The Wind Dancer

  Lorenzo shrugged. "Perhaps Borgia snapped his fingers and he had to come running. Damari is clever enough to put aside his own personal vengeance where his ambitions are concerned."

  "Or perhaps he wanted to draw me to Solinari where he had set his trap."

  "Basala said he had only a small troop of men when he raided the shipyard. Do you think he had a larger force at--"

  "I don't like it," Lion cut in with sudden violence. "Any of it. It doesn't feel right."

  Lorenzo's gaze went back to the wreckage of the ship and then to the other blackened hulls sitting in the shipyard. "This has hurt you. Consider that you may not be thinking clearly."

  Lion's hand tightened on the reins. "Damari meant to hurt me," he said hoarsely. "And he's depending on me to rush wildly to Solinari after him. Why?"

  Lorenzo merely gazed at him.

  "And why didn't he burn the ships and shipyard when he came here and discovered we'd taken the Dancer and sailed for Genoa? It would have been a better opportunity. Why did he hold his hand then and strike now?"

  "He could have wanted to destroy the Dancer as well."

  Lion shook his head. "I don't think so."

  "Then do we go to Solinari and reconnoiter?"

  Lion was silent, his gaze on the Dancer. "What if Damari meant to draw us not to Solinari but away from Mandara?"

  Lorenzo stiffened, his gaze whipping to Lion's face. "You think he might have persuaded Borgia to give him reinforcements to attack the city?"

  "I don't know what he's done, but all this has an odd feel to me." Lion suddenly called over his shoulder at the men milling around the shipyard, "Mount up! We're going back to Mandara."

  Chapter Seventeen.

  Sanchia was sitting on the steps of the chapel, her head resting back against the stone wall, when Damari rode into the courtyard.

  The setting sun was behind him, and at first he appeared only as a squat, dark figure against the blood-red orb. Then, as he drew closer, she recognized him, but oddly felt not the least surprised. It seemed fitting that he should be here in this place of death and sorrow.

  "Ah, Sanchia, how pleasant it is to see you." Damari swung down from his horse. "You'll forgive me if I don't come any closer. It's only wise to take certain precautions. Tell me, do you have the disease as yet?"

  "Probably." Sanchia shook her head wearily. "I don't know."

  "And the Lady Caterina?"

  "Dead. Yesterday." She paused. "I think it was yesterday. They're all dead. Marco, Bianca... Piero."

  He nodded. "Excellent. I was hoping the lady had been taken. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business inside the castle, I'll rejoin you shortly."

  He crossed the courtyard and went briskly up the stone steps and into the castle.

  Sanchia leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She should probably go back down to the piazza and see if any more victims had been brought to the cathedral. She would go soon, but it was comforting to sit there next to the chapel. She didn't feel so alone when she was this close to Caterina and Piero.

  "Wake up and bid me good-bye, Sanchia."

  She opened her eyes to see Damari tying a familiar mahogany chest on the hindquarters of his stallion. The Wind Dancer.

  "You see I have it again. I told you I'd get it back."

  He seemed absurdly pleased, she thought with vague surprise. Did he think the loss of the statue mattered now?

  "You didn't believe me, did you?" He glanced up as he tightened the rope. "I'm truly glad you're here to see my triumph. I was afraid there would be no one left alive to appreciate my cleverness."

  "No one is alive."

  "Well, you're half alive. That will do." He smiled. "Tell me, did the boy die at once? I thought he was ill when my men put him in the wagon."

  Piero. He was talking about Piero. "Not right away." She managed to focus on what he was saying. "It was you who took Piero?"

  "One of my men, actually. It was truly a brilliant plan. It had come to my ears that the plague had attacked a tiny coastal village not far from Solinari and it was only necessary that we spread the disease here. Now who would make a better carrier than the child you had taken to your bosom? My informant had already told me that both you and the child were here at the castle. We had only to steal the child, smuggle him out of the city, and transport him to Fontana. We kept him in the charnel house there for two days, making sure he was properly exposed to the disease."

  It was Damari who was the monster of death. The horror of his words pierced her apathy and exhaustion. She gasped. "How could anyone do such an evil thing?"

  "Of course, it was necessary to conduct the plan with the most exquisite precision and timing," Damari went on calmly. "I returned to Pisa to raid Andreas's shipyard and draw him and a goodly portion of his men from Mandara. Then I sent two of my men with the wagon and orders to abandon it a few miles from the city gates. After the raid I had to bring my men back here to stop those who were fleeing the city."

  "Fleeing... "

  "But of course. The disease couldn't be allowed to spread. Borgia and His Holiness were afraid there would be an outcry if the disease were carried into another city." He smiled. "I assured them that wouldn't happen, so I waited in the hills and when the scared rabbits came streaming out of the city we eliminated them with a barrage of arrows. I had to be careful to keep my men at a distance. Those who I find it necessary to bring close to the plague will also have to be eliminated."

  "But you're here now."

  "Ah, but I'm not afraid of the disease." He rubbed his pitted cheek. "If I was meant to die of any disease, the pox would have gotten me when I was a child and that Lady bitch persuaded her husband to send my mother and me away from Mandara to a pox-ridden village. No, I was spared to do great things, to lead armies, to create kingdoms."

  Sanchia shook her head. "You'll die here, like all the rest. Everyone dies here."

  For a moment an expression of uneasiness crossed Damari's face because of the certainty in her tone. "Not me. I have another fate awaiting me." He gave a final tug to the rope and swung onto the saddle. "Do you smell the smoke yet?"

  "No."

  "I do." He lifted his head and sniffed. "I set fire to the castle and to the gardens. My men are torching the city now. Another precaution His Holiness insisted on my taking. Naturally, we torched the village of Fontana after we took the boy from the charnel house."

  "Lion... "

  "You're wondering why I let Andreas leave when he too might have become infected?" He shrugged. "I had to accept the risk. I had to draw his forces away so I could be sure of walking into the castle unopposed. If he does carry the plague elsewhere, we'll merely put out a story that he fled in terror from the disease and it was his fault the sickness was brought to more innocents." He smiled. "I will, of course, now proceed back to Solinari and dispose of him at my leisure."

  As he gazed down at her a flicker of regret passed over his face. "I'd really like to take you with me. I quite enjoyed our time together in the dungeon. It's not often that one runs across a woman with the courage and endurance you possess. I had promised myself another such experience after Andreas took you from me." He shook his head. "Too bad. But Borgia would be most irate if he learned I'd let anyone live who knew of his and his father's involvement."

  "You're going to kill me?"

  "I've already Killed you," Damari said. "I was merely considering resurrecting you for a few day's amusement. Good-bye, Sanchia. If you're fortunate, the fire may end your life before the plague does. I hear the plague gives a very painful death."

  "Yes." She closed her eyes again, trying not to see the pictures his words brought to mind. "Yes, it's very painful."

  She heard the clatter of Damari's horse's hooves on the flagstones as he left the courtyard. A moment later the first acrid wisp of smoke drifted to her nostrils.

  They came upon the first dead seven miles from Mandara.

  Lion looked down at the body of a child
of perhaps eight years crumpled in the road beside a wagon. An arrow had pierced her narrow chest, pinning her to the wood of the wagon wheel.

  Lorenzo reined in beside him. "A man, a woman, and two more children are lying farther down the road."

  "Arrows?"

  Lorenzo nodded. "The wagon is piled high with furniture and household goods. It looks as though everything was tossed into the wagon with great speed. They obviously left the city in a hurry with no intention of returning."

  "And were waylaid and murdered." Lion looked away from the child lying against the wagon wheel. "Women and children too. Nothing appears to have been stolen. Why would they have been murdered?"

  "Shall I order them buried?"

  "No." Lion turned his horse. "Later. We have to find out why they were running from Mandara. Hurry."

  They came upon two more bodies a mile down the road and then an entire family butchered a quarter of a mile farther. After that, Lion stopped counting the dead that littered the road and gullies and spurred on toward Mandara.

  They first saw the glow lighting the night sky as they left the foothills.

  Lion heard Lorenzo's harsh imprecation but couldn't tear his gaze from the macabre, obscene beauty of the sight before him.

  "Mandara." Lorenzo gazed stonily at the burning city in the distance.

  Lion heard the shocked murmur of the men riding behind him. They had wives, friends, families in that inferno just as he did, he thought dully. Sanchia, his mother, Marco, Bianca...

  "Caterina," Lorenzo said hoarsely. "There have to be prisoners."

  Lion felt a spring of hope. Lorenzo was right. None of them had to be in the burning city. He spurred forward and put Tabron into a dead run.

  "Lion," Lorenzo shouted above the thunder of the horse's hooves. "If it was Damari, where's the condotti?"

  The same thing was bothering Lion. On this level plain the torches and movement of an attacking army should clearly be visible. There was nothing. No army. No horses. No catapults or other war machines. Nothing.

  Nothing but Mandara being devoured by flames.

  Lion saw Sanchia when they were within three miles of the city.

  She was plodding slowly, blindly down the road and, if the illumination from the burning Mandara had not lit the countryside with unusual clarity, the troop would have ridden her into the ground.

  "Sanchia!" Lion held up his hand to halt the troop and reined in Tabron. "Dio, what's happened here?"

  She didn't seem to hear him. She Kept walking, her gaze fixed on something he couldn't see. Her brown velvet gown was torn, filthy, her hair a wild tangle of grease and soot.

  "Sanchia." Lion dismounted and strode toward her. "Are you hurt?"

  She kept plodding forward.

  Lion stopped before her and grasped her shoulders. "Santa Maria, answer me. Are you hurt?"

  Her blank gaze finally focused on his face. "Lion?" she whispered. "I thought you were dead. I thought everyone was dead but Damari. It's not right that he should live, you know. He shouldn't be allowed to live when everyone else in the world is dead."

  "Everyone isn't dead, Sanchia. You're alive."

  She looked at him in wonder. "No, I'm not. Damari killed me just as he did everyone else. Caterina, Marco, Piero, Bianca."

  Agony tore through him as his gaze went over her head to Mandara. "All dead?"

  "Of course," she said, surprised that he should ask. "Everyone is dead."

  He felt the tears sting his eyes even as he shook her. "You're not dead, Sanchia. We're both alive."

  "That's right, you're alive. You told me." She suddenly stiffened, her eyes going wide with horror. "No!" She tore out of his grasp and backed away. "Don't touch me. Are you mad? The plague... "

  Lion went icy cold. "Plague? You said Damari, Sanchia."

  But she had turned and was running wildly back toward Mandara, the skirts of her tattered gown flying behind her.

  Lion pounded after her. "Cristo, Sanchia. Stop. No one is going to hurt you." He drew even with her and grabbed her in his arms. "Sanchia cara--"

  "You don't understand." She was struggling desperately to free herself. "I'll kill you. I don't want to kill you. Only Damari. Let me go!"

  The tears were now running unashamedly down Lion's cheeks. "Cara, no... " He drew her closer, his hands feverishly stroking her sooty hair. "Shh... "

  She abruptly gave up, slumping against him. "It's too late anyway. You've touched me. Even Damari was afraid to touch me. Medusa... "

  He caught her as she swayed, collapsing into unconsciousness.

  The bitter odor of smoke was gone. Now the air was pervaded with the odor of wood and something fruity, yet musty.

  Sanchia opened her eyes to see Lion bending over her, bathing her forehead. Dusk enveloped them. The only light piercing the dimness was the sunlight pouring through two small windows high above her. Dust motes danced in the dual brilliant streams of sunlight and she gazed at them in dreamy fascination.

  Two dancing sunbeams...

  Lorenzo had said that about Bianca and Marco, hadn't he? But those sunbeams were no longer dancing; they lay still and quiet in the chapel.

  But was there a chapel? Would the stone have withstood the heat of the flames that engulfed Mandara?

  "Fire... " Her throat was raw, and it hurt to speak. Had she been screaming? She had felt the screams welling up inside her, but she believed she had kept them from coming out.

  "No more fire, Sanchia," Lion said gently. "You're not in Mandara any longer."

  "Where?"

  "The winery." He smoothed the damp cloth on her temples. "You remember the winery?"

  "Yes." She looked around and could discern the shadowy outline of a huge wooden vat and oak casks in the dimness.

  "Keep covered. It's cool here." He pulled the blanket over her and she suddenly became aware she was nude beneath it.

  Lion was without clothes, too, she realized in bewilderment. Strange.

  "Do you know who I am?" Lion asked.

  "Lion."

  Relief lightened his expression. "And what happened at Mandara?"

  How could she forget? How could anyone forget. "Plague." She was suddenly jarred into full wakefulness. "Get away from me!" She sat upright and tried to slide farther from him. "Plague!"

  "Be easy. I've been with you here for over a week." Lion said gently. "If I'm fated to fall to the disease then I'm already infected."

  She looked at him, stricken. "A week?" She closed her eyes. "Dear God, why?"

  "Why did you stay in Mandara to care for those I loved?"

  "I was there."

  "And I am here. Open your eyes and look at me, Sanchia. Do I appear ill or racked with the disease?"

  She opened her eyes. He looked strong and vigorous in spite of the lines of weariness and sorrow she saw in his face. "Sometimes it doesn't happen right away."

  "And sometimes it doesn't happen at all. Was everyone stricken in Mandara?"

  "It seemed as if they were." She shook her head in confusion. "There were a few that were not ill but, as I said, sometimes it takes more time for one or the other. I don't know if any lived or not."

  "I think it likely some survived, if the fire didn't kill them."

  The fire. "Damari and his men set the fire. I watched him do it but I couldn't seem to move. Then it came to me that if Damari lived, he could do this again. I couldn't let him repeat such a monstrous act. So many died... Did I tell you about Piero?"

  "Yes, you told me everything." Lion's eyes glittered brightly in the dimness of the room. "You raved and ranted until I thought I could not bear to hear any more. I believed you would very likely go mad."

  "Perhaps I did. I keep seeing--"

  "No," he said fiercely. "You will heal in mind and you will heal in body. I will not lose you, too. Do you hear me? You will heal!"

  The passionate force of his voice almost convinced her he could hold both death and madness at bay. Poor Lion. He had lost so much. His family.
His ships. His home.

  She had thought she was incapable of feeling ever again, but to her surprise she felt a faint stirring within her. She looked away from him. "Why do we have no clothing?"

  "I burned the clothes you were wearing and the ones I had on when I found you."

  When she looked at him inquiringly, he shrugged. "It seemed a good idea at the time. I know nothing about plague." He paused. "I bathed us both in hot water every day and clothing would have just gotten in the way. It seemed a sensible precaution to take. When you swooned I told Lorenzo and the men not to come near us and brought you here to the winery. They're encamped beyond the vineyard. Lorenzo comes every day with fresh food and water and sets it outside the door." He nodded at a pile of blankets against the wall. "I've boiled those blankets and dried them in the sun. If you like, I suppose I could fashion you something to wear from one of them."

  "Soon." She felt no discomfort in either Lion's nudity or her own. More than her clothing had been stripped from her in the past weeks. "How long are we to remain here?"

  "Another week. Then, if neither of us falls ill, it will be reasonable to assume you did not carry the plague."

  "Reasonable." She looked at him and found herself suddenly shaking. "There's no reason or justice connected with that monster. It strikes the good, the innocent, the strong. Caterina--" She choked back a sob. "Forgive me. I know it must hurt to have me speak of her. She was your mother, and she--"

  "Hush." He was suddenly holding her in his arms, his fingers tangled in her hair as he rocked her back and forth in an agony of sympathy. "I know she was not kind to you. She meant well--"

  "No, you don't understand," Sanchia whispered. "I loved her, too. We became so close those last days that when she died it was almost like losing Piero again. I loved her."

  "I wish I had said good-bye to them," Lion said hoarsely. "I should have taken the time to say good-bye. If I had known--"

  Sanchia felt something warm and wet on her temple. If. The eternal word of regret. Sanchia's arms slowly went around his shoulders to comfort as well as take comfort. Caterina had said something about regrets that she must think about and then share with Lion and Lorenzo. But not now. The pain was too fresh and new. Later there would be time enough.