The Divining

by Wood, Barbara

  "That it is," he said in dismay. Timonides was fat for a reason. While astrology was the focus of his spiritual and religious life, food was the center of his mortal life. Timonides lived to eat. From his morning breakfast of wheat cakes and honey, to his late-night supper of pork fried in oil with mushrooms, his day consisted of chewing and swallowing and filling his belly in a continual feast of taste and texture sensations. When not eating, he was reminiscing on his last meal and anticipating his next. Timonides would give up women before he would give up food. And now, to be unable to eat! Was life even worth living?

  "I believe I can help you," the young woman said in a voice soft yet confident.

  "I doubt that!" he cried in misery. "My master took me to a doctor in the city who wrapped my neck and jaw in a hot mustard poultice that resulted in a burning rash. The second doctor prescribed poppy wine that sent me into deep sleeps. The third extracted my back teeth. No more doctors!"

  He was wary as she continued to gently probe, but he had to admit that her touch was gentle and light, not like the ham-fisted doctors who had pried his mouth open so wide he thought his jaw would snap off.

  When her finger touched a sensitive spot below his jaw, and he cried out, she nodded solemnly and asked Sebastianus to bring something sweet or sour for Timonides to eat. Sebastianus stepped inside a tent and returned with a small, yellow fruit, handing it to Ulrika, who recognized it as a costly fruit imported from India. Instead of peeling it, she slipped the entire lemon into the old Greek's mouth and said, "Bite down."

  He did so with much protesting—didn't this girl know that lemons were a medicine, not food?—and while he struggled not to spit the sour thing out, Ulrika's fingers were immediately at the spot below his jaw, massaging and pushing mercilessly.

  Sebastianus watched in fascination as saliva and spittle flowed from his astrologer's mouth, while those fingertips manipulated and probed until, after an agonizing moment, the girl said, "You may spit the lemon out."

  Timonides did not need further encouragement. He spat saliva and lemon pulp into the girl's hand.

  "Here was the cause of your distress," she said, showing him the speck in her palm. "A tiny calculus had formed in your salivary gland, and it needed the flow of saliva to flush it out."

  "Great Zeus," Timonides murmured as he rubbed his jaw.

  "You will have a little tenderness for a while," Ulrika said as she gracefully rose from the chair, "but it will go away and you will have no more distress." She delicately wiped her hand on the hem of her dress.

  "What form of payment do you desire?" Sebastianus asked, amazed at what he had just witnessed. How had she known to do that?

  "No payment," she said. "Just introduce me to an honest trader who will take me to Colonia as quickly as possible."

  Sebastianus picked up her packs and bundles and said, "I know just the man." He paused to say to Timonides, "I assume you are now able to cast an accurate reading?"

  "That I am, master, just as soon as I get some sustenance into my stomach!"

  Sebastianus nodded curtly and led the way through the noisy throng, with Timonides watching his master and the strange girl vanish into the crowd.

  AN IRON STEWPOT BUBBLED over a fire between two tents in the Gallus compound. Next to it, an oven made of portable stones gave off the aroma of baking bread. Upon the hot stones, fresh eggs sizzled in olive oil.

  A large man in a gray, stained tunic stirred the pot with a wooden spoon. He had a round, flat face with slanting eyes and a baby's smile. When he saw Timonides approach, his smile brightened.

  "Great news, my boy!" Timonides boomed. "I am cured! By the gods, I can eat again. Dish me up that stew, boy, I am ravenous."

  Nestor was the chief cook for the Gallus caravan, preparing food for Sebastianus and his inner circle, which included a bookkeeper, a personal valet, a secretary, two assistants to help run the caravan, and Timonides the astrologer. Nestor had never learned to read, being simple-minded, and so he had never read a recipe. But he had a natural talent for concocting meals by instinct, knowing just which spice to add and how much. "Yes, Papa," he said with a giggle. Nestor was thirty years old and Timonides's only child.

  As the old Greek sat down to the savory meal, looking forward with relish to every bite, he rubbed his jaw where there was no longer any pain, and he thought of the girl with the clever fingers, how quickly and easily she had rescued him from the worst hell imaginable. A hell that he prayed he would never visit again—

  He froze. With bread in hand, ready to scoop up the pork and mushroom stew, Timonides squinted through the crowd of traders and workers, merchants and travelers, and a terrible thought sprang into his mind.

  Timonides the astrologer held his office very seriously. Before casting a horoscope, he always bathed, meditated, changed into clean robes, purified himself physically and spiritually. He believed most deeply that the casting of horoscopes was as sacred and solemn as any temple ritual, that astrologers were as holy and reverent as any temple priest. The gods used the stars to send messages to mortals, and the interpretation of those messages was a serious and lofty affair.

  Unlike with many seers and augurs, it never entered his mind to use his talents to his own benefit. Timonides was given food and lodging, and a secure place in the Gallus household, and he was content with that, knowing he was going about holy business. The world was full of soothsayers who used their art to make a profit, and some lived very well by telling lies. But those charlatans, he was certain, were going to burn in the fires of Hell for eternity. Not Timonides the astrologer, who held a close and secret wish in his heart.

  And herein lay the tragic irony of Timonides the star-reader. Destined forever to read the stars for other people, the astrologer himself would never have his own horoscope cast. Timonides did not know the date of his birth, or where he was born, or who his parents were. He had been found on one of Rome's many trash heaps where unwanted infants were left exposed to die. Sometimes they were claimed for slavery, or by a barren woman desperate for a child. Mostly they perished, as people assumed such unwanted babies were defective or cursed. But a widow in Rome's Greek quarter had found the mewling infant lying among rotting meat and horse dung and, out of compassion, brought it home.

  And so the astrologer grew up not knowing his own sign, his own planets and houses, where his moon and sun were supposed to be. Therefore it was his lifelong wish and most cherished prayer that someday, somehow, the gods would reveal to their humble servant the stars of his birth. To this end Timonides had kept his astrological practice pure. He had never cast an inaccurate horoscope, had never twisted the meaning in the stars to suit a more favorable reading.

  Until now.

  Because, the terrible thought that had suddenly entered his mind was: What if the stone comes back?

  And he felt a blow to his chest as if a mule had kicked him. Was it possible his salivary gland would produce another calculus? Was the pain going to return?

  Am I going to be kept from my precious food again?

  And then he thought: I must keep the girl with me.

  Timonides the honest and pure astrologer was instantly filled with terror.

  Great Zeus, he thought, his mind racing along a track laid with blasphemy and sacrilege. He had to make sure the girl traveled with them. But he knew there would be no persuading his master to bring a lone female along on a caravan consisting of men and no other women. There was only one solution: Timonides the sacred astrologer must falsify Sebastianus's horoscope.

  As it was never a good idea to make decisions on an empty stomach, he scooped some chunks of pork and gravy onto his bread, hefted it into his mouth, and munched with heavenly delight. As more and more of the stew went through his lips and down his throat, his every taste bud waking up to garlic and onion, reminding him of what it had been like to be unable to eat, filling him with dread that such deprivation would visit him again, Timonides the astrologer thought: But it would be just a small untrut
h. Not really a lie, more like a fiction. And I won't exactly say it is what the stars said, I will merely hint and let my master draw the vital conclusions.

  Timonides washed the stew down with beer that had been kept cool in wet straw, and as he smacked his lips and signaled to Nestor for a second bowl, he told himself that what he was about to do was a small favor to ask of the gods. In all his years of serving the heavens and the stars, he had never asked for anything in return, had never once used astrology to his own gain. Surely they would not mind one tiny self-serving transgression from an old man who had been staunchly faithful.

  As more greasy pork and piquant onions awoke his palate, reminding him of culinary pleasures to come, Timonides the astrologer started to feel good about what he had to do.

  SEBASTIANUS AND ULRIKA RETURNED to the camp, having found a trustworthy guide to take her to Colonia, one who had families in his caravan. But a refreshed and considerably cheered Timonides greeted them and, with star-charts in his hands, declared, "Master, the message is astonishing but clear. This girl Ulrika is meant to travel with us."

  Timonides spoke hurriedly lest his voice betray the lie. Showing Sebastianus his calculations, he said, "Master, you know that your sun sign is Libra with Capricorn your Moon sign." He went on to fill the air with words such as house and aspect, elliptic and ascendant, conjunctions and crescent, explaining the placement of the five planets in relation to the sun and moon and how they affected not only Sebastianus Gallus, but the caravan, the girl named Ulrika, and the outcome of the race for the imperial diploma.

  Sebastianus frowned over the papyrus sheet covered in numbers but he had no reason to doubt the outcome of the calculations. Timonides used a small calibrated instrument to determine the intersecting angle between the horizon planes and the ecliptic, and his most prized possession was a zodiacal casting wheel made of finely hammered gold, with symbols and degrees imprinted in the metal. It was said to have belonged to the great Alexander himself. These left little room for error in the casting of horoscopes.

  Still, this reading came as a surprise. "What does this young lady have to do with us?"

  Timonides did not meet Sebastianus in the eyes, looking instead at Ulrika. "It makes logical sense, master. I was unable to make good readings because of my pain and hunger. The gods sent the girl to us to take away my pain and to fill my belly again. Now I am able to serve them once more. She is here for a reason, master, and that is only for the gods to know."

  Sebastianus could not argue with this logic. He also could not deny that the girl had been able to affect a cure that Rome's physicians could not, so perhaps she would be an asset on the caravan. But how would she travel? Where would she sleep? How could he keep a watchful eye on all his men?

  "But I am in a hurry," Ulrika said. "I must travel with speed and your caravan is too large, it will take too long."

  "As it so happens," Timonides said quickly, "my master is also in a hurry and must reach Germania Inferior as fast as he can, and so we will be traveling at a healthy pace."

  Timonides saw how his master hesitated and so he said, "Master, you know that in the next towns, a family will join us, or a group of women. They always do. It will only be for a short time that the young lady is unchaperoned."

  Sebastianus considered this and then, as he had never questioned the stars, he finally said, "Very well," as Timonides had known he would.

  It was done! The girl was coming along and Timonides was guaranteed of freedom from salivary pain. He struggled to conceal his joy.

  They entered into an agreement. With the corner of her veil covering her fingers, Ulrika shook hands with Sebastianus and in that instant a startling vision filled her head: an explosion of small bright lights streaking across the black sky and coming to rest, like a shower of golden sprinkles, on a vast, grassy valley. The image was so strong, so vivid that it held her briefly transfixed.

  In the next moment, her mind was filled with the vision of a breathtaking landscape of rolling green hills, a rocky coastline, winds blowing in from the sea. She knew it was a land called Galicia, although she had never been there. She knew it was this man's beloved home, verdant with thick forests, ending in a wild and rugged coastline, a place that his people called Land of the Thousand Rivers—and yet thoughts of Galicia caused him great pain. He is homesick, she thought, yet he can never go back. Sebastianus Gallus was a man without a country.

  As Gallus picked up her travel packs and she followed him to a line of covered carriages, as her heart raced in anticipation of meeting her father at last, Ulrika shivered with a chilling thought. If her illness was indeed back, what other frightening visions and sensations awaited her on this journey into the unknown?

  BOOK TWO

  GERMANIA

  8

  S

  TAND ASIDE IN THE NAME OF IMPERIAL ROME!"

  Ulrika did not recognize the stranger demanding to be let in. "Who are you?"

  "Agents of Claudius Caesar. You are hiding someone in there."

  "I am hiding no one. We are a simple trade caravan, taking grain to the northern outposts. You must speak with Sebastianus Gallus, he is the leader of this caravan. You cannot mistake him. He is tall, with hair the color of bronze, and a deep commanding voice, and a way about him that makes one notice. He is unmarried, although I do not understand why, for he is very attractive, quite handsome, in fact—"

  Ulrika opened her eyes to darkness and found herself in bed. Where was she? To whom had she been speaking?

  It was another dream ...

  She held her breath and listened, and heard, beyond the cloth walls of her small tent, horses galloping through the encampment. Men shouting. Women crying out.

  Ulrika frowned. It was barely dawn. The camp wasn't due to break up for another two hours.

  Clutching her shawl at her throat, her long hair streaming over her shoulders, she stepped out and peered through the atmosphere thick with mist and smoke. Eerie figures were marching through the camp, brandishing swords and barking orders. Roman legionaries, rousing people from sleep, disrupting breakfasts, interrupting prayers.

  As Ulrika watched the commotion in the pale morning light, Timonides appeared from around the side of the tent. "What's going on?" the astrologer asked with his mouth full. He held a greasy lamb chop with a bite taken out; his tunic was stained down the front where honey had dripped from wheat cakes. It was the first of several meals of the day for the corpulent Greek who had discovered the joy of eating again.

  "I do not know," Ulrika murmured.

  Timonides wrinkled his nose as he watched the red-caped legionaries stride through the crowded encampment, entering tents and covered wagons, kicking over hay bales, jabbing swords into barrels and bundles of merchandise. "They appear to be searching for something," he observed as he sank his teeth into the spicy chop.

  Or someone, Ulrika thought.

  "Where is your master?" she asked as she watched the legionaries brusquely pull people from tents, bringing torches close to their faces, to examine them and then push them away.

  "Sebastianus will come soon. Mistress, go back inside. With your fair hair and that symbol you wear about your neck..."

  Ulrika's hand went to her breast, where she wore the Germanic Cross of Odin. She turned and looked out over the Rhine—a wide, flat, silver river that, in the early morning mist, looked unreal. Roman naval vessels patrolled the waters, great ships moving under the power of sail or rhythmic oars, a constant reminder of Rome's imperial and mighty presence in this northern land. On the other side of the river, dark green forests holding ancient secrets stretched to the horizon.

  Ulrika brought herself back to the camp and the intruders. The caravan of Sebastianus Gallus had stopped, along with several smaller caravans and groups of traders and travelers, at a garrison called Fort Bonna, one day's journey south of Colonia, birthplace of Empress Agrippina and the cause of the new outbreak of war in the region. Since leaving Lugdunum in Gaul and following the eastwa
rd road that skirted alpine foothills, the mood of the caravan had become one of nervousness and anxiety. Lugdunum was a major trading hub in Europe, a cosmopolitan city of marble towers and fortress walls and roads that stretched away like the spokes of a wagon wheel. And along those roads, men traveled, bringing with them word of fighting in the east, rumors and unconfirmed reports but no one saying for certain what was happening—or was going to happen, or had already happened—in Germania Inferior.

  Now, after days of rising apprehension, they had come to a halt fifteen miles from Ulrika's destination. Her heart raced. Where was Gaius Vatinius and his legions? Everyone said that he was leading his troops directly across the Alps, a more hazardous route than the one caravans took, but a more direct one—thousands of men pushing northward like a deadly tide, bringing horses and weapons and war machines into the pristine forests of Ulrika's people. How far behind were the legions? How much time was left to her to find her father and warn him?

  As she kept her eye on the soldiers, their armor clanking as they pushed their way into people's privacy, stamping the ground with their thick, hobnailed sandals, Ulrika wondered where Sebastianus was. She glanced at his tent. It was dark and deserted as usual. Once again, he had not slept in his own bed.

  Where does he go every night?

  As they had followed the busy trade route from Rome to Masilia, from Lugdunum to the Rhine, Ulrika had seen Sebastianus Gallus interact with merchants, traders, and travelers, inviting them to share his fire and a meal. Trade and commerce were conducted at each stopping point, with the abacus coming out, coins being counted, baskets and bundles of merchandise changing hands, and Gallus overseeing it all. When business was concluded, he would bathe in his tent, change into a fresh tunic and cloak, and leave the camp, usually bearing gifts, to head into the village or town, and return the next morning.