“You and Gemma hide with the girls,” Bianca said. “If you don’t, I am afraid they will be raped, for he will set his men on my women, and I don’t want that.”
“I must stay with you, mistress,” Agata said loyally.
“I will manage Rovere as best I can,” Bianca told her servingwoman. “See to the other women for my sake, if not your own.”
Reluctantly, Agata slipped away, and drawing herself up to her full height Bianca came forth from her library into the gracious entry of her home. “You are hardly welcome here,signore,” she told him boldly. “My absence from your home these few years has surely made it clear to even you that I do not choose to cohabit with such a husband. You should not have interfered with the annulment I sought from you.”
Madre di Dios,he had changed. The once-handsome face was now bloated and puffy, marred further by broken veins near and on his nose. His hair had thinned considerably.
He advanced on her menacingly. “You little bitch,” he snarled at her. “How dare you make me the laughingstock of Florence by leaving me?” He was infuriated by her calm beauty. Even in a modest gown of dark green velvet, she enticed him, and it angered him. His hand flashed out to make hard contact with her pale cheek.
She was startled by the unexpected blow, but though her heart was hammering in her chest, Bianca held her ground. “How dare you treat your wife like a whore?” she countered. Her cheek was burning, and she knew it was scarlet with color now. A tiny frisson of fear began to bloom within her. Bianca thrust it back angrily. She was not going to allow this brute to terrorize her any longer.
“You are a whore,” he shouted. “All women are whores, even those like you from respectable families.” He turned to his men. “Find whoever else is in this house, and drive them out of it. Amuse yourselves with the women if you must. My wife and I have business to transact this night.” He turned back to Bianca.
“Get out of my villa, and take these bandits you hired with you,” Bianca said bravely. “There is nothing further we have to discuss, Sebastiano. I hate and despise you. Get out! Get out! Get out!” And she stamped her feet at him angrily. “Understand that I will never be your wife again, in any sense.”
His face grew purple with his rage now. When she turned to leave him standing there, his fury broke. Stepping quickly forward, his fingers dug into her hair, causing the neat chignon she wore to come loose. Wrapping the long, dark ebony locks about his hand, he yanked her back and around so she was facing him once more. His breath, always unpleasant, was now absolutely rank as he screamed at her, “You are mine! Mine, bitch! Mine to do with as I please.” His hand descended several times, beating her about the face and shoulders. “First I intend to punish your disobedience with my hands. Then I will spend some time fucking you into compliance with my wishes. Finally I will give you such a sound beating, there won’t be a place on your silky white body that doesn’t bear my mark. In the morning we will return to Florence, where my little donkey is eagerly waiting for you. I warned you long ago, Bianca, that you are my property, and mine to do with as I will. But before I kill you,cara mia, you will grovel at my feet and thank me for ending your torture. What say you to that, bitch?”
She looked up at him, one eye already swelling, her nose bloodied. “May you rot in hell of the French pox, my husband,” she managed to say before striking out at him with her two fists. Her whole body was aching with his blows, but she would not give in to this wretched excuse for a human being. She clawed at him and spat at him. She covered him in the worst curses she could think of, seeing the brief surprise on his face. Then he laughed at her and began to beat her once more with his punishing hands while Bianca attempted to defend herself from his attack.
Suddenly, to her astonishment and relief, her five women servants rushed into the wide entry armed with brooms and pans. They first yanked Rovere away from Bianca and next began beating him with their household weapons as they shouted curses at him, pushing him roughly out the front door of the villa. There, Primo awaited to force the surprised man onto his horse, sending him away into the deepening night with a hard smack on the horse’s plump flanks.
It had been done so quickly that Rovere could scarcely believe what had happened. Where were his men? What had happened to them? The cowards had probably fled. But without their wages? He would probably find them farther on down the road. The night was cold and damp. He was finally forced to stop in the open, for he could no longer see the road ahead of him. He huddled down in the dark, cursing his fate at a light rain began to fall. As soon as it became even vaguely possible to move on, he mounted his beast and got back onto the country road again.
His men were still nowhere to be found, and he was yet miles from the main road to Florence. He was hungry and he was thirsty, but having no choice rode slowly on. Every small wood he traversed, he did so nervously. And then suddenly ahead of him on the hilly road he saw a small party of riders. His men? No, there were at least a dozen of them. Well, they could have what little money he had on him just as long as he managed to gain the main road to Florence. As expected, the masked horsemen surrounded him.
“I am Sebastiano Rovere of Florence,” he said boldly. “You can have what monies I carry, but allow me to pass so I may reach a respectable inn by tonight.”
“Get off your horse,” a deep voice ordered him.
“Do not be unreasonable,” Rovere said. “The animal has little value, but I cannot walk to Florence.” Then to his amazement he was yanked rudely from the beast’s back.
“We do not want the beast or your money, Rovere,” the deep voice said. “We seek your life in exchange for your many sins.”
Sebastiano Rovere’s mouth fell open with his surprise at the words uttered by the bandit. “Who are you?” he asked, now truly frightened. They were going to assassinate him. He should not have to die like this out on the open road.
“I will give you whatever you desire,” he began, “if you will spare my life.”
The party of masked bandits laughed heartily, and their spokesman said, “There is no amount of gold that could buy your life, Rovere. Your sins are too many and too great, I fear. No. Your time has come, and like your many victims, there will be no mercy shown to you.”
“Gold! Women! Whatever you desire,” Rovere babbled, and he peed himself in his deepening fear of his impending death.
Again the bandits laughed. “We are not barbarians, Rovere. Say whatever prayers you say so we may be finished with this and have justice done at last.”
“At least let me know who you are,” Rovere begged. “I want to know who delivers what you dare to call justice to a respected man of Florence.”
“You are not respected, Rovere. You are feared by the weak and despised by your betters, of whom there are many. You have fallen too low to be saved now. Your evil has run its course, and it is time for you to meet your master, the devil.”
Two men stood on either side of the unfortunate man. They held his arms tightly, preventing his struggles.
“I want to know who you are!” Sebastiano Rovere screamed as his executioner stepped forward.
“You have been tried by the good and found guilty of your sins,” the deep-voiced man on the horse said. “You are sentenced to death. The weapon’s tip has been poisoned, for although we know you are heartless, we have granted you the mercy you never gave to so many of your unfortunate victims.”
“Nooo!” Rovere shrieked as he felt the dagger plunge deep into his chest. He screamed as it was twisted several times, and he felt the poison beginning to work as his lungs ceased to expand and he could no longer draw a breath. His executioner lowered the cloth that was shielding the face behind it.
“You?”he gasped, disbelieving with his last breath, and collapsed onto the road as he was released from the hold of the two men.
