If only they would get going!
Timonides was tired of lingering in Antioch. And it had taken over a month for them to finally arrive here. After securing a transport vessel for Sebastianus's goods and slaves, they were first delayed by a bad dream that had visited the ship's captain the night before they were due to sail. The second delay, as they were about to depart, was caused by a crow being sighted on one of the masts—a very bad omen for sailing. But after a week of such delays, the Poseidon had finally set sail and, enjoying decent weather, arrived in Antioch ten days later.
But now a month had passed, they had just celebrated the winter solstice. Gray skies hung over the city, and rain had been coming down all day. Even so, it had not been a month spent in idleness. Primo, who had taken up temporary residence at the local Roman garrison, had spent the past thirty days recruiting and training men for his special military unit, drilling them, arming them, preparing them for the hazardous journey ahead, and especially schooling them in the secret strategies and military tactics they would be using. Sebastianus in the meantime had been busy putting together his massive caravan, buying camels and slaves, meeting with trade merchants, taking on merchandise, conferring with bankers—all the business of commerce. Timonides, of course, had passed each day in diligent study of the stars, their alignments, houses, ascents, and descents, paying particular attention to the moon and constellations and the planets. This mission to China must not fail. Rumor had it that Nero was prone to petulance and did not like disappointment.
As thunder cracked and shook the centuries-old inn, Timonides looked through the smoky gloom at Ulrika, who was watching the street door.
She was quite handy with her medical kit, he thought, recalling how on the voyage from Rome, he had been stricken with such seasickness that he had not been able to eat. Once again, Ulrika had come to his rescue, giving him a tonic made from a rare and expensive root called ginger. It had done the trick so that Timonides had been able to eat again, and now he was doubly indebted to her!
Back in Ostia, awaiting the order to set sail, Ulrika had surprised Timonides by suggesting that she might be of some help to Nestor. Not his mind, of course, for that could never be helped. But Nestor had never learned to speak properly beyond a few garbled syllables. Timonides understood what the boy was saying, but it was gibberish to everyone else. Ulrika had speculated that Nestor could have something called a "tied tongue." Her own mother, she said, had been born tongue-tied and had had her tongue freed when she was seven years old. She recommended that Timonides take his son to a doctor skilled with the knife. Timonides had been tempted, but then he had thought: Do I really want Nestor to be able to talk? Didn't people mock him enough as it was? And what if, in gaining speech, Nestor lost his gift for cooking? Such things were known to happen, unexpected consequences to good fortune, a trade-off as it were, the gods being the capricious pranksters they were known to be.
No, best to leave things as they were. Especially as he had more urgent matters requiring his attention, primarily the problem of the catastrophe that continued to lie in his master's future. The first time Timonides had noted the possibility of calamity ahead for Sebastianus, at Fort Bonna months ago, he had been alarmed. But as he had watched the stars and charted their courses, and as he had observed the dark omen continuing to lie in the future—as if, in fact, it moved in time as Sebastianus himself did—Timonides's panic turned to a more objective frame of mind.
There was no doubt—something terrible awaited his master, it hovered like a dark cloud on the horizon, staying always distant no matter how quickly one traveled toward it. But where or when the catastrophe was going to happen was any man's guess. Timonides had stopped blaming himself for it, and he had told not a single lie since leaving Rome—he had held himself to his usual noble standards, had held the gods and astrology in the highest esteem, had kept himself morally and physically clean and pure, and had arrived at this rainy night feeling spiritually immaculate and without blemish.
So whatever the catastrophe was, and whenever it was going to happen, no one could blame Timonides the astrologer for it.
AS SEBASTIANUS MADE HIS way up the narrow street, leaning into the rain, looking forward to a hot fire and spiced wine, he thought of the remarkable series of events that had brought him to this even more remarkable moment.
Tomorrow they would depart for Babylon! And after Babylon ...
He owed this good fortune to Ulrika.
Sebastianus would not be here tonight, about to embark upon the adventure of a lifetime, had Ulrika not told him the remarkable facts of Gaius Vatinius's secret battle strategy. While Adon's gryphon or Gaspar's conjoined twins would be far more appealing to a sixteen-year-old, Nero's seasoned advisors saw merit in a caravan trader who could guarantee the safe passage of imperial ambassadors and goods to the Far East, thus expanding the reach of the Empire.
And Sebastianus was certain he would be successful. Primo had been working with his hand-picked unit, drilling them relentlessly, a small fighting force of mercenaries, loyal veterans, retired gladiators, and marksmen with bows and arrows. A force to be feared.
He owed it all to Ulrika, and now he had a gift for her!
Sebastianus neared the tavern with its sign that swung in the wind. No one could read it, as the lamp had been doused by the rain. But the Inn of the Blue Peacock had stood in this spot for generations, a warm beacon in the winter, cool harbor in the summer, offering food and drink to the weary wayfarer, gathering place for those who lived on Green Wizard Street. And temporary home to Sebastianus and his three companions.
Ulrika slept in the room next to his, on the floor above the tavern, while Timonides and Nestor shared another. But sleep had been elusive for Sebastianus. He had found himself tossing and turning, waking at all hours to kick his blanket off despite the winter night. He dreamed about Ulrika, just as she filled his daytime thoughts. He had come close several times, when he had held her during a storm at sea, or in a rocky chariot, or as they passed through a crowded marketplace, to revealing his feelings for her. But she was still under his protection as a caravan leader, and that was a personal rule Sebastianus would never break.
And how did she feel about him? he wondered as he pushed on the heavy, rain-soaked door. There were moments when he caught her staring at him. At other times, she seemed to move close to him, or she would touch him more than was necessary. If only he could hold her just once, kiss her, caress her ...
Sebastianus entered the tavern loudly announcing his great news: He had found Bessas and presented the old hermit with a proposition he could not refuse!