Chapter 11
Finally they could go no farther by land.
They reached a place where there were barges waiting to be hired to take the baggage carts and the horses along with the men-at-arms who had traveled with them into the city.
The three siblings and Agata were settled in a large gondola that would ferry them to their grandfather’s palazzo.
“Prince Venier?” the gondolier said. “Yes! Yes! I know his palazzo.” He pushed off from the quay. “Are you Veniers? Have you come from the estates on Kythira or Crete? Have you ever been to Venice before?” He was very curious.
“We are Prince Venier’s grandchildren from Florence,” Marco answered the gondolier. “I am called Marco, my brother is Georgio, and our sister is Bianca.”
“Marco Venier! A famous name here in Venice, signore. Once there was even a Venier who was doge.” The gondolier chattered on.
“And it was a Marco who took the island of Kythira when Byzantium was taught its lesson in humility by the great Doge Dandolo. Of course it was only right that the Veniers take Kythira, for it is said to be the birthplace of the ancient goddess Venus, and the Veniers are direct descendants of Venus. That is why all its women are so beautiful, as your sister here. I have even caught a glimpse of the prince’s other granddaughter, a glorious young maiden with red-blond hair, and a face to rival Helen of Troy! ”
“Our little sister,” Marco replied drily.
Bianca chuckled from her place between her two brothers. Francesca with a face to rival an ancient heroine? “She has obviously changed in the years since I’ve seen her,” Bianca murmured, and her brothers snickered. “I recall a nosy urchin, nothing more.”
The gondola glided swiftly over the water, entering a wide and busy waterway.
“The Grand Canal,” the gondolier announced, a certain pride in his voice.
They were surrounded by boats of every kind everywhere, for Venice was a great port city.
There were merchant vessels, boats carrying animals, boats carrying produce and other goods.
Some sold their goods from their boats. Bianca gasped as a large warship called a galleass slid by them.
Through the oar ports, she could actually see the several tiers of galley slaves who rowed the vessel.
She shuddered. What a terrible fate for a man to find himself in the galleys, she thought.
She noticed that her two brothers were oddly silent too.
One of the dangers of traveling by sea for men was the possibility of being captured by pirates and sold into the galleys.
Now the canal was lined with great palazzos, and Bianca waited for the gondolier to pull their vessel into one of the small stone quays, but he did not.
“Prince Venier does not own one of these palazzos?” Marco asked, curious.
“Oh no, signore,” the gondolier replied.
“Those palazzos are owned by the great merchants of the city. You will note that each has its own dockage. It is for their vessels so they may unload their cargo into the main floor of the palazzo. The families live above. Your grandfather’s home is in a more private setting. ”
“You have a district for your nobility?” Marco inquired.
“Oh no, sir. Here in Venice the rich and the poor and those in between live next to one another. Like your Florence, Venice is a republic.” Then the gondolier turned his attention to his vessel, steering it into a smaller canal.
From their boat they could see houses, some large, some small, and here and there a palazzo.
At the end of the canal their gondolier pulled into a small dock.
As he did so, a liveried servant appeared to help the gondola’s expected occupants out.
“Welcome! Welcome to Palazzo Venier,” he greeted them, smiling broadly. “Your grandfather and your sister await you if you will follow me.” He flipped the gondolier a large silver coin. “With the prince’s thanks. The baggage train?”
“Not far behind,” the gondolier replied as he pushed off.
He would have lots of gossip now to share with the other gondoliers, and the city of Venice lived on gossip.
Old Prince Venier was one of their most distinguished citizens.
The arrival of three more of his grandchildren, the talk of a marriage he had overheard his passengers discussing—it was all too delicious, and might even earn him a cup of wine from one of the satin-garbed gossips in Piazza San Marco.
The liveried servant led them into the palazzo, but before Bianca might even look about her she found herself in a large airy salon in the presence of an elegant white-haired gentleman who looked very much like her mother.
“Welcome to Venice,” he greeted them. “I am Alessandro Venier, your grandfather.”
Bianca curtsied politely as her two brothers bowed to the prince.
“I am Marco,” her elder sibling told their host.
“Named after the patron saint of our great city,” their grandfather replied. “Your mother promised me when she left Venice with your father that she would name her firstborn son Marco. I am happy she kept her promise to me.”
“This is Georgio, my next brother,” Marco introduced the younger man.
“How old are you both?” their grandfather inquired.
“I am nineteen,” Marco answered him, “and Georgio is sixteen, signore.”
“You are neither of you yet married?” his grandfather wanted to know.
“No, signore,” Marco said.
“Hmmm,” his grandfather replied. “You are your father’s heir?”
“Yes, signore, I am. I came to Venice so that Bianca might have a proper escort, and so I might learn a bit of the shipping trade here in your city,” Marco explained. “Georgio and I will return with our hired soldiers to Florence shortly.”
“I see,” Alessandro Venier answered. He turned his head now, saying, “You will be Bianca, of course. Remove your hood so I may see you, granddaughter.”
Bianca undid her cloak, letting Agata take it. Then she turned and looked at him.
A pity, the prince thought, that she was a brunette.
Brunettes were so common. She had obviously inherited her Florentine father’s coloring.
Still, the skin was flawless, and the aquamarine eyes now engaging his quite boldly were spectacular.
And since she was a widow, he would not have to worry about protecting her virtue.
“You are different from your sister,” he told her candidly.
“More so than you can imagine, signore,” Bianca told him with the faintest of smiles. “I have been told you are to find another husband for me; however, I do not wish for another husband. I wish only to be reunited with the man I love.”
“A child’s wish,” the prince said coldly.
“Your mother has advised me that you are a difficult female. Understand that I will not tolerate any defiance from you. Your appearance in Florence may have been considered special, but your dark hair is a detriment here in Venice. I will nonetheless find you a suitable husband, and you will marry him without complaint, Bianca.”
“May I see my sister now, signore?” Bianca asked him.
He almost chuckled. His granddaughter had his daughter’s stubborn nature, and it took him back to the day when he had told her she would be marrying a Florentine merchant and not remain in Venice.
She had wept and raged at him over it, but in the end she had gone meekly to the altar with Giovanni Pietro d’Angelo, as he had expected her to do.
Bianca would do the same when he found the right match for her.
“Of course you may see Francesca,” he said to her.
“She has been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” He motioned to a servant with his hand.
“Fetch my granddaughter,” he said. Then turning back to his other guests, he asked them, “What think you of Venice?”
“Magnificent as our mother said it was,” Marco quickly replied. “Today, of course, I shall remain with our family, but tomorrow, signore, I should like to visit my father’s warehouses here, with your permission.”
“You are all to call me Nonno,” the prince said. “I am, after all, your grandfather.”
“You are too elegant a gentleman to be called just Nonno,” Georgio said. “I will call you Nonno Magnifico.”
Alessandro Venier laughed heartily at this pronouncement. The boy had charm, and was amusing. If he continued to show humor, he would invite him to remain. He must write to Orianna and ask what plans they had for the boy.
A squeal of delight interrupted his train of thought. “Bianca! Marco! Georgio! You are here at last!” A young girl had run into the salon. She was tall and slender. At thirteen her breasts were budding as the material from her gown clinging to them attested.
“Francesca!” Bianca was amazed. Her little sister had indeed changed. The red-gold hair was luxurious. The green eyes sparkled. She hugged the girl warmly.
Their brothers looked surprised. This was Francesca? She had only been gone from Florence a little over a year, but the change was astounding. They greeted her with kisses and warm words.
“I have changed, haven’t I?” Francesca said gleefully.
“Our gondolier said you have a face to rival Helen of Troy,” Georgio told her.
“Who is she?” Francesca asked. “Do we know her?”
Her two brothers laughed at her ignorance.
“I can see your education has been neglected, bambina,” Marco said.
“On the contrary,” the prince interrupted.
“Francesca has learned to dance all the newest dances. She can play her lute exquisitely and sing divinely. Her manners have become flawless. She has learned to supervise my kitchen and make the most wonderful scents from the flowers in my garden. She is perfectly educated.”
“To be an ornament, but not a companion,” Bianca noted.
“But the perfect wife is the most glorious ornament in her husband’s house,” the prince replied. “Francesca will soon have a husband to please and she will do it quite well, Bianca. Were you not an ornament in your late husband’s house?”