The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  Dio, the man was stubborn. It would obviously take more than words to change his mind. “Do you think Giulia will help us?”

  “We’ll find out shortly. Her casa is—” He broke off with the sharp intake of breath of a man struck an unexpected blow.

  Sanchia looked at him in alarm. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. I just forgot about the doors.” Lion reined in and sat looking at the magnificent bronze doors of the baptistery of the cathedral of Florence, his eyes glittering with sudden moisture. “Ghiberti’s Gates of Paradise. When Marco and I were boys my father brought us to Florence whenever he visited Lorenzo de’ Medici. My father insisted I go with him to the palace to learn the ways of dealing with princes, but he permitted Marco to run free. Marco was giddy with joy. He was drunk with the art of Michelozzi and the ideas of Alberti, the beautiful statues and the paintings.” He stopped, unable to go on for a moment. “And most of all he loved those bronze doors. He’d get up before daybreak so he could see the first light of dawn strike them, he’d go four streets out of his way to catch a glimpse of them. Once he said to me, ‘Lion, if I could sculpt something as beautiful as those doors I’d never ask for heaven. I’d stand outside all day long and ask everyone who passed, Did you see them? Did you really look at them?’ “

  Sanchia swallowed to ease the sudden tightness of her throat. “I grew so accustomed to walking by the cathedral that I scarcely noticed the doors.”

  “Not Marco. Beautiful things were always new to him.” He shook his head. “But most of us do forget to take notice of what is familiar to us. It’s only when they’re lost that we realize how we valued them.”

  “That’s true.” Sanchia wanted desperately to comfort but knew there was nothing she could say to ease the depth of suffering she sensed in him at this moment. “But perhaps if we remember that, we can learn to—”

  “It’s not enough. It’s too late.” His hand tightened with sudden violence on the reins. “I want him back! I want all of them back, Sanchia.”

  She was silent, gazing at him in an agony of tenderness.

  Then he straightened his shoulders and deliberately loosened his grip on the reins. “I’m behaving foolishly,” he said gruffly. “I’m not a boy to cry for what’s beyond my reach.” His gaze shifted to her face. “I’ve distressed you.”

  “Distressed me?” She was exasperated. She could feel the tension and sorrow coiled within him, but he allowed her only an occasional fleeting glimpse before he walled it up inside himself again. “It’s you who are in distress.”

  “Nonsense. All goes well with me.” He nudged Tabron forward. “Come along. Giulia’s casa is on the next street.”

  Giulia Marzo looked up warily from her account book as the maid showed Lion and Sanchia into her chamber. “What a surprise to see you, Lion. I believe you stated the intention of never visiting me again.” She looked from Sanchia to Lion. “I see you still have your little slave. Has she brought you pleasure?”

  “More than I’ve brought her.” He gently pushed Sanchia down on a chair by the door. “Sit down, cara. Since Giulia is failing in courtesy, we must take our comfort where we may.”

  “When did you do otherwise?” Giulia asked dryly. “As I remember, you always did exactly as you pleased.” She paused. “As it pleased you to kill Caprino.”

  “Did his death disturb you?”

  She shook her head. “In truth, you did me a favor. I moved quickly and took over a number of Caprino’s enterprises. Being a woman, I was not able to assume fully Caprino’s place, but let us say I now possess considerably more power than when last you saw me.”

  “I rejoice in both your success and my small part in it.” Lion’s tone was mocking. “Though I must confess I was tempted to slice your pretty throat as I did Caprino’s.”

  She stiffened, and her gaze darted to the bellrope across the room. She forced a smile. “Why would you want to do that?”

  “Caprino had only one way of learning that our destination was Solinari. Naturally, I put a few questions to him about the name of his informant.” Lion smiled. “The only reason I didn’t come after you, Giulia, was that I blamed myself for mentioning it within your hearing, and Caprino said he suspected you withheld the information until you thought it would do him no good. His venom was so great that I was forced to believe him.”

  Giulia let her breath out in a rush of relief. “I meant no harm. It was only business.”

  “And you’re an excellent businesswoman, are you not?” Lion took a step closer. “That’s why I’m here. I have a proposition to make.”

  Giulia’s eyes glinted with sudden interest as she leaned back in her chair. “I’m always ready to listen to a proposition as long as there’s profit in it.”

  “There’s profit. I wish you to draw Damari to Florence. Sanchia said you had dealings with the man at one time.”

  “Once.” Giulia made a face. “However, I acted through Caprino.”

  “But he knows your name?”

  “Of course, everyone knows of my casa. He asked Caprino specifically for one of my women.”

  “Do you know what he did to her?” Sanchia asked fiercely.

  “It was not my concern,” Giulia said quickly. “The girl made no objection to going. In truth, she was filled with happy anticipation.”

  “She could not have known—” Sanchia shook her head. “He is a monster.”

  “It was not my concern,” Giulia repeated, adding in a lower tone, “he was not supposed to kill her. He cheated me.”

  Sanchia gazed at her in disbelief and opened her mouth to speak, but Lion cut in quickly, “We wish you to send a message to Damari telling him you have Lionello Andreas and his slave, Sanchia, under your roof. Say we fled to Florence and begged you to take us in, and that you hear he will pay dearly to get both into his hands.”

  “Why would you come to me instead of Mandara?”

  “There is no longer a Mandara.”

  “Indeed?” Giulia was clearly astonished. “It seems you have more reason to want vengeance against Damari than I believed. What is your purpose in drawing him here?”

  “What do you suppose?”

  Giulia nodded. “And he wants you enough to come here to capture you?”

  “More than enough.”

  “And how much are you willing to pay for my help?”

  “Five hundred ducats.”

  “It’s not enough. There is risk aplenty.”

  “It will have to do. I have no more to give you.”

  “I will think on it.” Giulia stood up. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “I want your answer now,” Lion said bluntly. “And I’ll have it now.”

  Giulia smiled faintly. “You were not always so impatient.” She hesitated, a frown furrowing her wide brow. “Very well, the bargain is struck.”

  “Good. We’ll speak more on this later.” Lion helped Sanchia to her feet. “We have no place to stay until Damari arrives. Will you give us two chambers?”

  “Two?” Giulia’s smile became malicious. “If you require two chambers, she must not be giving you as much pleasure as you claim. I warned you it would be so.”

  “Sanchia has been ill.” Lion turned to the door. “And she is not well yet. Will you give us accommodation or not?”

  “Certainly. It will be my pleasure.” Giulia moved gracefully to the door. “Perhaps it’s best that I have you under my eye. I don’t think it would be safe to tease Damari with a prize he wants and then not be able to produce it.”

  “You have only to offer, not produce.” A sudden sharpness had edged Lion’s tone.

  Giulia smiled sweetly over her shoulder. “A mere slip of the tongue, caro. Come this way. You’ll naturally occupy the chamber that pleased you in the past, and we’ll find something suitable for the girl.”

  “I am not ill,” Sanchia hissed at Lion as they followed Giulia down the hall. “I’m quite well now. Why did you tell her—”

  Giulia had stopped before
a door and abruptly turned to face them. “This will do for you, Sanchia.” She opened the door. “I’ll send up a tub and hot water for a bath.” She sniffed delicately. “That horse odor is quite reminiscent of the way you smelled when first you came here. I do hope you’ve gotten over your aversion to soap and water.”

  Sanchia bit her lip to keep back the stinging reply that trembled on her tongue. She must not let the woman anger her. Lion had said they needed Giulia. “Thank you, I would like a bath.”

  “Will you need me?” Lion asked, the familiar frown of concern on his face.

  “No, I will not need you. I’m perfectly well.” Sanchia entered the room and slammed the door behind her, immediately resenting the sound of Giulia’s low laugh.

  Why was she so angry? She should have ignored Giulia, not let the woman’s manners prick her. Yet there was no doubt Giulia’s spite had disturbed her composure. It was stupid to let Giulia trouble her when she had not done so in the past.

  But then she had not known she loved Lion.

  And she had not known how it felt to have him inside her body, the hot, dizzy pleasure as he plunged and lifted her to his every stroke.

  Santa Maria, her body was coming alive, stirring with lust and anticipation at the thought of the next time Lion would come into her.

  Not only her body, but her emotions were being reborn. She was experiencing lust, anger, jealousy. Yes, jealousy of the hours Lion had spent in Giulia’s bed. Jealousy of her beauty and her knowledge of how to please him. It was clear the woman wanted him still; she had made no overtures, but the invitation had definitely been implied. Would that invitation be accepted?

  Lion had possessed no woman since he had taken Sanchia that night in the tower room, and no one knew better than Sanchia that he was a man of strong desires. Sorrow had emptied them both of everything but tenderness and the desire to comfort and receive comfort, but, if she was coming alive, who was to say that Lion’s desires were not also awakening?

  Cristo, and what a damnably inconvenient time for that to happen with Giulia Marzo at hand not only to stoke but to appease his lust.

  Sanchia took herself to task—she had been through so much she had thought she was done with petty emotions.

  She knew suddenly she wanted desperately to live fully … to feel, to nurture her rose gardens as Caterina had told her to do. She wanted to bear children and know love as it was meant to be.

  The Medusa had left her alive and by all that was holy she would live that life.

  Nineteen

  Forgive me, Messer, but I understand you have a room to let.”

  “Then your understanding is at fault.” Luigi Sarponi had a deeply creased, heavily jowled face, and the scowl now twisting it was obviously meant to discourage and intimidate. “I have no room to let and, if I did, it would not please you. My house is not for such as you. Find somewhere else to stay. There are plenty of lodgings going begging since summer is here. Rome in summer isn’t a healthy place to be.”

  “Are you not Luigi Sarponi?”

  “I am.”

  “And did you not work in the kitchens of His Holiness until the month of April three years ago?”

  Luigi nodded warily. “I did.”

  “Then you’re exactly the man to whom I wish to speak. Allow me to present myself. I am Lorenzo Vasaro.” Lorenzo took a step forward and, as the light from the candle on the table fell fully on Lorenzo’s face, Luigi instinctively took a step back.

  “We have many matters to discuss.” Lorenzo smiled. “And I think after we have had that discussion you will find you do have a room to let.”

  “You speak in riddles.” Luigi Sarponi poured wine in Lorenzo’s wooden goblet and then his own before sitting down at the scarred table across from him. “What do you want of me?”

  “Only what you want for yourself.” Lorenzo leaned forward across the table. The light from the tallow candle cast shadows beneath his high cheekbones and lit the crystal coldness of his eyes. “What you’ve wanted for over three years.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The death of the Borgias.”

  Sarponi went rigid. His gaze searched Lorenzo’s impassive face. “You are misinformed.”

  “Because you’ve not shouted your hatred of them to the four winds? If you had done so, I would have no use for you.” Lorenzo smiled. “But if I should be wrong and you have no interest in the subject, I’ve no wish to bore you. Should I leave your house?”

  Sarponi lowered his gaze to his goblet. “Why did you come to me?”

  “I’ve been asking questions, very discreet questions, but I find my inquiries are usually answered.”

  “I can see how they would be,” Sarponi said sourly. “And after you leave, they cross themselves and pray to the saints you’ll never come back.”

  “Exactly.” Lorenzo chuckled. “But you do not fear me, do you, Luigi? I did not think you would. I’ve heard you’re a surly, bad-tempered rascal who fears neither God nor the devil.”

  Sarponi lifted his goblet to his lips. “Neither God nor the devil can do any more to me than they’ve done already.”

  “Which of them took your son, Luigi?” Lorenzo asked softly.

  Sarponi paused for an instant and then drank deeply and set his empty goblet down on the table. “The devil.” He looked up to meet Lorenzo’s eyes. “What do you know of my Mario?”

  “I know he was murdered one night by a masked band roving the streets of Rome. They killed and mutilated for the pleasure of it, and I know that shortly after his death you resigned your position as second cook in the kitchens of His Holiness to take a far less lucrative position in the kitchens of Messer Obano. You gave no reason for leaving the Vatican, and it was assumed Messer Obano paid you a fat bonus to come to him.”

  “But you do not believe it?”

  Lorenzo shook his head. “Rumor has it that Cesare Borgia led the band that murdered your son. Indeed, there are stories he and his bodyguards still find it amusing to indulge their tastes in that fashion, but now they tend to go abroad to do so.”

  “They are not stories,” Sarponi said hoarsely. “It is the truth. What is the blinding of an artist or the murder of a boy to the great Il Valentino? The duke and his father are in league. Alexander sits on the papal throne and we kiss his feet and he lets his beloved son indulge in any act of cruelty and—” He halted the rush of words and drew a deep breath. “Mario was not like me. He possessed a sweet nature and always had a smile for everyone. He was apprenticed to become a cobbler. I told him he should become a cook like me, but he said as long as people had to walk he would not go hungry.”

  “You’re sure it was Borgia who killed him?”

  “He was attacked only a short distance from here and was not dead when he was brought home to me. He had eight sword thrusts through his body but he was not dead.” Luigi gazed blindly at the flickering flame of the candle. “They toyed with him. They felt safe because of their masks, you see.”

  “But he still recognized Borgia?”

  “No, it was the medal. Borgia’s cloak fell open and Mario saw the order of St. Michael that the French king had given the duke. Il Valentino takes great pride in the gift and wears it always.”

  “But you said nothing to anyone?”

  Luigi’s lips twisted. “Who would I tell? His Holiness? Or perhaps Michelotto Corella, the duke’s favorite assassin? No, I would only have ended up in the Tiber. But I will no longer serve either that serpent in the Vatican or his vile offspring.” His gaze shifted from the candle to Lorenzo. “Are you going to kill me now?”

  “Why should I do that?”

  Luigi shrugged. “It occurred to me you might be one of Borgia’s assassins tying up loose ends.”

  “But still you spoke to me.”

  “I have no great fondness for life anymore. I have no wife and my son is dead.” He rubbed his neck. “I work, I come home, I sleep. There’s little reason to fight to hold on to such a life.”

&nbs
p; “I have no intention of killing you.”

  A spark of interest flickered in Luigi’s dark eyes at Lorenzo’s slight emphasis on the last word. “Borgia? Truly?”

  “Both Borgias.” Lorenzo smiled. “With your help. Do you not think this project could stir a bit of interest in you?”

  “Possibly,” Luigi said cautiously. “But how can they be murdered? Both go about with guards.”

  “I wasn’t thinking about a knife between the ribs.”

  “Poison? There’s no taster at the Vatican, but that’s because none is needed. One of the guards is in the kitchen the entire time the meal is prepared and accompanies the servants to the dining hall.”

  “Hmm, I didn’t know that. It’s a circumstance that may present difficulties.”

  “Difficulties?” Luigi laughed shortly. “The guard never takes his eyes off us. It will be impossible.”

  “The Borgias will be dead within a month’s time.”

  Luigi started to argue, then stopped and studied Lorenzo’s face. “I … I believe you.”

  “But will you help me?”

  Luigi hesitated. “You want me to go back to work at the kitchen of His Holiness?”

  Lorenzo nodded. “And help me to get work as a cook’s helper there also. I understand the duke has been dining with his Holiness at almost every meal since his return from the Romagna.”

  “They say his pox has flared up again and he won’t be seen abroad.” Luigi shook his head. “You don’t look the part of a kitchen lackey.”

  “Then you must help me to change my appearance so that I do.”

  Luigi regarded him critically. “Perhaps if you don’t gaze at anyone directly. Your eyes—”

  “I’ll be as shifty-eyed as you could want me to be.”

  “And you’re too clean. You must have clean hands, but a bit of grease and dirt on your face and hair would help.” He smiled maliciously. “And no more baths for you. You smell too sweet.”

  Lorenzo flinched as he glanced at Luigi’s unkempt gray hair. “I’m sure no one is a greater authority on the subject of dirt. I place myself entirely at your disposal.” Lorenzo paused. “Agreed?”