The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “You don’t have to protect her any longer, Lorenzo,” Sanchia said softly. “And certainly not from me. I would not even tell Lion this, but you have the right to know. Because I think you are one of the gardens Caterina didn’t get a chance to nurture and bring into full bloom.”

  He was silent, gazing out over the charred garden. “It was not an easy death?”

  “No, none of them died easily.”

  Lorenzo’s hands suddenly clenched on the reins. “She was—” When he spoke again his voice was so low she had to strain to hear. “I thought I was … empty inside, but she was there all the time.”

  “She’ll still be there as long as we remember her.”

  “Yes.” Lorenzo turned his horse and Sanchia felt a thrill of pity as she saw the stark desolation in his usually expressionless face. “But she’s not here in this garden any more. I thought perhaps she might be.”

  Sanchia turned Tabron to follow him, but he suddenly reined in and glanced sharply over his shoulder at the blackened wreckage of the marble bench in the arbor. He tilted his head to one side as if he were listening.

  “What is it?” Sanchia asked, puzzled.

  “Nothing.” His gaze was still on the arbor. “I thought I heard something.”

  “What?”

  “Bells.” He turned and rode slowly out of the garden. “It must have been the wind rustling through those burned bushes, though I could have sworn I heard the jingle of bells.…”

  Eighteen

  I’m sorry, Lion,” Sanchia said softly as her gaze first wandered over the blackened remains of the Dancer at the dock and then to the wreckage of the three ships in the yard. Seeing this senseless devastation filled her with the same sadness she had felt when riding through the streets of Mandara. “Is there nothing you can salvage?”

  “As you can see, the shipyard is still intact. But what is a shipyard with no ships? It takes a good two years to build just one and nothing to show for it until it’s sold. I’d have to start over.” He got off Tabron and lifted Sanchia down. “And I’m not sure I have the heart for it.”

  “You have the heart for it,” Lorenzo said as he dismounted. “Wounds may leave scars, but they don’t change what we are.” He grimaced. “And what I am now is stiff, odorous, bad-tempered and likely to become more so if my needs are not met quickly. Where is your shipwright? No wonder Damari wreaked such havoc when we’re able to ride into the yard in bright daylight unchallenged.”

  “I hired Basala because he was an excellent shipwright, not a soldier, Lorenzo. It’s just a little past dawn, and he’s probably still asleep.” Lion nodded toward the small brick house a short distance away. “Why don’t you go see if you can rouse him?”

  “I shall.” Lorenzo strode toward the house. “Which service will certainly entitle me to the first bath.”

  Lion turned to look back at the Dancer and said haltingly, “I cannot offer you a great deal now. Everything I owned at Mandara was destroyed. My only wealth lies in the shipyard in Marseilles, and it may bear no fruit for many years. I can give you no more than a plain roof over your head and plain food on the table.”

  Sanchia gazed at him in disbelief. “Dio, Lion, I have never had anything of my own. A roof over my head is all I’d ever ask. I knew the life I tasted in Mandara could never be mine.”

  “It will be yours,” Lion said as he whirled and faced her. “Someday I’ll build you a castle more beautiful than Mandara and you’ll reign there like a queen.”

  “Like Caterina?” Sanchia shook her head. “It’s not the life I want and it wasn’t the life she wanted either. Not at the end.”

  A spasm of pain crossed Lion’s face at the thought of his mother’s death. “What do you want then?”

  “Work. Peace. Children.” Sanchia found the tears stinging her eyes. “Yes, children. I think I should like a son like Piero.”

  Lion touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “Lorenzo is right. Wounds heal, cara.”

  “I’m already healing.” Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. “It will take time and there will be scars, but I will heal. Thank you for being so very kind to me.”

  “Kind?” He frowned. “Did you think I’d use you ill after all you’ve been through?”

  “No, I only wanted to—”

  He cut through her words. “You’ll have work aplenty during our first years and, if God is willing, you’ll have your children, but I can’t promise you peace. I’m not a peaceable man.” He put his fingers on her lips as she started to speak. “And there’s no reason you shouldn’t have the castle, too. If you have no inclination to rule it yourself, then raise one of our children to watch over it.”

  She studied his face. He was healing also, but it was perhaps even more difficult for him than for her. He had suffered not only the loss of his loved ones but all that he had built these last years. She remembered the expression on his face when he told her of the joy he took in building after a life filled with destruction. Now in order for his wounds to heal he must build again and with a lavish hand. “That seems a sensible plan. I will take your castle.” She pretended to think. “And a stable full of fine horses, and a palazzo in the country and—”

  “Stop.” He was smiling faintly. “You’ll have to give me many sons to work in my shipyard to make it flourish enough to provide you with all those riches.”

  She smiled back at him. “That was my intention. One to be master of the castle, one to send exploring to distant lands, one to help you in the family business. I think we should have at least five children if that would be of no bother to you. Shall we—”

  “Lord Andreas, you honor me with your presence.” Basala was hurrying toward them, a warm smile on his thin, intelligent face as he struggled into his leather jerkin. “May I express my regret at your loss? God has not been kind to you of late. When your man arrived here with the news of the burning of Mandara”—he shook his head—”what a blow to you, my lord.”

  Lion nodded. “You issued them the sum Lorenzo requested?”

  Basala nodded. “But there is not much left in the coffers.” He hesitated. “Have you decided what you’ll do here? I do not wish to hurry you, but the guilds have been most insistent I either release their members or put them to work again.”

  “We will talk of that later.” Lion gestured to Sanchia. “You remember Madonna Sanchia. As you can see, she’s once more in dire need of clothing. Can your good wife find something for her to wear?”

  “If she has nothing herself, I’m sure she can persuade the master carpenter’s wife to accommodate the madonna.”

  “That would be most generous of her,” Sanchia said. “I understand your wife furnished me with two gowns when we left for Genoa. I’m sorry I was too ill to thank her at that time.”

  “She was glad to be of help and my lord was most generous. He gave her thrice their value.” Basala studied Sanchia. “May I say you look considerably more robust than you did then? You were so pale and wan I thought you’d surely die before you reached Genoa. Is your hand healed?”

  “Entirely, except for a slight stiffness in one of the fingers.”

  “But it must have been a long and terrible illness to turn that pretty hair white. The same thing happened to my second cousin who underwent—”

  “White?”

  “Madonna Sanchia needs to bathe and rest, then break her fast,” Lion said quickly as his hand grasped Sanchia’s arm and urged her forward. “If you please, Messer Basala.”

  “Of course, of course. This way. I believe my wife is already heating water for a bath for Messer Vasaro.” The shipwright hurriedly led them toward the house.

  “White?” Sanchia asked in bewilderment. “What did he mean?”

  “It doesn’t matter, cara. It only makes you more beautiful.”

  Then they were in the house and Sanchia was meeting the shipwright’s cheerful, vigorous wife, Lisa. It was not until Lisa Basala led Sanchia to a small antechamber for her bath and left to go to t
he kitchen to heat more water that Sanchia’s question was fully answered.

  She stood before a highly polished oval of brass and gazed at her reflection with wondering eyes. The face in the mirror was the same face she had always known, smooth, unlined, the face of a woman still in her sixteenth year. It was the hair framing her face that was changed. A single lock of startling white shone against the dark auburn of the hair brushed back from her left temple.

  So the Medusa had not left her untouched after all.

  “I told you it only made you more beautiful.” Lion stood in the doorway behind her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Women are sometimes strange about such things. I didn’t want to disturb you. It wasn’t important.”

  She reached up to touch the shining white streak. “Another scar.”

  “No.” He moved behind her and pressed his lips to her left temple with the same infinite gentleness he had displayed toward her since she had awakened in the winery. “A medallion of courage.” Then he was gone, leaving her to gaze at the familiar stranger.

  Lion and Lorenzo were deep in conversation when she entered the salon two hours later but broke off immediately when they saw her.

  “That shade of blue is entrancing on you, but I admit I do miss your barbaric blanket,” Lorenzo said as he rose to his feet. “Gowns are rather ordinary, are they not?”

  “Basala and his wife will return shortly and we will have dinner,” Lion said. “I sent him to make a few arrangements, and his wife went to the mercato to see about having shoes made for you.”

  Sanchia came forward and stood before them. “Those ‘arrangements’ wouldn’t be concerned with purchasing passage for me on the first ship to Marseilles?”

  Lion stiffened. “And if they are?”

  “I would not go.” She held up her hand to stop his protests. “Do you think me so simple I wouldn’t guess your plan? You intend to whisk me off to a place where you think I’ll be safe while you both go after Damari. I would have had to be blind and deaf not to notice the two of you whispering and plotting on the way here from Mandara.”

  “We didn’t want to disturb you,” Lion said. “You said yourself you wanted peace.”

  “But not until I’ve earned it.”

  “Santa Maria, who could have earned it more than you? What you went through at Mandara should have earned you a lifetime of peace.”

  “Not while Damari’s alive.”

  “Lorenzo and I will attend to—”

  “No.” Sanchia met his gaze. “After Solinari I just wanted to forget what Damari had done to me, but for what happened at Mandara there can be neither forgiveness nor forgetfulness.”

  “Cristo, Sanchia. I will not involve you again with that bastard.”

  “Then I’ll involve myself,” she said fiercely. “You forget I was there. I have memories that will be with me all my life and there must be justice. I will not be able to bear to remember what he did unless I can remember he was justly punished and I had a part in seeing to his punishment. Do you realize what he did to Piero? He was only six years old and—”

  “Shh, we know, cara. We know.”

  “And Caterina. She didn’t deserve to die. None of them deserved to die.”

  “She’s right,” Lorenzo said abruptly. “She’s entitled to her part in this, Lion.”

  “And is she entitled to the danger? You saw what happened to her at Solinari and then we had ducats aplenty to pave our way. Now we only have our wits against Damari and his condotti.”

  “Then they’d better be exceedingly sharp wits.” Lorenzo moved over to the window to stand looking out at the ruined hulls in the shipyard. “And we obviously need all the help we can muster. If you won’t take her, then I will.”

  Lion made a violent motion with his hand. “Damn you, Lorenzo, what if I—” He broke off as if afraid to speak the thought gripping his mind.

  “What if you lose her, too? Don’t worry. You’re so besotted with Sanchia that you’d probably die gloriously defending her and therefore have no time for foolish regrets.”

  Sanchia gazed at Lorenzo blankly and then began to laugh. The laughter was tentative, rusty, but still it was laughter and she felt the knot of anger and sorrow within her miraculously loosen. “That has all the macabre logic I would expect of you, Lorenzo.”

  “I am always logical.”

  “I don’t like it.” Lion shook his head wearily. “But I obviously can’t move either of you.”

  “It’s very wise of you to surrender, for you may well need Sanchia.” Lorenzo turned away from the window. “Because I won’t be able to help you with Damari.”

  Lion’s gaze narrowed on his face. “That is your choice, of course.”

  “You think I back away from the task?” Lorenzo shook his head. “But you speak only of Damari. You’ve forgotten that he wouldn’t have been able to do what he did if he hadn’t had the approval and support of Borgia and the pope. Damari was the sword, but the Borgias were the ones who wielded it. In my eyes it’s Cesare and Alexander who bear the brunt of the blame.”

  “Certainly a good portion of the blame.”

  “And consider this, throughout his entire career Cesare Borgia has adopted whatever methods he found at hand to conquer the cities in his path. The ploy Damari used to defeat Mandara had the advantages of economy and complete devastation. Who is to say Borgia will not choose to use the plague again if the need arises?”

  “Dear God,” Sanchia whispered.

  “Exactly. If justice is to be done, it must be done to all three.” Lorenzo smiled. “And, as I’m the most qualified for the task, I’ll volunteer to be the dispenser of justice to the noble house of Borgia.”

  Sanchia and Lion gazed at him in astonishment.

  “You would kill the pope?” Sanchia whispered.

  “Do you not believe he deserves it? He’s totally corrupt, a man who has lusted for power his whole life long. Did he not buy the papacy with blood and ducats? Does he not have the blood of any number of people on his hands?”

  “No one is saying the world would not be better off without him.” Lion hesitated. “But, Dio, it would be hazardous, if not impossible. Both Borgias are surrounded by guards at all times. How would you manage it?”

  “I have no idea. Something will come to me. I’m most ingenious when offered a challenge of this magnitude.” Lorenzo paused. “But you may be sure their deaths will not be easy.”

  He had asked if Caterina’s death had been easy, Sanchia remembered, and she had told him that none of the deaths at Mandara had been easy.

  “So Damari is mine,” Lion said.

  “And Sanchia’s. Don’t be selfish, Lion.” Lorenzo turned toward the door. “I’m going to Cesena to make a few inquiries regarding the whereabouts of Duke Valentino. I should be back in a few days. Will you still be here?”

  Lion nodded. “I’ve decided to sell the shipyard to Basala and keep only the one in Marseilles. It will take that long to complete the transaction.”

  Sanchia looked at him in surprise. “You’re leaving Italy?”

  “We’re leaving Italy. There’s nothing here for us now. I told you once that Mandara was my country.” He shrugged. “And now there is no more Mandara.”

  Lorenzo nodded. “It’s best to put Mandara behind you.” He opened the door. “We’ll talk more when I return.”

  Lorenzo returned on the evening of the third day as he had promised.

  “Borgia has left for Rome,” he announced. “He departed almost immediately after he was paid a visit by Damari. The good duke was said to be in excellent spirits, so it’s safe to assume that he journeyed to his father with the Wind Dancer.”

  “And Damari?” Lion asked.

  “He was planning on returning to Solinari ‘to dispose of Andreas at leisure,’ “ Sanchia quoted bitterly.

  “But he won’t stay there long. It will worry him that I haven’t launched an attack on Solinari, and he’ll need to know if I’v
e spread the disease so he can take steps to protect the Borgias. He’ll probably come here to Pisa first.” Lion frowned. “And bring enough men to make sure we have no chance to resist him.”

  “Then I believe it’s time to complete our plans,” Lorenzo said with a faint smile.

  Lion nodded. “And to put them into motion.”

  The next morning Lorenzo left Pisa for Rome.

  The following day Lion and Sanchia departed for Florence.

  It felt very strange to Sanchia to be riding through the same Porto San Friano from which she had departed those many months ago. Yet it had not actually been so long, she realized with a slight sense of shock. They had left Florence through this gate in early March and it was now only late July. It seemed a lifetime since Lion had come to Giovanni’s shop for that frightened, nervous child.

  She was thinking of that other Sanchia as if she were some other person entirely, she thought sadly. Well, and so she was.

  “You’re very quiet.” Lion asked, “Are you weary?”

  Anxiety threaded his voice and Sanchia tried to smother the impatience it aroused in her. His cosseting at first had brought her a sense of security and comfort she had badly needed, but now that she was stronger it was unbearable. “I was thinking about how many things have happened since I left Florence. I’m no longer the same person.”

  He flinched. “Who would not change after the punishment I’ve dealt you?”

  “You meant me no harm.”

  “That didn’t stop harm from coming to you. I am to blame.”

  Sanchia sucked in her breath. Lion’s pampering, the way he avoided touching her as if she were one of the holy saints instead of a woman he wanted, all stemmed from his sense of blame. “Who knows what would have happened to me if I had stayed here?” she asked softly. “It could have been as bad. No place is entirely safe.”

  “If I hadn’t taken you away, you would never have known Damari.”

  “But there was already a Caprino in my life.”

  “It’s not the same.”