"Roman soldiers march faster than most ride," he assured her, but inwardly he was not so sanguine. This Manasseh was clearly a man of quick decision. "It's a risky thing, asking for Parthian assistance. Once the king has his soldiers inside Manasseh's land, he may want to keep them there."
"This is something we needn't fear from you Romans?" She smiled as she said it but he felt the sting, as was intended.
"We are most meticulous in observing our treaty obligations," he said.
"Those treaties never seem to specify a date by which allied troops should be off our territory."
"Because our allies find us so valuable. They often manage to get into another war immediately, relying upon our aid." He took a sip. "But we shall be on our way as soon as we've crushed Manasseh, and his allies, if need be. We have to get back to Rome."
"And it might be a good idea for you to move your army away from Jerusalem very soon," she said.
"Move my army away? Why?" He was instantly suspicious. It was basic sense for a general to stay close to his men. An attempt to separate him from his troops usually meant treachery on the part of an enemy or even an ally. Especially an ally.
"There are some new prophets in town. These are from the North, from Galilee. They heard of this foreign army and came to look for signs of corruption."
"Corruption?" Norbanus said, mystified.
"Exactly. The prophets make it their special duty to see that the people are not tempted to follow foreign ways. That, you see, leads to worshipping foreign gods."
"What harm does it do to honor the gods of other people?" he asked. "We are always careful not to insult the gods of others."
"It is all too easy to insult the god of the Jews without intending to. For instance, these prophets, led by one Joshua ben Joshua, are complaining about the idols your men carry before them."
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"The eagles and bulls and scorpions and so forth that the men dressed in animal skins carry on poles before the troops."
"You mean the military standards?" he said, incredulous. "Your prophets object to our standards?"
"Yes. They are graven images, you see. Our religion forbids the making of any object that imitates a living thing."
"So I've heard. What about those lion-things with wings and human heads that flank the entrance to your temple? Or the bronze bulls that support the big water bowl in front of it?"
She smiled again. "There is of course an exception for the holy objects of the Temple. There is no exception for foreigners like you. When the Syrian Antiochus tried to introduce Greek statues and Greek rites in our holy places, there was war."
He folded his hands and leaned forward earnestly. "You do understand, don't you, that you people are quite insane?"
"If so, it's what our god requires of us. And these prophets are raising the people, haranguing them to rise against you and against Jonathan."
"And the king permits this? They are probably agents sent by Manasseh. He should have them killed."
"Prophets are sacrosanct," she said, sighing. "No matter how troublesome they may be."
"Oh. Like tribunes of the people?" He thought for a minute. "Why don't I just send some of my men to kill them? Jonathan can hold me responsible. And keep his own hands clean."
"That would be a good thing, but there would be a riot anyway."
"Then we could just massacre the rioters and peace would be restored. Jerusalem can easily spare a mob or two."
"Or you could just leave. Then they'd have nothing to complain about."
"Oh, please don't run him off so soon," said a voice behind Norbanus. He did not need to turn around. One of the twins had spoken. He knew that both would be there. He had yet to see the two of them separated by more than a few feet.
"Please join us, ladies," Tamar said, smiling without affection.
The twins drifted into Norbanus's field of vision. It was the only way he could think of to describe their motion: They drifted. They seemed as languid and boneless as a pair of somnolent eels, and as difficult to distinguish. Like Tamar they wore modest gowns, but their curly black hair was uncovered and they wore elaborate jewelry. Their faces were high cheekboned and full-lipped, their eyes emphasized with kohl. They looked, Norbanus thought, exactly like what they were: the final, decadent offspring of an ancient and corrupt civilization. Glorious Babylon had long disappeared, crushed beneath the boots of a succession of conquerors, but her wickedness seemed to be imperishable. Even in the rather relaxed court of Jonathan, the two were tolerated mainly for their mastery of Babylon's gift to the world: astrology. Their mother had been a star reader much valued by Jonathan and Manasseh's father.
"Are you going to tell us what the stars have to say about our guest's future?" Tamar asked warily. Norbanus knew that Tamar despised the twins, but like everyone else she was intimidated by their command of the arcane art. It surprised him that, despite their incredibly exclusive religion, almost all of these people had faith in Babylonian star augury.
The twins were attended by their own women, and as they sat, slaves slid a chair beneath each. "But of course," Glaphyra said. At least, Norbanus assumed it was Glaphyra. Her bracelets and other jewelry were studded with coral, and Glaphyra favored red stones: coral, carnelian, ruby. Roxana preferred blue: lapis lazuli, sapphire, amethyst. Of course, he realized, there was nothing to keep them from swapping jewelry to confuse people. Roxana raised her hand and a woman placed a scroll in her palm. She unrolled it with a flourish. "Our friend is a man of glorious promise, it seems," she announced. Her voice was identical to her sister's.
"What does your art tell you?" Norbanus asked, perhaps a little more eagerly than he wished. In Egypt, he had toured the splendid Temple of Hathor at Dendera and had been shown the Babylonian zodiac carved upon its ceiling in the days when the foreign art had penetrated even to the priesthood of that unthinkably ancient land. The priest had explained to him the significance of its signs and constellations.
This was an art very different from the auguries and haruspices of the Romans, and from the various divining arts of Norbanus's Celtic-Germanic ancestors. These only determined the momentary whims of the gods at a given time, and provided no long-range forecasts nor predictions of individual destiny. He was interested to hear what the twins had found.
"Titus Norbanus was most fortunate in the day and hour of his birth," Roxana said, "since it is not the custom of his people to take note of such things, being ignorant as they are in celestial matters. But he was born upon the night a certain comet appeared just above the rising crescent moon-"
"Itself a circumstance of greatest significance," Glaphyra interjected smoothly.
"— and this was noted by the Roman augurs," Roxana went on, "who usually take omens through lightning, thunder and the flight of birds, but who also note extraordinary phenomena such as comets and showers of falling stars."
"With this intelligence," Glaphyra said, "we were able to discern with great precision the stars and planets governing our guest's destiny. We think they are the most propitious to be seen since those of Alexander, almost two and one half centuries ago."
Norbanus's cup hand remained steady, but the other tightened its grip on the chair arm. This was what he wanted to hear, but he cautioned himself against credulity. These two were schemers from the womb they had shared, but the king and nobles of this court put much faith in their craft, so it could not all be trickery.
Roxana spread the scroll upon the table. The papyrus was covered with symbols and lettering that meant nothing to him. The two pointed out each, naming planets, signs, stars. They spoke of ascendancy, of declination, of precedents and fabled conjunctions, each twin taking up her sister's narration in a bewildering rhythm that kept him looking back and forth from one to the other until he was dizzy. Their presentation, he understood, was an art as polished as that of any Forum politician's.