Lifting her head, the young mother sent her plea to the sky. "We are a hopeless cause," she said as she began to weep. "Perhaps we are not worthy of divine notice. But I ask nothing for myself! Please save my daughter!"
"Mama?" came a tiny voice. "Mama?"
Feeling her daughter stir in her arms, she opened her eyes and said, "What is it, baby?"
"Who is that man?"
"What man?"
The child pointed. All heads turned. No one saw a man among the humble tents and palm trees.
"There is no one there, baby," the young mother said.
"He has honey! He has dates!" The little girl struggled in her mother's arms, pushed away, and fell to the ground.
"Baby!" the mother cried, reaching for her child.
But the girl was suddenly up on her feet and toddling away on legs that had not moved in a year.
The crowd fell silent. Ulrika turned. The child who had, moments earlier, been unable to walk, now ran. And she was running, Ulrika saw, in the direction of Judah's grave.
"Why will you not answer me directly?" Sebastianus asked in growing frustration. "You speak in riddles! Not even that, for riddles are meant to be solved. Your words make no sense!" He rose from the stool. "I have wasted enough time."
"Wait, Sebastianus Gallus ..."
He turned. Blind eyes did not look at him as a whispered prophecy came from her ancient lips ...
He stared at the Chaldean and when he heard her prediction, felt himself snap. "Now I know you are false!" he shouted. "For what you have just said will never come true. I promise you that!"
As he descended the three hundred and thirty-three steps, Sebastianus knew that his suspicions were sealed. What he had just heard was an impossible prophecy, and so he knew now that there were no messages in the stars. There were no gods. There was no such thing as miracles.
"Baby!" the young mother cried, running after her daughter.
Everyone watched in stunned silence, even Primo and his men, startled to see what they had thought was a paralyzed child suddenly running toward Miriam's camp.
Ulrika and Timonides watched in spellbound astonishment as the girl ran into the camp and then twirled in circles, her arms outstretched as she cried, "Honey and dates! Honey and dates!"
The mother fell to her knees before her child, her moist eyes wide as she watched the spindly legs dance on the sand. "It is a miracle!" she cried. "Thank you, Blessed Judah, for I know now that it was you who worked this miracle! I will do good deeds in your name! I will revere you all my days. I will bless your name forever, Oh Venerable Judah!"
Ulrika stared in shock. As the child twirled and her mother wept, as the mob burst into cheers and the sun moved one degree closer to the western horizon, Ulrika felt the world undergo an irreversible and profound shift.
She had found the Venerable Ones.
When Sebastianus appeared in the golden rays of sunset, galloping on horseback across the desert, Ulrika ran out breathlessly to greet him. He jumped down from his horse and drew her to him, kissing her deeply. Then he stepped back and looked around at the jubilant camp. People were lighting torches, dancing, singing, and passing around skins of wine. Many were on their knees chanting prayers. "What happened?" he said. "Who are all these people?"
"Something wonderful, my love! But tell me about the Chaldean. Did he restore your faith?"
"It is all a sham. Astrology is nothing but fakery to cheat a man out of his money. I shall never be so gullible again."
"Why do you say this?" she cried in dismay.
He described his experience, and then said, "Here is the prophecy the Chaldean uttered: 'You have a possession that you value above all others. Before one year has passed, Sebastianus Gallus, you will willingly relinquish that cherished object.' Oh Ulrika, every man has one possession he cherishes above all others! And while most men, under certain pressure and the right circumstances, will part with their most treasured possession, what the Chaldean does not know is that long ago I vowed upon the altar of my ancestors that I would never let this bracelet leave my arm as a remembrance of my brother." Sebastianus clasped his fingers around his wrist and said, "This is my most cherished possession, and there is no force on earth that would make me break my vow never to part with it."
Gripping her by the arms, looking into her eyes as if he and Ulrika were the only two souls in the middle of the desert, Sebastianus said with passion, "Men in their fear and foolishness try to predict their destinies, thereby hoping to control them. But the future is unpredictable, Ulrika, and destiny is as intangible as a cloud. There are no messages in the stars. I will destroy the charts, instruments, devices for observation and calculation that I brought from China. I will not visit the observatory in Alexandria where the greatest astronomers in the world study the heavens. For I know now they cannot put it all together and uncover the secrets to the meaning of life."
He looked down at her, love in his eyes. "Do not be sad for me, my dearest. Timonides's false readings and lies, and his confession revealing his misdeeds, have opened my eyes to the truth. For I am now a free man, believing in nothing, choosing my own destiny. This is why I forgive Timonides. For he is only human, and who is to say I would not have done the same under those circumstances? Perhaps he did me a favor. For now I am in control of my life. No more waiting to see what the stars portend. I will awake each morning my own master."
He gripped her shoulders and, looking deep into her eyes, said, "I climbed the three hundred and thirty-three stairs a man filled with hope, and descended them a man filled with new wisdom. From now on, dearest Ulrika, you will be my religion, my goddess, and I will worship you all the days of my life."
He kissed her then, and finally stepped back, as if bringing himself back to the physical world. He looked around. "Who are all these people? What has happened here?"
She told him about the little girl's astonishing cure.
He arched his eyebrows. "Do you believe Rabbi Judah restored her legs?"
"It does not matter what I think. When word of this reaches the city, there will be a stampede to this spot. Sebastianus, I feel responsible. I told Miriam to bring her husband here. And I told her that he wishes to be remembered. I handled it all wrong. I had not foreseen that this would happen. These people are all in danger and it is my fault. Sebastianus, my spiritual gift is to find sacred places and sacred people—I found a Venerable One!—and to lead people to them. But I must also do it responsibly, not in a way that will bring harm to others."
"Do not worry, we will find a way to fix this."
A short distance away, Primo scowled at what he had just overheard, and wondered how he was going to keep his master safe now. When word of what had happened here reached the city, there would be no containing the thousands flocking to this place. With his master insisting on firing it!
And Quintus Publius about to depart, any day now, for his return to Babylon.
38
T
O MY ESTEEMED QUINTUS PUBLIUS. In the name of the Senate and People of Rome, I greet you. Herewith is a report on the latest activities of my master, Sebastianus Gallus, in regards to his caravan and the goods he transports for Caesar."
Primo was dictating in the privacy of his spartan military tent that had been hastily erected near Daniel's Castle. He paused to allow the secretary to write the words, dipping his pen in the ink and applying it to the papyrus. Although Primo had become proficient in several languages, he was dictating in Latin, for that was the language he shared with the ambassador from Rome.
He continued: "We are still in Babylon, honored Quintus, but there is a very good reason. Please read this report before you consider arresting my master for treason."
He had spent days worrying over what to tell Quintus Publius about Sebastianus's continued lingering in Babylon, but now he had a solution.
Primo had once been a soldier with limited imagination, who had seen the world in black and white, unskilled at fabricating lies. Yet
since their return from China, Primo had found that he was more adept at lying—diplomacy, Sebastianus would call it—than he had ever thought possible. For now he must think of a clever way of covering up the fact that they were still in Babylon because his master was in love.
In his new way of thinking, going outside black and white, into areas of gray and brown and even red or green, Primo decided that the best move in this instance would be to dish the ambassador a fiction so outrageous that Publius would have no choice but to believe it!
As Primo weighed his next words, he watched the finely shaped hand move across the papyrus, jotting perfect letters. The secretary wrote almost as quickly as Primo dictated. One of the best in Babylon, Primo had been told. He wondered what the man was going to think of his next words, how he was going to react. But surely the secretary had heard hundreds of strange confessions and declarations, perhaps some even more bizarre than what Primo was about to say. If the man was truly as professional as he comported himself, and if it was true what they said about the code of ethics that governed secretaries and lawyers, the man should not react at all.
Primo knew that professional secretaries, licensed by the government and ruled by strong ethics—for otherwise they would have no clients—were paid not so much for their letter writing skills as for their silence. Whatever passed between client and secretary, whatever went into the correspondence and messages, remained there. Breaking such a confidence was punishable by death because, like lawyers, secretaries recited sworn oaths before receiving their medallions to practice—as was reflected in the title of their profession: from the Latin, secretus, which meant "secret."
Primo resumed dictating, "Sebastianus Gallus is under a witch's spell," and the finely shaped hand kept writing with not the slightest hesitation. Mithras, Primo thought. I might be dictating a list of vegetables for all this man reacts! He continued: "She is a sorceress who claims, among many tricks, to communicate with the dead. She holds my master in thrall by professing to communicate with supernatural beings and therefore to foretell the future. You can imagine, my esteemed Quintus, what power she has over my highly superstitious master. It is this woman, named Ulrika—and take note that she is from the same tribe that has caused the Roman Empire, and more specifically General Vatinius, much grief in recent years—who has cast the evil spell over Sebastianus Gallus, making him stay in Babylon, holding back Caesar's treasure for her own selfish interests."
Primo prayed that the story of bewitchment would divert Quintus from the charge of treason. Otherwise, the ambassador would have Sebastianus arrested, seize the caravan and, under Primo's leadership, send it off to Rome. And for a man of Sebastianus's standing in the field of merchant trading to have his caravan taken from him and his rights and privileges stripped, his family name sullied, would be the worst disgrace—not to mention what horrible fate awaited him in the arena.
Primo wondered if he could tell Sebastianus about this untenable situation. The emperor himself had sworn Primo to secrecy, and Primo had always been a man true to his oath. But, of late, he had found his loyalties shifting. He had witnessed his master's bravery in China, had observed Sebastianus's integrity and honor at work. And hadn't Sebastianus himself managed to obtain their release from the emperor's "hospitality"?
Primo scowled. He was used to wrestling men, not moral dilemmas.
"Send for me at your convenience, esteemed Quintus," Primo concluded, "and I shall give you a more detailed report in person, at which time I am sure you will agree that my master is more a victim than a traitor. I am confident you will encourage Caesar to be lenient with him. Your servant, Primo." He thought for a moment and then, deciding that a touch of humility would not hurt, added, "Fidus."
And the secretary smirked.
ULRIKA GLANCED IN THE direction of Primo's tent, glowing against the night with lantern light. She knew he was entertaining a visitor from the city, a man of some importance judging by the heavily fringed robes he had arrived in, the tall cone-shaped hat, and the wooden box he carried, resembling those carried by lawyers. She wondered what business Sebastianus's steward had with a civilian.
Then she looked past the tent and out into the dark desert, to see a red glow on the horizon: Babylon. A city that never slept.
Ulrika was filled with an ominous feeling. The back of her neck prickled. The sort of sensation one experienced just before a lightning storm, or a dust storm that had its unseen beginnings in faraway deserts where mythical jinni were said to stir up the wind to torment humankind.
Where was Sebastianus? He should have returned by now. He had left that morning for an urgent meeting with the High Priest and now he was overdue.
They had spent the past days trying to convince people to go away from this place. Instead, more had come. The crowd grew so large that Sebastianus had given Primo orders to set up a small camp and arrange for a manned guard around the perimeter.
There had been no miracles since the little girl was cured of paralysis. But that one demonstration of the magical properties of this place had been enough to generate and sustain faith. This time, there was no pushing, no protesting. Miriam and her family, Timonides, and Primo's men saw to the orderly conduct of visitors at what everyone was calling "Judah's shrine."
But they could not stay any longer. It was time for everyone to leave.
Ulrika looked out at the dark desert and felt gooseflesh rise on her arms. Something was out there, coming this way ...
THE RIDER GALLOPED ACROSS the desert at breakneck speed, moonlight guiding his way, his cloak flying behind him as his steed kicked up clouds of sand. Sebastianus had used his powerful and influential connections, plus generous monetary donations, to keep the priests of Marduk placated. But it had come to an end. He had to warn Ulrika and the others.
They were out of time. The temple guards were coming.
AS SHE WAITED ANXIOUSLY for sign of Sebastianus, Ulrika looked at the quiet, faithful mob, regretful that she had given them this sacred place, only to have brought them into danger.
Was it Judah who had cured the little girl? Ulrika knew that, in the vast world, there were many different beliefs, and miracles were possible.
As the desert wind blew against her face, it reminded her of another desert, another wind—on the shore of the Sea of Salt. And suddenly she was remembering the place where Rachel and Almah had found her—on a grave. Ulrika had thought Rachel had buried her husband in sacred ground. But now, as people prayed to Venerable Judah, Ulrika wondered if it had been the other way around. Had Jacob made that ground sacred?
Remembering, too, that Jacob and Judah had been "brothers" under their master in Galilee, Ulrika wondered now if Jacob was also a Venerable One.
IN PRIMO'S TENT, THE secretary was packing his writing equipment and saying, "I will see that your letter is delivered safely to the house of Ambassador Publius first thing in the morning." After reading the dictation back to Primo, making corrections, and then copying it out again more neatly, the secretary had rolled it up, dripped wax onto it, and allowed Primo to seal the scroll with his ring.
"A job well done," Primo said, but as he reached into his money pouch for coins, he heard horse's hooves approaching at a gallop. Looking out, he saw Sebastianus flying into the camp.
"Wait," he said to the Babylonian. "There might be more."
SEBASTIANUS JUMPED DOWN FROM his horse and ran to Ulrika. "I was unable to confer with the High Priest," he said breathlessly. "He would not see me. I went to the governor, but it is beyond his control. Ulrika, not even my friend Hasheem, the powerful money-changer, could help. I have given orders to my slaves to prepare the caravan to move out. They will be ready to depart at dawn."
He looked at the frightened crowd—mothers with infants, men with useless legs, the blind and the sick—and then he lowered his voice. "The High Priest is on his way here. I was told he is bringing guards. Ulrika, I believe I can talk reasonably to the man, but we must not have a panic. If we get these peop
le to remain peaceful and orderly, and to show no disrespect to the priests and to Marduk, I believe they will allow us to return to the city unmolested."
"Sebastianus," Ulrika said, placing a hand on his arm. "I must go to Judea."
He stared at her. "Judea! Why?"
"I believe Rachel's husband is a Venerable One and that I am meant to go there and protect him as I did Rabbi Judah. But also, Rachel saved my life, and she was one of my teachers. I owe her a great debt."
Sebastianus thought about it. "Rome has sent more legions to Judea. The unrest among the Jewish rebels grows."
"Jacob is too precious to let fall into the hands of the Romans, who were his enemies. I must go to Judea and get him and Rachel to safety."
"Where would that be?"
"I do not know, but he must be remembered as Judah is remembered. I shall do it differently. I will not be so irresponsible with Jacob. I will give it a great deal of thought."
Primo came up. "Master, is everything all right?"
Sebastianus turned to his steward. "The High Priest is coming with an armed escort. I want no provocation. We will settle this peacefully. All they want is for these people to disperse and return to the city. That is exactly what we will do. Tomorrow, I want you to see that all my goods and people get safely to Rome. I am putting you in charge of the caravan."
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