The Wind Dancer

by Iris Johansen

  "You must get some sleep," Caterina said briskly as she strode out on the battlement toward Sanchia. "You've scarcely rested since the boy disappeared. Getting ill won't bring Piero back."

  Sanchia's gaze remained fixed on the vineyards to the north of the city. She lifted her hand to rub her temple. "I can't remember if they tried the winery."

  "The second day." Caterina paused. "Even the vats."

  Sanchia shuddered. "He's dead, isn't he? He must be dead or we would have found him."

  "Nonsense. We should have found him even if he was dead. So not finding him proves nothing."

  Caterina's abrasiveness was oddly comforting. "That's right. They would have found his bo--" She couldn't say the word. Her hands clenched on the stone ledge, trying to fight down the sickness the thought brought. "Bianca told me she's praying for him. I tried to pray, but I'm not sure God listens to me anymore. I've broken so many of his laws. I've stolen and lied." Her voice lowered to a whisper, "I've committed adultery."

  "I've never been sure God hears me either. I have an idea He leaves alone the people capable of solving their own problems and concentrates on those who can't. It may not seem just to us, but we should not argue with Him." Caterina drew her crimson cloak more closely about her. "It's growing cooler now that the sun has gone down. Come in and sup with me. You can do no good out here. Lion will return when he returns and not before."

  "I'll join you shortly." Sanchia turned and once more gazed out over the countryside. She suddenly stiffened. "Is that someone coming?"

  Caterina squinted at the puff of dust barely discernible as horses and riders at a distance. "Possibly. Yes, I think those are horsemen."

  "Lion!" Sanchia turned and ran toward the door leading to the stairs.

  "He's still far away," Caterina called after her. "Be careful. You'll hear nothing if you fall down those stairs and crack your head."

  "I'll be careful but I must... " Sanchia's words trailed behind her as she left the battlements and started down the first curving flight of stairs.

  It was almost an hour later when Lion rode into the courtyard. Sanchia ran forward, her gaze searching Lion's face. "Piero?"

  Lion smiled. "We found him. He's well, Sanchia."

  Sanchia swayed and reached out to clutch at Tabron's saddle. "Where?"

  "He'll be here soon. I rode on ahead to tell you." Lion swung down from the saddle and put his arm around Sanchia's waist to steady her. "Marco's bringing him. Piero wouldn't ride any longer in the wagon in which we found him, so Marco took him up behind him."

  "You found him at the monastery?"

  Lion shook his head. "Not three miles from here. We were returning from the monastery when we saw a wagon pulled over on the shoulder of the road. Piero was in the bed of the wagon lying on a pile of blankets. He was bound hand and foot and blindfolded."

  "Bound." She was stunned. "But why would anyone do that to Piero?"

  Lion shook his head. "God knows." His lips tightened. "But I intend to find out."

  For the first time Sanchia noticed the deep lines of exhaustion graven on either side of Lion's mouth and the dark circles beneath his eyes. Lion had been searching unceasingly for five days with even less sleep than she had gotten. She took a step nearer and laid a hesitant hand on his cheek. "You must rest. You look so weary."

  "Now I can rest. The boy--"

  "Sanchia!"

  Sanchia's gaze flew to the mounted men who had just galloped into the courtyard. Lorenzo and Marco, and behind Marco clutching at his waist a small, beloved figure.

  "Piero!" She dashed across the courtyard.

  Piero released his grip on Marco and swiftly slid off the horse into Sanchia's arms. "I'm back." His arms were so tight around her she could scarcely breathe. "They took me away but I'm back, Sanchia."

  "Where have you been?" Her hands moved over him anxiously. "Are you all right?" She wrinkled her nose, half laughing, half crying. "You smell terrible, and where did you get those horrible rags?"

  "I don't know." Piero's hands were moving over her hair caressingly. "I don't know anything. I was walking in the market... and then my head hurt--" He took a step back and looked at her gravely. "I couldn't see anything when I woke up. I thought I was blind. Then I heard them talking about the blindfold and then I knew--"

  "Gran Dio, the boy is filthy." Caterina came down the steps to the courtyard. "Ask him questions after he's had a bath and a meal."

  "A good idea." Marco said, making a face. "And a bath for me too. I must smell as bad as Piero after having him cling to me all this way." He looked around the courtyard. "Where's Bianca?"

  "In the chapel praying." Sanchia took Piero's hand and gripped it tightly. "Why don't you go tell her Piero's back safely?"

  "Well, perhaps I shall just stop by." He dismounted and tossed the reins of his horse to a hovering groom. "She'll want to know her prayers have borne fruit."

  Lorenzo sniffed. "Rather overripe fruit. Be sure not to get too close or you'll overpower her."

  Marco grinned and started toward the chapel.

  A small wagon pulled by a shaggy horse was being driven into the courtyard; it was followed by the eight riders Lion had taken with him that morning. Sanchia looked hard at the wagon as her hand tightened on Piero's. Why had he been tied up and left in the wagon? More, why had he been taken in the first place?

  "The bath," Caterina said firmly. She knelt and gave Piero a vigorous hug, then rose and took his other hand. "Rosa will be very glad to see you. She's been weeping and wailing ever since you disappeared, young Messer Piero. Come along now."

  Sanchia hesitated as she passed Lion, her gaze on his strained, weary face. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll always remember--" Her voice broke and she turned and hurried up the steps with Piero and Caterina.

  There would be time later to tell Lion how much Piero's return meant.

  "I must see you."

  Lion stood in the doorway to Piero's chamber. He was fully dressed, even to his cloak and gauntlets and Sanchia hurriedly stood up from her chair beside the child's bed and moved toward him. "What is it?" she whispered.

  "I'm leaving for Pisa with a company of men." He drew her from the room and shut the door softly. "A messenger arrived only minutes ago from Basala, my shipwright at the yard."

  "What message?"

  "Damari has set a torch to all the ships in the yard."

  "Oh no!" She grasped his arm, her eyes misting with tears. No wonder Lion's face was set in lines of suffering. Damari might just as well have attacked Lion's family as those ships. "All of them?"

  "All four," he said hoarsely.

  "Is Basala sure that Damari is responsible for the fire?"

  "Damari made certain Basala knew who was responsible. He boasted he was going to come back and burn the yard itself." He grimaced. "He may have done it by now."

  "And if he has?"

  "I'll follow him and set a torch to the bastard." He paused. "Will you be here when I return?"

  Sanchia hesitated, realizing he wasn't asking for an answer to a question, but a promise. Her heart went out to him. He had spent five days in exhaustive search for Piero and now must leave to face still another catastrophe. At this moment she would promise him anything. "I'll be here."

  "Good." He started to turn away, but stopped abruptly and asked, "How is the boy?"

  "He is very tired. However, children have great recuperative powers and I'm sure he'll be better after a night's rest." She frowned. "I don't understand any of this, Lion. Who took Piero? None of it makes sense."

  "What did he tell you?"

  "Only that he was blindfolded the entire time he was gone. He heard nothing to indicate where he was or who did this to him. He was evidently kept in a room by himself most of the time and only taken out among people once or twice."

  "That's all he knows?"

  "He said he heard heavy breathing, moans... " She sighed in disappointment. "Maybe he'll remember more in the morning."

&nb
sp; "Perhaps. Go to bed now. You can accomplish nothing by sitting and watching him sleep."

  "I don't want to leave him yet. I just got him back and I don't want to let him out of my sight."

  "I'm leaving Marco and a full company of men here in Mandara with orders to watch over all of you. They won't let anything happen to him." His hand touched her cheek gently. "I should be back within a fortnight even if I have to chase Damari back to Solinari."

  "First the Wind Dancer and now the shipyard. Why does Damari hate you so much?"

  His lips twisted. "Because of who I am--my father's son and therefore the master of Mandara. And because of who he is. His mother once lived in the pretty house you occupy on the piazza."

  Her eyes widened in astonishment. "He's your brother?"

  "Dio, no! His mother was the widow of a shopkeeper and he was two years old when she became my father's mistress. She was a coarse, earthy woman but she held my father longer than most." His expression darkened. "She flaunted the association and those years were very difficult for my mother. Damari was seven when my father finally gave in to my mother's pleas and sent him and his mother away from Mandara, but he came back when he was twelve years old and asked to be taken into my father's service."

  "And he wants whatever is yours."

  "But he'll not get it." Lion turned away. "Good-bye, Sanchia."

  "Lion." She didn't want him to leave. She had a sudden vision of Damari's face as he stood over her in the dungeon. Malevolence. Evil. Death.

  He looked at her inquiringly. No matter what she said, he would still go after Damari, she realized. "Go with God," she whispered.

  A brilliant smile lit his face, then he was striding away from her down the corridor.

  "How is Piero?" Caterina asked as Sanchia entered the hall the next morning.

  "Still sleeping. I thought I'd pamper him and bring breakfast to him in his chamber."

  "A little pampering can do no harm." Caterina paused. "You know that Lion left for Pisa last night?"

  Sanchia nodded. "Damari."

  "I would not have had this happen." Caterina frowned. "The shipyard was troublesome to me, but I would not have had Lion lose it at the hand of that bastard."

  "I know you would not," Sanchia answered. "And Lion knows it as well. He's too much your son not to realize your thinking on the matter."

  Caterina's brow cleared. "You're right, Lion is not fool enough to think I mean him harm." She took an apple from the bowl and put it on the trencher with a piece of melon. "Go feed the boy. I'll be along soon to see how he does and put a few questions to him. We have to get to the end of this coil."

  True to her word Caterina arrived in Piero's chamber only a quarter of an hour later.

  "Still in bed?" She swept into the room with a smile and strode toward the bed.

  "No!" Sanchia said sharply. "Don't come any closer." Her gaze never left Piero's face.

  Caterina stopped short. "What's wrong?" Her gaze raked Piero's flushed face and glittering eyes. "The boy is sick."

  Sanchia nodded jerkily. "The blankets in the wagon where Lion found him. What did you do with them?" Caterina frowned. "Why, I sent a lackey last evening to distribute them among the poor. They were well-woven wool and--Why do you ask?"

  "Piero said his left arm is sore." Sanchia's voice was low, the words barely audible. She took the child's arm and raised it carefully over his head.

  "Mother of God!"

  A red and pus-filled boil as large as a hen's egg lay in the curve of Piero's armpit.

  "Thirsty." Piero jerked his arm away and turned on his side. "Drink, Sanchia."

  "Right away, carino."Sanchia moved toward the door. "I'll be back in a moment."

  Caterina followed her out into the hall and closed the door.

  Sanchia whirled to face her. "Is it what I think?"

  "I'm not sure," Caterina said slowly. "I've never seen anyone who actually had it. I was only a child when it came to Florence in 1470 and it never spread to Mandara, thank God."

  "But I've heard stories." Sanchia pressed her palms back against the panels of the door. "That's how it starts."

  "Sometimes. Sometimes there are no boils at all." Caterina turned away, her movement sluggish for someone who was usually so brisk and forceful. "I have to... to do something."

  "What?" asked Sanchia. "What can you do?"

  "I'll send someone to collect those blankets. No, I'll do it myself. Perhaps it's not too late."

  "I've heard anything spreads it. The wind... the touch of befouled clothing... " Sanchia's eyes widened in horror. "The rags we took off Piero. I sent Rosa to burn them. She'll be in danger too."

  "Rosa, Marco, Bianca, and you and me," Caterina enumerated. "We all touched Piero. Perhaps even Lion... Who knows who's safe from it?"

  Sanchia closed her eyes and sank back against the door. "Pray God we're wrong."

  "Well, we'll soon know. The plague isn't shy about making its presence felt."

  Rosa fell ill that night and died at dawn the next day. No one else in the castle appeared to be ill, nor was there any sign of illness in the city.

  Caterina came into Piero's chamber to give Sanchia the news that no one besides Rosa was ill. She lingered to stand looking down at Piero. "How does he?"

  "I don't know." Sanchia shook her head wearily. "He's in great pain. He wakes and sleeps and wakes again."

  "He's fighting hard. It is said the plague has two heads and the one that produces the boils is not so deadly as the other."

  Two heads. It brought to mind a picture of a monster Medusa lying in wait to pounce on the unwary.

  "I'll prepare another poultice for the boils." Caterina turned away. "And then return to sit with him while you rest."

  "No." Sanchia sat down in the chair by the bed. "He knows when I'm not here and grows more restless."

  "You should--" Caterina shrugged. "Send word to me, if you change your mind."

  As she left the room, Sanchia leaned her head against the high back of the chair. Who would she send? Sanchia wondered dully. No servants would come near this chamber.

  "Sanchia."

  Her gaze flew to Piero's face. His lids had opened and he was looking at her with those brightly burning blue eyes.

  "More water, love?"

  He shook his head. "I'm sick, aren't I?" he asked hoarsely. "Very sick." She nodded.

  His jaw set stubbornly. "I won't die. You'll see, I won't die."

  "Of course you won't." She smiled shakily. "You're much too willful to allow any sickness to best you."

  "But it would help if you'd lie down and hold me. Would you do that?"

  "Of course, carino." She got up from the chair and lay down beside him on the bed. Her throat ached as she felt his arms go around her with the same loving protection he had shown the night before he had been taken away from her.

  "I won't leave you," he muttered as his eyes closed. "I know you need me."

  "Yes, stay, love." Her voice broke. "I do need you so much."

  "I won't die... "

  Piero died six hours later, after experiencing so much pain Sanchia was almost glad to let him go.

  Caterina was there at the end, and it was she who closed the fierce blue eyes for the last time and led a numbed Sanchia from the room. "Can you weep? Sometimes it's better if you can."

  Sanchia shook her head.

  "Then keep busy. Wash him and prepare him and take him to the chapel. I've had several men building coffins for the last few hours. I thought we might have need of them." She paused. "After you've finished come to Marco's chamber. That's what I came to tell you."

  "Marco," Sanchia repeated numbly.

  Caterina nodded. "Marco has fallen ill. He needs you. He needs us both."

  "Plague?"

  "Yes. We aren't as fortunate as I had hoped. There doesn't seem to be any pattern about the length of time it takes to strike someone down." She turned and her voice was slightly uneven. "I must go to my son. Come when you can. You'
re needed there now and will probably be needed even more later."

  Bianca was in Marco's chamber when Sanchia returned from taking Piero's body to the chapel. In her yellow silk gown she looked as incongruously lovely as a buttercup. She insisted on staying in the chair beside Marco's bed in spite of their protests.

  At one point Marco begged Caterina to send Bianca away. "She won't understand," he whispered. "She's not meant to...." Once more he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  "Bianca, do go sit in the garden," Caterina suggested gently. "Sanchia and I will tend to Marco's needs."

  Bianca shook her head, her hand tightening around Marco's.

  "We'll take wonderful care of him." Sanchia's hand clasped Bianca's shoulder. "I promise you, cara."

  "But why should I go to the garden?" Bianca glanced up at Sanchia in wonder. "Marco won't be there. I can't go there without Marco."

  Sanchia had a sudden poignant memory of Bianca and Marco laughing and playing on the flower-garlanded swing.

  "Marco is sick," Bianca said with dignity. "I'll stay with him until he's better."

  "But he may not--" Sanchia's eyes widened. Bianca knew. The knowledge that Marco might not live was there in the serenity of Bianca's face. Marco had been wrong about how much of the true world Bianca could understand. She not only had understood but had accepted.

  Marco opened his eyes at that moment and Bianca turned swiftly back to him. "They wanted me to go to the garden. Isn't that silly?" She smiled down at him. "We can always go to the garden another time when you're well enough to paint me. You said you wanted to paint me in the swing, remember?"

  "Yes." His gaze caressed her face. "Beautiful. So beautiful... "

  "But right now we can sit here and think about all the flowers and your lovely fountain, can't we?" Her palm caressed his feverish forehead. "It's so hot today. Why don't you try to think of the water flowing and the smell of the roses?"

  "I will."

  "And we'll be sitting there on the bench together beside the fountain and you'll be teasing me."

  "Together... "

  "Oh, yes, we'll always be together. God is good. He'd never make us part."