The End of the Magi

by Patrick W. Carr

  “Sandstorm?” Myrad asked.

  Dov squinted, his head thrust forward. “It’s too small, and the storms usually pass west to east. Yehudah! Horses!”

  They left the road, making for a copse of cedar trees where they hid. Myrad expected to see a column of horses any second, but while the cloud continued to approach, its cause remained hidden. Half an hour later, he heard the rumble of countless hooves. Fifteen minutes more and he saw a column of cataphracts and horse soldiers stretching into the distance. He tried to number them, but the column moved at a trot and dust obscured his vision. “I can’t count them all.”

  Dov smiled, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Try this. Number them as accurately as you can while I count to ten. Then, instead of counting the soldiers, we’ll count the seconds.”

  Myrad blinked. The idea was simple but brilliant. When he said so, Dov nodded. “Precision is an admirable goal but not always needed.” He pointed. “Orodes is making a bid for the throne in earnest. It would be good to know whether this is a feint or a thrust.”

  After the last of the soldiers disappeared over the horizon, Myrad sought Dov’s interpretation. “Eight thousand, give or take a few hundred. What does it mean?”

  Dov mused in silence, his lips pursed. “There are too few men to attack any of the major cities, but a sizable force nonetheless. Perhaps the clan of Orodes is content at this point to keep Phraates in the west.”

  “Why?”

  The magus shrugged his ignorance. “Who can say? Perhaps he’s waiting for some other stratagem to tip the scales in his favor.”

  They rode due east for ten more days until they passed through a gap in the hills and came in sight of a circular earthwork surrounding the largest trading city in the Parthian Empire. Myrad stared at it in wonder. The size of the redoubt defied imagination. Words failed him as he gaped. “Why?” he managed at last.

  “There’s enough wealth flowing through the city of Margiana to build a small empire,” Yehudah said. “The walls were built to remind the Khushan this portion of Bactria belongs to Parthia.”

  “If we can keep it,” one of Yehudah’s cataphracts said.

  The magus dipped his head, conceding the point. “True enough. This is the eastern limit of Arsacid power. Here, all the caravans from Bactria, Qian, Indus, or Khushan must sell their goods to Parthian traders. This city is the eastern focal point for the empire’s wealth. That makes it valuable to its enemies as well. It is said anything can be found within its earthen walls.”

  “Is it true?” Myrad asked. “Can a man find anything there?”

  Yehudah laughed. “So long as it can be hauled on the back of a camel.”

  They circled around to join the line of caravans waiting to enter. Dour-faced soldiers mingled with merchants and rode in bands through the streets. Even so, the flow of beasts bearing goods proceeded without ceasing. Where one caravan stopped, another began, the slowly rocking gaits of the camels taking or bringing goods to Margiana.

  “Are there always this many soldiers here?”

  “No,” Yehudah said. “And many of these men are mercenaries from Khushan or Scythia. Orodes has no intention of losing Margiana to Phraates.”

  They passed multiple pens of horses and camels for sale, dwarfing those he’d seen in Ctesiphon and Hecatompylos. Myrad’s head spun as he searched for a red-and-white-striped tent, but the sights and sounds of Margiana overwhelmed him so that he soon gave up looking for it.

  It took them another hour of riding through the press of people and animals to come to the more permanent part of the city. After a few questions of a local merchant, Yehudah guided them to a gold-and-silver dealer in the north quarter.

  “Myrad and I will negotiate,” Yehudah said, “while the rest of you stand guard.”

  “Why me?” Myrad asked.

  “You have an honest face. Any merchant who wishes to remain in business won’t base their judgment on appearances only, yet I’ve never met a man or woman who didn’t trust their eyes first and their other senses last.” He pointed at the door. “Our gold merchant here is a middle-aged woman, Zarya. I believe your presence will make her more amenable to bargaining.”

  Myrad stopped. “Why? Because I’ve got a clubfoot?”

  To his surprise, Yehudah nodded. “Yes. Zarya will want to mother you because of your youth, and she’ll want to care for you because of your foot.”

  Unlike other merchants, Zarya kept no goods in her shop. Instead, scales and weights rested on a wooden counter made of heavy planks and topped with a plate of copper. There were no chairs in the shop, and Myrad could smell no hint of tea. Evidently, the customs of trade didn’t apply to gold merchants. Somber-looking guards stood at the door with their weapons drawn.

  “Peace be with you,” Zarya greeted. “How may I be of service?”

  Yehudah bowed. “We have a quantity of silver we wish to exchange for gold.”

  “Very well. Khushan, Parthian, or Roman?”

  “Parthian,” Yehudah said with a smile that wasn’t returned. “Denarii and tetras.”

  Her eyes shifted, calculating. “Reasonably pure, the exchange is fourteen to one by weight for Roman, and thirteen to one by weight for Qian.”

  Yehudah’s eyes narrowed. “The exchange in Seleucia is thirteen to one for Roman.”

  The merchant lifted her hands. “We’re closer to Qian than Rome. It’s more difficult to get Roman coinage this far out. You’ll find the other merchants’ prices are the same as mine.”

  “Why then should we deal with you?”

  Zarya smiled for the first time, revealing lines in her face even as it made her look younger. She waved at the counter. “My scales are honest. I allow my customers to check them before we weigh your trade, and I even let you choose which side you use. For that matter, I will let you use both sides to show they measure weight the same. We shall use the same weights for your silver and my gold.”

  Yehudah nodded. “Demonstrate, if you would.”

  Zarya placed a tiny weight on the left pan of the smallest scale and it tilted slowly toward that side. She placed the matching weight on the other side and the balance righted. She then swapped the weights with the same result. Finally, she shifted to the largest scale and repeated the demonstration with a full talent of weight.

  “That is satisfactory,” Yehudah said. “Your larger scale will be useful. We have quite a bit of silver to trade.”

  Zarya smiled, amused. “This is Margiana. I’m sure I can accommodate you.”

  Yehudah moved to the door and signaled the others. By the time they had unloaded half the horses, Zarya’s nonchalance began to fray at the edges. When they finished, she ordered everyone out of her shop except for Yehudah, Myrad, and her two guards. “What did you do, Yehudah?” she asked.

  “Do? We merely wish to trade a quantity of silver for gold.”

  Zarya paused, staring at him. After a brief moment, she said, “You know, there are rumors circulating that we’re about to have another fight for the throne.” She pointed at the large pile of silver on the floor. “If word spreads you’ve stolen from the empire, no one will deal with you.” She gave a sardonic laugh. “It appears as though you’ve stolen half the silver of Nisa and dumped it on my floor.”

  “I assure you, it’s not stolen,” Myrad said. “It’s recompense.”

  Zarya’s eyes widened. “By the light of the shining fire! It is stolen?”

  Yehudah tried to silence him with a glare, but Zarya interposed herself between them, close enough to touch. “Go on,” she said.

  Shifting to escape Yehudah’s censure, Myrad faced her. “King Phraates and the queen, Musa, killed my father and every other magus who defied them. They dumped their bodies in the street and claimed their lands and servants as their own.” He nudged one of the bags of silver with his foot. “This is only a partial payment, but it will have to do.”

  If he thought his admission would satisfy the gold merchant, he was wrong.

&nb
sp; “How much of it did you take?” Zarya asked.

  “Seventy-five talents,” Myrad said.

  Yehudah rolled his eyes, and Myrad caught snatches of a Hebrew prayer. “They won’t miss it.”

  Zarya’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she spoke. “How can they not?”

  “Because we had the transfer order to take it,” Yehudah said. “His father was one of the magi in charge of the mints. The master of the treasury in Nisa believes we’ve simply executed a transfer, which we’ve done. As far as you know, we have come by it lawfully.”

  She shook her head. “That won’t help me if they come looking for it.”

  “They won’t,” Yehudah said. “Those rumors you’ve heard are true. The eastern satrapies are banding together to resist Phraates and Musa. There’s going to be war within the empire again.”

  “May the god of the shining fire have mercy on us,” Zarya said. “Why can’t the magi pick a king who’s not already half crazy?”

  “They did,” Yehudah said, “but every king who comes to power seems to think he needs to marry his sister. After a few generations, the children are all crippled with insanity and disease.”

  Silence filled the room as Zarya looked back and forth from them to the silver heaped on the floor. Her lips tightened, a prelude to denial.

  “Fifteen to one,” Myrad said before she could refuse.

  She blinked, turning to Yehudah. “You agree to this?”

  “I do, with the provision you tell no one what you’ve heard.”

  “I wouldn’t have anyway. A gold merchant who spills her customers’ secrets spills their blood. Her blood follows in short order.”

  Yehudah picked up the first bag and dumped its contents onto the counter for Zarya’s inspection. “We will leave half the gold on deposit with you until tomorrow. The rest we take with us.”

  Zarya nodded. “I trust you’ll be leaving soon.”

  “You can rely on it,” Yehudah said.

  As Yehudah went to grab the next bag of silver, a sudden inspiration came to Myrad. He leaned closer to the gold merchant. “A question, if you would. Where might I find the silk merchants?”

  CHAPTER 15

  They exited with the sun a pair of hands above the horizon, but already torches sprouted up along the still-busy streets. Yehudah caught Myrad’s questioning look and explained, “Margiana never truly sleeps. The merchants do business well into the night, and most of the inns never close, a fact which makes it dangerous.”

  It hardly needed to be said. Amid the bustle of the vast marketplace, hungry, unblinking stares followed them. As Myrad shifted to mount his horse, a face ducked behind the façade of a nearby building. For a split second, memory tugged at him, but the glance was too brief and too many other faces intruded upon his awareness. “I think we’re being followed.”

  “Possible,” Yehudah said without concern. “If we stay together, my cataphracts will discourage any potential thieves.”

  Yehudah led them to the southern portion of the city, where the spice traders occupied a series of buildings nearly as formidable as those of the gold merchants. “There are spices here worth more than their weight in gold. If you’re caught stealing cinnamon, cardamom, or—may God help you—saffron, you lose not a hand but your head.”

  A thousand scents blended in the night air, making Myrad light-headed. They stopped before a shop resembling a dozen others. Something about it must have appealed to the magus. Myrad dismounted to follow Yehudah inside. “Our God gave us favor with the gold merchant,” he said before they entered, “but perhaps it would be better not to burden the spice merchant with our history.”

  The spice merchants, a man and woman with the look of siblings, moved about their small shop with the well-practiced choreography of dancers. “How may we be of service?” the woman asked as the man placed a jar in the single empty spot on the shelf. “We have a supply of the finest saffron from Indus, as well as white-and-red peppers from Bactria.” She pointed to a container with a reddish-brown powder in it. “And we’ve just received a shipment of cinnamon from Egypt.”

  “Excellent,” Yehudah said. “We would like to buy a quantity of myrrh oil. Do you have any?”

  The woman frowned. “Caravans from Ethiopia are infrequent visitors, but there are enough Hebrews here to make the oil worth holding. How much will you require?”

  “A thousand shekels by weight,” Yehudah said.

  She jerked in surprise. “My condolences, good sir. I grieve with you. Your losses must have been great.”

  Yehudah smiled. “You misunderstand me, honored merchant. The myrrh is a gift.”

  Confusion replaced commiseration. “Strange, to present someone with embalming oil.”

  “It has other uses,” the man interjected. “There are even those who drink it with their wine.”

  “Indeed,” Yehudah said. “I will present the gift and let the recipient decide how to use it. Do you have enough?”

  The woman nodded. “Barely. I will have to get word to the caravans headed south to bring more. What else will you need?”

  “Frankincense, if you please.”

  “I have a quantity from Sheba. Will you want it as an oil as well?”

  “No, the dried form will be fine. But I wish to burn a sample.”

  “Of course,” the man said. He disappeared into the back room and returned with a pebble of translucent yellow resin.

  “With your permission?” Yehudah asked.

  The woman nodded and weighed the sample while the man disappeared once more and then returned bearing a plate with a glowing coal upon it. The woman placed the nugget on the ember, and tendrils of smoke drifted upward. Yehudah fanned the smoke with one hand, inhaling deeply through his nose. Myrad mimicked him. Aromas of earth, wood, and sweet spice filled his senses. He closed his eyes, drifting, before Yehuda’s voice brought him back to the shop.

  “That’s wonderful,” he said. “We’ll need five hundred shekels by weight.”

  The woman again showed her surprise. “We’ll have to go to one of the other merchants to complete your order. A gift fit for a king.”

  Neither Yehudah nor Myrad moved for a long moment, and the woman cleared her throat. “The quantities you require are expensive.”

  “I understand,” Yehudah said. “How much?”

  While they haggled, Myrad thought of Gershom. His father never mentioned spices or resins in connection with the Messiah, only the necessity of marking the calendar. Yet these magi seemed to be in unspoken agreement concerning the gifts, even regarding the quantities of gold and spices required. Accompanying Yehudah and the others left him with the feeling of being in some Greek play where everyone but he knew their lines and actions. What was he missing? Where could he go to find the answers?

  After they made their purchase and departed the spice merchant’s shop, they headed for an inn in the southern part of Margiana. Again, Yehudah found his way with easy familiarity, knowing which inns offered a private room where they could speak without fear of being overheard. Myrad followed, but the prickly sensation he’d felt outside the gold trader’s returned. When he spun, hoping to take any watcher by surprise, no one moved and none of the faces tugged at his memory. Frustrated, he trailed Yehudah into an inn on the edge of the city, slipping just inside the door to hide in the shadows and wait. A figure across the street, obscured by a cart, watched the entrance. After a long moment, he turned away. Myrad followed. He caught sight of the figure once more. Whether the man sensed him or simply outpaced him, he didn’t know. Regardless, at the next street he lost sight of him.

  Myrad found his way back to the inn, where Yehudah and the rest were waiting. The magi reclined in a circle around a low table with their heads forward, talking in low tones.

  Dov was the first to see him and waved him over. “Come, we’ve been waiting for you. We have important business to attend to.”

  They opened a space for him. “Business?”

  “We�
��ve yet to determine who will go to Judea,” Yehudah said.

  It took Myrad a moment to understand. “Aren’t we all going?”

  Dov shook his head. “That is not our way, and after our mistake with Phraates and Musa, we thought it better not to assume God’s favor.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  By way of answer, Yehudah rose and disappeared down a hallway. He returned carrying a wooden bowl containing a set of small black stones. “As far as we know, we are the last of the magi counting the days. If we die, the prophecy will be lost within sight of its fulfillment. And so we shall cast lots to determine who goes.”

  Myrad studied the dark, smooth-looking stones. Each one bore a Hebrew letter in white, beginning with the stylized X-shape of the first letter, aleph, and ending with heth, the eighth letter.

  “Each of us will choose blindly,” Yehudah said. “If a man draws the aleph stone, that means God has chosen him to go to Israel. After each draw, the stones will be tossed again.”

  “One chance in eight?” Eliar asked. “With those odds it may be no one will be chosen.”

  It seemed Yehudah was going out of his way to thwart the mission, but his smile and the gleam in his eyes told a different story. “If I had all twenty-two letters, I would use them. Are we agreed?”

  The magi clustered around the table all nodded.

  “Good. I will go first,” Yehudah said. He handed the bowl with the stones to Myrad. “Since the dream came first to you, it seems fitting that you cast the stones for each of us.” Next, he removed the sash of his tunic and tied it around his eyes, blinding himself with the cloth.

  Myrad looked down at the bowl in his hands. “How do I do this?”

  “Gather the stones and let them fall into the bowl,” Yehudah said. “I will then choose one.”

  The stones clattered in the stillness, and Myrad held the bowl in front of Yehudah. He bumped it, searching, before he reached in to pluck a stone from the small pile.

  Stripping off the blindfold, he held it up for everyone to see. “Aleph.” He smiled as if he’d been given the fondest wish of his heart instead of a possible death sentence. He dropped the stone back into the bowl and handed his sash to Dov, who stood on his left.