Chapter 08 - 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 8 

Belcaro put me through a rigid catechism. “What said the medico? The notary? The judge? The servants?” 

Words I could not contain burst from my lips. "Do not fear! Thou didst thy poisoner's work to perfection!” 

Belcaro turned pale. “So ... Nello could not hold his tongue.” 

He left me in loathing of my weaknesses as well as of his crimes. And for several days I kept to my rooms and would see only Maria. More and more, I yearned for Andrea. His honest nature and chaste mind, his piety and respect for the laws of God and man, were the sum of human virtue. To live with and love such a man would be to live in heaven. 

When, at last, I summoned my courage and found Belcaro at supper, he made no mention of my absence, asked no questions about my health. “Now that the air is cooler, I believe it will be well to repair to Lung'Arno in Florence, I have written a drama for which I need new puppets. Thou, Bianca, shalt sit in a gold frame and sing the prologue and commentary while two harpists play." 

I could no longer be silent. "Dear Belcaro, would it displease thee very much if I were to leave thy troupe forever?” 

He set down his wine cup and eyed me suspiciously. "What riddle is this? Speak out! Why shouldst thou leave my troupe?” 

"... I wish to re-marry,” said I, speaking with as much calm as I could muster. 

Belcaro stared at me with burning eyes. "Re-marry?” he echoed after a pregnant silence. "What novelty is this? Didst thou meet some fortune-hunting gentleman eager to console a rich, young widow?” 

"Dear friend," I pleaded. "What wouldst thou say if I were to tell thee I am truly in love?” 

"I'd say ... thou art touched in the head."

"Oh, but it is true. I love with all my heart and soul." 

“Who ... ?” said Belcaro sharply. "Not ... Andrea de Sanctis?” 

"The same.” 

“That puddler in clay? That cobbler's son? Hast thou taken leave of thy senses?” 

“I have all my senses ... at last." And I began to plead like a love-stricken girl, "Dear Belcaro, ours is the cup one drinks but once." 

"A fig for thy cup!” said Belcaro contemptuously. "Take thy Andrea ... without fuss. In a month or so thou wilst yawn and say, 'This poor dolt bores me!'” 

"No!” I cried, "Andrea and I were fashioned one for the other. Our nuptials will be 'the wedding in heaven' of which the saints speak.” 

Belcaro refilled his cup. "Hast thou tried the young maestro in bed?” 

"Nay! Our love is pure.” 

Belcaro shook his head. "I am amazed ... that thou, who hast known master men, should be so blind. Andrea de Sanctis is a peasant and a son of peasants. Were he not born with the gift of the arts he'd follow his father's trade ... a cobbler. Such a low fellow cannot agree with a creature like thyself, Bianca." 

I trembled with sudden, uncontrollable anger. “Is a man a man merely because he has a fat purse and a 

crown on his dish? I shall marry Andrea de Sanctis ... and be happy.” I rose and started away but Belcaro stopped me. 

"Bianca!" He beckoned me back. "Dear child, I speak only for thy good. Now when Andrea returns to set his finished reredos upon the altar, treat him sweetly. Take him to bed. Try him. It is all I ask. If, the morning after, thou canst honestly say, 'He is the man for me!' I will withdraw all my objections, and give the happy bride away." 

I twisted and turned the matter in my mind; how to convince the Doll-master that I was in earnest, and that my love was true? He'd seen me become mistress of Giuliano, Ludovico, Ippolito and Redfield. What faith could he have in my constancy? Those were dreadful days: I, seeking the answer to my doubts; Belcaro calmly waiting for Andrea to return and deliver the finished altarpiece. 

One morning Belcaro said, "Maestro de Sanctis is on his way. He will be at the Villa Gaia toward the hour of noon." He did not ask what I had decided. His expression was calm. Did he believe I would take his counsel and that Andrea would be "tried”, like one of his cobbler father's shoes? 

The artist, not the lover, was uppermost when Andrea arrived with his precious cargo. "Messer Belcaro ... the reredos is finished, and I brought my own artisans to set it in place.” He then bowed to me. "Donna Bianca, I beg thee, come to the chapel when all is ready." 

It was late afternoon when Andrea called us. He had lighted a dozen tapers in the chapel. Their golden glow illumined the bronze with a soft and holy light. 

"Wonderful! Wonderful!” muttered Belcaro. "It is she ... yet of purer mettle. Bianca ... in heavenly form." He turned to Andrea. “Young man, thou art indeed gifted. All praise to thee!” 

"It was the model,” said Andrea, fixing grateful eyes on mine. 

Belcaro turned and strode from the chapel, but in passing he touched my sleeve and whispered, "Remember." 

I made my excuses to Andrea and ran after Belcaro. “Dear friend ... I cannot do thy counsel. I love this man." 

"If thou lovest him ... take him." "No. It is another kind of love." 

Belcaro said harshly, "There are not two kinds of love. The end of all wanting is ... in the feathers. Be wise, Bianca. Wine Andrea. Dine him. Charm him. Give thy self to him, and I wager a thousand florins that in one week, thou wilst send him away and be packing thy chests for the season in Florence.” 

I was present when Belcaro gave the young artist his pay. Five hundred gold ducats in a leathern pouch. 

Andrea had never seen so much gold. “For thee, Bianca! For thee!” he said gleefully when the Doll-master had withdrawn. "Hast thou told Belcaro of our plans to wed?” 

“Yes," I answered. "He begs me wait. He says I am so recently a widow that it would be unseemly to ..." 

Andrea's face fell. “Wait?” 

I clung to him. "Andrea! Believe me! I'll hasten the event with all my powers!” And remembering Belcaro's counsel, I pressed Andrea closer-closer. “Dear heart! We are together. We need not be parted ..." 

Andrea's youthful fires were burning. His eye was bright. "Bianca! O Bianca! Thou so pure! So like a dove!” He tore himself out of my embrace, stammering, "Forgive me, sweet one. In thine arms my head spins and I lose my powers of reason. Delay not the day of our felicity too long." He would not linger in the dangerous shade of our rose arbor. "Send me away, Bianca, lest I forget I am a pious young man who learned to obey the laws of God at my sainted mother's knee." 

I retired but not to sleep. At last, inspired by I know not what wild hope of moving Belcaro, I threw on a robe and stole to his chamber. The door was not bolted. I slipped inside. He was sitting up in bed reading by the light of an oil lamp. He threw down the book. "Did Andrea fall short of thine expectations?” 

I came to the bedside. "Belcaro, hark to me. I have been thy companion in adventure long enough. And now I say, the time has come for us to part.” 

"Thou sayest,” said Belcaro aping me. "I say I will never let thee go.” 

"Please! Please, Belcaro! I love Andrea. He is my life.” 

"And thou art the life of Belcaro!” 

I wondered if I had heard him right. "Surely thou art jesting!” 

"I jest not, Bianca. I love thee!" 

I felt a faintness steal o'er me. And then I felt pity. "Poor Belcaro. Although Nature has denied thee some favors, she gave thee great gifts of intellect..." 

Belcaro leaned and seized my wrist. "Intellect? Thinkest thou Belcaro lacks the fires that are banked in every man's breast? Nay! His misshapen frame is a veritable furnace that burns and burns for thee. Let me prove ..." Heedless of my protests, he drew me into his powerful arms, murmuring words of love. “Bianca, be mine. I love thee. I've always loved thee." 

I fought like a wild thing but my struggles only in flamed him the more. 

“Bianca ... be mine ... this night ... this once! I'll grant thee freedom ... and Andrea." 

My cries were smothered under his outpourings. 

"Mine! Mine!” he moaned in a paroxysm of delight. "Belcaro's treasure. Belcaro's most precious doll." 

I writhed, twisted, fought, beat him about the head. My hand struck the lamp to the floor. O welcome darkness! But the light of the moon shone on his features, distorted by passion. 

"I'll give thee everything thy heart can desire. I am a rich man. Richer than thou knowest. I have vast treasures of jewels. I own lands and palazzi and villas. I lend to pontiffs and princes. I am a man of great power. Thou shalt have all I possess. Yea. All! I will make a queen of thee. A queen, throning in beauty.” 

Spent with my efforts to free myself, I laid my palms to his misshapen chest, crying, “Let me go!" 

Over Belcaro's humped shoulder, I saw framed in the open doorway the pallid ghost of the man I loved. Andrea! He stared at us—a serpent-nest of limbs laid bare-stared so long and so fixedly that he seemed to be made of stone. Then, clapping his hands to his face, he turned and fled with a loud groan. 

After a long silence I heard myself speak, “The Devil doth lay his sticks well, Belcaro, to give a woman unto burning!" 

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