"Do you know which route the caravan took?" she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
The man frowned. Gallus had left explicit instructions, but surely the gold coin warranted a false rendering of that information as well. So he said, "They were to board ships at the Gulf. They'll be far away at sea by now."
Crushed with disappointment, Ulrika thanked the man and turned away, toward the towering gates of Babylon, turning her back on the eastern horizon where still could be seen, in the dying light of day, dust rising up from the hooves and wheels and feet of the great caravan that had just departed for China.
20
ULRIKA HAD DISCOVERED THAT Babylon, being at the crossroads between east and west, was a cosmopolitan city, tolerant of all faiths. Here, any foreigner to the city would find the god or goddess of his choice. Greek visitors found shrines to Aphrodite, Zeus, and Diana. Romans, when not at war with Persia, were welcome in temples devoted to Jupiter and Venus. Phoenicians could offer sacrifice to Baal, Egyptians to Isis and Osiris, Persians to Mithras. And of course, Babylon's own gods, Marduk and Ishtar, resided here in the most magnificent temples.
Ulrika had visited them all, speaking with priests and oracles and wise-women, seeking to further her inner self-discipline. She engaged in focused meditation every evening, and while she had enjoyed some success in conjuring up visions at will, they did not last long. She grew sleepy, or her mind wandered, and she lost concentration. While the various temples and priests offered different forms of prayer, none could set her on the path toward deeper meditation.
She had also searched for clues as to where she could find the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar, with no success.
But the whole while she had been in this great city on the Euphrates, Ulrika's heart had been with Sebastianus, who she prayed was making steady progress toward China.
She read his letter every night, and had developed the ritual of speaking to him before falling asleep, picturing his handsome face, his smile, sensing his strength and power, recalling the feel of his hands on her arms that last night in Antioch as he had declared his love for her. Ulrika would lie on her pallet as the city of Babylon stirred in restless slumber and whisper to Sebastianus in the darkness, telling him of her day, what she had achieved, assuring him that he was in her thoughts and heart from morning until night, hoping that Mercury, messenger of the gods and patron god of merchants and traders, would carry her words to her beloved.
Ulrika turned toward Enlil Street, where she rented a small room from a widow named Nanna who supported herself and her five children by painting Ishtar-eggs. Nanna had great skill and a delicate touch, whether carving designs into clay eggs, or painting birds' eggs from which yolks and whites had been removed. Such eggs were popular as gifts to family and friends, and also a favorite temple offering in Babylon. In exchange for room and board, Ulrika helped Nanna take care of her five little ones. She also shared her healing knowledge with the neighbors in that quarter—prescribing elixirs and tonics, lancing boils, delivering babies—all the things her mother had taught her back in Rome.
But Ulrika always took time to visit the caravan terminus at the south of the city, to inquire among traders returning from the East for any news on Sebastianus. The last report on the imperial diplomatic caravan to China had been six months ago, when a merchant of Bactrian camels had told Ulrika that he had heard of the Gallus expedition making a safe and successful passage through the treacherous passes of Samarkand. Ulrika had heard no word of Sebastianus since.
She stood now in the sunlight of the marketplace as people bustled around her, ignoring the young woman in plain homespun with a veil covering her hair. The only feature to distinguish Ulrika from other young women in Babylon was a wooden box hanging from her shoulder on a leather strap, symbols in Egyptian hieroglyphs and Babylonian cuneiform identifying it as a medicine kit.
Thinking of the money she had just been paid for draining an abscess, and what she might purchase with it, Ulrika stopped suddenly and stared. In front of a vendor selling onions, leeks, and lentils, on the dusty ground before the display tables, a big brown hound sat on shaggy haunches.
Ulrika did not know why she had stopped, or why the creature had caught her interest. He was an unremarkable dog, and the market square was crowded with animals—pens of geese and chickens for sale, crates of ducks and doves, roosts where exotic parrots and hawks sat tethered. Pigs and goats oinked and bleated in straw-packed pens, cats and dogs—for food and temple sacrifice—paced in small cages. There were even snakes dancing as charmers played their flutes, and scorpions hanging from the faces of mystics, to the amazement of onlookers.
Yet Ulrika could not take her eyes off an ordinary dog.
And then she realized that it was, of course, not a dog but a wolf.
She had not experienced the wolf vision again since the night in the Judean wilderness when it had led her to a secret grave. She stared at it now in wonder and curiosity. And then something occurred to her. Keeping her eyes on the vision, she slowed her breathing, removed all thoughts from her mind except for the wolf, and focused on him with renewed intensity. "Lead me to where I must go," she whispered. "Show me the way."
The handsome creature turned and loped away, through a crowd that was unaware of a spirit-wolf passing in their midst. It led Ulrika under a stone archway, and she found herself in a small square bordered on all sides by residences with wooden doorways and shuttered windows. In the center of the square, a small knot of people watched a man in their midst. Such sights were common in Babylon, as street entertainers were common—magicians, storytellers, even seers and necromancers.
But the man in the midst of this quiet crowd was different from the usual street hawkers, who always wore colorful costumes to catch people's eye. This man's attire was subdued, modest. Ulrika recognized the long curls framing his face, the white, fringed shawl with blue stripes, and the leather straps around his arms and across his forehead as the trappings of a devout Jew. And the people gathered around him were unusually subdued. Instead of being rowdy and pushy, this gathering was small and quiet and consisted of, Ulrika saw, mostly women and slaves. A few men stood on the edge, arms folded, skeptical expressions on their faces.
When she saw that many in the audience suffered from injuries and disease, it occurred to her that this man worked healing miracles. Babylon was full of such healers.
She focused her attention on the Jewish wonder-worker, who stood with a woman and held up his hands as he softly chanted. To Ulrika's surprise, the woman was chanting as well. And then she realized: they were praying together.
As everyone watched in silence, listening to the soft murmur of two voices, Ulrika studied those around her, saw the looks of hope and anticipation on their faces, and wondered what they expected to see happen here today. "Pardon me," she whispered to a woman standing next to her. "Who is that man?" Ulrika asked.
"That is Rabbi Judah," the woman said. "He has come recently from Palmyra. They say he is a worker of wonders."