” he told her. “It shall be as I say. Do you trust and believe in me, my love?” He looked down into her beautiful face, her marvelous aquamarine eyes shining with their unshed tears. Allah! How he loved her.

“I have left everything that I knew and held dear once before for you, Amir,” Azura told him, smiling up at him. He was a man grown, and yet he still needed her reassurance, and she gladly gave it to him. “I love you, my infidel prince. I once again gladly follow you because you have never promised me anything that you did not give me. I trust you, Amir. So we will live happily together into our dotage with our grandchildren about us. We are fortunate, my dear lord, when so many are not.”

Above them the sails creaked as the wind started to fill them. The vessel began to move slowly from the Moonlight cove and out into the open sea. Azura, once known as Bianca, felt the swells rise gently beneath the ship’s prow. It was a new day. A new adventure. Ahead lay El Dinut and their new life. Nothing else mattered. They had allowed no one to part them. No one ever would. They were together.
Always and forevermore!

And Afterwards

I
n the year 1512, Selim, son of Bayezit and his favored
kadin
Kiusem, succeeded to the Ottoman throne. He had been recalled to Istanbul by his father months before when Besma’s ambition for her son had driven her too far. She had been caught attempting to murder Selim and his now large family. Bayezit had strangled her himself in a blind rage and then suffered what was probably a small stroke.

With his mother’s death, Prince Ahmed fled his younger brother, going to Adrianople, where he boldly declared himself sultan. A civil war broke out, but though it took two years’ time, Prince Selim was in the end victorious. To his small credit, Ahmed died fighting in that last battle. Prince Korkut remained loyal to his father and his younger sibling, governing the Macedonian provinces.

Bayezit, now sixty-five and in worsening health, decided to resign the sultanate, naming Selim as his heir. The new sultan’s uncle, Prince Jem, was now dead. He had died in Naples of poison. It was rumored that the Borgia pope had seen to Jem’s demise at the request of Sultan Bayezit, whose patience had run out prior to his retirement. As for Jem’s only son, Prince Amir, he had long ago disappeared from his home on the Black Sea along with his entire family. Where they were, or if they even lived, was unknown. Bayezit died shortly after his son’s reign began. Selim was free to rule without interference of any kind, as he and his sons were the only male heirs to the throne now.

In the house of Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo, his wife, Orianna, had come to regret that she had not understood her eldest daughter’s great love for the Turkish sultan’s grandson. She missed Bianca and the warm friendship that they had once shared. Although Marco had made the effort to find and see his sister, bringing them word that she was happy and safe with her infidel, it brought no peace to Orianna.

And Bianca would never know that it was her own mother who had freed her from her first marriage by consorting with the family of the vengeful apothecary whose innocent niece had died at Rovere’s debauched hands. It had been Orianna who had insisted to them that she deliver the fatal blow to their mutual enemy. It was Orianna who had plunged the poisoned dagger into the chest of Sebastiano Rovere, killing him and freeing Bianca from his evil possession.

Of course, upon her return to Florence she had gone immediately to Santa Anna and confessed her sin to Father Bonamico. The priest was shocked and briefly rendered speechless when the unrepentant Orianna said to him, “I will do whatever I must to protect my family, good Father. Even if it will endanger my immortal soul.” Bound by the oath of the confessional, Bonamico could not expose her. Orianna had relieved her own small guilt at taking a human life by putting it on the elderly priest’s shoulders.

He hardly knew what penance to give her because he did understand her motive and secretly agreed with it. Realizing that, he knew he would have to give himself a severe penance as well. “Donate one hundred gold florins to Santa Maria del Fiore,” he finally said. “And you will continue to do so each year on this date until your death, my daughter. I will pray for your soul and that you are not again driven to such an extreme.”

“Will you not pray for Rovere’s soul too?” she wickedly asked him.

“Even his two sons did not pay for Masses,” the priest said drily.

The silk merchant’s wife had then departed the confessional. She and Giovanni had three other daughters to match. She would be more careful the next time. She would not make the same mistakes with Francesca, or Luciana, or Giulia as had been made with Bianca. Wherever her eldest daughter was, Orianna hoped she was happy. She would have been glad to know that in a place called El Dinut, Bianca, now called Azura, was indeed very happy with her prince and their daughter. The kismet that Amir had promised Azura was even now fulfilling itself.

About the Author

Bertrice Small
is a
New York Times
bestselling author and the recipient of numerous awards. In keeping with her profession, she lives in the oldest English-speaking town in the state of New York, founded in 1640. Her light-filled studio includes the paintings of her favorite cover artist, Elaine Duillo, and a large library. Because she believes in happy endings, Bertrice Small has been married to the same man, her hero, George, for forty-eight years. They have a son, Thomas, and four wonderful grandchildren. Longtime readers will be happy to know that Finnegan, the long-haired bad black kitty, and Sylvester, the black-and-white tuxedo cat who is the official family bed cat, are thriving.