As he pushed through the bustling dockside mob, searching for a departing vessel, Sebastianus wondered if Ulrika had received his letter.
"Master. Master!"
He turned and was startled to see Primo pushing through the crowd. "Master," the veteran called. "You must postpone your trip upriver. Your presence is requested at the residence of Quintus Publius."
"Again?" The ambassador from Rome to the Persian province of Babylon had already entertained Sebastianus and his companions with a victory feast at his villa west of the city. "I can't take the time. Tell him I will see him when I return from Salama."
"Master," Primo said in a grave tone. "Perhaps you should not ignore this request."
"I do not answer to an ambassador from Rome, or any other official for that fact. I answer only to Nero and he, fortunately, is many miles away. Go back and explain that I am on an urgent errand."
"But—"
Sebastianus turned and continued through the crowd, leaving his old friend and steward to scowl with worry and displeasure. Before Primo could follow his master, to persuade him to meet with the very important and powerful Publius, he saw Sebastianus head for a boat that was casting off its lines, its prow pointing upriver. And Primo realized the futility of trying to make his master see reason. To make him understand the dangerous, possibly treasonous, action he was about to take.
Primo hurried away, dreading his meeting with the powerful Quintus Publius.
CLUTCHING HER PACKS AND MEDICINE KIT, and filled with excitement and hope, Ulrika hurried down the gangplank. She had lived these past five years in Babylon searching for the whereabouts of Venerable Ones, inquiring at temples, meeting with wisemen and prophetesses, and perfecting her skills at focused meditation—always with Sebastianus in the forefront of her mind and in her heart. And now he was here in Babylon.
Was it a sign that, being reunited with the man she loved, she was going to find the Venerable Ones at last?
As she made her way through the press of humanity on the wharf, with the sounds of human cries and shouts, and animals braying and bleating, with the smells of the green river and flowering plants, the massive stone structures rising on either side of the river, monuments called ziggurats climbing to the sky in diminishing tiers, their terraces congested with plants and trees and vines—the famous Hanging Gardens of Babylon—she began to notice the conspicuous presence of temple guards on the docks, their breastplates and helmets gleaming of gold, their spears tipped with silver, as if to proclaim their wealth and therefore the power of Marduk.
Ulrika felt a frenetic atmosphere in the air that she had not felt five years ago, when she had returned from Persia. She saw now the fear on people's faces, the suspicion in their eyes. Nonetheless, she was excited to be here. The energy of the city infused her blood and bones. Babylon! With its graceful towers and spires, massive crenellated walls, enormous gates imbedded with shining tiles of blue and red and yellow, depicting mythical beasts that took one's breath away. The day was warming up. Her nostrils were assailed by the familiar stink of the city: delicious cooking aromas mingling with the acrid smell of dung fires and the stench of animal feces and human urine. Ulrika walked past obsessive gamblers playing a game of chance involving pebbles and sticks. She made her way around dancing girls twirling in colorful skirts. The streets were clogged with housewives buying olives, men haggling over wagers, snake charmers, fire-eaters, dung-sweepers, beggars, perfumed aristocrats in litters carried on the shoulders of slaves. Ulrika's ears were assaulted by an unceasing din of shouts, laughter, music, weeping. The spectrum of human emotion was compressed within a few square miles of narrow streets, dusty lanes, sunlit plazas, sagging tenements, and mansions housing unimaginable luxury and dreams.
She filled her ears with the polyglot sounds of many languages, and it felt good to hear Aramaic spoken again, and a dialect of Greek that was closer to her mother tongue than that which was heard in lands farther east. She heard the familiar Persian, and Phoenician, Hebrew, Egyptian, Latin, and even a few tongues she did not recognize, reminding her of the legend that Babylon was the birthplace of mankind's many languages.
As Ulrika reached the base of the giant gate that led out of the city, she saw corpses hanging from the crenellated wall of the Hall of Justice. Criminals who had been slung up by their heels and left to die. This was Babylon's notorious form of execution. Here, crucifixions were never seen and Ulrika wondered if it was because of the scarcity of trees in this part of the world, making wood too precious to waste on the condemned. The dead and dying victims had all been branded, she saw, with a symbol that identified them as blasphemers and those who had committed sacrilege against the city's gods.
Whispering a prayer for their souls, she joined the busy foot traffic heading out of the city. Just ahead lay the great terminus of caravans arriving from the east.
AS SEBASTIANUS HURRIED TOWARD Ishtar's Delight, a small boat with wine amphorae lashed to its deck, and twelve oarsmen preparing to lower their oars into the water, he saw a woman disappear through the crowd near the city gate. He stopped and squinted. Her height, her shape, her gait ...
Was it she? Or was he so eager to find Ulrika that he was now seeing her in every woman on the street?
The crowd parted briefly. He saw her pause to look at the condemned men hanging on the crenellated wall, and as she turned, he glimpsed her face.
It was she!
"Ulrika!" he called, but she was swallowed up by the crowd.
He pushed through, shouting her name, dodging crates and dogs, trying to keep her in view. She had gone in the direction of the caravan terminus. Travel packs on her shoulders, and a medicine box slung on a strap ... Was she planning on leaving?
He ran through the main gate, calling out. And then he saw her, just up ahead.
"Ulrika!"
She stopped and turned. He saw a look of astonishment on her face. He cried out with joy.
Ulrika ran to him, staring at Sebastianus with wide eyes as he drew near, wondering if he was real or a vision. He wore a handsome dark brown tunic, edged at the hem and short sleeves in gold embroidery and belted at the waist with a knotted cord. On his feet, sandals that were laced up to his knees, and a cream-colored cloak swung from his broad shoulders. He seemed taller than she remembered, his body more powerfully built, as if the thousands of miles had imbued him with new life and virility. She remembered that he was nearly forty years of age, yet seemed much younger.
Before she could speak, he reached out, pulled her to him, and embraced her, saying, "I found you, I found you."
Ulrika tried to catch her breath as she pressed her face against his chest and heard the reassuring thump of his heart. "It is you," she murmured. "It is truly you."
Sebastianus drew back to look down at her with damp eyes, his hands on her arms and his face so close that she saw a small scar on his chin—a new scar, so that she wondered what foreign weapon, or thorn, or cat had caused it. There were new wrinkles, too, at the corners of his eyes, as if he had laughed a lot in China, or seen too much sun. But his voice was as she remembered, deep and mellow as he said, "I knew you would be here. Somehow, I knew."