Chapter 06 - 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 6 

In Bologna, city of arcades and columns, I strolled with Maria through streets lined with palaces of rare magnificence while Belcaro and his troupe performed for the nobility in a vast hall of Count Bentivoglo's palazzo. 

“There is no need for thee to appear with us, Bianca," Belcaro said. “And keep thy face veiled when going about the city." 

I obeyed, never disputing his judgment in such matters. 

One morning we met with a great crowd of worshipers on their way to San Giacomo Maggiore. They were for the most part poor although there were burghers among. them too. 

"They go to hear a new preacher," said Maria.

"What is his name?" 

"I know not. But everyone says he is a marvel.” 

The Mass said, every eye was turned to the pulpit. Suddenly I caught my breath. That preacher mounting the steps was none other than Fra Giacomo himself! 

He planted his two hands on the stone ledge and scanned the audience with his terrible eye. "Sleep, ye sinners,” he began softly. "Sleep on. Think not of morning for there shall be no morning! Ere thy weary lids open, the Avenger shall have come. Think not of repentance for there shall not be time to repent. Lo, at your awakening, the Lord's thunders will roll. The tempest will blow from the very nostrils of God. Like chaff before the wind, ye shall be scattered, as in the sky appears the fiery cross. Cruxirae Dei." 

A murmur swept through the congregation. Heads bowed to the stones and as Fra Giacomo spoke on, walls re-echoed with sobs and wailings dominated by his clarion voice. 

"Ye lie on beds of lust. Ye quaff the ruby wine. Ye tread on the poor and the widow. Ye rob the orphan. Your daggers disembowel the spouse ... the father ... the brother. Your poisons remove the rival in your way. Ye seize thrones. Ye sacrifice lives in conquest that your women may dance in jeweled robes ... that ye may ride white chargers at your battalion's head. 

“Sinners, sleep on. For this life ye lead is sleep. And waking, each one shall face his own hell. Surely, ye are foolish. Ye know not the way of the Lord nor the judgment of your God. Wherefore a lion out of the forest shall slay you and a wolf of the evening shall spoil you. A leopard shall watch over your cities. Everyone that goeth into the streets shall be torn in pieces." 

I could endure no longer. “Come, Maria!” Shivering as with a chill, I groped my way through the kneeling throng. But no sooner had I reached the outer air than I was able to break the spell cast o'er me by Fra Giacomo. “Who is this frocked terror who rants in such a loud voice of sin and punishment?” I asked bitterly. 

Maria's pale face was streaming with tears. "I never heard the like! He lays the very soul bare." 

"Not my soul!” "But there are tears in thine eyes, Madonna." 

"It is the spirit of the mob," I protested. “Had they laughed, I would have laughed with them." 

Maria drew a fold of her head cloth over her face and hurried along without another word. 

I had buried the book at the bottom of one of my chests that Giuliano had given me, filled with brocades and laces. Not even Nello knew where it was. I never brought it out except when I was alone—the door bolted. It seemed to have within itself a kind of mystic power that forbade me to handle it lightly or bandy its contents about with such as the dwarf. 

That night I unlocked the chest and lifted out the book. Turning to the Prophet Jeremiah, I read Yes! Fra Giacomo's preaching did smack of Jeremiades. He'd stolen the sentences whole. Said Jeremiah: 

Wherefore a lion out of the forest shall slay them, and a wolf of the evening shall spoil them, a leopard shall watch over their cities: everyone that goeth out thence shall be torn in pieces. 

I packed the book away. How could I pack away the memory of Fra Giacomo's flaming sermon? “Ye lie on beds of lust. Your daggers disembowel the spouse, the father, the brother." 

When Belcaro returned from the evening's entertainment, I sought him. “Belcaro, let us leave Bologna and 

go to a city where there is life and laughter.” 

“So... Bianca has decided to live again." Belcaro caressed my hair. "Young, beautiful, a veritable Circe of seduction, thou wert not fashioned to pine away thy days in loveless solitude. I have a prince in mind... one whose wealth and manly powers are worthy of thee." 

"Nay!" I protested, "I want no prince. I want only to laugh and be merry.” 

Belcaro smiled. "I have just the remedy for melancholy." "No drugs. No charms, Belcaro," I warned. "No drugs, no charms,” he promised in his jesting way. 

The troupe was shaken with preparations for the departure. Fornieri was happiest of all. He longed for the delights of Rome and Florence. He called Bologna a "city of bookish bald-heads, pinch-lip misers.” 

Nello filled his knapsack with a number of treasures a juggler's tri-colored balls, a mask of a red demon. His delight was to pop this demon face out of the window of the wagon and frighten people as we passed. 

Our caravan made its way south in pleasant May weather, pausing at Castel San Piero and Imola. It was on leaving Imola that we encountered the first troubles of our voyage. 

One night—all quiet and the caravan resting in a wooded glade—I was awakened by the sound of marching feet. Instantly the caravan came to life. I heard Bel caro shouting orders. “Harness up! Hurry! Hurry!” Nello screaming, "Bianca! Bianca!" came running to my wagon and battered on the door until Maria let him in. 

"The way is full of bandits. They demand that Belcaro give over all his money and valuables. Take thy jewels, Bianca, and flee with me. I'll hide thee in the woods." 

I peered out the window and saw in the light of a torch a mighty man on a black horse. Flaming red locks fell about his sun-bronzed cheeks. A silver helmet hung from his left hand. With the right he was mopping sweat from his wide brow. I slipped into a robe and stepped to the door of my wagon. “Sir! Why do you molest us poor strolling players?” 

He looked my way, and holding a torch so close to my face that I felt its heat, he boomed, "So... that's what ye say ye be. Art thou sure thy pretty face is not a decoy? These wagons do not carry the tribute of Ferrara for the Pope?” 

"I am sure," I answered steadily. 

The red-thatched giant gave the torch to one of his men and got off his black steed. "Women lie with a calm face. I'll look around.” He pushed me back into the wagon and followed. 

His sword explored under my bed. He opened chests and wardrobes. Finding nothing, he shrugged. "Perhaps thou art what thou sayest, a caravan of merry players." He took an orange from the bowl, tore it in half, threw back his head and squeezed the juice down his throat. This he did three times, while searching his surroundings with an inquisitive eye. "Strolling players, eh? Thou hast the airs of a noble lady. What is thy name?” 

I turned my back on him. 

“Damn thine insolence! Speak!" His heavy hand crushed my shoulder. 

"My name is Bianca," I answered, wincing with pain. “What is thine ... Wolf?” 

He laughed. “They call me the Red!” He wiped his juice-wet hands on a lace veil hanging o'er my bed. “Thou hast quite a tongue in thy head for a mere player. Art certain this is not a blind? The Pope's gold not hid some wheres about?” 

I lifted my long hair. "Here's all the gold I have!" 

"Ha! Ha!” he laughed. “Well spoken. It is gold! Unbuckle my jerkin then ... I'd fain rest a while ere I continue the search for Ferrara's ducats."

"Messer," I answered. “I've only one bed and I like to rest alone!” 

The Red thrust a wide shoulder toward Maria who was cowering in a corner, "Loose this buckle, woman!” he ordered bluntly. 

Under his leather jerkin, he wore a coat of mail, and under the mail was a torso that Hercules would have envied. 

"Now,” he said to my servant, "be gone! Leave the Red and the White to blend their colors." 

Alone with this man, I wondered—what next? If I anticipated a clash of wills, his and mine, I was disappointed. He threw himself on my bed and pulled the covers to his chin. “Rest well in thy chair, fair lady. We'll have more conversation when morning comes.” And with that he hammered a pillow into shape for his comfort, closed his eyes and was soon snoring like thunder. 

What were my feelings? In truth they were mixed. Pique that he should have given up his conquest without a struggle. Apprehension for what the day might bring. So sound was the intruder's slumber that I was soon able to slip out and steal to Belcaro's wagon. 

The Doll-master was in a fever of excitement! "Did he harm thee? No? But he will! Bianca! Bianca! This man who calls himself the Red is the corsair captain George Redfield. An Englishman. His pirate ship has been raiding Adriatic waters for a year or more. He lies in wait for Venice's galleons as they head in from the Orient, seizes their cargo, sinks 'em. 'Twas said in Bologna that a price of ten thousand ducats is on his head.” 

“Why can we not collect the prize, Belcaro?" said I.

"How?”

“Sink a dagger in his overbearing breast." 

"And be cut to ribbons by his pirates? No, Bianca! We. must be circumspect.” 

Morning found me in the chair where my uninvited guest had told me to spend the night. 

The English corsair stretched, yawned; then suddenly he was awake, staring at me. When I continued to feign sleep he rose and slipped out of the wagon, clad only in his linen shirt. I saw him through the window, bathing in the stream near which we were camped. Two of his lieu tenants were talking to him in low voices. I could smell the mouth-watering aroma of roasting venison. 

Redfield dressed and buckled on his coat of mail. Then he sat down on a rock and tore into a joint of roast, washing it down with wine from Belcaro's store. 

Maria crept back to my wagon. "Perhaps they will let us go, Madonna. They know we have not the gold they 

seek.” 

"Perhaps!" I murmured. I was not so hopeful and I wondered if Belcaro had offered ransom for our release. 

He had. Redfield had turned down the offer. 

"He's a strange fellow," said the Doll-master "If the sum I offered was too small, why did he not ask for more?” 

Perhaps Redfield was looking for another kind of gold. The kind I wore on my head. 

When Belcaro saw the Englishman striding to my wagon he nudged me, "Be sweet to him, Bianca ... smile." 

Redfield gave me no chance to do either. “We move on," he said curtly. "You players will travel between two sections of my troop. No deserters! 

Our caravan rolled on with an escort two hundred strong of armed, bearded ruffians. They did not molest the villages through which we passed, nor did anybody question our right of way. 

Captain Redfield rode a coal-black charger close by my window. When it came time to camp, he camped in my wagon. In my bed! And I—curled up on a makeshift couch! 

His sardonic gaze sought me again and again. "Comfortable, fair lady?” 

“Very comfortable."

"Good night, fair lady."

"Good night, Captain Redfield.”

"So... thou has learned my name."

"Thy name and thy renown.” 

"I am a good-mannered fellow by nature," he said with an impudent grin. "Think what I might do to thee if my natural manners were rude."

"Where are we bound, Redfield?” I asked to change the subject. 

To my good ship St. George. Sleep, lady. We have a long way to go tomorrow.” 

I spoke with Belcaro in the morning. "He may try to take us aboard his pirate ship." 

"Why?” argued Belcaro. "We'd only be a burden to him." 

It struck me then that Redfield might select his passengers with an eye to his taste and needs and that I might be the chosen one. 

“Redfield," said I to my captor when we halted for the noonday meal, "why keep us strolling players under duress? We have nought that can tempt thee."

He looked at me with steel-gray eyes. “Thy curiosity shall soon be satisfied, dear lady." 

Late in the afternoon of the fourth day of our journey, a rider overtook us. He spoke to Redfield in a language I could not understand. Perhaps it was English. The corsair captain's manner changed. “Quick! Sound the alarm!" He ordered our caravan to draw into a vale and arranged his men in ambush along the road. 

Never having witnessed an armed attack, I climbed with Nello to a hilltop to see what we could see. 

Unsuspecting of the danger, Ferrara's wagon train with fifty armed guards was plodding along at a slow pace. At a signal from their leader the pirate horde swooped down. I heard men scream. Mules hee-hawed. I saw the flash of swords and spears. Soon it was finished! Redfield's men dispatched the last of the convoy with their knives. 

I watched the Red while his men broke open a strong box and poured out a flood of gold ducats."Good!” he said with a gloating smile. “I have what I set out to get! Now men ... to horse! On we go! Long live St. George!" 

It struck me that here was the key to this Englishman's nature. "I have what I set out to get.” Conquest at any cost. And his patience was long as witness his treatment of me. What other man would sleep the night through with Bianca within reach of his hand and sleep! Redfield was biding his good time. 

Leading the way on horseback, he set a fast pace for our caravan. We traveled the rest of the day and far into the night without stopping. After a short halt to rest and feed man and beast, the Red gave the command, “Forward!” 

When morning broke I found myself in a piney forest beside the sea. From a distance the bare stems and velvet crowns of the pines stood up like palms; but at nearer view the trunks detached themselves from the undergrowth of juniper and thorn, ash and oak and spread their branches like giant canopies of dark green silk. Here the sea winds murmured. Wild doves cooed and the air was full of aromatic scents of resin and juniper flower, We traveled leagues through this mysterious, enchanted pineta in perfect solitude. Huge oxen hunted the piny wilderness-gray creatures with wild eyes and branching horns that trod stealthily among the acacia bush. 

My captor spurred his black stallion to my open window. "We are now crossing the Rubicon which Caesar crossed. See yon stream ... the Uso? It formed the boundary between Umbria and Cisalpine Gaul. I remember the canings I received at school for not learning the passage to suit my domine's taste! 

Ut ventu, est parvi Rubiconis ad undas 

Ingens visa duci patriae trepidantis imago ...

“Redfield? Riddle me a riddle?” said I. "Why would such a man as thou ... a man instructed in Latin, a man of noble bearing and manners, turn pirate?" 

His handsome face darkened. He spurred onward without answering my question. 

At the turn of the road a half-moon cove opened to my astonished view. There as in comfortable harbor lay a great ship with struck sails. I'd never seen so large a vessel close at hand. Her riggings amazed me. She was gilded and furbished with carvings. At her prow, St. George with the dragon under his heel. 

Our wagon train brought down to the shore and row boats came to load Ferrara's gold. Was this to be the parting of the ways for Redfield and me? What I felt was akin to regret. He was a man with mighty powers to please and he had dealt with me in knightly fashion. 

I was watching the orderly maneuvers of the pirate crew when I heard Nello under my window. “Psst! Bianca! What happens now? What will the Red do with us?” 

"Leave us on the shore." 

Thank St. Cosmo!” cried Nello. He ran to tell Belcaro the good news. 

How wrong I was! When all the pirate band and their loot were shipped, Redfield spurred his charger to my door. “Come, fair lady. Get thy nips and pins together. It is time to haul anchor." 

Again I must confess to a strange inner stirring. "Then ... thou art taking us with thee?" 

"I am taking thee. Thy maid if she be necessary for thy comforts,” said Redfield. 

“What about me?” piped up Nello. 

Redfield looked down at the little man from his towering strength. “Thou too,” he chuckled. 

"What will become of Belcaro and the others?” I queried. 

“They'll be dealt with,” said Redfield bruskly. "Murder in cold blood?”

"Did I say ... murder?” 

I touched his bronzed hand, braced against the lintel of my door. "Redfield! Thou art cut of different cloth! Pirate and corsair, yes. A murderer, no!” 

He drew his hand away and leaned on the stirrup. "What does this hunchback mean to thee?” 

"He saved me from death." 

"No doubt for to use thee as bait. How many rich men has he fleeced with thy complicity?” 

Redfield's clairvoyance pricked me like a thorn. 'Twas true—true. I had been Belcaro's bait and the fish that had taken his hook were rich men. “Redfield,” I pleaded, “let Belcaro go free.” 

He threw back his head and laughed. “Is this thy best offer? May I not hope for sweeter treatment at thy hands, fair lady?” 

I beckoned him to the window and leaning out I wreathed an arm about his strong neck and kissed his lips with all the longing that I had stored within myself since he entered my life. 

"Good!” said he when I let him go. "If that kiss is a sample ... the rest could be well worth the life of a puppeteer and his clowns." 

While Belcaro, Fornieri, Gianetto, the steward Belotti and Belcaro's servant Matteo looked on, the corsair captain ordered his men to empty the contents of my wagon into a boat. Maria and Nello were put aboard the St. George and Redfield lifted me in his strong arms. 

"Farewell, Belcaro," I called over my abductor's broad shoulder. 

"Be brave, Bianca!” answered Belcaro. "We shall meet again." 

A sailor led me to my cabin. It was small, but neat and comfortable. Maria was shown her cubbyhole next door. 

"Where do I sleep?” asked Nello. 

“In a hammock like the rest of us seamen,” said the sailor with a grin. 

The St. George sailed on the morning tide. Her great hull seemed to shiver as she wakened to the kiss of the wind. What heart can be indifferent to the beauty of dawn at sea? A mighty ship bounding on the wave. 

I went on deck and saw the captain of the St. George strutting the bridge. He had doffed his fighting man's gear. His red hair was blowing in the breeze. 

"How do thy quarters suit thee, fair lady?”

"Very well." 

Redfield came down and leaned on the rail at my elbow and we watched the shoreline recede. 

This Adriatic coast was fair to see, her long beaches of white sands, the craggy hills rising against the sky. Never having set foot on a deck, I marveled at the beauty of this floating fortress. 

Redfield said she was a capture from Spain, containing all the newest secrets of the shipwrights' art. "She is named a caravel and she's of five hundred twenty ton. She carries twelve guns of armament.” He showed me the snub-nose cannon lurking behind the breaches. "Her sails are square-rigged, but the mizzen has a lateen sail for speed. She's faster than the best of English ballingers." 

"I've heard thee speak the name England and English with an accent almost of hate," said I. “Why dost thou hate thy native land?” 

His jaw worked. He turned away in anger. 

But that evening he invited me to dine at the captain's table. The finest foods and wines were served. He could not have treated me with more courtesy had I been a princess of the blood and the cup seemed to melt his dour mood. "Come, fair Bianca. Tell me the story of thy life. Where wert thou born? What paths hast thou trod ... to end up at my corsair board? 

“I was born in Siena," said I. "My parents and kin died of the plague and I was raised by the good nuns of Santa Lucia in Signa.” 

"Why didst thou not take the veil and be forever safe inside Santa Lucia's walls?” quizzed Redfield with a sly smile. 

"Because I was sought in marriage by Count Ugo di Maldonato, and our Mother Superior counseled me to accept." 

"Doubtless she was wise enough to see that thou wert not the stuff of which nuns are made." 

"I would have been happier in the cloister than as Maldonato's bride,” I retorted with some heat. 

"Indeed? What happened to the count thy husband?" 

His jesting manner irked me. “What affair is it of thine, Redfield?” 

“Curiosity, Bianca, curiosity," he answered with his twisted grin. "I'd fain discover what tricks of Fate made thee a member of a band of strolling players.” 

"Belcaro is the greatest puppeteer on earth!” I objected. “He is a fine poet and dramatist. He is beloved of princes.” 

Redfield's steely gaze bored through me and found the lie. "Belcaro was thy procurer!” he said in a tone of contempt. “Thou wert his merchandise! Pfagh! I know thy kind, Harlots whose bodies are vessels of corruption ... their souls ... sinks of iniquity!" 

I rose in such anger that my beaker of wine overturned. And like a tocsin rang the memory of a ranting monk. "Sleep on, ye sinners, for this life ye lead is sleep, and waking each one shall face the tribunal of hell ..." I faced hell now—Redfield in the role of accuser. 

What, would I not dare to escape him? My burning eyes sought a way. The sea? Why not. The shore was near. Shedding my garments as I ran, I leapt to the rail, climbed it and plunged into the dark waters. I was fifty strokes distant before I saw Redfield—his clothing flying like flags; saw him dive and strike out in pursuit. 

Swimming with all speed and strength, I headed into land. In my tortured mind a thousand bitter thoughts. Redfield had named me well. Harlot! God let me reach the shore—I'd change my ways. Yes! I'd repent my sins and strive for heavenly pardon. 

"Bianca! Bianca!” 

Redfield's deep voice only spurred me on. I made for a cove. But Redfield had gained on me. I heard his mighty arms thrashing the water. My strongest effort was not enough to carry me beyond his reach. He seized me around the waist. We submerged—and came up gasping. 

"Bianca!” 

“Let me go!"

“Nay!”

“Then let us drown together." 

His powerful legs trod water as he held me close to his warm body. “Bianca? Drown when we have ... this?" The brine mingled with his kiss. His foot grounded. He swung me into his arms and carried me ashore. 

Strange nuptial bed—the cool sands of the Adriatic! The sky for our canopy and the moon for our candle. I lay in my corsair lover's arms and dreamed—dreamed of a better life. Why could Redfield not haul down his pirate's flag and sail for the English crown? Why could I not dedicate my love to him and make him happy?

A dingy from St. George took us aboard at daybreak. In days to follow, my lover's spirits were higher, his tongue not so caustic. Alas, this change of humor could not last. 

I wakened one morning to find his steely eye fixed upon me, his face stern and his mouth sullen. “Redfield! What ails thee?" 

"Nothing! Everything!” he answered harshly. 

Little did I dream what his answer would be when I put the question, "Have I done aught to offend thee?” 

“Thou art a stench in my nostrils!” he exclaimed. “A shame to my manhood and my pride!" 

"Redfield!" I felt the blood ebb from my cheeks. My hands turned cold. 

He hurled himself out of bed and reached for his hose. “Would I had never laid eyes on thee, Bianca of the false name! Bianca means candor. Whiteness. Purity. And thou art more soiled than a dish-clout” 

"Redfield!” I pleaded, “I loved only once before thee!"

"Aye, Prince Giuliano! But thou didst sell thy fair body in harlotry to more than one! I know their names! Sforza of Milan. Count Ippolito di Montaldi!” 

"Nay!” I gasped. "Not Ippolito! He was murdered ere ..." 

Redfield gripped my arm in iron fingers. "I know. And when he was dead, thou didst take his killer ... a common soldier... to thy bosom!" 

My lips spoke of their own volition. “Who told thee?" 

Redfield flung me away. “A little red bird!” He laughed a strident laugh that broke in a groan and turned away. 

Knowing the anguish that wrung him I made my voice soft. "Redfield, I've learned to love thee with a good love." 

He shook his head. "Love is not kissing in the sands. Not a flash of lightning, though it can come that way. Love is to wear the yoke of the stars. To suffer, and want that suffering. True love is given free, Bianca ... not bought or won or stolen or contrived at. It is not pleasure or getting." His next words were wrung from the depths of his being. “Oh! to have her back! Why did she have to die!” He thumped his chest and burst into sobs. “She is always here ... alive! I, captive of such memory as hers, salve my grief with such as thee.” He got to his feet and stumbled out of the cabin, leaving me wounded to the core, my pride bleeding in the dust. 

I envied Redfield. And perhaps hated him too for the glimpse he had given me of a love as strong as it was undying. Yes, he'd spoken the truth! I'd never worn a yoke of stars. Even Giuliano had been too soon forgotten. I was no captive of a memory. What was I then, a harlot as Redfield said or was I a victim of life's storms? A puppet of Fate? 

I kept in my cabin in the days following and Redfield did not seek me. 

Brooding over my strange existence, I listened to Nello revile the man he hated as the weak hate the strong. “This is no life for thee, Bianchissima. Let me deal with the Red! I'll slit his throat while he sleeps! I am so little that I can creep under his bed and wait, then ..." His tiny fist came down with a stabbing movement. "Redfield dead, we are free.” 

"Thinkest thou Redfield's pirates would not avenge their captain?" said I. "Thou wouldst find thy small self dangling from the highest yardarm ... a tidbit for the gulls." 

In my brooding I had begun to hate Redfield too. But I was not of a mind to have him slain and mark another black cross beside my name. 

Though I knew it not, Redfield's fate would soon be decided by another than myself. 

He sent for me one evening after dinner. I found him poring over a map and in a boastful mood. Perhaps he had drunk too deeply. 

“Come on my knee, Bianca! See here ... this dot is Sinigaglia where the midsummer fair will begin tomorrow ... and end August 6th with a horse race. Too bad I cannot put a few ducats on some likely nag.” He rocked me back in his great arms and kissed me hungrily. “Forgive my moods, beauty. I wax hot and cold. Tonight ... amorous lover. Tomorrow ...? Well, we'll leave tomorrow to tell its own story. I'm off at midnight to raid Sinigaglia where a hundred nobles and their wives and families will be the guests of the Count. The haul in jewels alone would pay us for our trouble but I plan to empty Sinigaglia's treasury to boot." 

Never had Redfield loved me so long and so well or left me so empty of heart. 

"Wait for me, sugar plum!" he said in parting. He climbed down the ship's ladder and joined his pirate band. The oarsmen rowed quietly to shore. 

“Pfah!” spat Nello, who was leaning on the rail beside me. "I hope he croaks!" 

I could not blame Nello for wishing Redfield dead. The corsair captain treated him like a troublesome pup—with kicks and cuffs. 

I was too restless to sleep. Sitting with Maria on the poop deck—the watch in the crowsnest, I gazed at the stars and tried to fathom the mystery of my future. 

What if Redfield were to fall in the raid on Sinigaglia? I would be free. Free for what? For whom? My whole being rebelled against the thought of returning to the Doll master. His way of life, his ambitions, his schemes had too often caused me to stray. Redfield's bitter words kept recurring to my mind—“Thou art a stench to my nostrils. A shame to my manhood and pride.” What price should I set upon myself when a lover could speak as Redfield had spoken? 

It was dawn when my weary eyes sighted two small fishing craft bearing down upon our ship. 

"Ahoy, St. George!" called a fisher boy with a red and white tasseled cap from the bow of the first of the two craft. 

"Ahoy, felucca!” answered our watch. 

"Fresh fish?” called the fisher boy. “Red snappers? Mackerel? All kinds." 

Our cook came out of his galley. "Fish? I'll buy.” A line was thrown. The cook hauled up a basketful of beautiful fresh fish and a great haggling started—Nello joining in. 

When the cook had made his purchase, the little man came to me with a mysterious air. “Look! The fisher boy threw me this pretty shell. There's a paper inside with writing.” 

I went to my cabin and read the message. 

The grappa my man slipped to the crew is drugged. Signal when all is quiet. 

Belcaro It happened now as it had happened before. Belcaro ruled the stars that presided over my fate. Soon the crew of the St. George were deep in their cups, singing and carousing. 

“Do they all drink?" I asked Nello.

“Yes, Bianchissima."

“Even the watch?" 

"He's got himself a tankard. He's up there stargazing and guzzling." 

I told Maria to pack. When Nello reported all quiet, I signaled to leeside. 

Never had so daring a sea lord fallen to so puny an enemy! The St. George taken by a flagon of drugged grappa! 

Belcaro's hirelings came clambering up the anchor rope. A ladder was put down and Belcaro came aboard. 

“How is thy health, Bianca?" he said peering into my face. "Thy cheek is pale, thine eye ... not so bright. I shall soon bring thee back to health and good spirits." His tone changed. "Where is Redfield's strong room?" 

"I know!” said Nello who was beside himself with joy at the thought of abandoning the pirate ship. 

Belcaro had the gold of Ferrara and other treasure put aboard the fishing boats. “Even the wind is in our favor tonight, he chortled. “It blows from the south. We'll make Pesaroere morning. There my caravan awaits to take us away from these coasts."

It was not enough for Belcaro to rob Redfield, he put the St. George to the torch. 

I looked back at the ship, flaming on the purple sea and shuddered. "Pirates though they were, Redfield's crew will die a horrible death." 

“Not so horrible as that of their pirate captain," Belcaro answered. 

I asked him what he meant. 

“Those of Sinigaglia received warning of their peril. They were ready for the Englishman." 

“Thou ... didst forewarn them?”

“Yes. I've had spies watching the St. George ever since she weighed anchor with thee aboard. Redfield, jigging at the end of a hangman's rope, will rue the day he met our caravan.” 

The cunning Belcaro had left nothing to chance. His every move was planned and carefully executed. We did reach Pesaro by morning. We met the caravan—and as if without interruption, I found myself in my wagon Nello perching cross-legged on my bed. Maria unpacking my clothes chest. 

Leaden despair fell like a mantle over my shoulders. Where was my hope of change? The Doll-master had regained his lost puppet, and Bianca would dance to his tune.