There was something in the woman's voice, in her eyes, the posture of her thin body, the tragic rags that hung on her emaciated frame, and most especially, in the way the child lay limp in her arms, that drew Ulrika to her. While others surged around, pressing against Primo's shields, the young woman held her child and pleaded with eyes that had gone deep into shadows from hunger and fear.
"What happened to her?" Ulrika said, noticing that the child seemed to be alert, as she watched Ulrika with big eyes.
Those closest by fell silent, to listen and to see if a miracle was about to happen.
"A fever swept through our neighborhood," the young mother said. "My daughter burned for days, and when she came out of it, she could not walk. It was a year ago. Physicians have said she will never walk again. Please ask Rabbi Judah to help us. I am impoverished, dear lady. I have reached the end of my road, and the last of my hope. Without my daughter I am nothing. Please restore her to life. Show me how to talk to the rabbi. What do I say? How do I address him? They say he cured people when he was alive. And some say he is doing it now."
Miriam stepped forward. "Please go back to the city. All of you! Please leave my husband in peace."
"I will do anything," the young mother said. "Whatever Rabbi Judah asks of me, I will do it."
While Miriam tried to persuade her to leave, the young mother knelt beside her crippled child, bowed her head, and began to softly pray.
The Babel Tower was the tallest in Babylon, rivaling only the ziggurat of Marduk. Legend said that the tower had been built by an insolent king determined to reach heaven and meet the gods face to face. He decided to build the tallest stairway in the world, but in order to accomplish such a feat, he had needed thousands of workers, forcing him to recruit from foreign lands. As a result, with the workers all speaking different tongues and thus making errors in construction, the tower was never completed. A subsequent king converted the eyesore to a lookout tower, shaded and protected from the elements, with a complete all-around view from horizon to horizon, and the night sky with its zodiacal signs.
As Sebastianus climbed the three hundred and thirty-three stone steps that curled upward in a spiral, he struggled with his emotions. Other astrologers had not been able to restore his faith. Worse, they had come up with different horoscopes, which had shocked him. Having relied for years on Timonides for his horoscope, Sebastianus had not realized how widely varied, from astrologer to astrologer, the readings could be. They all used the same constellations and signs, the same numbers and equations, the same charts and instruments, and yet their readings were as disparate as one astrologer telling Sebastianus that his children all praised his name and would give him many grandchildren, another assuring him that his current wife would live longer than his previous two had. Was the science of astrology a sham?
But as his sandals struck each worn step, where hundreds before him had tread, Sebastianus still held hope that the famed Chaldean in this tower would restore his faith in the stars.
When he reached the top, emerging through a small wooden door, Sebastianus had to catch himself and reach for the wall. The vista! The panorama! Desert and river and hills and, most of all, the bustling metropolis that spread before him. It took his breath away.
And then he realized he had come to the end of the stairway. He was at the top of the tower with nowhere else to go. The stone wall was chest-high and the tiled roof was supported on eight columns. There was nothing else.
Where was the Chaldean?
As the wind whipped around him, threatening to strip off his cloak and carry it away, Sebastianus felt outrage rise in him. He had been duped! Was this how it happened? Gullible men like himself paid outlandish sums, only to find themselves the target of a sham? How many, through the centuries, had come up here to find themselves the butt of a joke, to go back down and tell their friends how successful the meeting with the Chaldean had been? For no man would admit to having been swindled.
I shall tell the truth! Sebastianus thought in fury. I shall shout it on the streets of Babylon that the Chaldean does not exist! That there is nothing at the top of this tower but wind and broken dreams!
A bird flew into the tower just then, startling him. It flew around in a frantic flapping of wings—a small kestrel falcon, Sebastianus saw, the color of rust and ink. He glimpsed its eyes and saw a curious film covering them. When the falcon flew into a pillar and bounced off, Sebastianus realized the bird was blind. He watched it fly in circles within the tower and then suddenly it swooped low and vanished.
Sebastianus stared at the spot. Where had the bird gone? It looked as if it had flown right into the floor.
Bending low, Sebastianus examined the marble tiles and saw, when he turned his head one way, an opening in the floor that was not otherwise observable. An enticing smell came from the opening, like sweetly perfumed incense. He heard a humming sound, as if someone were singing to himself. The Chaldean! Sebastianus circled the opening and saw a wooden step. He cautiously lowered his foot onto it, and when he felt the support, continued down.
Twelve more steps brought him to a tapestry. Pushing it aside, he saw a small cozy chamber, dimly lit by oil lamps, furnished with a table and two stools, with hangings on the walls, and shelves cluttered with astrolabes, charts, bowls, and a stuffed owl. As he entered, careful not to bang his head on the low ceiling, he surveyed the room and realized it must lie behind the spiral staircase.
The room was unoccupied, and there seemed to be no more doors or openings. "Hello?" he called out.
When he heard a sigh, Sebastianus turned and saw someone sitting at the table. He blinked. Surely that person had not been there a moment ago. It was the incense, he thought, for now it was strong and heady. Perhaps it contained a substance that caused visions.
Taking a step closer, however, he saw that it was no vision but a person sitting there, patiently waiting to speak. Sebastianus blinked again, and frowned. This must be the Chaldean, he thought, but what an extraordinary creature!
Of surprisingly humble appearance, considering his reputation, the Chaldean wore only a long white robe that had known better days. His long bony hands rested on the table, his head bowed, showing a crown of hair that was blacker than jet, parted in the middle, and streaming over the shoulders and down his back. Presently the head came up, and Sebastianus received a shock.
The Chaldean was a woman. Sebastianus was further arrested by the unusual aspect of the face, which was long and narrow, all bone and yellow skin, framed by the streaming black hair. Mournful black eyes beneath highly arched brows looked up at him. The Chaldean almost did not look human, and she was ageless. Was she twenty or eighty?
"You have a question," the Chaldean said in perfect Latin, eyes peering steadily from deep sockets.
Sebastianus took a seat opposite and it seemed that, the closer he drew to the astrologer, the more the incense invaded his head. It took on a cloying scent, with an underlying odor that was vaguely unpleasant. The room seemed to grow dimmer, the walls closing in.
"You have a question about the stars," the astonishing woman said in a voice that sounded older than the ziggurats of Babylon.
"Do they contain messages?"