The Wind Dancer (48 page)

"I only need one," Lorenzo said absently as he gazed surreptitiously around the corner.
"That guard appears to be of my height and weight and there's no one coming down the
hall behind him." He nodded at the man striding toward them down the hall before
leaning down and reaching into his boot. "Be prepared to grab the coffer he's carrying.
It's probably filled with ducats and we don't want them spilling out and scattering all over
the floor."

"Why should he--"

The soldier came even with them and Lorenzo stepped swiftly forward, encircling the
guard's neck from behind and jerking him the two paces around the turn of the hall. His
poniard moved with lethal accuracy and his victim made no sound other than a soft
expulsion of breath as the dagger entered his heart.

Luigi caught the coffer as it fell from the dead guard's hands. "Maraviglioso. What an
artist you are. What a splendid butcher you would have made!"

"Drag him into that chamber and strip him." Lorenzo leaned weakly back against the
wall. "Quickly."

Ten minutes later, with Luigi's help, Lorenzo had struggled into the guard's uniform and
Luigi had hidden the naked corpse in a window embrasure.

"Now what?" Luigi whispered.

"Now I go to the treasury and get the prize for which I came." Lorenzo smiled. "And you
stay here, my friend."

"You cannot even walk without staggering."

"Corella was obviously in a hurry and did not bother lighting many torches. The hall is so
dimly lit no one will notice whether I stagger or not."

"When you enter that chamber Corella will see you're not one of his men and throttle
you."

"Then you'll not have to worry about carrying me back." Lorenzo started down the hall.
"Stay here. If I don't return in ten minutes, leave the Vatican without me."

"I'll do it," Luigi vowed. "Why should I endanger my life for a madman? The minute you
go into the treasury, I'll be gone."

The treasury seemed as far distant as hell from heaven to Lorenzo. Another Borgia guard
strode out of the treasury staggering under the weight of the enormous pile of gold plates
he was bearing. Lorenzo hastily averted his face but the soldier hurried by him without
giving him so much as a glance.

Dio, the floor was quaking beneath his boots. Each step drained a little more of Lorenzo's
strength, and by the time he reached the treasury door his limbs were shaking
uncontrollably.

"It has to be here somewhere. His Grace said we were to be sure to bring it to him." A
powerfully built man across the huge room was pushing aside heavy trunks filled with
jewels and plates. "Search harder. It's a plain mahogany chest."

Corella, Lorenzo thought, as he stared at the bravo's grim expression. Relief flooded him
as he realized he could not make out the features of either Corella or the other two
soldiers in the chamber. There were only a few candles scattered about the enormous
room and, if Lorenzo couldn't see Corella and his men clearly, then he must be equally
cloaked by the gloom.

He stepped deeper into the shadow to the left of the door and bent over as if searching
among the trunks and coffers as the other two guards were doing. His head started to
swim and he clutched desperately at a large trunk until his vision cleared.

"There it is!" Corella pointed to the mahogany chest half hidden behind a five-foot
golden vase on which a depiction of the Last Supper had been sculpted. "Take it."

As Lorenzo straightened and moved quickly forward, a short, stocky soldier also headed
for the chest from the opposite corner of the room.

Mother of God, Lorenzo thought. He could scarcely walk and now he was being forced to
run races!

Lorenzo reached the chest first, snatched it up, whirled, and started toward the door.

"Wait!"

Lorenzo froze, keeping his back toward Corella.

"Perhaps we can pour some of these ducats into the chest. We must make every trip
count. Open it and see if there's room."

Lorenzo set the chest on the floor, unfastened the latch, and opened the lid. The emerald
eyes of the Wind Dancer twinkled up at him as if in amusement at his predicament.

"No room," he said hoarsely. He slammed the lid shut, his fingers fumbling as he
fastened it.

He picked up the chest and staggered toward the door.

"Is it so heavy? If you drop it, I'll lop off your coglios, stupido."

"Heavy," Lorenzo muttered as he weaved out of the room. Perspiration beaded his
forehead and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. The few steps remaining to the
turn in the hall might just as well have been a mile.

He wasn't going to make it.

He couldn't make it.

He made it!

He felt himself jerked around the turn in the corridor and the chest plucked from his
hands.

"Santa Maria, you're stubborn." Luigi tucked the chest beneath his right arm as his left
arm encircled Lorenzo's waist. "Why couldn't you give up?" He walked Lorenzo down
the hall. "Is it because you wish to make my life even more miserable than it is already?"

"You said you were going to leave."

"I decided I was in no hurry. I needed to rest after hauling your scrawny carcass across
Rome."

"I see." Lorenzo smiled. "How fortunate for me. Could you loose your grip around my
middle? You're cracking my ribs. I haven't been held so tightly by a man since my
childhood in Naples. Are you sure you have no romantic inclinations toward the male
sex?"

"For that insult I should loose you and let you sprawl at my feet." Luigi added quickly,
"And I'd do it, but then I'd have to go to the bother of picking you up again. If I left you
here, someone would remember that I recommended you for the pope's kitchen and I'd
end up in the dungeons of Sant' Angelo too. It's certainly not that I care what happens to
you."

"Certainly not." The moist night air felt good on Lorenzo's face, and he breathed deeply
as they left the confines of the palace behind them. "I'd never make that mistake in
judgment."

"That is good." Luigi's powerful arm tightened around Lorenzo's waist to support more of
his weight. "A man would have to be a dunce to care what happens to a madman who'd
risk having his neck twisted off by Corella just to steal from the papal treasury. What's in
this chest to make you take such a chance?"

Lorenzo saw the dull, gleaming waters of the Tiber directly ahead and exultation surged
through him as he realized there was no sound of pursuit behind.

Per Dio, they had done it!

"There's a gift in the chest. A special gift for a very good friend."

Pisa

December 15, 1503

Do you think he will come?" Sanchia leaned over the rail, her gaze anxiously searching
the crowd milling on the dock below. "I don't see him and it's almost time to sail."

Lion gently pulled the hood of the laurel green cloak over Sanchia's shining auburn
tresses. "Lorenzo always keeps his promises. He'll be here."

"But what if--there he is!" She pointed to the familiar elegant figure moving lithely
through the crowd. "He looks well. I was afraid the illness might have lingered."

"You worry about everything these days," Lion said indulgently. "He wrote months ago
that he had recovered his health."

"Then why did he stay in Rome? Alexander was dead and he could not touch Borgia after
the duke doubled his guards. I thought he might be ill and not wishing to worry--he's
carrying something." Sanchia's eyes widened as she recognized the familiar mahogany
chest. "Dear lord, it's--"

"The Wind Dancer." Lion's expression lit with excitement. "Santa Maria, he has the
Wind Dancer!"

Pain knifed through Sanchia as memories swelled. The dungeon at Solinari, Piero's
solemn, wondering eyes as he had gazed at the statue in the salon, the Pegasus staring
sightlessly at Caterina and herself as they wept for their dead, Damari tying the Wind
Dancer on his saddle as he unfolded horror after horror to Sanchia. Her hands clutched at
the wooden rail with white-knuckled force.

"How in Hades did he manage this?" Lion turned and saw her face. "What's wrong? Are
you ill again?"

"No." She tried to smile. "It brings back so many memories. Mandara... "

Lion's hand covered her own on the rail. "Mandara's gone. We're starting a new life,
cara
. The memories will fade."

"Dio, married over four months and still holding hands and cooing like turtledoves."

They turned to see Lorenzo striding up the gangplank. "It's enough to make me shudder."
He came toward them, a smile on his face. "Or, as my friend Luigi would say more
crudely, vomit."

"You are well?" Sanchia asked.

Lorenzo put the chest containing the Wind Dancer down on the deck. "Very well." His
gaze searched her face. "And you, my dear Sanchia, are blooming."

"I'm with child," she said simply.

"Ah, that is good. Renewal." He turned to Lion. "I've brought you a present."

"I see you have." Lion clapped him on the shoulder. "Madre di Dio, how on earth did you
get it?"

"On the night Alexander died I went back to the Vatican." Lorenzo grimaced. "Or rather
Luigi carried me to the palace, for I was not yet myself. Michelotto Corella demanded the
keys to the pope's private treasury the moment Alexander breathed his last and made off
with a hundred thousand ducats, together with a fortune in plates and gems, and took
them to his master, who was too ill to accompany him. I managed to appropriate the
Wind Dancer while Corella was stealing whatever else his men could carry." A pleased
smile touched Lorenzo's lips. "I understand Borgia was most irate with Corella for failing
to bring him the statue with the other treasures."

"I imagine he
was
a trifle upset," Lion said dryly. "Borgia needs every asset he has since
the papal monies have been cut off. I've heard he scrambled desperately to save his
power even to striking a bargain with the new Pope Julius."

Lorenzo nodded. "I've been watching with great interest as he starts his slide to hell. You
know that Julius has now imprisoned Borgia until he agrees to give the passwords that
will cause his commanders to yield Borgia's strongholds in the Romagna?"

"You think he will do it?"

"Eventually. But that doesn't mean Borgia will be defeated. He's a brilliant man with a
will of iron. It takes a great deal to rend iron, but I now have the time to make his
destruction complete." He paused. "I've come to say farewell."

Lion stiffened. "It was planned that you come with us. You've changed your mind?"

"Borgia still lives."

"But you said yourself he's losing power."

"His destruction is not certain. I must make sure." Lorenzo met Lion's gaze. "Damari's
death was too easy."

"I assure you he didn't find it so."

"He didn't have time to see everything he had built falling away from him. I'll make sure
Borgia will be aware of every step of his downfall."

"Where do you go? Rome?"

"Perhaps." Lorenzo gazed down at the crowds on the dock. "Though I've been thinking
about returning to Mandara."

"Mandara!" Sanchia gazed at him in bewilderment. "But there's nothing there."

"The vineyard is still there, and the winery. I could build a small cottage."

Lion shook his head. "You? In the country?"

"There's an order and symmetry to the growing of the grapes that has a certain appeal for
me. The process is much like the bringing to harvest of any bold endeavor." Lorenzo
started to turn away. "The vineyard's as good a place as any to watch and wait for
opportunity to ripen."

"Wait." Lion gestured to the chest on the deck. "Take this with you."

Shock jarred Sanchia. "Lion... "

Lorenzo swung back to face him. "You don't want it?"

"Of course he wants it." Sanchia tried to steady her voice. "He loves the Wind Dancer."

"But I also love my wife."

"It's part of your family," Sanchia said. "You told me--" She drew a deep breath. "I
would not deprive you of it."

A tender smile lit his face. "It's my choice, Sanchia. It would please me if you could feel
toward the Wind Dancer as I do, but you cannot." He paused. "And I will not have it
always near to remind you of what you suffered. You told me once that what I felt for
you didn't compare with what I felt for the Wind Dancer. Perhaps you might have been
right then, but you'd be wrong in saying it now."

"No, it will be fine. I can--"

"Hush,
cara mia
. "His left hand reached up to gently smooth the silver lock at her temple.
"It's settled. There's a legend that says the Wind Dancer always returns to my family. Its
return now won't be by my will." He turned back to Lorenzo. "The Wind Dancer is yours,
if you will accept it."

"I will accept it."

"I wasn't sure you'd want it." Lion smiled crookedly. "I seem to remember your saying
you believed it was a siren luring men to destruction. After Mandara, I thought your
belief would be doubly reinforced."

"I've changed my mind." Lorenzo gazed thoughtfully down at the chest. "It wasn't really
the Wind Dancer that caused the destruction of Mandara. It was the ambition and greed
of men. Damari and Cesare's ambition and Alexander's greed. Together the three of them
might have conquered all of Europe. But in a convoluted fashion, it was the Wind Dancer
that put a halt to all their plans." He stooped and picked up the chest. "I promise I'll find a
good use for it."

"Lorenzo." Lion took an impulsive step forward. "Come with us."

Lorenzo shook his head. "You don't need me. Perhaps I'll come to visit you someday so
that I may learn how fortunate I am to be free of the chains of domestic bliss."

"You will be welcome." Lion's voice was husky. "Always."

"Lion, you grow maudlin," Lorenzo said mockingly. "I must leave before you burst into
tears and--"

"I would do so, it would make you come with us," Lion said simply.