She recalled the dream she had just had. What did it mean? What had this Galician to do with a thousand-year-old medicine man? Filled with questions, Ulrika felt her doubts begin to subside. She started to see that she had not come to the Rhineland on her own, but rather had been brought here.
I was summoned here to learn the true nature of what I had thought an illness. I cannot turn my back on my calling. Mother will tell me where to find the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar, and from there I will start my true path.
Ulrika laid fingertips on Sebastianus's upper arm and drew comfort from the hardness beneath the fabric of his tunic. Sebastianus Gallus made her feel safe and secure in a way she had never felt before. It overwhelmed her. And then it soothed her until, after a while, Ulrika drifted back to peaceful slumber.
Voices woke her, and sharp rays of bright sunlight that streamed into the cave. She found herself alone by a cold campfire.
Rising, adjusting her dress, her palla and her hair, she went to the cave's entrance and saw Sebastianus standing among green trees and grass, shining like gold in the morning sun, talking quietly with Timonides, Nestor, and a company of slaves and soldiers.
When he turned to look at her, Ulrika smiled. She knew now what she must do. She would not turn her back on the gift from the gods, she would not call it an illness anymore. She was filled with fresh resolve and determination to search for the meaning and purpose of her visions, and in so doing find her own meaning and purpose, and finally, where she belonged.
BOOK THREE
ITALIA
11
A
S NESTOR FOLLOWED THE girl with the sunlight hair through the busy marketplace, his keen nose picked up, among the many scents in the air, the spicy aroma of mutton roasting over a fire.
He swiveled his big head this way and that, and when he saw the great shank, peppered and darkly crisp, being turned on a spit, he loped over to the stall where it was being cooked and knew at once that the meat would be perfectly pink in the middle, the fat slightly yellow and ready to melt on the tongue, the skin crunchy and easy to peel.
He would take it home to Father.
The man who was cooking the meat, a chubby Armenian with a big nose and ringlet curls cascading over his shoulders, gave Nestor a suspicious look. "What do you want?" he snapped.
Nestor smiled and reached out to lift the mutton leg from the fire.
"Hey!" the Armenian shouted, drawing the attention of his wife and sons, who were busy at the wooden counter with other customers, exchanging meat and beer for coins.
Before the man could strike Nestor with a stick, a gentle voice said, "No, Nestor, you must not take that." And he felt a hand on his arm, coaxing him away from the stall.
It was the girl with the sunlight-hair. Her name was Reeka and she was kind to him. Other people called him names and told him he should never have been born. Some people even hit him with sticks and caused him pain. But Reeka was always gentle, she always smiled at him.
And so he turned and followed her, the mutton roast forgotten.
Offering a word of apology to the Armenian, Ulrika guided Nestor back to the direction they had been heading, toward the temple of Minerva. She did not mind keeping an eye on Nestor while Timonides visited the public baths in town. Taking care of his son was a full-time job, and Ulrika knew that once in a while the astrologer appreciated a spell of time for himself.
Nestor needed watching because he had no grasp of the concept of purchasing or trading in the marketplace. He thought everything was there for the taking. He also needed to be watched because he had a tendency to frighten people. Ulrika knew that the simpleton wouldn't harm a flea, but he was large and lumbering and walked with a rolling gait that gave him an aggressive aspect. And although Timonides tried to keep his son clean, Nestor had a habit of spilling on himself, and wiping his hands on his tunic, which made him appear out of control—another reason for people to fear him.
But Ulrika knew the biggest reason people shied away from Nestor was his round face with tiny slanting eyes and perpetual smile. These features made people uneasy because they were reminders of the perversity of nature and that it was only through the grace of the gods that they and their own children were normal.
However, it was an easy and pleasant task, taking care of Nestor. He never argued or disobeyed. He was always agreeable, and seemed to know only two emotions: happiness and sadness, with the former much more prevalent than the latter.
And his astonishing gift never ceased to amaze Ulrika. One taste of a new sauce, one sip of an unfamiliar soup, and Nestor could return to camp and re-create the dish down to the last grain of salt.
"Here we are," she said to her companions—two female attendants and a male bodyguard. They had arrived at the temple of Minerva.
After leaving Fort Bonna, the Gallus caravan had continued on to Colonia, where Sebastianus had conducted trade and commerce with local merchants, exchanging goods brought from Egypt and Spain for German products currently in demand in Rome—mead, silver and amber jewelry, animal hides and fur. Travelers who had journeyed with the caravan said farewell to Sebastianus, while new travelers purchased places in the caravan for its return trip south.
He had cut their stay short, as both he and Ulrika were eager to get back to Rome. Now the caravan was camped outside Pisa, one hundred and sixty miles north of their destination. While Sebastianus stopped long enough to drop off goods and passengers, and take on new travelers and supplies, Ulrika seized the opportunity to visit a local temple, one famed for housing a powerful goddess.
Here, in Minerva's place of worship, Ulrika hoped to find guidance. The old woman in the Rhineland had told her she must teach herself discipline. But how could that be accomplished without help?
The prospect of discovering her true destiny, of learning at last where she belonged, filled Ulrika with excitement. Unfortunately, seeking her destiny meant that she and Sebastianus must part ways.
The closer they drew to Rome, the more he consulted maps of the distant, mysterious East. Where, exactly, was China? His anxiousness to get started grew with each passing hour. Ulrika knew that Sebastianus had received reports that two of his four competitors for the diploma were now ahead in the race! Adon the Phoenician was but a sea voyage away from Rome and was bringing a rare animal called a "gryphon" for the emperor, and Gaspar the Persian was on his way back from the Zagros Mountains with a pair of conjoined twins, sisters fused at the hip since birth, who were said to be able to pleasure several men at once. Tempting prizes for Claudius. Nonetheless, Sebastianus had assured Ulrika that he was confident his own offering would appeal to the emperor even more.
As she thought of Sebastianus, Ulrika felt her heart turning toward him as a flower turned to the sun. She knew she was falling in love with this handsome man who had come flying out of the forest like a hero from myth, wielding a massive sword as he cut down, one by one, her savage assailants. That image, imprinted on her brain, was as vivid as if he were at that moment fighting off enemies, his sword whistling through the air as he protected her with his strength and power.
But she knew that such a love was a luxury that could never be hers. Sebastianus was bound for the ends of the earth, while she herself was on her own personal path.
As she and Nestor and their companions mounted the temple steps, Ulrika thought of the many shrines and holy places she had visited since leaving Colonia, to light incense, offer sacrifice, and ask each god to illuminate her. If her gift came from the gods, she reasoned, then it was they who must instruct her in what to do next.
She purchased a small white bird from the dove vendor on the temple steps, giving him a copper coin and receiving the assurance that the bird was perfect and free of blemish. As she took the small cage from the vendor, Ulrika saw a young man standing next to him—a youth who had not been there a moment before. Ulrika waited, listened, and then the vision faded.
It frustrated her. She had experienced several such visua
l and auditory spells during the return trip to Rome, and they were all random and without meaning. Perhaps, she thought with hope as they reached the main entrance at the top of the marble stairs—perhaps compassionate Minerva will show the way.
They entered the dim interior and saw a large sanctuary stretch before them—a circular hall fringed with white columns, a shining marble floor, with lamps hanging from the ceiling, and at the opposite end, the goddess herself, larger than life, seated on a throne. Priests were lighting incense and chanting while citizens handed over their offerings of doves and lambs.
Ulrika paused inside the entrance, to calm her mind, to open her heart to whatever message the goddess might send, and her companions halted also, looking around at the magnificent marble walls and domed ceiling and thinking that the goddess of poetry and music, healing and sewing—but most of all, the goddess of wisdom—must be very influential indeed.
A portly priest in a white robe and smelling of oils and incense, approached. "How may the Goddess help you, dear visitors?"
His voice was softly feminine, his eyes kind and smiling. "I have come seeking guidance on a personal problem," Ulrika said, and she handed him the caged dove.
"You have come to the right place, dear lady, for Minerva is the Goddess of Nearness, and she is near you now, to hear your prayer. Come this way."
As he turned, a ring of keys jingled at his belt, and Ulrika wondered if the prophecy of the Egyptian seer were about to come true.
But the priest neither offered her a key nor unlocked a door as he took her and her companions to a quiet alcove where Minerva was depicted in mosaic tiles above an altar. To Ulrika's astonishment, the priest opened the cage and allowed the dove to fly free. She had expected him to slaughter it, as most gods demanded. Instead, they watched it flutter and circle and then fly out of the temple and toward the sunlight.
The priest smiled. "That is a good sign. Doves are the messengers of the gods. Minerva has heard your prayer."
"How will I hear her answer?"
The priest stepped up to the altar, where Ulrika now saw a series of scrolls lined up, each with a different color ribbon. "Choose," he said.
She pointed to the one tied with a blue ribbon.
He opened it, and read out loud, softly, "Your lungs are in a hurry. It is as if they are in a chariot race." Then, to Ulrika's surprise, he rolled the parchment up and re-tied the ribbon, replacing the scroll on the altar.
"That's all?" she said.
"The Goddess heard your prayer and guided your hand. That is her answer."
"But what does it mean?"
"The gods speak to us in their own language. Sometimes interpretation is elusive and does not come to us right away." He bowed slightly, said, "Minerva's blessings," and left.
They descended the steps and entered the busy marketplace again, Ulrika's companions thinking of the approaching midday meal, Ulrika puzzling over the goddess's cryptic message, and Nestor eyeing a bowl containing round, shiny objects that he thought he would like to take with him.
Ulrika did not see the blind beggar squatting in the shadow of Minerva's temple, did not see Nestor suddenly reach down and grab a handful of coins that generous citizens had tossed into the beggar's bowl.
It happened quickly: the man shot to his feet, shouting, "You dare to steal from a cripple! And a blind one at that!" And before she could react, his blind man's staff, which kept him from bumping into buildings, went up in the air and came down with a resounding crack on Nestor's head.
Nestor fell. He started to cry. The pain was more than he could bear. Why had the man hit him? And then Reeka was there, grabbing the staff as it started to come down again, stopping it, protecting Nestor from his attacker, saying to the man, "He has the mind of a child, do not strike him again. And who are you to accuse of theft, when you yourself steal from good citizens by pretending to be blind?"
And then she was on her knees and speaking soothingly to Nestor, touching his head where it hurt, where blood now trickled. But the pain went away beneath Reeka's gentle touch. The fragrance of her hair and clothes entered his nose and filled his head in the way food aromas did. He felt better. His tears and fears subsided as he listened to her soft voice and felt her tender touch.
He wanted her to hold him in her arms and never let go. Nestor, who had only ever known two emotions in his life, now felt a third settle into his heart like a radiant sunflower.
Nestor had fallen in love.
SEBASTIANUS WAS AT THE CARAVAN CAMP, conducting trade with a wine merchant, when he saw Ulrika and her party return. Nestor's head was bandaged, and Ulrika herself was looking distraught.
Sebastianus went to meet them. "What happened?"
As Ulrika recounted the incident to him, he saw afternoon sunshine glow in her blue eyes. He noticed the way the long honey-colored hair seemed to peek teasingly from beneath her palla, and how the blue of her soft linen gown brought out the hues of her eyes. He was acutely aware of the rise and fall of her bosom as she spoke in one breath about false cripples and the honesty of the innocent, and Minerva's cryptic message in the next.
Sebastianus knew he could easily fall in love with her. He desired her. He wanted to make love to her. But he was not free to do so. In Rome they would say good-bye.
"Hoy there!" came voices from the crowd. They saw an anxious Timonides hurrying toward them. "Terrible news, master!" the astrologer shouted.
"What is it?"
"It is Emperor Claudius," Timonides said breathlessly as he drew near. "He is dead!"
"Dead!" Ulrika cried.
"Assassinated, according to rumor. But, master, they are saying that Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus has been proclaimed his successor, and that he is systematically destroying all who were closely connected to Claudius. You cannot go back to Rome, master! You are now an enemy of the state!"
12
A
S THEY NEARED THE city of Rome, after days of hearing reports of chaos and riots in the city, the members of Sebastianus's caravan were quiet and somber, not knowing what they were going to find.
They had passed through peaceful countryside that appeared to be unaffected by the political news, the farmers' cottages and villas of the rich, nestled in green hills among pastures and vineyards, as sleepy and serene as they had been for centuries. But Sebastianus had not gone into towns and villages at night as was his habit, he had not left the caravan for even a moment, nor had he entertained guests, but had stayed close to his passengers and workers, making his presence known, calming raw nerves and reassuring those who traveled with him that everything was under control. Noon and afternoon horoscopes were added to his usual morning and evening readings, keeping Timonides busy with his charts and instruments while Ulrika's worried thoughts were upon her mother and their friends—all allies of the assassinated Claudius.
And now they were nearing their destination, Sebastianus leading the way on his mare with Ulrika riding behind in a private covered wagon.
Although Rome was a dangerous place now for them, there had been no question of staying away. Ulrika needed to return as quickly as possible to her mother's house, to make sure Selene and her friends were safe. Sebastianus was worried about his villa in Rome and the staff who served him.
But foremost on his mind was the question of the diploma for China. Would the new emperor even be interested?
Sebastianus had been able to glean some information along the way about Claudius's successor, a sixteen-year-old youth with the birth name Domitius Ahenobarbus but who, it was rumored, had changed his name upon succession to the rather grandiose Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. People were saying that young Nero had declared a new era for Rome and that he had ambitions to expand diplomacy and trade. This offered a glimmer of hope for Sebastianus, if he could avoid being arrested for his very loose affiliation with Claudius (Sebastianus had met the deceased emperor only once, and briefly). What he knew he must do was somehow get close to the emperor, who surely wa
s surrounded by an army of guards, tutors, protectors, not to forget his powerful mother, Agrippina, who was also Claudius's widow. Sebastianus needed to let the ambitious young man know of his plans to open a new trade route to China and establish diplomatic connections with foreign nations along the way, expanding the Roman empire beyond even Nero's vision.
But how to get close enough to Nero to explain all this?
Riding at Sebastianus's side on a trotting donkey, Timonides was likewise plagued with worry. He thought about the catastrophe that had appeared in his master's stars back in Fort Bonna and continued to shadow his master's daily star-readings. Did the nameless disaster lie just ahead, in the eerily quiet city of Rome? And had he, Timonides the erstwhile honest astrologer, brought it about with his falsified horoscopes? What if the new emperor had Sebastianus executed? What would become of Timonides and Nestor? They had no money, and Timonides was old, Nestor simple-minded. It made his blood run to ice to think of the pair of them in the streets, begging.
This is all my fault! he lamented in his heart, despising the crowds that they now joined, hating the city walls, angry at Emperor Claudius for getting killed, and furious with himself for having tricked Sebastianus into taking Ulrika with them. By the gods, the crusty old heart of Timonides the astrologer cried. I swear upon all that is holy, upon the very soul of my beloved Damaris, that I will never again falsify a sacred horoscope or blaspheme in the name of the stars! Please, just get me and my son through this dark hour, and I shall serve the gods and the heavens with the utmost honor and respect and will never tell another lie for as long as I live!
They arrived at the vast terminus and, making sure the caravan was safe and secure, Sebastianus and Ulrika, Timonides and Nestor, and a few slaves and guards, struck off on foot, to join the throng trying to get into the city. With his impressive credentials and merchant-trader's pass, Sebastianus was allowed through the smaller pedestrian gate, where the members of his party were scrutinized and questioned, their travel packs inspected. With an admonition to go straight to their residences and nowhere else, as curfew was strictly enforced during martial law, they were passed through.
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