Whenever the leaders of caravans met along the many trade routes of the Roman empire, they exchanged gossip as well as goods. And during their last camp, at an oasis called Bir Abbas, the flax merchant had shared his fire with a wine trader traveling west, and from him had heard of a great caravan being prepared for a diplomatic trip to China, a Spaniard traveling under the auspices of the Roman emperor himself.
Ulrika knew it was Sebastianus of whom they had spoken, and she knew he was still in Babylon because the summer solstice had yet to be marked, and he had said he would leave after that.
The flax caravan wound its way through congested settlements of people who had come to the city to find work. Ulrika had heard of the power and might of Marduk, called by his followers as the most powerful deity in the universe. I will consult with his priests, she thought now. Perhaps Marduk can tell me where to find Shalamandar.
The flax trader brought his line of animals and wagons to a slow crawl, and those with whom Ulrika shared the dray gathered their bundles and prepared to head into the city on foot. Ulrika said farewell to the six sisters, wishing them luck.
As the dray neared the road that led past the Adad Gate—a massive archway in the city walls with guards in towers and colorful pennants snapping in the wind—they heard the sudden garish blare of trumpets. In the next moment, riders on horseback came galloping through the gate, hooves thundering across the moat bridge. The riders were shouting, "Make way! Make way! Fall on your faces in honor of the Divine God Marduk!"
The flax trader brought his dray to a halt, as all other traffic and pedestrians came to a stop on the highway and surrounding lanes. The thunder of drums came next and Ulrika watched as, immediately behind the horses, drummers marched, banging their instruments in unison, creating a formidable sound.
"What is it?" she asked of the flax merchant.
"They are parading the Great God," he said. "They say that getting a glimpse of Marduk brings luck. Keep your eye open."
As she waited for the procession to pass, Ulrika turned her face to the east, toward the feathery palms and blue sky that embraced the caravan staging area.
Tonight, she thought with racing pulse, I will be with Sebastianus ...
"MY FRIEND, IT HAS been a pleasure doing business with you. I promise you, my fine wines will open doors and gateways to you, they will make men want to give you their virgin daughters. I say in all modesty that my grapes are the envy of Marduk himself!"
Sebastianus smiled at the loquacious Babylonian as he conducted a final check of his animals and their packs. Recently added to his caravan was wine stored in silver jars, the way the Phoenicians had done for centuries, as the silver prevented spoilage. And mules were draped with bags of fresh milk strapped to their sides. Fermentation would take place in the bags, causing the milk to curdle. The constant motion of the animals would then break up the resulting cheese into curds while the remaining liquid, the whey, would provide a potable drink in case no water was found.
Sebastianus's caravan was nearly ready to depart. All he had to do was wait until after the solstice celebrations.
At which time, he prayed, Ulrika would appear and he could persuade her to join him for the journey eastward.
Was it a foolish prayer, he wondered? Surely Syphax had delivered her safely to her mother in Jerusalem, where Ulrika would have learned the location of Shalamandar. And now she would be on her way to join him. Perhaps she was nearby already, and the same wind that blew gently on Sebastianus's face caressed Ulrika's.
"I thank you for your help, Jerash," he said, seizing the Babylonian's wrist and giving it a manly squeeze. Jerash, garbed in a colorful fringed robe with a cone-shaped hat on his head, was the cousin of a man whom Sebastianus had befriended in Antioch, and now Jerash had given him the names of relatives who lived in settlements eastward along the trade route. "You have but to mention my name, noble Gallus," the Babylonian said as he reached into a deep, embroidered pocket and brought out clay tablets, "and give these letters of introduction to my uncles and cousins, and they will offer you all the help you need! Your mission to China will be like riding on a breeze, my friend! The gods will carry you on their shoulders and you will fly like a dove!"
Nearby, sitting at the campsite with his pie-faced son Nestor, who was stirring a stew of lamb and vegetables, Timonides watched the exchange between Sebastianus and the Babylonian with a jaundiced eye. He alone knew that Sebastianus's caravan to China was going to be no dove's flight because it lay upon a route plagued by pitfalls, traps, treachery, and setbacks. Not that any of this was apparent to ordinary men, or could be seen with the naked eye. Only Timonides knew of the great dangers that lay ahead, because only he had read his master's stars and had seen the calamities that awaited him.
And it was all the fault of Timonides the astrologer! He could not stop falsifying his horoscopes, but must keep lying, must keep Sebastianus moving eastward in order to save Nestor from certain execution. The hue and cry from Antioch had not yet reached Babylon, but the royal mail routes along the Euphrates River were swift and efficient. A word from one magistrate to another, and the guards of the city would be knocking upon every door, looking under every rug, overturning every man-sized jar in search of the assassin of the beloved Bessas the holy man.
It made Timonides almost too sick to eat.
The stars did not lie. Sebastianus was supposed to be, at that moment, somewhere south of Antioch, perhaps as far south as Petra. Anywhere but here! Yet Timonides, interpreter of the will of the gods, urged his master ever eastward, uttering blasphemy upon blasphemy, at the sacrifice of his own immortal soul. For surely he was going to Hell for his sacrilege. Worse, by bringing Nestor along on his caravan he made Sebastianus an unwitting participant in a capital crime. Sebastianus was giving aid to a fugitive, which meant certain execution for him as well, should they be caught.
If only they would leave! Timonides had gently suggested that they start for the East today, this minute, not waste a precious moment, but Sebastianus, he knew, was thinking of that girl! Ulrika. She was like an insidious disease, itching just below Sebastianus's skin. Timonides saw how his master looked westward every evening, pausing in his work to gaze wistfully over the miles and horizon, picturing the fair-haired girl who had bewitched him. Timonides had been tempted to falsify a horoscope and insist they leave, but it would just be one sin too many. Wherever he could be honest, he would be so. Besides, why put his master to the test? What if he told Sebastianus that the gods insist they leave at once, and Sebastianus, waiting for Ulrika, said no?
To make matters worse, Sebastianus was considering altering the first leg of their journey to accommodate that girl. He had asked around for information on the whereabouts of Shalamandar, but no one had heard of it. She had said the place was in Persia, and so Sebastianus had declared his intention of going north at first, to accompany her to her own destination before getting on to the business of China!
With a sigh, and thinking that the philosophers were right when they said it was impossible to love and be wise, Timonides returned to his charts and instruments for the noon horoscope, and as he re-calculated his master's stars, taking into account the comet that had appeared in Sebastianus's moon-house, and the unexpected falling star that had streaked past Mars—