The Wind Dancer (49 page)

The smile faded from Lorenzo's face. "That was a foul blow. You... unman me."

"I love you well."

"Another blow." A sudden warm smile lit Lorenzo's face. "Farewell, my friend." He
turned and strode away from them.

"Stop him." Sanchia clutched at Lion's arm. "Don't let him leave like this."

"I cannot stop him." Lion's eyes glittered moistly as he watched Lorenzo stride down the
deck. "He's made his choice."

"And you're too honorable to try to make him waver in it." Sanchia's tone was
exasperated. "You love him. He belongs to you. Have you not lost enough people who
belong to you?"

"This is different. It's his right to decide."

"It's different only because you have the chance to claim him again." She saw the
stubbornness in his expression and grew impatient. "If you'll not do it, then I will. I will
not lose him too." She took a step forward. "Lorenzo!"

He looked over his shoulder.

"If you will not come now, promise you'll come when you finish what you have to do."

"Perhaps." He turned away again.

"Not perhaps. We
do
have need of you. Lion has a fancy to build me a fine castle. You
know I have no training to run such an establishment. You must teach me."

"You will learn by yourself." He continued to walk away from them.

"It's going to have the finest rose garden in all of France. I'll need your help in planting
it."

His stride faltered for an instant and then he continued walking.

"If our child is a boy, we'll call him Lorenzo."

"God help him."

"No,
you
must help him."

Lorenzo started down the gangplank.

"And if the child is a girl, we'll call her Caterina."

He stopped on the gangplank, the line of his spine suddenly rigid. It was a moment before
he turned to face them. "Ah, Sanchia, I always did say you were a clever urchin."

His gaze was a warm caress, embracing them both Then he turned and strode down the
gangplank to be lost from sight a moment later in the crowd on the dock.

"Oh, Lion," Sanchia whispered. "Will we ever see him again?"

Lion's arms went around her from behind and drew her back against him. "I don't know."
His lips gently brushed her temple. "You did your best."

"Because I love him, too."

They stood watching, still hoping he would return or that they might have a last glimpse
of him. They watched even after the gangplank had been raised... even as the ship put out
to sea.

"The breeze is cold," Lion said. "You should go to the cabin."

It was cold, she thought. The sky was as leaden gray as the sea, and the wind had a sharp
bite to it. Not a promising day to start a journey.

"Soon. I want to stand here until I can no longer see the land. It seems strange to realize I
may never return."

"Does that thought make you sad?"

"No." She hesitated. "Yes. I don't know." She nestled back against him. "My feelings
change from moment to moment. Only one thing is certain. I want to be with you. All the
rest will fall into place."

The coastline was barely visible now and she had to strain her eyes to see it. Soon it
would be gone and they would sail into the unknown.

Dragons waited in the unknown, Lion had said on that night they had sailed toward
Genoa.

Well, she and Lion were strong enough to defeat any dragon who dared hurl his flames at
them. There might be struggles ahead in that unknown, but there would also be great
rewards.

"You're very quiet," Lion said. "What are you thinking, cara?"

"Of dragons." She straightened and squared her shoulders as she turned to smile into his
eyes. "And of splendor."

THE BUDDING

On April 12, 1504, the major strongholds of Borgia's forces in the Romagna were yielded
to Pope Julius, and Borgia was released from his imprisonment. People expected Duke
Valentino to flee immediately to his old friend and comrade in arms, King Louis XII of
France, but for some mysterious reason, instead he sailed south to Naples, then in the
hands of Spain.

On May 26, 1504, the Spanish forces in Naples arrested Borgia. They sent him by galley
to be imprisoned at the Castle of Seville and later at the fortress of Medina del Campo.

October 23, 1504

The Vineyard, Mandara

"There's a messenger waiting for you in the stable yard," Luigi said sourly. "I suppose
this means you'll let my dinner get cold."

"Not necessarily." Lorenzo pushed his chair back from the desk and strode across the
room.

"I'll not keep it hot for you," Luigi called after him. "I'll throw it to the pigs."

"We have no pigs," Lorenzo shouted back at him.

"And whose fault is that? I've told you that we should have pigs. If you will buy no pigs,
how can I make pork dishes? Thanks to your miserliness I'll soon forget all my skills."

Lorenzo stepped onto the stoop of the cottage and accepted a folded and sealed piece of
parchment from a freckle-faced messenger who was little more than a boy.

"Dismount and come inside and refresh yourself."

The young man quickly shook his head. "I have orders to wait for an immediate reply,
Messer."

Lorenzo broke the seal and opened out the fine leaf. Unsigned, the message consisted of
only one line of script.

Is it enough?

"I'll return in a moment." Lorenzo wheeled and went inside the house to his desk. On the
bottom of the letter he scrawled in bold, decisive script.

It is not enough.

He returned to hand the parchment to the messenger.

He did not bother to watch the young man's departure as he closed the door of the
cottage.

THE FLOWERING

After Queen Isabella's death, King Ferdinand of Spain decided it would be a brilliant
move to release Borgia and take advantage of his military acumen to make him his
generalissimo in Italy. However, fate once again intervened to strike down Borgia's
ambitions. The Castle Medina del Campo in which he was imprisoned was in Castile, and
under the control of Ferdinand's daughter, Juana. There appeared to be no reason for her
to turn on Borgia with such venom, but she did. On the day Ferdinand asked for the
prisoner to be released, she had Cesare indicted on charges that he had conspired in the
deaths of his brother, The Duke of Gandia, and Alfonso of Bisceglie, his brother-in-law.
On September 4, 1506, Ferdinand finally abandoned his efforts to obtain Cesare's
freedom and set sail for Naples without him.

October 15, 1506

The Vineyard, Mandara

The messenger from whom Lorenzo took the letter this time was not a boy, but a man in
his prime who accepted a cup of mulled wine from a grudging Luigi while Lorenzo broke
the seal and scanned the contents of the dispatch.

"Wait here." Lorenzo went into the cottage and straight to his desk. The terse message he
had received was exactly what he had expected.

Enough?

The answer Lorenzo scrawled on the bottom of the letter was almost as brief.

Not enough.

He strode back out into the stable yard, gave the letter to the liveried messenger, and sent
him on his way.

THE VINTAGE

Six weeks after Ferdinand sailed for Naples, Cesare Borgia escaped from the Medina del
Campo and fled to Pampeluna, the capital city of his wife's brother Jean D'Albret, the
king of Navarre. His brother-in-law welcomed him with wild enthusiasm, seeing the
chance of using Borgia's military genius to further his own ambitions. The king spoke of
supplying Borgia with new armies to start him once more on the road to conquest.
However, Navarre was very poor, and in desperation Borgia sent an envoy to his sister
Lucretia in Italy asking her to speed to him enough of the family art treasures to yield
three hundred thousand ducats from their sale. The messenger was arrested on Pope
Julius's orders.

Borgia also sent a message to King Louis of France begging him to pay the one hundred
thousand ducats owed him as part of his bride Charlotte's dowry and also the sizeable
revenues of his dukedom of Valentinois so that he might regain his former power and
affluence. King Louis not only refused to pay either sum, he revoked Borgia's title, taking
away his dukedom of Valentinois and stripping him of royal arms.

By March 1507 Cesare Borgia at the age of thirty-one was ravaged by the swiftly
progressing and debilitating French pox and was without power, money, or land. Shortly
after he received word from his steward, Don Jaime de Requesnez, of his loss of
Valentinois, Borgia was ordered by the king of Navarre to subdue the rebel lord, Don
Juan, count of Beaumont at Viana. Borgia was heading a garrison at Viana when an
alarm was sounded that the garrison was being attacked. He jumped out of bed, dressed,
and giving no orders to his men, flung himself on a horse and rode alone through the city
gates. It was said later that Borgia was screaming and cursing and appeared completely
mad. He rode alone into the enemy camp in a ravine nearby and attacked them, still
shouting wildly and uttering oaths.

At dawn Borgia's soldiers rode out of the city and soon found Cesare Borgia's naked
corpse hacked and pierced with twenty-three bloody, hideous wounds.

April 7, 1507

The Vineyard, Mandara

I grow impatient. What more could you desire? Enough?

Lorenzo's gaze lifted from the letter to the window across from his desk through which
the scarred and blackened city walls of Mandara could be seen.

Then, with a faint smile on his lips, he picked up his pen and scrawled a single word at
the bottom of the parchment.

Enough.

May 21, 1507

Bourges, France

Lorenzo strolled down the long, gleaming corridor, his gaze lingering in admiration on
the splendid paintings on the wall of the gallery.

The liveried page stopped and looked reproachfully back at him over his shoulder.
"Please, Monsieur Vasaro, His Majesty is most anxious."

Lorenzo nodded, but his pace failed to quicken. "His Majesty has many fine paintings. Is
that a da Vinci?"

The page nodded. "His Majesty admires Monsieur da Vinci very much indeed. However,
there are many more beautiful objects in His Majesty's private apartments."

The page threw open the tall, beautifully paneled doors at the end of the corridor.
"Monsieur Vasaro, Your Majesty."

King Louis hurried forward. "
Mon Dieu
, Vasaro, you took your time about it." He stared
eagerly at the chest Lorenzo carried. "Is that it?"

Lorenzo nodded as he crossed to a Carrara marble table and set the chest on it. "Yes." He
unfastened the chest and opened the lid. "As I promised."

He started to lift the Wind Dancer out, but Louis forestalled him. "No, let me." With
reverent care Louis took the Wind Dancer from its velvet nest. "Ah, it's as exquisite as I
remembered. I thought perhaps anticipation might be playing tricks with my memory."
He cast Lorenzo a resentful glance. "Your obstinacy in this matter did not please me.
Three years is a long time to wait."

"For me, also, Your Majesty." Lorenzo smiled. "But a bargain is a bargain."

"You could have relented. You didn't have to have everything to your exact
specifications," Louis said peevishly. "I did what you asked. I told Borgia he would not
be welcome here and forced him into Spanish hands. That should have been enough for
you."

Lorenzo was silent.

"And do you know how difficult it was for my envoy in Juana's court to manipulate her
into turning against Borgia? The woman is now tottering on the verge of madness."

"But he managed the task."

"Because I told him I would have his head if he didn't." Louis carried the Wind Dancer
across the room and set it on a black marble pedestal. He took a step back, looking at the
statue appraisingly. "I had this pedestal carved two years ago for the Wind Dancer. How
do you think it looks?"

"Superb. You have exquisite taste, Your Majesty."

Louis was silent for a long time, staring at the statue. "Do you know that the soldiers at
Viana who saw Borgia ride out that night think he meant to end his own life?"

"Then he's effectively barred his way to heaven, if he had not done so before."

"You would condemn his soul to hell as you did his body to the grave?"

Lorenzo did not answer.

"When he first came to my court I thought him the most charming, the most brilliant man
I had ever met." Louis's gaze remained on the Wind Dancer. "He would have been
destroyed even if I hadn't aided you, wouldn't he?"

"Perhaps, but it's not likely."

"You're a hard man." Louis grimaced. "And as sharp and cutting as a Toledo blade. I
have use for you in my retinue. What say you to a post at my court?"

Lorenzo shook his head. "I have a fancy to go to Marseilles to visit friends who have
recently been blessed with a child."

"A boy?"

Lorenzo shook his head. "A girl. They've named her Caterina after the child's
grandmother and say she resembles her in many ways."

"A pity it was not a boy. They must be disappointed."

Lorenzo smiled. "They don't appear to be."

"You are tired of your vineyard?"

"Let us say, it's time I nurtured something other than grapes. Perhaps I will plant a rose
garden."

"You'll be disappointed. There is little profit in flowers."

"We shall see."

Louis took a few more paces back, frowning with dissatisfaction at the statue. "It does
not look as well on the pedestal as I thought it would. The pedestal is not worthy of it.
The Wind Dancer overshadows everything around it."

"So it does."

Louis fell silent again before bursting out with sudden defensiveness, "I did only what
was for the best in destroying Borgia. It's only right and proper the Wind Dancer should
be here at the royal court of France. All of the Italian city-states are fading in power, but
France is beginning to shine like the sun. The Wind Dancer should belong to such a
nation. Do you not agree, Vasaro?"