Chapter 02 - Mistress of Rogues by Rosamond Marshall

1954 Genre: Historical Fiction / Racy Romance

WEAPONS OF LOVE

In flight from her brutal husband, blonde Bianca fell into the hands of the puppeteer, Belcaro. She soon learned he wanted her as bait, to snare the most profligate princes of the Renaissance.

In exchange for power, Belcaro passed her from rogue to rogue. Until the night he found he could not resist the ravishing courtesan he had created.

But by that time Bianca knew him for the monster he was. And she was ready and waiting—with all the weapons of her amorous career!

"Miss Marshall's novel concerns the downfall of a lady ... whose golden hair and other charms were reminiscent of Botticelli's Venus... Bianca had a good many men in her life." —NEW YORK TIMES

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CHAPTER 2 

Count Maldonato's bride of a year had never known other than curses and the lash. Even when my husband had held me in his arms and given vent to his passion, he had chided me for being cold and unfeeling. And by his accusals he had rendered me colder than marble. Unfeeling as the stone. 

He had never told me I was beautiful, never caressed me with hand or eye. My clothing was poor. My only jewels were a wedding band and the gold bracelet I had given Belcaro's driver. 

Is it any wonder that the soft praise I had heard—even coming from the lips of a hunchback—had moved me strangely? I decided to accept Belcaro's kind hospitality until such time as I could decide where my future lay. 

Belcaro pampered me. Almost daily he would bring me flowers and trinkets; or send his dwarf to strum a merry tune on the lute and sing quatrains of his own rhyming. 

Bianca, bella Bianca, Thy cheek is like the rose. On the bed of thy sweet bosom, Let Cupid find repose. 

Meanwhile, Belcaro himself showed me the grandeurs of his palace on Lung'Arno at the corner of Via dei Archi busieri. How could a mere puppeteer have amassed such treasures of painting, sculpture and the wood carver's art? 

Here was a picture gallery filled with beautiful can vases and statuary. There, a library containing hundreds of tomes and manuscripts, maps, globes and stellar spheres. 

But I must confess that the greatest marvel to me was Belcaro's workshop, situated in a vast loft overlooking the inner court. Here he manufactured the puppets that had given him his name of "Doll-master”. Kings and queens, fair princesses and knights in armor crowded the shelves. There were giants and monsters too. Their ugliness made me shudder. But I laughed at Harlequin and Punchinello! 

First Belcaro modeled the little heads in clay and then he cast them in fine wax. The faces were exquisitely painted. The hair seemed to grow out of their scalps like human hair. Their bodies were made of soft pink kidskin stuffed with down, the limbs jointed and supple, the hands of wax. In certain lighting one would swear they lived and breathed. 

Their costumes were of wondrous workmanship. They moved on almost invisible wires manipulated by Belcaro with consummate skill. He was indeed master of his dolls! 

A dark room adjoining the puppet workshop roused my curiosity, but Belcaro would not let me in. It was Nello who, in his master's absence, opened the door a crack, saying, “This is Belcaro's Hall of Inventions." 

Strange disorder! Vials and retorts, demijohns and bottles were arrayed on tables and shelves or along the walls. I noticed great piles of battered pewter pots, basins, pitchers heaped in one corner, in another a quantity of rusty horseshoes. Odd objects hung from the rafters—a broken scythe, a metal wheel with bent spokes, bars and short ends of iron. 

"Belcaro has strange notions, Bianchissima,” said Nello. “Here he works to change old horseshoes into gold, and here he tries to create puppets which will behave without strings. Beware ... do not tell him you have seen this place. It is his secret.” 

Was there any secret into which Nello did not poke his little snub-nose? 

One morning Belcaro brought a bolt of pale blue silk to me and said, “That rag Maria gave thee to wear can be put away. I'll make thee a gown worthy of thy beauty.” 

First he cut a pattern from unbleached linen and fitted it tight as a glove to my body. Clip here, pinch there. "It is a tailor's trick,” he said. "From this pattern I can make any kind of apparel in precisely the right size and shape." 

"And when thou dost stuff the pattern with down, I'll use it for my pillow," said the incorrigible Nello. 

The finished pattern which Belcaro made of soft doeskin—and did indeed stuff with down—was an exact replica of myself. The waist was as tiny as mine. The breasts were full and round like mine. “Impertinent," old Sister Teresa used to call them. 

I could not help laughing when—Belcaro having left the room—Nello seized the figurine and leaped and capered about like a monkey. “See! I dance with Bianca! I dance with Bianca!” 

One blue gown and one white one—a long cape of blue cloth and a veil of white for my head made my new wardrobe. And Belcaro brought me silken hose and pretty shoes. 

"I'm going to Rome to perform for the Pope," he said one evening as we sat at dinner. “Maria and Nello will be thy companions while I am gone, they will show thee the beauties of our fair city."

It was on my lips to say, "How long may I abuse thy hospitality, Belcaro?” but I did not speak. The life I was leading in this fine dwelling was pleasant and serene. And now I had the master's permission to go forth with Maria and Nello and see the wonders of Florence! 

Not many cities have a history as noble and treasures as vast. Each tower recalls some gallant hero's deeds. Every tocsin that sounds is a chronicle. The bridge that spans the Arno is a link between the quick and the dead. 

Even a provincial such as I knew the names and stories of Dante and Boccaccio, illustrious sons of the past century. I had also heard my husband inveigh against the present ruler, Lorenzo the Magnificent, whom he called a "filthy Ghibellino.” Ugo was a partisan of the Guelfs, although I knew not why, for he never set foot outside his lands. 

Strolling about Florence, I gaped at every sight which met my eye. Churches and statues and arches. Fountains and loggias. There was an air about this imperious city that made one draw a freer breath! I felt my spirits expanding to new horizons. I wanted to know the reason for this monument and that. Who inhabited these grand palaces that had the sweetness of a forest glade. 

I was curious too about the cavalcades of young nobles who passed through the streets with falcons on their wrists and flowers behind their ears! 

Only once did Nello name one of these. “There goes a cousin of 'Il Magnifico.'”

"Il Magnifico," he explained, "is the greatest ruler who ever lived! He is magnanimous! He is wise. He knows all.” And Nello gave a mighty wink. “He is Belcaro's friend... and that makes him the greatest man alive!" 

My favorite place of worship was Santa Maria del Fiore. Here I attended Mass each morning—and prayed for guidance. Man-made laws would condemn me, deserter from the marriage bed. Would Heaven's mercy be more kind? Unable to see into the future and seeking to forget the past, I tried to live day by day. Nello gave me lessons on the lute. He was a master of the instrument. I cared for the flowers that filled the loggia with color and fragrance. I fed Belcaro's caged nightingales and played with a nest of kittens. But deep in my heart I knew this happy life could not last, not even under the generous wing of my host, the puppeteer. 

Late on a golden afternoon, as Nello and I were practicing the lute, Belcaro's caravan rolled in from Rome. The courtyard was a scene of excitement as the troupe poured out of the wagons. 

I had not met the Doll-master's actors. The first of them minced across the court with the air of a woman attired as a page boy. Delicate features. Small mouth, painted red. Long, auburn hair curled and adorned with jewels. His tunic was swelled by a powerful torso and he wore his hose so tight one could not but be aware of his male forms. Passing me, he deigned to nick his curly head 

in my direction, and then strutted on. 

"Ah, Fornieri! Sweetheart! Didst thou miss me?” Nello ran to wrap his short arms around one of the actor's calves and hung there like a limpet until his victim slipped him a piece of silver. Nello then turned his teasing upon Belcaro's clown Gianetto—a roly-poly, good natured man of middle age who knew how to deal with his tormentor. 

"Scat! Loose me!” He gave a mighty kick. Nello bounced like a ball, and got up rubbing his backsides. 

Belcaro saluted me with exquisite kindness and handed me a rosary of gold set with pearls. “For thee, Bianca, to adorn the neck of my fairest doll princess." 

"This creature is no doll, Belcarino mio," said Nello in his usual impudent fashion. "See ... I touch her ... here. She jumps like a cricket.” 

Belcaro smiled as I struck the little fellow's audacious hand away. “Thou shouldst be given a good whipping, Nello," said Belcaro. He turned to me. “A lute, Bianca? Hast thou put thy time to good use in my absence? Am I to be rewarded with a tune and a song?”

I protested that I was not yet mistress of the instrument or of the art of belcanto but Belcaro would accept no excuses. And so I obliged with a song. 

While the grape ripens on the vine, Love ripens in this heart of mine. Sitting beside a crystal fountain, Upon my lute this tune I play Adieu, Love, adieu. Untrue Love, adieu. 

The bands that bound us are all broken. Belcaro praised my performance far beyond its worth. 

"Now I'll reward thee with good news, Bianca. News of thy spouse. He swills himself sodden at every dusk ... beats his servants and sleeps till noon. Nasty fellow! Let us hope he drinks himself to death!” 

"How knowest thou ... ?" I stammered, too shocked to say more. 

“I know many things,” said Belcaro with an enigmatic air. 

Nello—to puff himself up with his own importance told me when Belcaro left us, "I know how Belcaro got news of thy husband, Bianca. He must have sent Ser Belotti to Maldonato." 

"Who is Ser Belotti?” 

"Belcaro's steward and purser. He is from Bologna and he has a very long nose.” 

The castrato Fornieri, the clown Gianetto, the Bolognese purser Belotti and a body servant named Matteo made up Belcaro's household. But I felt that he trusted Nello more than all the others. 

Was not Nello my constant companion—almost my watchdog? 

“Fornieri dresses in women's clothing and sings alto," said Nello with a grimace of disdain. "He thinks he is Venus in disguise! Ugh! What a fatuous fool he is.” 

“He seems as vain as a peacock," I laughed. “But he is handsome.” 

"Wait until thou hast seen him upon the stage,” said Nello. "Soon Belcaro will invite his friends to dine and then it will be Fornieri's turn to display all his talents." Nello smirked as he added, "Thou wilt see! Those talents are many!” 

It appeared that the master had come home to stay, as evidenced by great preparations for a feast. Would I be included among Belcaro's guests? 

A U-shaped table was set in the loggia. Garlands of flowers were hung from the columns. Servants scurried here and there with the master's finest glassware and linens. 

Belcaro solved the riddle when he came to me and said, “Tonight thou shalt act as my hostess, Bianca. Dress in the blue gown and I will arrange thy golden tresses." 

He did not braid or tie my hair, he let it ripple down my back. Around my temples he bound a strand of pearls tressed with blue ribbons to match the color of my eyes. 

"Flood of gold!” said Nello comically sighing. "Would I could spend it on sugared almonds! I'd eat myself to sweetest death.” 

"Cease chattering, Nello!” said Belcaro sharply, and then he turned to me. “Did they tell thee who is coming tonight?” 

"No, Belcaro.” “Hast thou heard of the Duke Lorenzo?" 

"The one they call Il Magnifico? Yes, Belcaro." 

“Tonight thou shalt meet his brother, Giuliano. I think he will please thee.” 

"Please ... me?” said I in astonishment. 

The puppeteer had finished arranging my hair; now he stood before me, smiling. “Thou art so innocent in worldly ways, Bianca. Lorenzo and Giuliano are among the most powerful men in Italy ... nay, in all Europe. It would be well if my guest, the gracious Giuliano, should find thee to his taste." 

A chill struck through me. What did Belcaro mean "it would be well if Giuliano should find thee to his taste"? I dared not question Belcaro further. He still awed me, and I was never completely at ease in his presence. Indeed, sometimes an inner voice whispered to me, “This is no place for thee, Bianca! Take up thy courage and go ere it is too late.” Reason would then ask, "Late for what?" I could not answer. 

It was dusk when Nello came to fetch me to the salone d'onore. He stood open-mouthed. "Aie! Bianchis sima! Thou art like the cornflower that blooms in the sun. And thy hair is like the sun's rays that put out a man's eye." 

"Hast thou a man's eye?" I teased. 

Nello danced a little jig of rage. But his ill temper was always short-lived. “Come! I'll be thy squire till the prince comes," he said with a grimace. 

The look in Belcaro's eyes when he saw me enter told me that he was well pleased. "That hair-dress becomes thee, Bianca,” he murmured. 

"So Nello said," I answered modestly. 

The gilded doors of the salone swung open and two gentlemen entered with smiling faces and arms out stretched to embrace their host. 

After greeting them warmly, Belcaro took me by the hand. "Donna Bianca, I would have thee meet Giuliano, the princely brother of our magnificent Lorenzo. And Messer Leonardo da Vinci, whose touch makes beauty." 

I saw in Lorenzo's brother a youth with the grace of Mercury. The tossed forelock of his dark hair was like the crest of an eagle; so fine and strong was he that I was moved as by a strain of sweet, sad music. 

I curtsied first to the one who had made my heart flutter—then to his companion. 

But Leonardo had eyes only for Fornieri who had entered from another door. 

"Ah! Fornieri! How went thy triumphs in the Holy City?” 

Fornieri answered with a simpering smile, "I was likened to Apollo, illustrious Leonardo. Apollo, they called me." 

At a signal from Belcaro, the musicians began to play, a sign that the Prince and his friend were Belcaro's only guests. All this time Nello was buzzing about. “Highness has a new chain for his neck!” “Great Leonardo, when wilt thou paint my portrait again?” He said to me in a quick aside, “He's put my pretty face on paper a dozen times! He calls me 'a great curiosity,' that's what Leonardo calls me.” 

Lending me his arm, Prince Giuliano said, "To the feast, Donna Bianca. It shall be a feast indeed." 

All during the repast he spoke only with me. Later when the company took its ease in the gardens, I was still Giuliano's choice. So powerful was his leaning to me that when he kissed my hand, I could not do less than yield. 

"Have my lips stumbled upon a rose?” whispered my admirer. “Dear lady, thou hast the perfume of a thousand gardens in thy fingertips.” His outpourings were interrupted by Belcaro.

"I propose to show my latest invention, Giuliano. A drama of Greece which I wrote especially for thy enjoyment." 

The company adjourned to the theater—a fine room with a small stage at one end. 

Resting upon a couch, Giuliano took my hand and bade me sit beside him. We were unnoticed by Messer Leonardo, who gave all his attention to handsome Fornieri. This man's feminine beauty seemed to have cast the painter under a spell. 

Belcaro and Fornieri had disappeared. The musicians played. The gold brocade curtain parted, the play began. 

Such was the great Doll-master's skill in moving his puppets that the illusion was perfect. And when Fornieri blended his alto voice to the deeper tones of Belcaro and Gianetto, the "actors' " performances seemed truly that of live beings. 

I must confess, I heard little of Belcaro's Greek drama; I was too busy listening to the Prince. 

And alas for Belcaro's efforts, the Prince seemed to center all his attention upon me. 

“A thousand plays have been played, Donna Bianca. I myself have been an actor. But only tonight do I feel myself ... the protagonist of a glorious tale of love." 

He spoke in flowery language; his meaning was clear. "Thy praise overwhelms me, Prince," I murmured. 

“Nay, Bianca, my tongue is unworthy to sing the praises thy beauty deserves." 

I hardly knew when the drama ended, not noticing until Belcaro and Fornieri and Gianetto came out from behind the black curtains that concealed them. 

It was Fornieri's turn to perform as himself. He gave a long, poetic recitation which he accompanied with graceful gestures. I recall the opening lines—not because Fornieri said them but because the Prince murmured them in my ear. 

In a valley of this restless mind I sought in mountain and in mead, 

Trusting a true love for to find ... Touching warm lips to my bare shoulder, Giuliano whispered, "Bianca! Bianca! Art thou perchance the one I've sought in mountain and mead? The one who can put this restless mind at ease?” 

That night I could not sleep for thinking of the Prince. His face haunted me. I heard his voice, declaring sweet sentiments in accents even sweeter. 

The next morning, Nello brought me a gilt cage with a pair of white doves. "From Giuliano!” he said, making mock of my blushes. "Shall we eat 'em for supper? Two doves in a potpie or shall I have 'em served on a buttered crust?" 

I kissed the rosy beaks of my doves. Giuliano remembered me. And if I doubted his remembrance, that doubt vanished when I saw him again. 

It was the first of many meetings—my inclination growing stronger with each passing day. And each day, after Giuliano had gone away, Belcaro would come to speak with me. The subject was always the same—a prince's love. 

"Giuliano is mad for thee.” "Poor Giuliano."

“Why sayest thou ... poor Giuliano?”

"Because I am a married woman." 

“Is this ... marriage? Thou here, thy brute of a husband far away?” 

"I am still the Countess di Maldonato. Ugo's wedded wife." 

Belcaro paced the floor with his mincing step. "Women have a gift that amazes men. They argue not for—but against themselves. Thou art young, beautiful and passionate. In returning Giuliano's love thou wouldst offend no one ... not even thine own delicate sense of right and wrong. 

"I would offend God!” I exclaimed. "I am not free to love." 

“How many can boast themselves ... free?” said Bel caro with a shrug. “Is the maiden sold in wedlock to a decrepit oldster free? Wert thou free when thou didst say thy vows to Maldonato ... a madman flagellant?”

I dared not listen to such talk—'twas sinful! But such is heart's hunger that I listened to my Prince. What woman with blood in her veins could have stood firm in the face of his wooing? And Belcaro was ever quick to add fuel to the fire, to whisper with a serpent's tongue. “Giuliano adores thee. Thou art in love with Giuliano." 

I turned on the serpent. “Why pleadest thou his cause so warmly?” 

"Because the Prince is my friend and I am a friend to thee." 

I burst into tears and wept on my protector's warped breast. "Will there never be an end to my woes? O Bel caro, I was born under a star of misfortune. First a marriage that was torment and misery ... now ... the law of God forbids me to care for Giuliano.”

"Peace! Peace!" whispered Belcaro, stroking my cheek with his soft and supple fingers. "There is no star of misfortune. There is only the fortune we forge by our own 

I longed to believe him. "Belcaro, is not my love for Giuliano a sin?” 

"Great love is above sin," murmured the puppet man. 

His words poured hope into my heart. Suddenly I found myself confessing. “Giuliano pleaded with me to leave the garden gate open tonight." 

“Leave the gate open," said Belcaro gently. “Deny not what Fate has brought thee ... a love that is true." He kissed my hand and said with a strange smile, "I myself will take the bolt off the gate." 

I waited in trembling. “Great love is above sin," Bel caro had said. Kind mentor! Indulgent friend. 

But hark! A step in the hallway. My door opened. 

“Bianca!” Strong arms embraced me. Burning lips took possession of my mouth. Eager hands caressed my body and a rushing tide of ecstasy swept o'er me. 

“Guiliano!" I closed my eyes. O Love! O happiness! 

At break of day I was a woman full-made with a delicious languor in my limbs and my lips bruised and hurt from our frenzied kissing. 

"Dearest ... my guard awaits to escort me home,” said Giuliano as he rose from my bed. 

“Thy ... guard?" 

"There are assassins a-plenty waiting to strike Lorenzo's brother." 

"No! Giuliano!” I clung to him in fear. 

He put out the oil lamp that had illumined our delights and went to the window that overlooked Via degli Archibusieri. I saw him finger the curtains and peer out. He dressed in haste and gave me a parting kiss. 

"Sleep," he said. "Revive thy beauty. I will see thee again ere the day is run." 

Now that the room was darkened, my eye was drawn to a spot of light that shone through one of the carved panels on the wall. Rising, I ran to the place. Yes! It was a peephole. “Who is there?” I cried in fright. 

The light vanished as when a candle is snuffed be tween hasty fingers and I heard a shuffling and rustling against the wall. Could there be a secret passage in which someone was hid? I threw open my door and stepped into the hallway. Yes! I was not mistaken. An opening appeared in the wall-out stepped a cloaked figure. 

“Stop!” I called. 

The person paid no heed to my command. In a moment he was gone. 

When next my lover came, I told him what I had seen. 

"Since Nature has denied him a full man's due, let the hunchback enjoy himself second-hand!” laughed Giuliano. 

So began my life as mistress of Prince Giuliano dei Medici, brother of the Gonfalonier of Florence. Exalted favor. But with Amor's lesson learned, I felt myself worthy of my adored one's tenderness. 

A villa in Fiesole, named Il Caffaggiolo, concealed our enchantments. From the terrace where we whiled away the summer hours, one could see the rich plain of the Arno, and Florence like a queen on her throne amid a court of amethystine hills. Our marble pool deep in a cypress grove was filled with spring water and here Giuliano and I swam, naked as Adam and Eve. 

Sometimes Giuliano's friends and their mistresses joined us and we danced and feasted far into the night while fireflies shone their tiny lights and the stars came out. 

I was happy as never before, the presence of Belcaro notwithstanding. The enigmatic puppet master came and went at his own bidding. Sometimes he was accompanied by the poet Poliziano, or that great scholar named Marsilio, whom Giuliano loved. Sometimes Leonardo was his guest. 

That summer Messer da Vinci drew my portrait in sepia and gave it to Giuliano. In one corner of the paper he printed in tiny letters, the words 

For how long? And seizing the crayon, Giuliano wrote, 

Until death do us part. Our happy sojourn was protracted into fall. The wining season came. The peasants stripped the vineyards and trod the grapes to a purple flood. We feasted in honor of Bacchus, King of Wine. I was crowned Queen of the Vintage. 

“They speak of thee as a rival in beauty of Simonetta," said Belcaro. 

“Who is Simonetta?" "Lorenzo's lady." I had never met Il Magnifico—and had no desire to. 

I wished only to be beautiful for Giuliano. In this spirit I returned to Florence at the end of autumn when the leaves were falling and the nights were chill. 

"My house in Lung'Arno is at your disposal,” said Belcaro. "I am taking my troupe to Bologna.” 

I was not sorry to see the Doll-master go! Let him take his dwarf too. But Nello stayed a kind of bodyguard for me—his "treasure," as he called me. 

"Thou needest fear no one when I am near, Bian chissima,” boasted Nello. 

Giuliano and I took up our enchanted life without a break. That winter we attended many a masquerade in each other's company, always managing to flee before the time came to unmask and show ourselves. 

The pageant of the seasons moved on we took little heed. Weddings, feast days, holy days. Winter slipped by. April opened her feast of flowers. 

One day Giuliano said to me, "Tomorrow my brother and I will attend Mass at the Duomo. Be there early; I have spoken of thee to Lorenzo. I made it clear I'd wed only thee, my dear one. Seeing thy fair face, thy grace supreme, he may be moved to work for the annulment of thy so-called marriage to a brute ..." 

"Then ... thou knowest of my wedded life?"

"Belcaro described it to me. Poor Bianca!” 

Hope lifted my heart and hastened my footsteps as I went to Belcaro. 

“Dear friend, thou didst advise me rightly. Love has prevailed. Giuliano wants me for his wife. I'm to be presented to the Duke at tomorrow's Mass in the Duomo. Dear Belcaro, if at last fortune should smile on me, I'll have thee to thank and only thee.” 

The next morning, trembling with hope, I attired myself for Mass and Maria and I went to the temple early. We knelt near the altar, knowing that the princes would take precedence over all other worshipers 

It was a gray day. The church soon filled. I was telling my beads when Maria nudged me. “Look! Il Magnifico! 

I saw a man of medium stature with a massive, almost a harsh face—

So unlike my love that he did not seem to be his blood brother. He and my darling Giuliano moved up the aisle in the company of several pages and Messer Poliziano, who had often been our guest at Fiesole. 

At a given moment Giuliano halted and looked back, searching for me with anxious eyes. Finally he saw me and smiled encouragement. “Only a few moments more," he seemed to be saying. 

The Mass was progressing. One of the priests aiding the offices turned with the chalice. At that moment two masked men sprang forward and fell upon Giuliano. The priest dropped the holy vessel. 

I saw the masked men stab Giuliano again and again as Poliziano and others of the princes' suite pushed for ward and Lorenzo escaped into the sacristy. His pages barred the doors while a tumult spread through the worshipers Women screamed. Men shouted. 

I forced my way to Giuliano's side. He was lying in a pool of blood. When I pressed my lips to his I thought I heard him murmur "Amore—” He sighed and gave up the ghost. 

"Giuliano!" I screamed and fell across his bleeding corpse like a lifeless thing. 

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