Page 23

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 days.

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?”