The Wind Dancer (41 page)

Later that night, they sat before the small fire Lion had lit in the center of the winery.
Lion had draped her in one of the blankets to protect her from the cold, and his arm
around her formed another comforting barrier.

She did not look away from the fire as she said haltingly, "I do love you, you know."

He stiffened and then his arm tightened around her. "No, I didn't know."

"I knew I loved you in that first moment when I thought you might also get the plague. I
believe I didn't realize it before because love was different from what I had thought it
would be." She gazed pensively into the flames. "It's not sweet and gentle like the
emotion Dante felt for his Beatrice, is it?"

"No."

"It twists and turns and makes you ache with lust and then with tenderness, but still the
love remains. Somehow I thought there would be... " She stopped, thinking about it. "A
splendor."

"Perhaps there is splendor for people who have an easier path to tread than we."

"Perhaps."

They were silent.

"I thought it important that you know I love you before we die," she said. "I think we
should--" "We aren't going to die."

"Oh. Well, if we do." She leaned her head back against his chest and closed her eyes.
"No, it's not at all like Dante said. I didn't even think of you very often once Caterina and
I set to nurse the dying in Mandara. Only now and then when there was time." She
paused. "But when I did think of you, it was with love. I want you to know."

"I do know." Lion's voice was thick as his arms clasped her closer still. "I know,
Sanchia."

"Good." She opened her eyes to gaze wistfully once again into the heart of the fire. "Still,
it would have been quite wonderful if there had been splendor... "

A week later Sanchia and Lion walked out of the half dusk of the winery into the full
sunlight.

Lorenzo was waiting with the reins of two horses in one hand, a pile of clothing for Lion
in the other, and a smile on his lips for Sanchia. "Ah, how... interesting you look." His
gaze flicked to Sanchia's hair before shifting to the coarse gray blanket Lion had slit in
the middle and then slipped over her head to form a loose robe. "That garment has a kind
of barbaric charm when combined with her wild red hair, don't you think, Lion? Yes,
she'd definitely be a fit mate for Attila the Hun."

She gazed at Lorenzo in wonder. He was behaving exactly as he had before. Everything
in the world had changed since that time... except Lorenzo.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked mockingly. "Are your wits so dazed you
cannot give me my proper set-down? I suppose I must make allowances for your recent
ordeal. However, I hope you will not be long about it, or I'll be forced to deprive you of
my company. You know how I detest being bored."

He turned to Lion, who had discarded his blanket and was quickly dressing in the clothes
he'd brought. "I've taken the liberty of sending the troop to Pisa with instructions for your
steward to give them each a small sum to start a new life somewhere else." His gaze went
to the blackened stone of the walls of Mandara. "They obviously have no future here, and
you have no immediate use for them."

Lion nodded. "You did well." He pulled on boots. "Have you found other survivors of the
fire?"

"Only a handful. We quartered them in a field a few miles from here and as yet there's
been no sign of the plague among them." He grimaced. "And we spent most of the week
burying the bodies in the foothills we chanced upon when coming here. There were
eighty-seven of them."

"The population of Mandara numbered well over a thousand," Lion said. "Damari has
claimed a high toll."

"What do we do now?" Lorenzo asked. "I admit I'm abysmally weary of sitting around
and waiting for you two to rise like Lazarus from the tomb. Damari?"

"Not yet. We go to Pisa. But first, I have to visit the survivors and see how all goes with
them." Lion swung onto Tabron's back.

Lion's sense of responsibility again, Sanchia thought. There was no longer a Mandara,
but as long as his people needed him he was ready to give. "Should I go with you?"

Lion shook his head. "Sit in the sun and rest. Lorenzo and I will be back shortly."

"I've done little but rest for the past two weeks."

"Tarry here. It will do you no harm and will save me worry. Lorenzo said these people
'appeared' to be free of the plague. I'll not go close, but I don't want you within miles of
them."

Sanchia nodded in acceptance. Lion would go no matter what she said or did, and she had
no desire to see the refugees from Mandara. The sight would stir too many memories of
those last days. "I'll stay here."

"Santa Maria, such meekness!" Lorenzo mounted his horse. "Where is your spirit, your
tartness? What a disappointment you're proving, Sanchia. And you, too, Lion. You have
the settled air of a couple married a decade or so."

Sanchia's gaze met Lion's and the faintest smile touched her lips. In a strange way she
felt Lorenzo was right. During their week of isolation together they had known only
sorrow and fear and the need to comfort each other. The bond between them had
toughened and yet become more supple, like fine leather after years of use.

As if he had read her mind, Lion nodded imperceptively. "We'll return soon," he said as
he and Lorenzo set off.

Sanchia sat down on the bench beside the door of the winery and closed her eyes as she
lifted her face to let the rays of the sun bathe her cheeks. The air was clean and sweet,
and a feeling of peace gradually settled over her. With it came the strange certainty that
the plague was gone.

The Medusa had moved on.

Lion returned alone two hours later. When she inquired into Lorenzo's whereabouts, Lion
shrugged as he reined up before her. "He's gone to Mandara. God knows why. There's
nothing there but ashes and ruins. He said he had a whim to see it one more time before
we left."

"A whim." Sanchia turned to look thoughtfully at Mandara. She could not imagine
anyone wanting to go back to that charred wasteland. Then, suddenly, she knew why
Lorenzo had returned. "I have to go back too. Will you take me?"

"No!" Lion turned to look at her in amazement. "Why, by all the saints, would you be
mad enough to do that?"

"Not madness. And not a whim," she said soberly. "But I have to go back. There's no
danger there now. Not even the plague could have lived through the inferno."

"You can't be certain."

"No, but I feel it so strongly." She smiled. "It has passed us by, Lion."

"If you have to go, then I'll go with you."

"No." She held up her arms and he muttered a curse as he swung her up before him on
the saddle. "You can take me to where the city gates once were." She settled herself back
against him. "And wait for me there, as I waited for you here."

Lorenzo was sitting on his horse looking at the blackened ruins of the rose garden when
Sanchia guided Tabron through the rubble to draw even with him.

She flinched as she looked around the garden. The devastation of the town had moved
her terribly when she was riding through it, but this ruin had much more emotional
meaning for her. Where there had been flowering beauty there was now only charred
bushes, blackened fountains, cracked benches. The wooden arch over the arbor had
crashed down to bury the marble bench beneath, and there was no sign of the pretty
garlanded swing where she had watched Bianca and Marco at play that first afternoon.

Lorenzo didn't look at her. "I don't want you here."

"She did," Sanchia said quietly. "She called me friend and held out her hand to me and
said, 'Come with me to my garden, for I don't want to die alone.' And I took her hand and
we stayed here together and talked of many things until she could no longer speak
sensibly. But even then she held my hand tightly and would not let it go until she was
taken. I wrapped her in a sheet and dragged her to the chapel to lie with the others. I had
to make her coffin with my own hands. She--"

"Be quiet. I don't want to hear this," Lorenzo said hoarsely. "Leave me."

"I cannot leave you. What she said in this garden has worth and meaning for all of us.
She said she had no regrets about anything she had done. She only wished that she had
taken more time to nurture and appreciate the people around her as she had this garden."

"Is that all she said?"

"No, but it was all much the same. Live in the rose gardens of life, live fully and well,
and do not fear the thorns." She paused. "She did say one more thing. But that was much
later, when the pain had nearly crazed her and she no longer knew of what she spoke. She
said, 'I love you, Lorenzo.' "

He stiffened as if she had struck him. "She was... an extraordinary woman and my very
good friend." His voice was uneven. "Naturally, you will not repeat her words, as they
could be misunderstood."

"You don't have to protect her any longer, Lorenzo," Sanchia said softly. "And certainly
not from me. I would not even tell Lion this, but you have the right to know. Because I
think you are one of the gardens Caterina didn't get a chance to nurture and bring into full
bloom."

He was silent, gazing out over the charred garden. "It was not an easy death?"

"No, none of them died easily."

Lorenzo's hands suddenly clenched on the reins. "She was--" When he spoke again his
voice was so low she had to strain to hear. "I thought I was... empty inside, but she was
there all the time."

"She'll still be there as long as we remember her."

"Yes." Lorenzo turned his horse and Sanchia felt a thrill of pity as she saw the stark
desolation in his usually expressionless face. "But she's not here in this garden any more.
I thought perhaps she might be."

Sanchia turned Tabron to follow him, but he suddenly reined in and glanced sharply over
his shoulder at the blackened wreckage of the marble bench in the arbor. He tilted his
head to one side as if he were listening.

"What is it?" Sanchia asked, puzzled.

"Nothing." His gaze was still on the arbor. "I thought I heard something."

"What?"

"Bells." He turned and rode slowly out of the garden. "It must have been the wind
rustling through those burned bushes, though I could have sworn I heard the jingle of
bells...."

I'm sorry, Lion," Sanchia said softly as her gaze first wandered over the blackened
remains of the
Dancer
at the dock and then to the wreckage of the three ships in the yard.
Seeing this senseless devastation filled her with the same sadness she had felt when
riding through the streets of Mandara. "Is there nothing you can salvage?"

"As you can see, the shipyard is still intact. But what is a shipyard with no ships? It takes
a good two years to build just one and nothing to show for it until it's sold. I'd have to
start over." He got off Tabron and lifted Sanchia down. "And I'm not sure I have the heart
for it."

"You have the heart for it," Lorenzo said as he dismounted. "Wounds may leave scars,
but they don't change what we are." He grimaced. "And what I am now is stiff, odorous,
bad-tempered and likely to become more so if my needs are not met quickly. Where is
your shipwright? No wonder Damari wreaked such havoc when we're able to ride into the
yard in bright daylight unchallenged."

"I hired Basala because he was an excellent shipwright, not a soldier, Lorenzo. It's just a
little past dawn, and he's probably still asleep." Lion nodded toward the small brick house
a short distance away. "Why don't you go see if you can rouse him?"

"I shall." Lorenzo strode toward the house. "Which service will certainly entitle me to the
first bath."

Lion turned to look back at the
Dancer
and said haltingly, "I cannot offer you a great deal
now. Everything I owned at Mandara was destroyed. My only wealth lies in the shipyard
in Marseilles, and it may bear no fruit for many years. I can give you no more than a
plain roof over your head and plain food on the table."

Sanchia gazed at him in disbelief. "
Dio
, Lion, I have never had anything of my own. A
roof over my head is all I'd ever ask. I knew the life I tasted in Mandara could never be
mine."

"It
will
be yours," Lion said as he whirled and faced her. "Someday I'll build you a castle
more beautiful than Mandara and you'll reign there like a queen."

"Like Caterina?" Sanchia shook her head. "It's not the life I want and it wasn't the life she
wanted either. Not at the end."

A spasm of pain crossed Lion's face at the thought of his mother's death. "What do you
want then?"

"Work. Peace. Children." Sanchia found the tears stinging her eyes. "Yes, children. I
think I should like a son like Piero."

Lion touched her cheek with gentle fingers. "Lorenzo is right. Wounds heal, cara."

"I'm already healing." Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. "It will take time and there
will be scars, but I will heal. Thank you for being so very kind to me."

"Kind?" He frowned. "Did you think I'd use you ill after all you've been through?"

"No, I only wanted to--"

He cut through her words. "You'll have work aplenty during our first years and, if God is
willing, you'll have your children, but I can't promise you peace. I'm not a peaceable
man." He put his fingers on her lips as she started to speak. "And there's no reason you
shouldn't have the castle, too. If you have no inclination to rule it yourself, then raise one
of our children to watch over it."

She studied his face. He was healing also, but it was perhaps even more difficult for him
than for her. He had suffered not only the loss of his loved ones but all that he had built
these last years. She remembered the expression on his face when he told her of the joy
he took in building after a life filled with destruction. Now in order for his wounds to
heal he must build again and with a lavish hand. "That seems a sensible plan. I will take
your castle." She pretended to think. "And a stable full of fine horses, and a palazzo in
the country and--"