The Wind Dancer (47 page)

"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 willspare 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."

"Jesu, 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."