Chapter 7 #4
“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.
“Check to make certain he is dead,” the leader ordered. “Cut his throat for good measure,” he told the men who had been restraining the prisoner. “Cut off his cock and balls too. Stuff them in his mouth for whoever finds him to see. It is a fitting ending for a debaucher of women.”
One of the men immediately complied. Rovere’s blood pooled in the dirt of the narrow road, then began to congeal. His mouth bulged wide open as his genitals were pushed between his lips, which were even now turning blue.
His executioner turned away without a word, drawing the face covering up again.
“Leave his horse and his purse,” the rider with the deep voice said.
“Let whoever finds him know that the murder done was personal and not for gain.” Then seeing all his companions mounted, he gave the signal and they rode away.
Above the body of the dead man, carrion birds began arriving with noisy cries of anticipation in the gray skies above.
It was almost a month later when word reached Bianca that Sebastiano Rovere had been set upon and killed on the road as he returned to Florence.
She was almost healed now from the beating he had administered before her female servants had driven him out of the villa.
She had learned from Agata that they had quickly dispatched the four men-at-arms who had accompanied her deceased husband.
Rufina and Pia, the two pretty housemaids, lured them with bared breasts and raised skirts while Filomena and Gemma had slit the throats of each man as he eagerly fell upon a girl.
“They would not allow me to help them with those men,” Agata said, sounding relieved. “They said a city woman had too great a conscience, whereas a country woman did what must be done without regret.”
“What happened to the bodies?” Bianca wanted to know.
“We put them in bags weighed down with stones. A cousin of Gemma’s is the fisherman who supplies us with our fish. He took the bodies one by one out to sea and dumped them. They were scum hired by Rovere, and not his own men. They will not be missed by anyone,” Agata assured Bianca.
They had been living in fear that Bianca’s brutal husband would return with a stronger force to retrieve his wife and take his revenge on the women of the villa.
Then had come word of his death. It had been a shock, for Bianca had never considered that her husband might be assassinated by an enemy, though such a thing was not uncommon in Florence.
But as the shock quickly evaporated and relief flooded her, Bianca realized that she was at last free.
“Send Ugo to the prince with word that I must see him urgently,” Bianca told Agata, and a smiling Agata hurried out to send the manservant on his way.
That fatal night that Rovere had arrived at Luce Stellare, Ugo had taken a horse and raced down the beach to the prince’s villa to fetch him.
When he had arrived he had learned that both the prince and his servant, Krikor, had gone to the city several days prior.
He had quickly brought back word to Agata, and it was then the women had acted to drive Sebastiano Rovere from the house and rescue Bianca.
Afterwards Agata had told Bianca of the prince’s absence so she might know he had not abandoned her in her hour of need.
Amir had come immediately upon his return and, seeing her condition, had sworn in both Italian and Turkish, vowing to see Rovere dead the next time he came to the villa.
Now, upon learning of her husband’s death, Bianca wondered if her prince had not waited for Rovere’s return to Luce Stellare but gone after her husband and killed him on the road.
She saw the gray stallion galloping down the beach from the terrace of the villa where she was standing watching for him. She waved to him, her heart beating rapidly as she considered what her new freedom meant for them.
Amir saw her on the terrace, and when she waved, his heart caught in his throat.
She did not look frightened or unhappy. What was so urgent that she had sent Ugo for him?
He urged his stallion up the path, and gaining the top he leapt off the animal to run to her side.
“What is wrong, Bianca? Are you all right?” He looked anxiously at her.
“My husband is dead,” Bianca told him.
“What?”
“Sebastiano Rovere is dead. I am free of him, Amir. Free!”
“How? When?” Allah, be praised! This was good news.
“The day my women drove him from the villa,” Bianca said. “He was set upon as he traveled back to Florence. There is no doubt it was an assassination, Amir. Neither his horse nor his purse had been stolen.” Bianca had not been told of the mutilation of her late husband.
“Do the authorities know who did it?” the prince inquired of her.
Bianca shook her head. “No one has admitted to it, nor was there any evidence that pointed to anyone. I do not believe anyone cared enough to pursue the matter, even his own sons. They took his body to the city and buried him. I still do not know how he found me in the first place, but it doesn’t matter now. ”
“No,” the prince said slowly. Then he pulled Bianca into his embrace.
His hand caressed her face, cupping it tenderly as his mouth descended upon hers in a deep, hungry kiss.
Raising his head, he looked into her eyes.
“The only thing that matters now, beloved, is you and I.” And then he began kissing her again.