The Wind Dancer

by Iris Johansen

  Luigi grunted. "And fall into a heap on the floor as you did when you tried to get out of bed?"

  "I can walk--" He halted as Luigi snorted and then conceded, "A little. I just have to become accustomed to the idea that my limbs have only the consistency of pasta dough. I'm sure you appreciate that comparis--Ah, there it is."

  Luigi stopped short. "This is stupidity. We have no business here at this time of the evening, and those Swiss guards will cleave our heads like melons with their halberds. Let me take you back to the house."

  "After I've patiently suffered all the insults and vilification you've heaped upon my hapless head? We will definitely go on." Lorenzo paused. "Or I'll go on. I don't think the situation will be as perilous as you believe, but, if you prefer, you can put me down and I'll go on alone."

  Luigi muttered curses as he started toward the gates. "You have the brains of a peahen. The pope may lie dying but he's still the pope. The Vatican is guarded more closely than any palace in all of Italy, and Cesare's guards have formed a cordon around him while he lies helpless. There's no way you can kill him now."

  "I know I cannot kill him. I must wait for another opportunity. That's not why we came."

  "Then, by all the saints, what are we doing here?"

  "The pope has something I want, and this is the best time to pluck it from his treasury."

  "And now you think of robbing the papal treasury?" Luigi shook his head. "Cristo, do you know how difficult that will be?"

  "Not difficult at all, if our timing is correct." Lorenzo's gaze searched the darkness of the courtyard. "And I believe it very well may be. Where are the Swiss guards, Luigi? Where are the mighty forces that guard His Holiness?"

  Luigi frowned as his gaze wandered over the empty courtyard. "Why, I don't know... "

  "It's as I thought: Confusion, turmoil, and disorder. When a great house falls it leaves terror and chaos behind. Take me to the Torre Borgia."

  "The private apartments?"

  "We must determine whether the pope is dead. Cesare wouldn't act while there was even a chance his father would live."

  "Cesare is ill in his bed and almost as weak as you."

  "But I'm here. Do you think Cesare is less determined than I? If he isn't there himself, his lieutenants will be hovering around the pope's chamber like vultures."

  Luigi continued to mutter obscenities while he made for the Torre Borgia.

  A loud crashing and excited laughter could be heard as soon as they entered the apartments.

  "Judging by all this merriment, it's safe to assume Alexander is dead," Lorenzo said. "Put me down in that chair and go to the bedchamber and see what information you can gather from those poor souls attending His Holiness. No doubt they've become crazed with grief or they'd never see mirth in this sad occasion."

  Luigi set him in the highback cushioned chair Lorenzo had indicated. "You will be all right?"

  "Certainly. I shall sit here and enjoy studying Pinturicchio's magnificent murals. I'd heard they're truly the best things he's ever done."

  "Murals! You study pretty pictures when the Swiss guards could rush in at any minute and cut off our heads?"

  "Well, what else is there to do?" Lorenzo leaned back in the chair. "And I imagine you might find a Swiss guard or two in the bed chamber of the pope, but I seriously doubt if they'll be guarding him." He set the lantern on the table beside him and tilted his head to look critically at the mural. "I hear Alexander posed for that figure in the Resurrection. Do you think Pinturicchio caught his likeness?"

  Lorenzo smiled as Luigi threw up his arms, turned and strode from the room.

  Luigi returned only five minutes later. "The pope is dead and his valets are sacking his chambers. Burchard, the master of ceremony, is the only official on hand and he cannot stop it. He says the entire Vatican has gone mad. They're all trying to salvage what wealth they can before Alexander's death becomes widely known." He paused. "Michelotto Corella demanded the key to the papal treasury on behalf of Cesare not thirty minutes ago."

  "Ah, then we're in time." Lorenzo straightened in the chair. "By all means let's proceed to the treasury."

  "I was afraid you were going to say that. You're insane, you know. Corella is Borgia's assassin, his bravo, and obeys Cesare's orders without question. Rumor has it he even garrotted Madonna Lucretia's second husband when the man lay helpless in his bed."

  "I've never admired stranglers. They lack subtlety and imagination and rely only on physical strength. I'm sure we can overcome such a dullard." Lorenzo struggled to his feet and stood, swaying. "Shall we go?"

  "You expect to overcome Corella when you stand there weaving as drunkenly as a thieving butler of the wines?" Luigi sighed and picked Lorenzo up again in his arms. "Madness."

  The doors of the treasury were thrown wide, and a stream of men wearing the scarlet-and-yellow colors of the house of Borgia were hurrying from the chamber carrying plates of silver and gold and large coffers.

  "I told you this was madness," Luigi whispered as he set Lorenzo down in the shadows beyond a turn in the long hall. "There are too many of them."

  "I only need one," Lorenzo said absently as he gazed surreptitiously around the corner. "That guard appears to be of my height and weight and there's no one coming down the hall behind him." He nodded at the man striding toward them down the hall before leaning down and reaching into his boot. "Be prepared to grab the coffer he's carrying. It's probably filled with ducats and we don't want them spilling out and scattering all over the floor."

  "Why should he--"

  The soldier came even with them and Lorenzo stepped swiftly forward, encircling the guard's neck from behind and jerking him the two paces around the turn of the hall. His poniard moved with lethal accuracy and his victim made no sound other than a soft expulsion of breath as the dagger entered his heart.

  Luigi caught the coffer as it fell from the dead guard's hands. "Maraviglioso. What an artist you are. What a splendid butcher you would have made!"

  "Drag him into that chamber and strip him." Lorenzo leaned weakly back against the wall. "Quickly."

  Ten minutes later, with Luigi's help, Lorenzo had struggled into the guard's uniform and Luigi had hidden the naked corpse in a window embrasure.

  "Now what?" Luigi whispered.

  "Now I go to the treasury and get the prize for which I came." Lorenzo smiled. "And you stay here, my friend."

  "You cannot even walk without staggering."

  "Corella was obviously in a hurry and did not bother lighting many torches. The hall is so dimly lit no one will notice whether I stagger or not."

  "When you enter that chamber Corella will see you're not one of his men and throttle you."

  "Then you'll not have to worry about carrying me back." Lorenzo started down the hall. "Stay here. If I don't return in ten minutes, leave the Vatican without me."

  "I'll do it," Luigi vowed. "Why should I endanger my life for a madman? The minute you go into the treasury, I'll be gone."

  The treasury seemed as far distant as hell from heaven to Lorenzo. Another Borgia guard strode out of the treasury staggering under the weight of the enormous pile of gold plates he was bearing. Lorenzo hastily averted his face but the soldier hurried by him without giving him so much as a glance.

  Dio, the floor was quaking beneath his boots. Each step drained a little more of Lorenzo's strength, and by the time he reached the treasury door his limbs were shaking uncontrollably.

  "It has to be here somewhere. His Grace said we were to be sure to bring it to him." A powerfully built man across the huge room was pushing aside heavy trunks filled with jewels and plates. "Search harder. It's a plain mahogany chest."

  Corella, Lorenzo thought, as he stared at the bravo's grim expression. Relief flooded him as he realized he could not make out the features of either Corella or the other two soldiers in the chamber. There were only a few candles scattered about the enormous room and, if Lorenzo couldn't see Corella and his men clearly, t
hen he must be equally cloaked by the gloom.

  He stepped deeper into the shadow to the left of the door and bent over as if searching among the trunks and coffers as the other two guards were doing. His head started to swim and he clutched desperately at a large trunk until his vision cleared.

  "There it is!" Corella pointed to the mahogany chest half hidden behind a five-foot golden vase on which a depiction of the Last Supper had been sculpted. "Take it."

  As Lorenzo straightened and moved quickly forward, a short, stocky soldier also headed for the chest from the opposite corner of the room.

  Mother of God, Lorenzo thought. He could scarcely walk and now he was being forced to run races!

  Lorenzo reached the chest first, snatched it up, whirled, and started toward the door.

  "Wait!"

  Lorenzo froze, keeping his back toward Corella.

  "Perhaps we can pour some of these ducats into the chest. We must make every trip count. Open it and see if there's room."

  Lorenzo set the chest on the floor, unfastened the latch, and opened the lid. The emerald eyes of the Wind Dancer twinkled up at him as if in amusement at his predicament.

  "No room," he said hoarsely. He slammed the lid shut, his fingers fumbling as he fastened it.

  He picked up the chest and staggered toward the door.

  "Is it so heavy? If you drop it, I'll lop off your coglios, stupido."

  "Heavy," Lorenzo muttered as he weaved out of the room. Perspiration beaded his forehead and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. The few steps remaining to the turn in the hall might just as well have been a mile.

  He wasn't going to make it.

  He couldn't make it.

  He made it!

  He felt himself jerked around the turn in the corridor and the chest plucked from his hands.

  "Santa Maria, you're stubborn." Luigi tucked the chest beneath his right arm as his left arm encircled Lorenzo's waist. "Why couldn't you give up?" He walked Lorenzo down the hall. "Is it because you wish to make my life even more miserable than it is already?"

  "You said you were going to leave."

  "I decided I was in no hurry. I needed to rest after hauling your scrawny carcass across Rome."

  "I see." Lorenzo smiled. "How fortunate for me. Could you loose your grip around my middle? You're cracking my ribs. I haven't been held so tightly by a man since my childhood in Naples. Are you sure you have no romantic inclinations toward the male sex?"

  "For that insult I should loose you and let you sprawl at my feet." Luigi added quickly, "And I'd do it, but then I'd have to go to the bother of picking you up again. If I left you here, someone would remember that I recommended you for the pope's kitchen and I'd end up in the dungeons of Sant' Angelo too. It's certainly not that I care what happens to you."

  "Certainly not." The moist night air felt good on Lorenzo's face, and he breathed deeply as they left the confines of the palace behind them. "I'd never make that mistake in judgment."

  "That is good." Luigi's powerful arm tightened around Lorenzo's waist to support more of his weight. "A man would have to be a dunce to care what happens to a madman who'd risk having his neck twisted off by Corella just to steal from the papal treasury. What's in this chest to make you take such a chance?"

  Lorenzo saw the dull, gleaming waters of the Tiber directly ahead and exultation surged through him as he realized there was no sound of pursuit behind.

  Per Dio, they had done it!

  "There's a gift in the chest. A special gift for a very good friend."

  Chapter Twenty-One.

  Pisa

  December 15, 1503

  Do you think he will come?" Sanchia leaned over the rail, her gaze anxiously searching the crowd milling on the dock below. "I don't see him and it's almost time to sail."

  Lion gently pulled the hood of the laurel green cloak over Sanchia's shining auburn tresses. "Lorenzo always keeps his promises. He'll be here."

  "But what if--there he is!" She pointed to the familiar elegant figure moving lithely through the crowd. "He looks well. I was afraid the illness might have lingered."

  "You worry about everything these days," Lion said indulgently. "He wrote months ago that he had recovered his health."

  "Then why did he stay in Rome? Alexander was dead and he could not touch Borgia after the duke doubled his guards. I thought he might be ill and not wishing to worry--he's carrying something." Sanchia's eyes widened as she recognized the familiar mahogany chest. "Dear lord, it's--"

  "The Wind Dancer." Lion's expression lit with excitement. "Santa Maria, he has the Wind Dancer!"

  Pain knifed through Sanchia as memories swelled. The dungeon at Solinari, Piero's solemn, wondering eyes as he had gazed at the statue in the salon, the Pegasus staring sightlessly at Caterina and herself as they wept for their dead, Damari tying the Wind Dancer on his saddle as he unfolded horror after horror to Sanchia. Her hands clutched at the wooden rail with white-knuckled force.

  "How in Hades did he manage this?" Lion turned and saw her face. "What's wrong? Are you ill again?"

  "No." She tried to smile. "It brings back so many memories. Mandara... "

  Lion's hand covered her own on the rail. "Mandara's gone. We're starting a new life, cara. The memories will fade."

  "Dio, married over four months and still holding hands and cooing like turtledoves."

  They turned to see Lorenzo striding up the gangplank. "It's enough to make me shudder." He came toward them, a smile on his face. "Or, as my friend Luigi would say more crudely, vomit."

  "You are well?" Sanchia asked.

  Lorenzo put the chest containing the Wind Dancer down on the deck. "Very well." His gaze searched her face. "And you, my dear Sanchia, are blooming."

  "I'm with child," she said simply.

  "Ah, that is good. Renewal." He turned to Lion. "I've brought you a present."

  "I see you have." Lion clapped him on the shoulder. "Madre di Dio, how on earth did you get it?"

  "On the night Alexander died I went back to the Vatican." Lorenzo grimaced. "Or rather Luigi carried me to the palace, for I was not yet myself. Michelotto Corella demanded the keys to the pope's private treasury the moment Alexander breathed his last and made off with a hundred thousand ducats, together with a fortune in plates and gems, and took them to his master, who was too ill to accompany him. I managed to appropriate the Wind Dancer while Corella was stealing whatever else his men could carry." A pleased smile touched Lorenzo's lips. "I understand Borgia was most irate with Corella for failing to bring him the statue with the other treasures."

  "I imagine he was a trifle upset," Lion said dryly. "Borgia needs every asset he has since the papal monies have been cut off. I've heard he scrambled desperately to save his power even to striking a bargain with the new Pope Julius."

  Lorenzo nodded. "I've been watching with great interest as he starts his slide to hell. You know that Julius has now imprisoned Borgia until he agrees to give the passwords that will cause his commanders to yield Borgia's strongholds in the Romagna?"

  "You think he will do it?"

  "Eventually. But that doesn't mean Borgia will be defeated. He's a brilliant man with a will of iron. It takes a great deal to rend iron, but I now have the time to make his destruction complete." He paused. "I've come to say farewell."

  Lion stiffened. "It was planned that you come with us. You've changed your mind?"

  "Borgia still lives."

  "But you said yourself he's losing power."

  "His destruction is not certain. I must make sure." Lorenzo met Lion's gaze. "Damari's death was too easy."

  "I assure you he didn't find it so."

  "He didn't have time to see everything he had built falling away from him. I'll make sure Borgia will be aware of every step of his downfall."

  "Where do you go? Rome?"

  "Perhaps." Lorenzo gazed down at the crowds on the dock. "Though I've been thinking about returning to Mandara."

  "Mand
ara!" Sanchia gazed at him in bewilderment. "But there's nothing there."

  "The vineyard is still there, and the winery. I could build a small cottage."

  Lion shook his head. "You? In the country?"

  "There's an order and symmetry to the growing of the grapes that has a certain appeal for me. The process is much like the bringing to harvest of any bold endeavor." Lorenzo started to turn away. "The vineyard's as good a place as any to watch and wait for opportunity to ripen."

  "Wait." Lion gestured to the chest on the deck. "Take this with you."

  Shock jarred Sanchia. "Lion... "

  Lorenzo swung back to face him. "You don't want it?"

  "Of course he wants it." Sanchia tried to steady her voice. "He loves the Wind Dancer."

  "But I also love my wife."

  "It's part of your family," Sanchia said. "You told me--" She drew a deep breath. "I would not deprive you of it."

  A tender smile lit his face. "It's my choice, Sanchia. It would please me if you could feel toward the Wind Dancer as I do, but you cannot." He paused. "And I will not have it always near to remind you of what you suffered. You told me once that what I felt for you didn't compare with what I felt for the Wind Dancer. Perhaps you might have been right then, but you'd be wrong in saying it now."

  "No, it will be fine. I can--"

  "Hush, cara mia. "His left hand reached up to gently smooth the silver lock at her temple. "It's settled. There's a legend that says the Wind Dancer always returns to my family. Its return now won't be by my will." He turned back to Lorenzo. "The Wind Dancer is yours, if you will accept it."

  "I will accept it."

  "I wasn't sure you'd want it." Lion smiled crookedly. "I seem to remember your saying you believed it was a siren luring men to destruction. After Mandara, I thought your belief would be doubly reinforced."

  "I've changed my mind." Lorenzo gazed thoughtfully down at the chest. "It wasn't really the Wind Dancer that caused the destruction of Mandara. It was the ambition and greed of men. Damari and Cesare's ambition and Alexander's greed. Together the three of them might have conquered all of Europe. But in a convoluted fashion, it was the Wind Dancer that put a halt to all their plans." He stooped and picked up the chest. "I promise I'll find a good use for it."