“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 calledthe 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 her 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 anidiotashe 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.
Now that we are friends, Bianca, and I hope you will consider me as such, may we meet one afternoon upon our beach and talk face-to-face?
I am a respectable woman, Prince Amir. If you understand that, if you understand that I am not seeking an adventure, then perhaps I could agree to your suggestion,Bianca wrote him back.
