The Wind Dancer

  "Yes, that's where thieves belong." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "But I no longer have your purse, and if you imprison me, you'll never get your gold back. They'll just cut off my hands and--" She had to stop as terror dried her throat. The bloody vision danced before her eyes and it was a moment before she could continue, "If you let me go free, I'll find a way to pay you back. I promise, my lord."

  "The promise of a thief."

  "I keep my word."

  "A thief but not a liar?"

  "I do lie," she said honestly. "Well... only when I must. Sometimes it's better to lie than have bad things happen to people. But I don't break my promises."

  "Don't hurt her," Elizabet sobbed. "Please don't hurt her."

  "Stop weeping," he said impatiently over his shoulder. "She's the one who should be crying."

  "Sanchia never cries," Elizabet said.

  "Sanchia what?" He turned back to Sanchia. "What's your full name?"

  "Just Sanchia." She moistened her lips with her tongue. "I have no other."

  He bowed mockingly. "Lionello Andreas, my illustrious lady thief. I think we're destined to become very well acquainted. Stand up and let me look at you."

  She scrambled to her feet, hugging her shawl close to her body to try to stop the shivering that attacked every limb.

  "Come here."

  She took one hesitant step toward him, then another.

  "Stop." He held up his hand and grimaced distastefully. "Do you never bathe?"

  "I bathe, my lord." Her eyes were enormous in her thin face as she gazed up at him. "Please, my lord, trust me. I'll return the money."

  "I trust only a very few people in this world and none of them is a thief." His gaze ran over her. He scowled. "Dio, you're scrawny as a starved cat. Does Ballano never feed you?"

  She stiffened. "You know Giovanni?"

  "I haven't as yet had that pleasure. Where is he?"

  "He'll be back soon," Elizabet wailed. "Couldn't you go before he returns?"

  "Elizabet... " Sanchia drew a deep breath and tried to subdue her impatience. "Why don't you stand by the door and watch for Giovanni while I talk to his excellency?"

  "Yes, Sanchia." Elizabet gave Andreas an uncertain glance and hurried from the room.

  "She has the brain of a chicken," Lion said bluntly. "God, how I hate a whining woman."

  "She's only fourteen," Sanchia said defensively. "And she's not stupid. You frighten her."

  Lion's gaze narrowed on her face. "But not you?"

  She nodded. "Me, too." She swallowed. "But being afraid won't save me. As you indicated, weeping and wailing only make men angry."

  "Has that been your experience?" he asked, his expression intent.

  "Men don't like tears. It makes them impatient, just as it did you, my lord." She stood very straight, gazing at him. "What can I do to keep you from taking me to prison?"

  "What would you do?" he asked curiously.

  "Anything," she whispered. "I can't leave them. They have no one but me."

  "Who are 'they'?" His words were abstracted as his gaze ran over her. By the saints, the woman truly looked the scrawny feline he had named her, he thought with a flash of unreasonable irritation. Sanchia appeared to be little older than the sobbing child across the room; she was as tiny and fine-boned as a kitten. Her triangular face was oddly catlike, too, with its high cheekbones, olive skin, and slightly slanted eyes. Those eyes were strange--gold-amber in color and utterly appealing, even filled with terror as they were now. Her chestnut-colored hair looked as if it had been carelessly chopped and hacked until it was even shorter than his page Nicolo's. Now it was so rain dampened it clung in sodden curls about her thin face. "Who are you so concerned about?"

  "Piero and Bartolomeo and Eliza--"

  "He's coming," Elizabet cried frantically. "Sanchia, do something."

  Sanchia paled. "Please go away. I beg you, my lord."

  "You're afraid of this Giovanni?"

  "Not for myself. He needs me, so he'll probably only beat me. But if he becomes very angry, he may decide to send them all away and he mustn't do that. I couldn't--"

  "A thousand apologies for keeping you waiting, my lord." It was Giovanni's voice booming from the doorway. "How may I serve you?"

  Sanchia held her breath, her gaze clinging to Lion's in desperation. She could detect no softening of his expression, only that strange, searching appraisal.

  Then Andreas abruptly turned away from her to face Giovanni. "Signor Ballano, I am Lionello Andreas, and I've come to make you an offer."

  "A commission?" Giovanni brushed by Elizabet and entered the shop. "I copy by hand or print. My work is known throughout Florence." Giovanni waved a hand at the printing press across the room. "It's the best machine in all Italy and I--"

  "I want nothing copied," Lion interrupted. "I need a servant, and I heard you have a slave that may meet my requirements." He stepped aside and indicated Sanchia standing in shocked immobility behind him. "I'll give you twenty-five ducats for her."

  "Sanchia?" Giovanni's bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. "You want to buy Sanchia?"

  "Why not? She's young and appears strong and healthy. She has many years of service left in her. That's why I'm willing to make so generous an offer. You should be able to replace her with no trouble."

  "Twenty-five ducats," Giovanni repeated. He shook his head, trying to comprehend. "For Sanchia?"

  "Is it a bargain?" Lion asked. "Do you have her papers?"

  "In my chest in the other room. A bill of sale for the mother and her." Suddenly Giovanni's bewildered expression was replaced by craftiness. "It's not enough. How would I conduct my business? I've spent many years teaching her the skills of copying and running the press. Now you think to take her away from me for a mere twenty-five ducats?"

  Cristo, the man was as greedy as Caprino, Lion thought in disgust. "Twenty-five ducats is more than fair."

  "For an ordinary slave, perhaps, but Sanchia is not only skilled, she has a talent." Giovanni paused impressively. "She remembers everything. She has only to look at a leaf of script and she can recite it back to you."

  "A pretty trick but of no value to me," Lion said impatiently. "Will you sell her or not?"

  Giovanni was thinking quickly. "She's young enough to bear you children. That should be worth something."

  "I'm not buying her to occupy my bed. She's hardly appetizing enough to interest me in that fashion."

  Giovanni looked at Sanchia and reluctantly agreed. "True, but a woman is a woman when a man's blood runs hot. Perhaps you could--"

  "I'm weary of this haggling." Lion reached in his belt and drew out his purse. "Fifty ducats. No more. Agreed?"

  Giovanni's gaze fastened hungrily on the purse. "It's still too little. She works hard and..." He stopped as his glance met Lion's and took an involuntary step back. "Agreed, my lord."

  "No!" Sanchia had been enveloped in a nightmare of shock and bewilderment, unable to believe this was happening until Giovanni's final words of assent jarred her from her stupor. She rushed toward Giovanni. "You can't do this. I can't go--"

  "Quiet! Do you know how long it would take me to earn fifty ducats?"

  "I won't leave them." She clutched at his arm. "You can't do this. How will they--"

  She broke off as Giovanni's hand cracked against her cheek and sent her reeling away from him.

  "Sanchia." Elizabet started toward her, tears running down her cheeks. "Oh, Sanchia."

  Giovanni turned swiftly back to Lion. "She's not usually so unruly. A good beating now and then keeps her in order."

  Lion's face hardened as he gazed at the livid mark appearing on Sanchia's cheek. "Don't touch her again. She's mine now and I'll discipline her as I see fit."

  "I won't go with him." Sanchia's eyes were suddenly blazing. "This is wrong. I've served you well, you stupid fool."

  Giovanni took three steps toward her. "Be silent or I'll--"

  "Don't touch her." Lion's voice held ste
ely menace. "Or by the saints, you'll regret it, Ballano."

  Giovanni stopped and took a deep breath. "She'll be more obedient when she's away from those three strays. I should never have let her persuade me to take them in."

  "They cost you nothing." Sanchia's voice was fierce. "I saw that they were fed. I took care of them."

  "Sanchia, don't," Elizabet whispered.

  "Why not?" Sanchia's eyes glittered with a recklessness born of desperation. "What can he do to me that he hasn't already done? He's a greedy fool who cares for nothing but his vino."

  "Her papers and a bill of sale," Lion said quickly. The terrified kitten had suddenly grown claws, he noticed with exasperation. In another minute she would have Ballano so enraged he would refuse to sell her just to have the pleasure of beating her senseless. "I have no more time."

  Giovanni cast a furious glance at Sanchia, then strode over to the scribe table and scrawled a few lines on the parchment lying on it. "There's your bill of sale. She's yours now." He turned and strode to the door leading to his quarters. "I'll get her papers from my chest."

  Elizabet was weeping softly, and Sanchia instinctively turned to comfort her. "It will be all right. I'll find a way to take care of you."

  "But Sanchia, what can you do?"

  Lion studied Sanchia. The fury illuminating Sanchia's face was suddenly gone, and it gave him food for thought. If he had allowed her defiance of Ballano to continue, the sale might well have fallen through. Had the girl's anger only been a pretense directed toward that aim? "Yes, Sanchia, what can you do?" he ask silkily. "I'm beginning to wonder who was the slave all these years you've been with Ballano."

  She turned to look at him. "There was no question who was the slave," she said bitterly.

  "But you don't deny you were pretending anger just now to get what you wanted."

  She shook her head. "No pretense. I was angry, but I wouldn't have let it run free if I hadn't thought it might keep Giovanni from selling me."

  "A dangerous device. He might have hurt you badly."

  "I would have healed. He wouldn't have killed me while I still have value to him. He's a fool, not a madman."

  "You appear to know him well. But you don't know me at all. I'm not a fool, Sanchia."

  Sanchia shivered. "I did not think you a fool. I wouldn't make that mistake."

  "Here it is." Giovanni hurried toward them, a frayed leather folder in his hands. He handed the folder to Lion and received the purse of ducats in return. "I bought them both from a Spaniard who assured me they came of good strong stock. You've made a fine purchase."

  "An interesting one at any rate." Lion was abruptly filled with disgust and an overwhelming urgency to be done with the man. "Go get your things, Sanchia. We're leaving this place."

  Giovanni said quickly, "There's nothing for her to get. Slaves don't have possessions, my lord."

  Sanchia lifted shaking fingers to her throbbing temple, trying to think. "I can't leave yet. There's Elizabet."

  Giovanni's gaze shifted to Elizabet. "Elizabet is no longer your concern. However, I may be able to use her. She keeps the shop clean and I'll need someone to--"

  "No," Sanchia said flatly. "She isn't going to stay here."

  "And where else would she go?" Giovanni asked. "I'll give her a roof over her head and food for her belly. She can't expect more. I may take Bartolomeo, too, but Piero will have to go. He's too young to be of any help."

  "You'll not keep any of them." Sanchia turned to Elizabet. "Go find Bartolomeo and Piero and meet me in the piazza."

  Elizabet gazed at her in confusion.

  "Hurry!" Sanchia gave her a little push. "All will be well."

  "Stay," Giovanni ordered. "Obey me, Elizabet."

  Elizabet gave him a frightened glance and fled from the shop.

  Giovanni began to curse vehemently and obscenely as he turned to Sanchia. "They'll starve in the streets. You'll see, you arrogant bitch."

  "No, they won't. I'll not let them starve." She gave him a level look over her shoulder as she moved toward the door. "And I'll not let them be used by you either. I know what you'd do to them if I weren't here. Bartolomeo would soon be as much a slave to you as I was and Elizabet would become your whore. I'll see you burn in hell before I let that happen." She turned to Lion. "We can go now."

  "Thank you." Heavy irony laced Lion's tone. "May I remind you that it's you who belongs to me and not I to you?" He followed her from the shop into the street.

  "No reminder is necessary." She drew her shawl closer to ward off the chill that came as much from the emotions storming through her as the coolness following the rain. She had to plan, she thought dully, but she was so exhausted and dazed it was difficult to think. "Why did you buy me?"

  "Because it suited me, a whim perhaps."

  She shook her head. "You're not an impulsive man. I don't think you'd do anything without a reason."

  "You find me so easy to read?" Lion asked softly. "You'd be more clever to hide that ability."

  "I have to understand you." She turned to look at him, desperation threading her voice. "I have to try to see what you are and what you want so that I can give it to you. So that I can find a way... " She stopped and drew a shaky breath. "Are you angry with me for stealing from you? Did you buy me so that you could torture me at your leisure?"

  His lips tightened. "It doesn't amuse me to torture children."

  "I'm not a child. I've reached my sixteenth year."

  A sudden glint of humor appeared in his eyes. "In that case, perhaps I'll change my mind. I'll have to see if I can't rummage up a few instruments in the dungeon with which to torment you when we arrive at Mandara."

  "We're leaving Florence?" She frowned. "That may present a problem."

  "My profound apologies. You must be sure to inform me if my plans further inconvenience you." His sarcastic expression was quickly replaced by a grim look of warning. "We're leaving Florence tomorrow, and I'd advise you not to defy me as you did your former master."

  "You're not like Giovanni." Her answer was as abstracted as her gaze. "But I have to know what you want from me."

  "It's very simple. I want a slave who'll obey my every demand without question. Why else would I have bought you?"

  "I won't kill for you."

  He lifted a brow. "If that's your only reservation, I believe I can accept it."

  She braced herself and then said in a little rush, "I'll make a bargain with you."

  "Everyone in Florence appears to want to bargain with me," he said dryly. "I can see why it's known as a city of merchants. But I feel bound to draw attention to the fact that I've no need to bargain with you. I've just paid fifty ducats for the doubtful privilege of owning you."

  "And you wouldn't want to lose your money, would you?" She moistened her lips with her tongue. "If you'll let me have seventy-five ducats, I'll promise I won't run away from you and I'll serve you in any way you choose with complete loyalty. No matter what you ask of me."

  Lion went still. "A threat? Do you know the punishment for a runaway slave?"

  "Yes." Her voice was uneven. "But I'd still have to do it. I couldn't leave Elizabet and the others here unprotected. They belong to me."

  He gazed at her a long moment and she could feel the perspiration bead on the back of her neck. Dio, she was taking a chance. She had known from the moment she had seen him in the piazza he was a dangerous man.

  "What do you want to do with the money?" he asked.

  "Ten ducats for Bartolomeo so he can apprentice for Messer Arcolo in his print shop. Arcolo is fair, and he has no sons to carry on the business. He'll give Bartolomeo a chance to be more than an apprentice once he realizes what a hard worker he is. Fifty ducats for Elizabet. Alessandro Benedetto, the baker's son, would take her to wife, but his father won't permit it unless she has at least a token dowry."

  "She has a fondness for the boy?"

  Sanchia shrugged. "Elizabet has a very gentle nature. She likes Alessandro wel
l enough and would grow to love him in time. At least, she'd be safe from Giovanni and Caprino."

  Lion's gaze became intent. "Caprino?"

  "Caprino wants to use her in one of his brothels. I won't let that happen, but Caprino will have her if I'm not here to prevent it."

  "I see." Lion's lips tightened. "A very cunning man, Caprino."

  "You know him?"

  "I'm beginning to know him better as time goes on."

  "He mustn't get Elizabet. She wouldn't live more than a year in a brothel. She's too--" She stopped and then went on. "Fifteen ducats for Piero. Elizabet would take care of him, but I couldn't expect Alessandro's family to accept him without compensation."

  "A dowry for Piero, too?" Lion murmured. "I'm beginning to feel like a matchmaker."

  "It is not much money for a rich man," she said urgently. "And it would mean they'd all be safe and cared for."

  "And give you no reason to run back here."

  She nodded earnestly. "I told you I keep my promises. I'll be whatever you want me to be, if you'll only help them."

  His gaze searched her face. "Complete obedience without question?"

  She nodded.

  "Absolute loyalty to me for as long as I own you?"

  "Yes."

  A crooked smile touched his lips. "Seventy-five ducats. So that's the price for the purchase of a soul these days."

  She was bewildered. "What?"

  "Never mind." He shifted his gaze from her face to the piazza a short distance away. "You shall have your seventy-five ducats."

  Sanchia felt dizzy with relief. "Now?"

  "Why not?" He nodded at a slim, elegant man seated at table beneath the arcade. "I'm sure my friend Lorenzo will be overjoyed to go with you to settle your flock in their new havens. He has such a sweet nature."

  Sanchia's eyes widened. "You're jesting." She was sure there was nothing sweet about the man sitting at the table gazing down at the open book on the table in front of him. Neither a sweet temperament nor good looks, she thought as she stared at him. His dark brown hair was frosted with silver at the temples, his nose was too long and his complexion swarthy. The hollowed planes of his face and his deepset eyes reminded her vaguely of Fra Savonarola, who had been burned in the Piazza della Signoria when she was a child. Then he suddenly glanced up and Sanchia tensed. The man's gray eyes did not burn with a fanatical fervor as had the monk's but were as remote from human emotion as the stars on a winter night.