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“But he didn’t do it.”

“He was a lover of beauty and couldn’t bring himself to destroy the statue. He didn’t want the Greeks to have it either and knew it was only a matter of time until they conquered the city.” He smiled at Sanchia. “Can you guess what he did?”

“He gave the statue to Andros?”

“And showed him a way to get out of the city. It seems Troy had been destroyed and rebuilt many times and there was an underground passage that led to a hill far beyond the city. Paradignes showed Andros the entrance to the tunnel and wished both him and Jacinthe well before—”

“Jacinthe?”

“One of the conditions of Andros’s release was that he take not only the Wind Dancer but a woman from Troy. Paradignes didn’t want the Greeks to have her either.”

“Was the woman Paradignes’ wife?”

“He had no wife.”

Sanchia’s eyes widened. “Helen…” she whispered.

“There was no mention of a woman called Helen, only Jacinthe.” Marco smiled faintly. “But I find it significant that the word Jacinthe means ‘the beautiful one.’”

“And they both left Troy that night with the Wind Dancer. Where did they go?”

“South. Toward Egypt. The legend says the two of them stood on a hill some distance away from the city and watched it burn.”

“So that was the night the Trojans brought in the Greeks’ wooden horse?”

Marco chuckled and shook his head. “That’s Homer’s tale again. There was no great wooden horse. There was only the Wind Dancer.”

Only the Wind Dancer. A statue so beautiful that a man would betray his home and his people to possess it. A work of art so exquisite it would inspire tales that would endure for over a thousand years. “Do you believe what you’ve been told is true?”

“Sometimes. Is it not more reasonable that the gates of Troy would fall because of bribery and betrayal than such a stupid ploy as a wooden horse?”

“I suppose it is,” Sanchia said slowly. “Where do you suppose the Greeks got the Wind Dancer?”

“Before he died Traynor said the Greeks told him two shepherds found it in the hills above Mycenae during a great storm and brought it to Agamemnon. They claimed it appeared in a flash of lightning.”

“Nonsense.”

“Legend. And not nearly as unreasonable as some of the other legends connected with the Wind Dancer through the centuries.”

Sanchia was tempted to ask him to tell her those other legends, but suddenly she knew she didn’t want to know more about the statue.

The Wind Dancer was now looming in her imagination with an odd sentience, taking on a dimension and life of its own.

She could almost see the golden statue shimmering in the darkness of the storehouse, waiting patiently for Lion to come for it, uncaring what danger he ran to free it from its prison.

Foolishness. She had never even seen the statue. Her nerves were merely on edge and crying out from the terror and strain she had undergone this evening.

She forced a smile as she turned away from him. “A fantastic tale, but certainly an entertaining one. You’re a far better storyteller than Pico Fallone, who entertains in the piazza in Florence.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “But, of course, I don’t believe any part of it.”

A gentle smile lent fresh beauty to Marco’s fine features. “Of course not. You’re clearly a very sensible woman. Why would you believe such a preposterous legend? I only told you the story because you asked.”

“I was merely curious.” Sanchia quickly opened the door and stepped inside. “But naturally I realize none of it actually happened.”

“It’s going to take longer than thirty minutes to make our way through the maze to the storehouse, find the Wind Dancer, and then travel back to the maze entrance again.

” Lion scowled down at the map. “There’s no question that the watch will discover we’ve entered the maze and have guards waiting for us at both ends. ”

Marco bent closer. “Jesú , you’re right. We’ll have to stop every few turns and study the map.” He made a face. “What a puzzle. That labyrinth looks like a passage through hell.”

“Then Damari must feel completely at ease there,” Lion said.

“I could go with you and wait in the shrubbery across from the maze to dispose of the watch,” Lorenzo offered.

Lion weighed the suggestion. “I don’t like having no one to watch the horses, and it would probably give us only another five or ten minutes before someone else was sent to see why the watch hadn’t returned. I doubt if that would be long enough.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “What other choice do we have?”

She wouldn’t answer, Sanchia thought, looking down at her hands clenched tightly together in her lap.

They weren’t talking to her. She could sit on the stool by the fire and not say a word.

Lion had told her she need do no more to reclaim the Wind Dancer.

She would be foolish to go back to the palazzo when Lion said she did not have to help them.

“No choice,” Lion said.

She would remain silent. Lion had said she need not endanger herself again.

But she had promised him loyalty as well as obedience. Was it loyal not to speak now?

“Then you and Marco go inside the maze and I stay outside and take care of the watch,” Lorenzo said. “Marco can carry the lantern and you can try to read the map.”

“And hope we don’t lose our way among all those damned dashes,” Marco said ruefully, “or we’ll find ourselves hacking our way through those hedges with a broadsword.”

“Those hedges are almost four feet thick. At any place but the last outer hedge that borders the perimeter it would take the better part of a day to cut our way through.” Lion grimaced. “Providing we knew in which direction to cut. We’ll just have to—”

“I can lead you through the maze.”

The three men turned to look at Sanchia.

Sweet Jesus, why had she spoken? she wondered, slowly unclenching her clammy palms and rubbing them on the skirt of her gown. She stood up. “I can lead you to the storehouse and back to the entrance in less than thirty minutes.”

Marco shook his head. “I know you want to help, Sanchia, but this maze is hellish. No one can—”

“I can.” She came forward and looked down at the map. “I won’t have to stop and check the map every few minutes and I won’t lose my way. I’ll know exactly where I’m going every minute.”

“Astonishing,” Lorenzo said. “And unbelievable.”

“No, it’s true.” She closed her eyes and envisioned the map before her. “When you enter the maze you turn right, go past two passages and then turn left, go past another three passages and turn left again, then—”

“Enough,” Lion said.

She opened her eyes to see him looking at her with a faint smile on his lips. “It seems Giovanni wasn’t trying to raise your price as I suspected.”

She shook her head. “I remember everything. From the time I was a small child I had only to see something once to keep it forever in mind.”

“Surely a mixed blessing, but in this case a fortunate one for us.” He paused. “If you choose to come with us.”

“Choose? You do not command me?”

“I told you that you need not go back to the palazzo. I won’t break my word.”

Lorenzo cupped his hand to his left ear. “Hark, do I hear the glorious peal of trumpets? I don’t think I can bear many more of these appallingly honorable moods to which you persist in subjecting me, Lion.”

“Be quiet, Lorenzo.” Lion’s gaze did not leave Sanchia’s face. “I won’t force you to go back with us.”

“But you have need of me.”

“Oh yes, we have need of you, Sanchia.” He smiled that rare, brilliant smile that always succeeded in touching some mysterious emotion within her that had never been tapped before.

A smile was a mere expression, she thought, puzzled.

It should not have the power to cause this warm flowering of hope.

A smile should not be able to make her do something so foolish as to go back to the palazzo.

She should ignore his smile and tell him she would never return to the palazzo again.

“I’ll go,” she whispered. “I’ll lead you through the maze.”