The Wind Dancer

by Iris Johansen

  "Lion, for God's sake, if she can't do it... " Marco frowned. "I didn't consider the noise."

  "Ducats clink in a purse, but she lifted mine with not a whisper of noise in the piazza." Lion's expression was unrelenting. "She'll just have to be careful. You can do it, Sanchia."

  She swallowed and then nodded jerkily. "I can do it."

  A rare smile lit Lion's face. "In a few hours it will all be over and you'll be handing me the key. We've tried to make it as safe for you as possible. We've hired three whores from the village who will distract the guards at the entrance of the maze and try to prevent the watch from making rounds on time."

  "Won't they wonder why the whores decided to come to the palazzo?"

  "They may wonder, but it won't keep them from availing themselves of their services," Lorenzo said dryly. "Most men don't think with their brains when a pretty whore offers to spread her legs for them."

  Lion nodded. "You go in with the women and pretend you're one of them until you manage to get the key."

  "Very well," she said faintly.

  He frowned. "It will be all right, I tell you."

  She tried to smile. "Do you use the key to steal the statue tonight?"

  "No, tomorrow night."

  "I see." Her hand clenched so tightly around the key that it cut into her palm. "Could we go to the palazzo right away? I don't want to think about it. I just want to do it. Could we go now... please?"

  A multitude of emotions flickered across Lion's face as he gazed at her. "Yes." He turned abruptly away. "We can leave this instant. Marco can go to the village and get the whores and meet us at the gates of the palazzo in one hour's time." He turned to Lorenzo. "Marco tells me there's a grove about a quarter of a mile from the gates of the palazzo. We'll need you to come with us and wait there with the horses."

  "Splendid. I always prefer the passive role. Though I could think of more stimulating companions with whom to spend an evening."

  Lion held out his hand to Sanchia, and again the smile that made his strong, brutal features appear almost beautiful lit his face. "Come along, cara."

  Cara. The word of endearment echoed warmly in her ears. No one had ever used such a word to her before and she was suddenly filled with a glowing eagerness. She took two steps forward and shyly took his outstretched hand. "I'm coming."

  His big hand closed tightly around her small one. She was safe. For this moment there was no fear, no threat. Lion had called her cara, had sworn she would be safe and was holding her hand as if there was affection between them.

  She let him lead her from the house.

  Chapter Seven.

  I didn't realize the Wind Dancer actually existed." Cesare Brogia lifted an ornate goblet to his lips. His gaze was fixed on the muted colors of the tapestry portraying Diana at the hunt on the wall beside the door of the loggia. "I've heard how the Wind Dancer was brought to Italy, but I thought it only an exaggerated tale. You wouldn't be trying to gammon me, would you, friend?"

  Borgia's tone was idle, almost playful, but Damari was not lulled into a false sense of security. Cesare's temperament was known to swing abruptly from laughter to violence. "It exists and I have it in my possession."

  The faintest flicker of interest crossed Borgia's features. "Here in Pisa?"

  Damari shook his head. "In a safe place. You do not hire fools to fight your battles, my lord."

  "True." Borgia sipped his wine, his gaze still on the tapestry. "How do you know the statue to be genuine?"

  "There could be no other like it. You will realize when you see it that it's beyond compare." Damari leaned forward in his chair, speaking quickly, persuasively. "Think, my lord. Think of the power it would give you. You know the legend of the Wind Dancer. You've heard the tales--"

  "Oh yes, I've heard the tales. That the Holy Grail for which the Knights of the Round Table sought was not a grail but a golden statue, that Alexander the Great kept a golden-winged Pegasus in his tent during his conquest of Persia." Cesare shifted his gaze from the tapestry to Damari's face. "There are a hundred tales about the Wind Dancer and I believe none of them." He smiled. "And neither do you. We don't rely on talismans to bring us what we want when a sword is more certain."

  "But your father does believe in talismans," Damari reminded him. "And so does King Louis of France. You don't have to believe in a pawn to use it."

  Borgia laughed and for a moment his raddled face held a remnant of its comeliness before he'd been afflicted with the pox. "As you intend to use me."

  "No one uses you, my lord duke. Your mind is too quick not to perceive deception."

  "Sweet words won't buy you what you want from me. We're too much alike." Borgia set his goblet down on the Venetian carved table next to his gloves. "If Andreas owned the Wind Dancer, why did no one know it? It would have increased his consequence to possess such a treasure."

  Damari shrugged. "He is a fool. His family brought the Wind Dancer from Persia over a hundred years ago, and they regard themselves as guardians of the statue. The Wind Dancer was kept in a tower room at the castle in Mandara. Even persons who were very friendly with the family were never invited to see Wind Dancer."

  "Then how did you come to know of it?"

  "I was born in Mandara and I served as an officer under Lionello and his father before him. I listened, I watched, I planned to form my own condotta, and I knew that when I left Mandara I would take the Wind Dancer from them."

  "I detect a lack of affection." Cesare smiled. "Your service with Andreas's condotti was not to your liking?"

  Damari swiftly hid the bitterness festering within him. Borgia's eyes were too sharp and he would use any knowledge with lethal skill. "Lionello did not like my methods when I served under him after his father died. He thought me fit to be only a common soldier for the rest of my life. He was wrong. I have known from childhood that I was destined for great things."

  "Certainly a mistake in judgment. You are definitely not common." Borgia added, "Though I understand your birth is not of the highest."

  Typical of Borgia, Damari thought: a pat and then a sharp jab of the spurs. He quickly smothered the fury surging through him and said, "A man is what he makes himself, Your Magnificence. Look at what you've become since you shrugged off your cardinal's cape. With the Wind Dancer in your hands nothing would be beyond your reach. If His Holiness won't give you the armies you need for conquest, then take the statue to France. Louis likes you well enough. Use the statue to turn his favor into armies to strike at Spain or Florence or Rome."

  "Rome?" Borgia's gaze narrowed on Damari's face. "You speak treason. You cannot believe I would attack the papal states and my own father?"

  "Yes, if it meant ruling a kingdom as vast as Charlemagne's."

  A frown twisted Cesare's face. "You go too far, Damari."

  "Men like us can never go too far, my lord. It's beyond the realm of possibility."

  Borgia gazed at him a moment and then began to laugh again. "You're right, Damari. There are no limits for a man with the stomach to do anything he must to seize what he wants." He stood up and adjusted the chain bearing the bejeweled insignia of the Order of St. Michael that hung low on his chest. The jewels were set off to great advantage by the black velvet of his jerkin. "I will consider your terms for the Wind Dancer."

  Damari rose to his feet. "Do not consider too long."

  "By God, you're bold." Borgia's smile faded. "Don't make the mistake of taking the Wind Dancer to another buyer, Damari. It would not be wise."

  Damari bowed. "When may I expect to hear from you?"

  "Soon. I must write my father for his views on acquiring the Wind Dancer. Who knows? He may not be as mad to have it as you seem to think."

  "Perhaps." Damari changed the subject. "Will you sup with me and then try out a little Turkish servant girl I acquired recently? She's very beautiful and has many skills."

  "I think not." Borgia started to don the black velvet mask he was seldom seen without in public these da
ys. He paused, a smile twisting his lips as he looked down at the mask in his hands. "Perhaps we're not as alike as I thought, Damari. You are not as vain as I. Our faces are both pitted and far from pretty, but you go uncovered into the world."

  "I'm accustomed to my scars, since I had the pox when I was a small child."

  "I have the pox still. The French pox." Borgia suddenly threw back his head and laughed. "And I'd wager the little Sicilian wench who gave it to me was far more captivating than the Turkish girl you so kindly offered. The bitch was almost worth it."

  "You might say that there was a bitch connected with my pox as well, my lord," Damari said. "So you can see our afflictions make us truly brothers in adversity. Are you sure you won't stay and try Zaria? She's only fourteen and ripe as a plum fresh from the tree."

  "Your little beauties have no spirit and often bear marks that spoil their comeliness. I'll find a woman more to my liking elsewhere." Borgia slipped the mask over his face and started for the door, his form supple, manly, and full of grace. "You should learn to practice restraint."

  "Why?" Damari smiled. "Have we not just agreed that men such as we should not be bound by limits? Excess can be very exhilarating."

  "You clearly find it so." Borgia paused at the door. "Remember, you will do nothing until you hear from me. Buona sera, Damari."

  Politeness called for Damari to accompany Borgia to the front entrance, but he had already decided not to accord him that courtesy. Borgia must be made to regard him as an equal from this day forward, not just a lackey trailing at his heels. "Buona sera, my lord."

  Borgia hesitated and then closed the door behind him with a sharp click.

  Damari smiled with supreme satisfaction as he turned and walked across the loggia to gaze out at the night sky. All was going extraordinarily well. Borgia wanted the statue and would crave it even more when Pope Alexander fired him with his own enthusiasm. Perhaps it would be possible to gouge even more than a dukedom from the pope. What a triumvirate the three of them would make! No army or country would be able to withstand them. Of course, a triumvirate could not last forever, and one man always emerged the leader in such an arrangement. Why should it not be he? As he had told Borgia, he had known all his life he had a great destiny. How far he had come already! He possessed a fine palazzo, this small but elegant house in Pisa, and a storehouse of treasures he'd secreted from the pope's greedy hands.

  And now he had the Wind Dancer.

  "My lord, a messenger from Florence begs to see you."

  Damari turned to frown at the lackey standing at the door of the loggia. "By what name?"

  "Tommaso Santini."

  "I know no Santini."

  "He said to tell you the message was from Guido Caprino."

  "Caprino," Damari murmured. A sudden memory of soft white skin and frightened blue eyes wavered before him. Laurette. The thought of the whore sent a surge of heat to harden his loins. Perhaps Caprino had another choice bit of merchandise to offer him.

  "Send Santini in. I'll see what he has to say."

  "I've sent the other whores on into the garden," Marco whispered as soon as Lion and Sanchia reached the gates. "This is Maria. She says Rodrigo has come to the village and used her before. I thought he might more easily be distracted by someone he knew."

  The dark-haired woman leaning against the gates smiled confidently. "For enough gold I could distract Satan himself, and Rodrigo has always found me pleasing." She held up the jug of wine she was carrying. "And this will do no harm."

  "Make sure he believes you to be Venus incarnate. Your task is to keep him from paying any attention to Sanchia, to keep him so busy she'll be able to leave with no suspicion." Lion turned to Sanchia. "You know where you're to go?"

  "The south side of the maze." Sanchia moistened her lips with her tongue as she peered through the tall iron gates. She could clearly discern the tall holly hedge looming fortress-like in the distance. She hadn't expected the maze to be so large, stretching at least three hundred feet in length and ninety feet in width, the hedges themselves rising to a height of more than nine feet. "I suppose I should go now." She cast a glance at Lion but his expression was impassive in the moonlight. She opened the gate. "You'll be here? You won't leave me?"

  "We'll be here." Lion's hand clenched on one of the iron bars of the gate.

  She drew a deep breath and then turned and followed Maria in the direction of the maze.

  Lion stood watching her until she disappeared beyond the corner of shrubbery.

  "She has courage," Marco said, his gaze following Lion's.

  "Yes."

  Marco shifted restlessly. "I have no liking for this Lion. Sending a woman into danger while we merely stand by--"

  "Do you think I do?" Lion's tone was savage. "But she's the only person now who can bring me the key that will give us the Wind Dancer."

  Marco fell silent and the minutes stretched on. "It's a great service she does us. How will you reward her if she does bring you the key?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "You told me she was a slave. Will you free her? It seems a fair--"

  "No!"

  Surprised at the violence in Lion's response, Marco asked, "Why not? You have no liking for slavery. You refused to have slaves at Mandara. Surely it's--" He stopped as comprehension dawned on him. "You use her in your bed."

  "Is that so surprising?"

  "No." Marco studied his brother, anxiety growing within him. He was aware that Lion was never celibate when he was away from Mandara, and he had known many of the women Lion had bedded. Without exception they had been knowledgeable in the ways of carnal pleasure and as invulnerable and cynical as Lion himself. Courtesans, bored wives looking for distractions, widows ripe and willing to enjoy the bed sport of which they'd been deprived. Never had there been a woman as vulnerable and young as Sanchia, and never had Lion's response been violent at the idea of parting with a leman. "You're not--" He stopped. Dio, he had no right to ask this and yet he felt compelled. He began again, "You're not going to take her to Mandara?"

  "No."

  Relief poured through Marco, followed immediately by a twinge of guilt. "It's not that I don't wish you to have everything you want, Lion. It's simply--"

  "I know." Lion's gaze wearily shifted from the maze to his brother's face. "Don't worry, nothing has changed, Marco."

  Marco had an uneasy feeling that a good many things had changed since Lion had gone to Florence to find his thief, but he preferred to accept Lion's words as truth. "Perhaps you could place Sanchia in a fine house in Pisa. Since you've acquired this passion for shipbuilding, you spend more time in Pisa than Mandara anyway. It would be a solution to--"

  "Suppose we worry about solutions to other problems after we have the Wind Dancer back," Lion cut in as his gaze returned to the maze. "The Wind Dancer is all that's important right at this moment."

  The false key had been exchanged for the key to the storehouse. Now Sanchia had only to return the key ring to Rodrigo's belt.

  Only? Panic swept through her at the thought of leaving the comparative safety of the haven in the bushes across from the maze and venturing out once again to complete her task. She had been unusually lucky to be able to quickly, quietly take the key ring and carry it away into the shrubbery to make the switch. Only the fact that Rodrigo had been occupied with pulling the teasing Maria into the maze had made it possible to whisk it from his belt, but it would be madness to believe it would be as easy to replace it.

  A shout of laughter followed by a squeal interrupted her thoughts and she turned toward the labyrinth to see the other guard once again mounting the whore with the bronze-dyed hair.

  It was senseless to linger in the bushes cowering with fear. Rodrigo was still in the maze. She had no choice but to go after him. She tucked the key ring in her belt and drew her cloak more closely around her shoulders as she stepped boldly from the protection of the shrubbery into the moonlight.

  "Ho, there you are." Rodrigo E
staban strolled out of the maze, carrying the jug of wine Maria had given him.

  She froze. Had he discovered the keys were gone?

  He lifted the jug to his lips and drank deeply before lowering the jug. "You shouldn't have run away. I have enough for both of you. I'm from Spain, where they grow us men as strong as bulls." He gestured toward the maze. "I left your friend so tired she was barely able to swing her hips."

  Sanchia quickly lowered her lashes to hide her relief. "I was waiting." She walked toward him. "I didn't want to get in your way."

  "I want you in my way. I've always liked redheads." He took a step forward. "Show me your breasts. I want to see how you compare with Maria." He didn't wait for her to show him but grasped the neck of her gown and ripped it downward with one tug, baring her breasts. "Pretty. Not as big, but pretty... " His dark head lowered and his wet mouth enveloped her left breast.

  Violation. He smelled of garlic and wine and his teeth were hurting her. She felt... dirty. Bile rose in Sanchia's throat as she clenched her fists to keep from pushing him away.

  She blocked out all thought and feeling. The key ring. She had to return the key ring. Her hands moved with purely automatic skill transferring the key ring back to Rodrigo's belt. He didn't notice. He was grunting, making animal-like sounds, whispering vile promises. She should be grateful he was so distracted, she told herself.

  She wasn't grateful. She hated it.

  The key ring back on his belt, she had to find a way to releasing herself and getting back to Lion with the key. Dear God, where was Maria?

  The man's head was lifting, his mouth leaving her breasts. "Come." He grasped her wrist and pulled her toward the maze. "I want you to lie beside that other whore so that I can take turns dipping betw--"

  "Rodrigo, where did you go?" Maria emerged from the maze, her bodice still unlaced, her large breasts pale and ripe in the moonlight. A sulky pout pursed her lips. "I close my eyes for a minute and you're off to mount another woman. Send her away."

  Rodrigo grinned. "Two is better than one."

  Maria flowed toward him, her breasts jiggling as she moved. She stopped before him. "You're wrong. I'm more than enough woman for you." She smiled as she deliberately reached a hand between his legs and squeezed.