Bianca by Bertrice Small Page A

having listened to many a confession over his forty years as a priest. Several times he murmured a soft imprecation and then crossed himself. He had been frankly surprised when he had learned of Bianca Pietro d’Angelo’s betrothal to Sebastiano Rovere, for the man’s reputation for depravity was hardly a secret, although rarely discussed publicly. Now Orianna told him of the reason Bianca had been sacrificed.
    “I know,” she said, “that my husband did what he did to save Marco, to protect the family name. I did not want such a marriage for Bianca. My father had already begun discreet inquiries among the important families in Venice for a suitable husband for his eldest granddaughter. But then Giovanni made this decision. He was certain that despite Sebastiano Rovere’s reputation he would treat our daughter with respect, for aside from the faint rumors of murder when his previous two wives had died, he had treated them properly. At least in public.
    “I worried when he would not let me see Bianca these past months, but Giovanni said it was because she was young and beautiful that he did not wish to share her with anyone, especially her family. My husband believed that awful man had fallen in love with our child. And Bianca! Ah, my poor daughter! When she learned that I had been forbidden her company by her husband, what she did to gain his permission to see me!”
    Orianna continued on in her tale.
    “And as soon as you learned the abuse she was suffering you removed her from her husband’s house?” Father Bonamico asked.
    “I did! I could not leave her there, good priest. I could not!”
    “Where is she?” he wanted to know.
    “At Santa Maria del Fiore,” Orianna replied. “Even my husband does not know. The Reverend Mother Baptista is a kinswoman of mine.”
    “Good! Good!” the priest told her. “She has sanctuary there, and even if Rovere should learn her whereabouts, he would not dare break the laws of sanctuary.”
    “I think he would dare anything,” Orianna said. “I would go to her now before Rovere puts a watch on the palazzo. Then I shall be back in time for his visit. He will not delay in coming, I am certain.”
    “How will you get to the convent?” The priest’s face showed his concern for her.
    “I know a litter bearer in the nearby market square. I once saved his wife and child from illness. He has been devoted to me ever since,” Orianna replied. “If you will permit me to slip through the church’s back garden, no one will see me.”
    “Come back through the church when you return,” Father Bonamico advised. “You must take no chances, my daughter, that anyone believes you were anywhere but here, praying and attending Mass. Kneel now, and I will bless you and your endeavors. You must tell Bianca you have spoken with me, and that I will come to hear her confession later today. After that, we dare not attempt to see her. Rovere is a determined man. He will want her back, and will turn the city upside down to find her. We must be cleverer and quicker than he is.”
    Orianna knelt to receive his blessing. Before she rose to her feet again, she took the priest’s two hands in hers and kissed them. “Thank you,” she said simply.
    “For your peace of mind, my daughter, know that these conversations you and I have had, and will have, are under the seal of the confessional,” he told her.
    Orianna left the church then to slip through its garden and out a little gate at the garden’s rear. Pulling the hood of her cloak up over her light auburn hair, she hurried through the narrow, winding streets to the nearby market square, where she found Ilario and his litter already waiting for business. She climbed into the single-chair vehicle and instructed him, “Santa Maria del Fiore.”
    Ilario recognized her, but said nothing. He and his helper picked up the litter and began the journey. As the streets were not yet crowded, they made excellent time. When they had exited through the