The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  Sanchia was wriggling out of the wagon to stand beside Lion. A livid bruise marked her left cheek, but her expression was as cold as Andreas’s. “Buona sera, Damari. You said you wanted to spend more time with me, and I could think of no better place than Solinari.”

  “You seem very pleased with yourself,” Damari snarled. “I must commend you on your endurance. You didn’t flutter an eyelash when I struck you.”

  “I was expecting it.” Sanchia gazed at him steadily. “And I should thank you. It was you who taught me endurance, Damari.”

  “And will teach you more. Fra Luis waits for you in the dungeon. You remember Fra Luis?”

  “I remember.” Sanchia shook her head in wonder. “Do you not realize that it’s over? You’re going to die, Damari.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not my fate to die by the hand of such as you. I have a great destiny. I’ll follow the Borgias to power no one could dream exists. My men will soon rush out of the palazzo and rescue me.”

  “They don’t seem in any great hurry.”

  “Let’s get it over.” Giulia rode forward and reined in beside them. “I have no liking for violence.”

  “You betrayed me, you whore.” Damari’s face twisted with anger as he looked at her. “We had a bargain and you betrayed me.”

  “As you would have betrayed me,” Giulia said. “In truth, I was close to aligning myself with you, but suddenly I asked myself why I should receive only sixteen hundred ducats when your palazzo must have so much more?” She motioned and a half dozen of the soldiers dismounted. “The maze. Beware, it’s guarded.”

  She watched as the men drew their swords and started at a trot toward the south entrance of the labyrinth. “Sanchia obligingly drew a map for them to follow and Lion still had the key to the storehouse. We even have a wagon to carry away your treasures. The only question was whether I could obtain the services of this company of soldiers in time for our departure. Fortunately, that was resolved four days ago when they were unexpectedly released from the service of Lord Gondolfo.” She smiled mockingly. “Destiny, my lord Damari.”

  “You should have taken my ducats. This way you’ll get nothing but a short sojourn in my dungeon.”

  “I’ll get half of the treasure.” Giulia paused. “But even if the reward were not great, I still might have sided with them against you.”

  “Then you’re a fool as well as a whore.”

  She shook her head. “Laurette. Caprino told me once it was bad business to let any defeat go unpunished.” She lifted her head and smiled again as she saw the rest of the company of soldiers thundering down the road toward the open gates. “You cheated me, but no one will ever try to cheat me again after they learn what happens here.”

  “Enough of this chatter,” Lion said impatiently. He called to the captain at the head of the column, “Bind those guards and secure the palazzo.” He turned to Damari. “And you will accompany us to the maze to wait for the treasure to be brought out of the storehouse.”

  An hour later the palazzo had been secured and the wagon loaded with paintings, large coffers of ducats, jewels, and golden plates.

  Damari watched, agape, as treasure after treasure was carried past him. “It will do you no good. I’ll get it all back. Just as I got the Wind Dancer back.” He smiled maliciously. “Your Wind Dancer is gone forever, Andreas. It rests in the pope’s private treasury and will stay there.”

  “I wouldn’t be too certain. Forever is a long time, and it’s said the Wind Dancer always returns to my family … eventually.”

  “Bah! It’s gone forever. You will see.”

  “Perhaps, but you will not,” Sanchia said. “Take off your clothes.”

  Damari whirled on her. “What?”

  She motioned with the torch in her hand. “Your clothing. Take it off. Everything.”

  “I will not!”

  She took a step closer. “Then let us see if your destiny will guard your skin from a scorching.” She shoved the flaming torch perilously close to his face.

  He took a hurried step back and felt the point of Andreas’s sword in his back.

  “Bitch.” Andreas’s sword bit through Damari’s jerkin and shirt and pain lanced through him. He began to undress, tearing off his clothing piece by piece in rhythm with his muttered curses. Finally he stood naked between the two of them.

  “Light the north entrance of the maze,” Lion called over his shoulder.

  Damari watched as one of the soldiers loading the wagon seized a torch from a companion and ran toward the corner of the labyrinth.

  “Now,” Lion said softly. “Into the maze, Damari. You shouldn’t object to dying there. As I remember, it’s a place for which you have a great fondness.”

  “You’re going to chase me through the maze?”

  “Oh, no.” Lion shook his head. “We’re going to let the flames chase you. There’s been little rain this last month. The hedges should take the flames easily … and spread rapidly, Damari. The north entrance will be blocked by flames in a few minutes.” He nodded toward the opening in front of them. “We’ll fire this entrance as soon as you pass through.”

  “If I pass through.”

  “Your choice. The sword or the maze. Does that not sound familiar? I admit I would prefer you to choose the maze. There’s a certain justice in it.” Lion’s expression hardened. “I’ll enjoy seeing you burn as Mandara burned.”

  “Perhaps the flames will spare you for your great destiny,” Sanchia said softly. “As you spared the people of Mandara, as you spared that poor Laurette.”

  “They will spare me. You think you’ve bested me?” Damari shook his head as he turned and strode toward the entrance. “I’ll live to see you all dead.”

  He smelled the smoke, heard the crackle of flames in the shrubbery behind him as soon as he entered the maze. The bitch and Andreas were wasting no time.

  He could see a flare lighting the night sky ahead of him. The north entrance was burning. He instinctively started to run, thorns tearing at his naked flesh as he brushed against the hedges. He would escape. He had to escape. His destiny must be fulfilled.

  Those fools had forgotten there was a way out other than the entrances they had set afire. The west hedge through which Andreas and his brother had escaped had not been replanted. He could wriggle through the hedge and then hide in the shrubbery until they were gone.

  His breathing grew painful as he ran. The damned smoke was growing thicker, causing his eyes to tear and sting.

  Ah, just ahead was the hole in the hedge!

  He sprinted forward and started wriggling frantically through the opening. He cried out as the thorns pierced his legs and buttocks and stabbed into his genitals. He would kill them for this outrage! He would kill them all!

  “No, Damari.”

  He looked up and froze, no longer feeling the bite of the thorns and sharp twigs.

  Sanchia was standing outside the circular opening in the hedge, a torch in her hand. Her expression was stern as she slowly shook her head. “There has to be justice.” She lit the branches at the top of the opening. “Piero.” She lit the left side. “Bianca.” She touched the torch to the right side. “Marco.” Finally she touched the flames to the bottom of the circle. “Caterina.”

  “No!” Damari heard himself screaming as he backed out of the opening as the flames licked at him.

  The bitch stood there beyond the flaming circle looking as delicate and fragile in her white gown as the figure on a cameo.

  “One more,” she said quietly. She tossed the torch into the center of the opening. “Mandara.”

  The hedge blazed high, a solid sheet of flame.

  He was going to die, Damari thought dazedly. No, it could not be true. He scrambled away from the flaming hedge and onto the path. He began to run down the path, trying to see through the ever-thickening smoke.

  There had to be a way out. He was screaming the words, he realized.

  The burning hedges were all around
him now, the fire coming closer, still closer.

  He turned the corner.

  Another wall of flame!

  No matter how swiftly he ran, he could not get away from it. The flame touched the naked flesh of his back, and in agony he threw back his head and howled. The rest of his flesh was catching fire as easily as had the hedges.

  No, it could not be. He had a destiny …

  Lorenzo opened his eyes to see Luigi’s scowling face above him. He swallowed and moistened his dry lips. “I take it I’ve yet to depart this earth, as you bear not the slightest resemblance to an angel.”

  “Why would you think you deserve heaven?”

  “For killing two arch demons?”

  Luigi shook his head.

  Lorenzo made a face. “They didn’t die?”

  “Well, you didn’t totally fail. The pope will probably die at any moment. They say he was administered extreme unction at vespers today.” Luigi lifted a goblet of wine to Lorenzo’s lips and fed him a sip. “And Cesare may yet succumb. The servants say he didn’t eat as much of the lamb as his father, but he lies gravely ill in a sickroom above the Borgia apartments.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “You’ve been ill for five days.”

  “And we’re still in your house?” Lorenzo’s gaze searched Luigi’s face. “I told you to leave Rome at once.”

  “And why should I obey a man who’s stupid enough to poison himself?”

  “You stayed to care for me?”

  “I stayed because I had no need to go. The fools think both His Holiness and his son fell victim to the same bad-air illness that’s struck down nearly everyone in Rome.” He grinned. “I told you that Rome in summer wasn’t a healthy place to be.”

  Lorenzo began to laugh weakly. “No one is thinking it peculiar that they both fell ill on the same day?”

  Luigi shrugged. “There are those few who murmur of poison, but they speak of the banquet that Alexander and the duke enjoyed at the vineyards of Cardinal Adriano Corneto on August fifth. They say the Borgias wished to poison Corneto but the goblets became switched. Corneto also—conveniently—has fallen ill.”

  “Jesú, that thought is as foolish as the other. Even I couldn’t brew a poison that would delay the effect for almost two weeks.” Lorenzo hesitated, considering the advantages of such a potion. “Though it would be a challenge to develop one. Since Cesare is still alive, perhaps I should think about it.”

  “Think about going back to sleep and getting well.”

  “Ah, you worry about me.”

  “I care nothing if you live or die.” Luigi gave him another sip of wine and then gently wiped Lorenzo’s lips with a surprisingly clean cloth. “Why should I? I just grow tired of cleaning up your vomit and hearing you moan. Who is Caterina?”

  Lorenzo was silent.

  “Don’t answer me then. It’s not really as if I want to know anything about you.” Luigi set down the goblet on the floor and stood up. “Go back to sleep, and if you vomit again you can wipe it up yourself.”

  “Luigi.”

  Luigi turned to face him.

  “I … thank you.”

  Luigi looked quickly away. “It will be much easier to get rid of you when you’re on your feet than to drag your stinking carcass out the door.”

  “Have I ever mentioned the sweet eloquence of your discourse?” Lorenzo closed his eyes and rolled over on his side. “I’ll sleep for a while, but awaken me in a few hours. There’s something I must do.”

  “You can do nothing. You’re as weak as a starving kitten mewling for its mother’s teat.”

  “What a truly denigrating comparison.” Lorenzo didn’t open his eyes. “If I cannot do the task myself, then you must help me. Wake me …”

  “Hold the lantern higher. It’s black as a chimney in this alley. Do you want me to stumble into the Tiber and drown?” Luigi tightened his grip around Lorenzo’s slender form. “I know you have no fear for yourself. You’d probably float. They say the devil guards his own.”

  “My dear Luigi, it’s humiliating enough having to submit to being carried like an infant without being insulted as well. Are we nearing the Vatican?”

  “Just ahead,” Luigi panted. “And you’re heavier than an infant. About the weight of a boar dressed for serving or a side of beef before it’s spitted and—”

  “Stop.” Lorenzo’s tone was pained. “I realize you’re enjoying my plight, but please refrain from comparing me to one of your dishes.” He peered into the darkness ahead but could see nothing beyond the circle of the lantern light except the warm mist rising from the river. “If you continue in this vein, I’ll be forced to walk and deprive you of this purely temporary feeling of superiority.”

  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.”