While Ulrika wondered what he did away from camp—while she wondered about many things concerning the master of her caravan—she did know one thing: his passion for the stars.
Ulrika had learned that Sebastianus Gallus was not a religious man in the traditional sense. He did not erect a small altar each time they camped, nor did he make a sacrifice of food and wine to the gods. Instead, he consulted the stars, making use of Timonides and his star-charts.
Ulrika thought about the gold bracelet on Sebastianus's wrist. It was a beautiful piece, finely molded with intricate designs. The surprising feature was a rather homely chunk of rock in the center, neither pleasing to the eye nor seeming to be of any value—a prosaic stone easily found in any street. She wondered at its significance.
As she watched the legionaries move through the camp, coming her way while a nervous Timonides stood at her side, Ulrika thought about the local people the caravan had encountered along the route, Germans who were not slaves, as Ulrika was used to seeing, but free men and women working their own farms, engaged in cultural arts and crafts and who came to the caravan to trade. She would stare at them, marveling at seeing this race in their own environment of forests and rolling hills and green, misty valleys. Women in long skirts and blouses, their hair worn in braids; men in leggings and tunics, hair worn long and nearly all of them bearded, reminding Ulrika that the term "barbarian" literally meant "bearded one," but that in recent years had come to mean any uncivilized person.
She trembled to think that she was near her father's territory. It filled her with pride to know that, not far from here, forty-five years ago, three legions commanded by Quinctilius Varus had been defeated by the German hero Arminius, Ulrika's grandfather! But sadness also filled her—leaving her mother without a proper good-bye. Fear was in her heart as well, that the childhood sickness that frightened her might never be cured, that she was going to be plagued forever with dreams that were too real and vivid to be mere dreams.
As two legionaries strode up to her tent, she braced herself.
Ulrika was familiar with the political climate of this region. Under the empire's pax romana, several important Germanic tribes worked peacefully with Rome, and seemed to have no problem with the presence of imperial forts and garrisons in their ancestral territory. So peaceful was this region, in fact, that Claudius had needed to pull idle troops from the Rhine and give them something to do: invade Britain. But now there was a new problem: an unnamed German warrior was firing up the tribes and uniting them against Rome for the first time in forty years.
And Ulrika was certain it was her father.
As the two legionaries approached, she tightened the shawl about her shoulders and drew herself up tall, ready to stand up to them. She would not let them search her tent. She had nothing to hide, but it was the principle.
ON THE FAR SIDE of the camp, at the edge of the clearing where the western forest began, a leather-faced centurion scratched his testicles as he watched the proceedings with a jaded eye. A twenty-five-year veteran of foreign campaigns, the middle-aged soldier was looking forward to retiring with his fat wife to a vineyard in southern Italia, where he hoped to live out his days idling in the sunlight and telling war stories to his grandchildren. This search for insurgent Barbarians—in a trade caravan!—was useless. The whole military thrust north of the Alps was futile, in his seasoned mind. Germania was too big and its people too proud to ever be conquered. But the centurion never questioned orders. He did as told and drew his monthly pay.
He stiffened. His trained eye told him that trouble had just arrived.
"What is going on here?" boomed Sebastianus Gallus, riding through the trees at a gallop. Jumping down from his mare, he strode up to the centurion. "What are these soldiers doing here?"
"We're searching for rebels, sir," the officer said, recognizing the bronze-haired young man, in a fine white tunic and handsome blue cloak, as someone of rank and importance.
Sebastianus scowled as he surveyed the chaotic scene. It would be an hour before he could restore order and another hour to break camp and get the caravan underway. He had to reach Colonia before dark. "Upon whose orders?" he snapped. "And why wasn't I informed?"
"General Vatinius, sir," the centurion said wearily, reminding himself of the vineyard and warm Italian days. "He ordered a surprise search, the better to find the fugitives. No forewarning, no chance to get away."
"We are hiding no one here," Sebastianus growled and marched off.
Sebastianus's ill humor was due only in part to this unexpected upheaval of his camp. He had spent the night at a nearby farm, the guest of a Roman farmer he had known for years, but he had not slept well. It was because of the girl, Ulrika. The day before, she had announced her intention to leave the company of the caravan the moment they arrived in Colonia, to go off on her own in search of her father's people. Sebastianus had not expected that. He had thought he would help her put together a party that consisted of local Germanic guides, bodyguards, slaves. As safe an escort as he could muster.
But to go alone? Was she out of her mind? Was she so ignorant of the dangers she risked?
He wished he had never agreed to take her as a passenger. But Timonides had insisted that the stars showed her path aligning with his. And with each daily horoscope, there she was, still intertwined with Sebastianus's destiny. "When do our paths diverge?" he had asked in their camp outside of Lugdunum. Timonides had only shrugged and said, "The gods will let us know."
Although he had worried that a girl on her own in a caravan might be a problem, Ulrika had turned out to be no trouble at all. She had kept to herself, quiet, reading, going for walks—always modestly draped in the palla that covered her coiled hair and bare arms. She had traveled without complaint in an enclosed box-wagon drawn by two horses, a rocky carriage ride that always elicited grumbles from passengers when they stepped out at the end of the day. But Ulrika never spoke as she sought a place at the campfire while Sebastianus's slaves erected a tent for her privacy.
In a small way, she had even been an asset. Sebastianus had watched her heal people. A mere girl with a calming, quiet presence and a curious box filled with medicinal magic. She would listen to someone's problem and she would either say, "This is beyond my skill," or, "I can help."
She had said that she had learned healing arts from her mother, but Sebastianus suspected her talent went beyond a mere apprenticeship, for those she had helped declared that she had somehow known exactly what ailed them, had known even without them being able to adequately describe their ills.
As he walked through his disordered camp, calming people down, assuring them that the soldiers would soon be gone, he squinted through the smoke and mist and saw her on the other side, standing outside her own small tent, talking to Timonides. Sebastianus was startled to see long hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back. She normally wore her tawny hair bound up in a Grecian knot and hidden beneath her veil.
He was further startled to feel a stab of sexual desire.
Pushing the girl from his thoughts—they were parting company tomorrow, after all—he strode through the camp bringing reassurances to his slaves and workers, and to those traveling under his protection, stopping to set hay bales aright, to soothe frazzled nerves, to restore order as he went. But his mind raced. It normally took him sixty days to reach Fort Bonna, yet he had arrived in a record forty-five. He had pushed to cover the miles, and had not conducted his usual extensive commerce in the towns and cities they had visited. By his calculations, if he could execute a swift turnaround in Colonia, he could have the caravan back in Rome in perhaps another forty-two days, with an excellent chance of beating the other four traders to the finish, which was the Imperial Palace and an audience with Emperor Claudius.
Unfortunately, simply getting there first was not enough. Sebastianus still had to find a way to distinguish himself before the emperor. What could he take back to Rome as a gift that would set him apart from Badru, Sahir, Adon, an
d Gaspar, who would surely present splendid trophies to Claudius?
As Sebastianus surveyed the camp, assessing damage and nerves, he saw two legionaries approach Ulrika's tent, where she stood her ground, tall and proud. He quickly made his way across, and as he neared, he heard her say, "There is no one in this tent."
"Sorry, miss, but we have to see for ourselves."
Ulrika did not budge. "I harbor no criminals."
"Just step aside."
She tipped her chin. "On what authority do you act?"
"Is General Vatinius good enough for you? Now just—"
Her clasped hands fell away. "Who did you say? General Vatinius? But he is miles from here, to the south—"
"The commander is at Colonia, with his legions."
Ulrika gasped. "Vatinius is here? Already?"
Sebastianus saw the color drain from her face. Before he could speak, Ulrika surprised him by suddenly standing aside and saying to the soldiers, "Search. You will find nothing."
As the legionaries conducted a quick sweep of the tent's interior, Ulrika wrung her hands. Sebastianus had never seen her so agitated. "You're worried about your father's family," he said, wishing he could offer something more. Sebastianus knew few details of the legions newly garrisoned at Colonia. He had heard conflicting reports, information being based more upon imagination and wishful thinking than fact.
Ulrika's eyes met his, and he saw fear there. "I must warn them," she whispered.
"Warn them—?"
The legionaries emerged from the tent, and Ulrika, without another word, quickly went inside. Sebastianus stood there for a moment, puzzled, then he turned on his heel and called out for Timonides.
AS SOON AS HE had seen his master enter the camp to stop and talk with the centurion, Timonides had tossed aside his unfinished lamb chop and rushed to the tent he shared with his son, Nestor, to prepare himself for the morning's astral reading. It was the first thing his master saw to when he returned to camp, before breakfasting even. When Sebastianus called for him, Timonides would be ready with the horoscope.
As he pored over his charts, using his instruments by lamplight, scribbling equations on a scrap of papyrus, Timonides felt a pang of guilt over the falsehoods he had uttered in the past few weeks. But he had wanted to keep the girl with them, in case his jaw acted up again, or another ailment befell him. He tried to assuage his conscience by reminding himself that in all his years of serving the gods and the stars, he had never asked for anything in return. Surely they would not mind this one small reward for faithful service, but the feelings of guilt—
He froze. Something was wrong.
He read his notes again, reset his protractor, made certain of degrees and houses and ascendants. And felt his blood run to ice. Great Zeus. There was no doubt. Yesterday, his master's horoscope had been as clear and uneventful as a summer's day. But now, unexpectedly...
A catastrophe lay ahead. Something great and fearsome that had not been there in prior days. Timonides licked his lips. Why now? What had changed? Had it something to do with the soldiers searching the camp?
Or is it my punishment for falsifying readings?
Timonides broke out in a sweat. He knew that when he reported this new reading, Sebastianus would demand an explanation as to why his horoscope had suddenly changed. If Timonides told him the truth, that he had lied back in Rome about bringing the girl along, what would Sebastianus do to punish him? Timonides did not mind for himself—he was an old man and had lived a good life and would accept any punishment within reason. It was Nestor he worried about. For his son's sake he must stay in his master's good graces. Pudgy and pie-faced, with the sweet temper of angels and the innocence of doves, Nestor would be helpless on his own.
Timonides wrestled with his conscience and indecision.
The day the newborn had been placed in his arms, the look of disgust on the midwife's face, the sisters and cousins all declaring it would be best for the child to leave him exposed on a garbage heap ... Timonides had almost agreed, until he had felt that tender flesh, the tiny bones, the utter helplessness of the creature. His heart had turned upside down in that moment and Timonides had known he could not do to this infant what had been done to him. And so he had kept the son who had come late in life to the Greek and his wife, a surprise really, as Damaris had thought herself beyond childbearing age. And when Damaris had died when Nestor was only ten, Timonides had pledged himself anew to care for the boy at any cost.
Now, twenty years later, Timonides was being put to the test. And there was no question. He could not tell his master the truth—that a great catastrophe now lay before them because his faithful astrologer had committed sacrilege by falsifying horoscopes. For Nestor's sake, Timonides must save himself with yet another lie.
Rubbing his belly and wishing he hadn't dipped his lamb chops in so much garlic sauce, Timonides went out into the smoky morning to deliver the reading.
He found Sebastianus sitting at a table in front of the tent where the wealthy trader never slept, a scroll containing financial records opened before him, the ever-present abacus in his hand. The young Galician smelled of soap. He had changed into a clean white tunic, the close-cropped beard was freshly trimmed, his hands and feet were scrubbed clean. Timonides knew that, with his blue cloak fastened at his throat, Sebastianus was ready to break camp and make the last leg of the journey.
"The stars have a new message this morning, master. Something big is about to happen to you."
Bronze eyebrows arched. "Big? What does that mean? Nothing was said of this last night, in the evening reading."
"Things have changed," Timonides said, averting his eyes.
"Changed?" Sebastianus thought about this. "The soldiers," he said. Then he turned in the direction of Ulrika's tent, where he could see her silhouette moving about inside, and a strange new thought fluttered at the edge of his mind.
The soldiers ...
Something about the soldiers and the girl named Ulrika. "I must warn my people," she had said.
What had she meant by that? Warn them of what? He had thought she was simply going home. That was all she had told him.
But ... in the past few weeks, a word here, a comment there. "My people's land surrounds a sacred, hidden valley embraced by two small rivers that form half-moons. In the heart of this valley lies a sacred grove of oak trees, where it is said the goddess Freya wept red-gold tears." And another time, proudly, "My tribe are warriors."
Now, recalling her reaction to news of Commander Vatinius being in Colonia, Sebastianus wondered: was it her people who were behind the new uprising? Were they the rebels Vatinius had been sent to vanquish once and for all?
And were those insurgents at that moment camped in the hidden valley Ulrika had spoken of?
Sebastianus rose to his feet, carefully considering his next words as new thoughts formed in his mind. "Old friend," he said to Timonides, "this great thing you speak of that lies in my path—could it be that I am about to meet someone very important?"
Timonides hesitated. What in the name of Great Zeus was his master talking about? The old Greek had no idea, but there was suddenly a look of hope, even excitement in his master's eyes, and so Timonides said, "Yes, yes, that is it," eagerly bobbing his head, hating himself for the lie, the sacrilege. But he had no choice. And if the gods struck him dead in that moment, he would not blame them. "You are about to meet someone very important who will change your life."
Sebastianus felt his blood suddenly run hot with excitement. It could only be Gaius Vatinius, commander of six legions! For who was more important in this region than he? And I have precious information to give him. I know where the Barbarian insurgents are headquartered!
With such information, Sebastianus knew, General Vatinius would be assured a victory. And Emperor Claudius would grant a handsome reward to the man who had brought it about. The imperial diploma to China.
I will ride north immediately and inform the General of a hidden va
lley embraced within two half-moon rivers ...
ULRIKA HASTILY BOUND HER HAIR up in ribbons and reached for her travel packs. She decided she was not going to wait for Colonia. She must leave now. Vatinius was already here, and she alone knew of the secret trap he planned to set for her people.
Slipping out of her nightdress, she chose a practical traveling gown of plain white cotton with a matching palla, and as she dressed she thought of the myriad small vessels she had observed on the Rhine, local merchants plying their trade up and down the river under the eye of the Roman galleys. Ulrika spoke the dialect and had enough coins, she knew, to bribe one of them to carry her to the other side.
As she wrapped bread and cheese in cloths, she thought of Sebastianus Gallus. She should let him know that she was leaving the caravan this morning. But then she realized he might not allow her to leave, might even assign a guard to her to see that she stayed safely in his charge until he delivered her to Colonia—as per their agreement.
Saying a mental farewell to him, doubting she would see him again, Ulrika stepped out of her tent and headed for the Rhine.
9
S
HE WAS LOST.
Ulrika had been walking for days, following the map, trying to recall the details her mother had told her long ago—so many small rivers shaped like half-moons!—and now she was deep in the forest eastward of the Rhine, and she had no idea where she was.
When Ulrika had made her way down to the Rhine, she had been able to bribe a boatman to take her across to the other side. And during the crossing, she had asked him if there was news of Vatinius and his legions, but the boatman had spoken quickly, his accent unfamiliar to Ulrika, so that she had garnered only bits and pieces.
One thing she did know: a major battle was about to take place.
But where?
She scanned the sunlit forest, where firs and oaks cast dark shadows, and birds called from overhead branches, and the silence was broken by the occasional snap of a twig, reminding Ulrika that creatures were watching her. Hungry creatures ...
The Divining Page 5