The Wind Dancer (39 page)

"No, nothing is clear." Sanchia reached out tentatively and covered Caterina's hand with
her own.

Caterina stiffened and for a moment Sanchia thought she'd pull away. Then Caterina sank
back against the stone wall, her fingers clinging to Sanchia's. "Is it selfish of me to want
to mourn my son when so many others are dying? Surely a son's death deserves a private
grief." She paused and when she spoke again her voice vibrated with pain. "Marco!"

Sanchia could feel the tears running down her cheeks as the grief of her own loss welled
up within her in an overwhelming tide. Her shoulders began to shake as great sobs racked
her body and she wept for all of them. Piero and Bianca and Marco... and all those whose
names she did not even know.

And the emerald eyes of the Wind Dancer gazed serenely at Caterina and Sanchia as they
huddled together, silently sharing their grief, until neither had more tears to shed.

The next morning after waking from an exhausted sleep Caterina and Sanchia left the
tower room and the Wind Dancer and went out again to face the Medusa.

The first order of the day was the fetching of the water from the well in the vineyards.
They hitched a horse to a wagon and Caterina drove into the city.

Mandara was silent, the hooves of the horse clattering noisily on the cobblestones as the
wagon wound through the twisting streets leading to the outer gates.

Rats and birds swarmed in the streets. Occasionally Sanchia would see a corpse left lying
in the gutter or on a step as Caterina had described. She hastily looked away, especially
when she caught sight of scurrying motion near the bodies.

The city gates were unguarded, thrown wide. They passed through, immediately bearing
north to traverse the few miles to the vineyard at as fast a clip as the lone horse could
manage.

"It appears deserted," Sanchia said as they approached the large fieldstone winery. "How
many men work in the vineyard?"

"Only one or two at this time of year. Of course, at picking time there are many more."
Caterina reined in the horse and wagon before the well. She raised her voice and called
loudly, "Ho! Is anyone here? Leonardo!"

No answer.

Caterina shrugged. "It seems we'll have no help." She leapt down from the wagon. "I had
hoped for better luck. We'll be able to manage only the small casks by ourselves." She
strode toward the winery. "Start drawing water from the well. I'll roll the casks out and
you fill them."

The task of drawing buckets of water from the well and pouring them into the casks was
not so difficult after Sanchia developed a rhythm for the work. However, it was when the
casks were sealed that the real labor began. Even the small casks weighed well over a
hundred pounds when filled. Lifting the casks onto the bed of the wagon was an
unbearable strain on Sanchia's and Caterina's muscles. The sweat was running down their
faces and soaking through their gowns in dark patches when the last cask was stowed.

Caterina leaned against the wagon, her breath coming in gasps. "Cristo, I'm glad that's
over. I never realized water could be so--What's wrong with your hand? It's bleeding."

Sanchia glanced down. A small cut bled freely on her right palm. "I don't know. I must
have cut it on one of the casks. Perhaps it's a splinter. It's not important."

Caterina frowned. "What do you mean it's not important? It could fester." She lifted her
skirt and began tearing at her undershift. "I've seen splinters that have laid low strong
men. Do you want to go to your deathbed, you foolish--" She gazed at Sanchia in
bafflement.

Sanchia laughed. She laughed so hard she was forced to cling to the side of the wagon to
keep from falling to the ground. "Caterina, you can't... " Laughter continued to
overwhelm her.

"I see nothing the least bit amusing."

"Caterina, madre di Dio, if I go to my deathbed in Mandara it won't be due to a splinter.
There's plague."

Caterina's eyes widened and then she began to chuckle. "I believe I've heard rumors to
that effect." In another moment she too was laughing helplessly, tears running down her
cheeks. "I didn't think." She shook her head. "A splinter. Sweet Mary, a tiny splinter... "

"We shouldn't be laughing," Sanchia gasped. "There's nothing at all funny." She started
to laugh again. "Why can't I stop?"

"Lorenzo once said something about how nature protects." Caterina wiped her cheeks
with the back of her hand. "Perhaps laughter is the way nature keeps us sane when there's
too much sorrow to be borne." She shook her head. "Anyway, I feel the better for it. Now
give me your hand and let me bind it. If the plague doesn't kill you, I won't have this
idiotic splinter doing so."

Sanchia offered her hand and stood patiently while Caterina cleaned and bandaged the
tiny cut.

"You could stay here, you know," Caterina said in a low voice as she tied the knot in the
makeshift bandage. "You might be safe here away from the city."

"And I might not."

"It's not your home. No duty holds you at Mandara."

"You need me."

"Yes, I need you," Caterina said wearily. "And God knows I don't want you to leave.
You... comfort me."

Sanchia nodded, feeling great affection for Caterina as she looked at her. The woman
before her was no longer the elegant, queenly lady of Mandara. Caterina's amber silk
gown was stained and her face carved with deep lines of weariness and suffering. Yet
Caterina had never looked more the
illustrissima
than she did at this moment. "And you
comfort me. Therefore it only makes sense that we stay together." She gently took
Caterina's arm. "We'd better go. They need the water in the city. Where shall we unload
it?"

"On the steps of the cathedral. We'll keep two of the casks for the castle and leave the
others."

"Should it not be rationed?"

"Who is to ration it? The priest is gone and we'll be too busy nursing the sick." Caterina
turned and strode to the wagon. "We'll make a trip every day and draw fresh water." She
climbed into the driver's seat. "Unless this well also runs dry or becomes polluted. It
wouldn't surprise me. Good fortune seems to have forgotten Mandara."

Sanchia found her life in the days to follow a despairing round of fetching water, nursing
the sick, preparing the dead, and building their coffins. Only one young scullery maid
recovered from the disease, and Sanchia had no faith her cure was permanent. Death was
everywhere. Why should anyone be spared? She knew it was only a matter of time until
the Medusa touched her as well. When children as innocent as Piero and Bianca were
taken there was no doubt a sinner such as she would be taken, too.

And poor, shining Marco...

"I went to the piazza to fetch the physician for young Donato. To no avail, I see,"
Caterina said as she knelt beside Sanchia on the cobblestones of the courtyard. "Here let
me help you with that." She began to bathe the body of the groom, who had died only
minutes ago. "It's strange how we no longer notice the stench," she said absently. She
looked up. "The physician has fled the city."

"He could not help anyway." Sanchia shrugged. "But fleeing will do him no good." She
looked up at Caterina. "We're all going to die, aren't we?"

"Probably. But I resent the whoreson giving up the battle before it's lost. I didn't. You
didn't." She tossed the cleaning cloth back into the water in the basin. "The city is almost
deserted. Those who aren't dying or cowering in their houses have fled like the
physician."

Sanchia spread a clean linen sheet over the body of Donato. She supposed she should say
a prayer over him, but she couldn't seem to think of any words.

"Some of the sick have crawled to the steps of the cathedral and lie there begging God
and the saints for aid. I doubt if God will answer. Perhaps you'd better go and see if you
can substitute."

"Me? Alone?"

Caterina nodded. "I'll soon be of no help to you."

Sanchia stiffened, her gaze flying to Caterina's face. She had thought she had become
numb to all sorrow but she found she was wrong. "When?"

"When did I notice this pesky boil beneath my armpit? Last night."

But Caterina had kept on working unceasingly, probably on strength of will alone.
Sanchia studied Caterina's face and for the first time noticed the flush mantling her
cheeks and the lines of pain drawn around her lips. "I won't leave you."

"I didn't think you would." Caterina's smile lit her strained face with sudden brilliance. "I
suppose I should try to persuade you to do so and go to those who have more need, but I
think I'll indulge myself by dying with a friend nearby. I have no desire to die alone and
smothered by four walls." Her smile faded and she held out her hand to Sanchia. "Will
you come with me to my garden... friend?"

Sanchia slowly stood up and took Caterina's hand. She held it very tightly as they walked
to where the Medusa waited in the sunlight, among the roses for Caterina.

"Why didn't he come back?" Lion murmured, his gaze on the charred skeleton of the
Dancer
at the dock. "He said he was returning to burn the shipyard. Why didn't he do it?"

Lorenzo shrugged. "Perhaps Borgia snapped his fingers and he had to come running.
Damari is clever enough to put aside his own personal vengeance where his ambitions are
concerned."

"Or perhaps he wanted to draw me to Solinari where he had set his trap."

"Basala said he had only a small troop of men when he raided the shipyard. Do you think
he had a larger force at--"

"I don't like it," Lion cut in with sudden violence. "Any of it. It doesn't feel right."

Lorenzo's gaze went back to the wreckage of the ship and then to the other blackened
hulls sitting in the shipyard. "This has hurt you. Consider that you may not be thinking
clearly."

Lion's hand tightened on the reins. "Damari meant to hurt me," he said hoarsely. "And
he's depending on me to rush wildly to Solinari after him. Why?"

Lorenzo merely gazed at him.

"And why didn't he burn the ships and shipyard when he came here and discovered we'd
taken the
Dancer
and sailed for Genoa? It would have been a better opportunity. Why did
he hold his hand then and strike now?"

"He could have wanted to destroy the
Dancer
as well."

Lion shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Then do we go to Solinari and reconnoiter?"

Lion was silent, his gaze on the Dancer. "What if Damari meant to draw us not to
Solinari but away from Mandara?"

Lorenzo stiffened, his gaze whipping to Lion's face. "You think he might have persuaded
Borgia to give him reinforcements to attack the city?"

"I don't know what he's done, but all this has an odd feel to me." Lion suddenly called
over his shoulder at the men milling around the shipyard, "Mount up! We're going back
to Mandara."

Sanchia was sitting on the steps of the chapel, her head resting back against the stone
wall, when Damari rode into the courtyard.

The setting sun was behind him, and at first he appeared only as a squat, dark figure
against the blood-red orb. Then, as he drew closer, she recognized him, but oddly felt not
the least surprised. It seemed fitting that he should be here in this place of death and
sorrow.

"Ah, Sanchia, how pleasant it is to see you." Damari swung down from his horse. "You'll
forgive me if I don't come any closer. It's only wise to take certain precautions. Tell me,
do you have the disease as yet?"

"Probably." Sanchia shook her head wearily. "I don't know."

"And the Lady Caterina?"

"Dead. Yesterday." She paused. "I think it was yesterday. They're all dead. Marco,
Bianca... Piero."

He nodded. "Excellent. I was hoping the lady had been taken. Now, if you'll excuse me, I
have business inside the castle, I'll rejoin you shortly."

He crossed the courtyard and went briskly up the stone steps and into the castle.

Sanchia leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. She should probably
go back down to the piazza and see if any more victims had been brought to the
cathedral. She would go soon, but it was comforting to sit there next to the chapel. She
didn't feel so alone when she was this close to Caterina and Piero.

"Wake up and bid me good-bye, Sanchia."

She opened her eyes to see Damari tying a familiar mahogany chest on the hindquarters
of his stallion. The Wind Dancer.

"You see I have it again. I told you I'd get it back."

He seemed absurdly pleased, she thought with vague surprise. Did he think the loss of the
statue mattered now?

"You didn't believe me, did you?" He glanced up as he tightened the rope. "I'm truly glad
you're here to see my triumph. I was afraid there would be no one left alive to appreciate
my cleverness."

"No one is alive."

"Well, you're half alive. That will do." He smiled. "Tell me, did the boy die at once? I
thought he was ill when my men put him in the wagon."

Piero. He was talking about Piero. "Not right away." She managed to focus on what he
was saying. "It was you who took Piero?"

"One of my men, actually. It was truly a brilliant plan. It had come to my ears that the
plague had attacked a tiny coastal village not far from Solinari and it was only necessary
that we spread the disease here. Now who would make a better carrier than the child you
had taken to your bosom? My informant had already told me that both you and the child
were here at the castle. We had only to steal the child, smuggle him out of the city, and
transport him to Fontana. We kept him in the charnel house there for two days, making
sure he was properly exposed to the disease."

It was Damari who was the monster of death. The horror of his words pierced her apathy
and exhaustion. She gasped. "How could anyone do such an evil thing?"

"Of course, it was necessary to conduct the plan with the most exquisite precision and
timing," Damari went on calmly. "I returned to Pisa to raid Andreas's shipyard and draw
him and a goodly portion of his men from Mandara. Then I sent two of my men with the
wagon and orders to abandon it a few miles from the city gates. After the raid I had to
bring my men back here to stop those who were fleeing the city."