I was once the Prince of this magnificent city state. But now, my whole kingdom is encompassed in this small grey stone tower. I have an apartment consisting of a single bedchamber with a garderobe and bathroom to the sides. I have one window, mockingly overlooking a beautiful ornamental garden. Furniture? One bed, a table and chair. And a small bookcase, with titles so kindly selected from my library -- theology, botany, art -- none of my books on politics or strategy. Those might prove too useful to me; just as I have no weapons, I am permitted no books of power or even pen and paper.
I have to acknowledge my brother's cunning and ruthlessness. Unseen even by my most able spies, he placed himself ready, then struck when I was out of my domain. Overnight he seized the throne of the city, set his own counsellors and advisor in position and imprisoned or murdered all those loyal to me. He even had his pet creature, Cardinal Fanelli, to give him an air of spiritual respectability. As I rode into the city, I was ambushed. My sons died defending me, as did my bravest soldiers. Between us we killed many of the mercenaries, but it was to no avail. I was dragged from my horse, bundled into a wagon, and taken here. They threw me into my cell and locked the door. I have not been outside since.
This then, is the whole of my realm. And this only until my brother Rodolfo decides the time has come to end my threat to his usurped crown. I know it is only a matter of time. Either his men will put me to the torture until I crack and sign whatever confession he has written for me simply to stop the unendurable agony, followed by the executioner's axe -- or even the hangman's noose like a commoner -- or my end will simply be a knife in the dark. The jailer here is a grim, scarred giant -- a hard man I would be hard pressed to beat even armed. He is my jailer -- but at a word he would become my assassin.
This is my kingdom, my world -- a bare stone room, where I sleep and read and wait for death. So little time ago, I was one of the most powerful men in Europe, ruler over a prosperous city, my every word a command, my every pleasure indulged. I would attend opera and theatre, hold extravagant dances. I would hunt and ride through my domain. I would dally with the most desirable women in all of Italy. Ah, the women!
It is right, fitting even, that a prince should have his pick of the women of his realm. And believe me, I did. Now though, I have only my memories. Each day, I remember one of my favourite women, my most favoured concubines. I do not sink to performing the sin of Onan, to defiling myself, of course. Such would be unseemly for a Christian prince, even one cast down and dethroned. But still, I reminisce about them, how each of them came to be my lover, and allow myself to remember the pleasures of their delicious bodies.
Today, I remember Giulietta, the Gypsy Queen. I had been riding out with my hawk in the mountains when I found myself in a narrow rocky pass, my soldiers still some way behind me. There, I encountered a Romany encampment. Wagons, tents, a crowd of colourfully dressed people.
"Ho! Nobleman! You are far from your fine city, now! Here, I am the king!"
So spoke a big, strapping, black-bearded fellow dressed in bright silks and with a fearsome knife at his belt. I could see from the corner of my eye the men hiding in the rocks with bows, crossbows and slings. I was surrounded.
"Far from the city I may be, but these are still my lands. You are all subject to my law!" I admonished him, trying to cow him with my confident voice.
"We accept no law but our own! Here, I rule!" the leader cried, and his people cheered.
"I have no desire to interfere in your lives, fellow, so I shall return to my city and bid you a good day!" I replied and started to turn my horse.
"Stop!" said the chieftain, "if you leave here, it will be stripped off your wealth and finery, and walking bare-arsed home!"
"Am I then subject to your law here, O king?" I asked, mockingly.
"Indeed!"
"Then," I replied, "By the law of your people I challenge you!"
It was a risk, but at least this would be a fair fight. Or so I thought. I dismounted, unbuckled my sword belt, took off my doublet. As an old Romany wise man was pronouncing the rules of the contest, a knife fight to the death, and before I had a chance to arm myself, my opponent rushed me from behind! I dodged his murderous attack, and we began to duel with me bare handed against his evil-looking knife. He was a dangerous fighter -- quick for all his bulk and skilled in dirty fighting. But I had trained with weapon masters and wrestling champions since childhood, and survived more than one battle. HE came in close, and I combined a sacrifice throw with a kick, rolling onto my back and launching him through the air. I sprang up, reached his dropped knife before he could. I was about to offer him mercy and end the contest, but he snatched a crossbow from a nearby follower and brought it up to shoot. I threw my weapon, his own knife piercing his black heart and killing him instantly.
There was stunned silence. I seized the chance to speak:
"Nothing here has changed. I told you I am your prince and so I remain. All I ask of you is that you rob no travellers on the road and your people will be free to travel and live free and unmolested in my lands!"
Seeing that they accepted my words, I dressed, mounted my horse and prepared to leave. As I did though, a woman's voice spoke out:
"And what of me? You claim to know our laws, but do you know the fate that will befall a king's wife when he dies? She must give herself to his conqueror, become his woman. Otherwise she is without honour, without respect! My prince, would you leave me to that?"
The woman who had spoken was stunning. Coarse and sensual features rather than the refined beauty of court women, but just as sexually exciting -- perhaps more -- for all that. Dark olive skin, a mane of curly black hair, dark smouldering eyes. A full, sensuous mouth. She wore a red taffeta skirt and a tight sleeveless white bodice laced up the front which displayed the deep cleavage of a magnificent pair of breasts. She looked at me, both imploring and challenging, supplicant yet proud.
I felt the thrill of desire following the thrill of combat. It was probably true that if I left her behind she would be treated badly by her people. I reached down, swung her up on the horse behind me.
"Come with me, my proud beauty! I shall have you before your husband's blood is cold!", I cried.
The assembled people cheered me, their lord, for observing their customs.
We galloped off. Some miles away, I reined in my horse at a mountain meadow near where a waterfall fed a pool and a clear stream. As we rode, I had felt those luscious breasts pressing against me, those strong thighs about my waist.
