Why, she was thinking about the future, she realized with astonishment. Perhaps she was beginning to believe that Lion could in some magical way keep the Medusa from taking them both.
But she must not let her hopes rise, for that was another way the Medusa tricked and deceived, giving a little only to take away all. Sanchia would not allow herself to hope until she was sure the monster had passed them by and would not look over its shoulder to smite them down.
Later that night, they sat before the small fire Lion had lit in the center of the winery. Lion had draped her in one of the blankets to protect her from the cold, and his arm around her formed another comforting barrier.
She did not look away from the fire as she said haltingly, "I do love you, you know."
He stiffened and then his arm tightened around her. "No, I didn't know."
"I knew I loved you in that first moment when I thought you might also get the plague. I believe I didn't realize it before because love was different from what I had thought it would be." She gazed pensively into the flames. "It's not sweet and gentle like the emotion Dante felt for his Beatrice, is it?"
"No."
"It twists and turns and makes you ache with lust and then with tenderness, but still the love remains. Somehow I thought there would be... " She stopped, thinking about it. "A splendor."
"Perhaps there is splendor for people who have an easier path to tread than we."
"Perhaps."
They were silent.
"I thought it important that you know I love you before we die," she said. "I think we should--" "We aren't going to die."
"Oh. Well, if we do." She leaned her head back against his chest and closed her eyes. "No, it's not at all like Dante said. I didn't even think of you very often once Caterina and I set to nurse the dying in Mandara. Only now and then when there was time." She paused. "But when I did think of you, it was with love. I want you to know."
"I do know." Lion's voice was thick as his arms clasped her closer still. "I know, Sanchia."
"Good." She opened her eyes to gaze wistfully once again into the heart of the fire. "Still, it would have been quite wonderful if there had been splendor... "
A week later Sanchia and Lion walked out of the half dusk of the winery into the full sunlight.
Lorenzo was waiting with the reins of two horses in one hand, a pile of clothing for Lion in the other, and a smile on his lips for Sanchia. "Ah, how... interesting you look." His gaze flicked to Sanchia's hair before shifting to the coarse gray blanket Lion had slit in the middle and then slipped over her head to form a loose robe. "That garment has a kind of barbaric charm when combined with her wild red hair, don't you think, Lion? Yes, she'd definitely be a fit mate for Attila the Hun."
She gazed at Lorenzo in wonder. He was behaving exactly as he had before. Everything in the world had changed since that time... except Lorenzo.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked mockingly. "Are your wits so dazed you cannot give me my proper set-down? I suppose I must make allowances for your recent ordeal. However, I hope you will not be long about it, or I'll be forced to deprive you of my company. You know how I detest being bored."
He turned to Lion, who had discarded his blanket and was quickly dressing in the clothes he'd brought. "I've taken the liberty of sending the troop to Pisa with instructions for your steward to give them each a small sum to start a new life somewhere else." His gaze went to the blackened stone of the walls of Mandara. "They obviously have no future here, and you have no immediate use for them."
Lion nodded. "You did well." He pulled on boots. "Have you found other survivors of the fire?"
"Only a handful. We quartered them in a field a few miles from here and as yet there's been no sign of the plague among them." He grimaced. "And we spent most of the week burying the bodies in the foothills we chanced upon when coming here. There were eighty-seven of them."
"The population of Mandara numbered well over a thousand," Lion said. "Damari has claimed a high toll."
"What do we do now?" Lorenzo asked. "I admit I'm abysmally weary of sitting around and waiting for you two to rise like Lazarus from the tomb. Damari?"
"Not yet. We go to Pisa. But first, I have to visit the survivors and see how all goes with them." Lion swung onto Tabron's back.
Lion's sense of responsibility again, Sanchia thought. There was no longer a Mandara, but as long as his people needed him he was ready to give. "Should I go with you?"
Lion shook his head. "Sit in the sun and rest. Lorenzo and I will be back shortly."
"I've done little but rest for the past two weeks."
"Tarry here. It will do you no harm and will save me worry. Lorenzo said these people 'appeared' to be free of the plague. I'll not go close, but I don't want you within miles of them."
Sanchia nodded in acceptance. Lion would go no matter what she said or did, and she had no desire to see the refugees from Mandara. The sight would stir too many memories of those last days. "I'll stay here."
"Santa Maria, such meekness!" Lorenzo mounted his horse. "Where is your spirit, your tartness? What a disappointment you're proving, Sanchia. And you, too, Lion. You have the settled air of a couple married a decade or so."
Sanchia's gaze met Lion's and the faintest smile touched her lips. In a strange way she felt Lorenzo was right. During their week of isolation together they had known only sorrow and fear and the need to comfort each other. The bond between them had toughened and yet become more supple, like fine leather after years of use.
As if he had read her mind, Lion nodded imperceptively. "We'll return soon," he said as he and Lorenzo set off.
Sanchia sat down on the bench beside the door of the winery and closed her eyes as she lifted her face to let the rays of the sun bathe her cheeks. The air was clean and sweet, and a feeling of peace gradually settled over her. With it came the strange certainty that the plague was gone.
The Medusa had moved on.
Lion returned alone two hours later. When she inquired into Lorenzo's whereabouts, Lion shrugged as he reined up before her. "He's gone to Mandara. God knows why. There's nothing there but ashes and ruins. He said he had a whim to see it one more time before we left."
"A whim." Sanchia turned to look thoughtfully at Mandara. She could not imagine anyone wanting to go back to that charred wasteland. Then, suddenly, she knew why Lorenzo had returned. "I have to go back too. Will you take me?"
"No!" Lion turned to look at her in amazement. "Why, by all the saints, would you be mad enough to do that?"
"Not madness. And not a whim," she said soberly. "But I have to go back. There's no danger there now. Not even the plague could have lived through the inferno."
"You can't be certain."
"No, but I feel it so strongly." She smiled. "It has passed us by, Lion."
"If you have to go, then I'll go with you."
"No." She held up her arms and he muttered a curse as he swung her up before him on the saddle. "You can take me to where the city gates once were." She settled herself back against him. "And wait for me there, as I waited for you here."
Lorenzo was sitting on his horse looking at the blackened ruins of the rose garden when Sanchia guided Tabron through the rubble to draw even with him.
She flinched as she looked around the garden. The devastation of the town had moved her terribly when she was riding through it, but this ruin had much more emotional meaning for her. Where there had been flowering beauty there was now only charred bushes, blackened fountains, cracked benches. The wooden arch over the arbor had crashed down to bury the marble bench beneath, and there was no sign of the pretty garlanded swing where she had watched Bianca and Marco at play that first afternoon.
Lorenzo didn't look at her. "I don't want you here."
"She did," Sanchia said quietly. "She called me friend and held out her hand to me and said, 'Come with me to my garden, for I don't want to die alone.' And I took her hand and we stayed here together and talk
ed of many things until she could no longer speak sensibly. But even then she held my hand tightly and would not let it go until she was taken. I wrapped her in a sheet and dragged her to the chapel to lie with the others. I had to make her coffin with my own hands. She--"
"Be quiet. I don't want to hear this," Lorenzo said hoarsely. "Leave me."
"I cannot leave you. What she said in this garden has worth and meaning for all of us. She said she had no regrets about anything she had done. She only wished that she had taken more time to nurture and appreciate the people around her as she had this garden."
"Is that all she said?"
"No, but it was all much the same. Live in the rose gardens of life, live fully and well, and do not fear the thorns." She paused. "She did say one more thing. But that was much later, when the pain had nearly crazed her and she no longer knew of what she spoke. She said, 'I love you, Lorenzo.' "
He stiffened as if she had struck him. "She was... an extraordinary woman and my very good friend." His voice was uneven. "Naturally, you will not repeat her words, as they could be misunderstood."
"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...."
Chapter 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 illn
ess 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 the 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?"