The Divining

by Wood, Barbara

  Primo, standing in the swaying wagon as if riding out a storm at sea, thought grimly of the battles he had survived, only to end up suffering a coward's death.

  Sebastianus held onto Ulrika, his arm tight about her waist as he tried to think of what he could say, whom he could bribe to obtain his friends' release, for if Nero wanted to punish the friends of Claudius, then only he, Sebastianus Gallus, should be held accountable. Surely this girl, an elderly astrologer and his simpleton son, and the chief steward of his household had nothing to do with it.

  But Sebastianus had heard what emperors did to ensure themselves of complete loyalty among their subjects—they left not a single friend of their predecessors alive. Would Nero be any different from Tiberius and Caligula and Claudius before him?

  Down a narrow lane lit by torches in sconces, the wagon was brought to a halt and the detainees ordered down. Surrounded by the elite cohort, Sebastianus and his companions were hurried through an unmarked, unguarded door, down a long dim corridor, up steep stairs, and along yet more narrow halls, the sound of their footsteps whispering off marble walls, their shadows stretching and shrinking in flickering light. Sebastianus saw fear on his companions' faces and tried to think of words of assurance.

  As they were taken into a wider corridor where servants now slipped past bearing platters and pitchers, they heard a dull roar of voices, and when the captain of the guard drew aside a heavy tapestry to reveal an audience chamber ablaze with light, Sebastianus and his companions blinked in surprise.

  The imperial reception hall was vast, with a forest of columns, towering statues adorned in gold and precious stones, a marble floor that shone like glass, and it was crammed with people milling about in Roman togas, military uniforms, foreign dress. Sebastianus and his companions stared in amazement at the visitors awaiting audience: statesmen and senators, officials and foreign dignitaries, ambassadors and princes. There were couriers bearing the winged staffs of messengers as they hurried to and fro, secretaries recording in shorthand on wax tablets and papyrus, sycophantic courtiers bowing and scraping, slaves and servants—all creating a din that rose to the high ceiling, where dazzling gold and silver mosaics proclaimed the wealth and majesty of the Caesars.

  When he realized where they were, that this was where Claudius had received visitors and foreign dignitaries, that in fact this was the imperial throne room (although the throne and the new Caesar could not be seen through the crowd) Sebastianus said to the Praetorian captain, "Why have we been brought before the emperor?" From what he had heard, enemies of Claudius had simply been arrested and taken straight to prison or execution. None had been granted an audience by the new Caesar.

  The captain did not reply but kept his small eyes fixed across the immense hall, as if awaiting a signal.

  Standing with his master, and momentarily forgetting his fear, Timonides eyed the platters of food passing by, his mouth watering as he wondered who it was all for and why it appeared that untouched platters were being returned to the kitchens. At his side, Nestor smiled and giggled at the colorful people, at the amusing sounds of different languages and dialects, the comical way men gestured as they argued, told tales, expressed opinions.

  Primo, a veteran of foreign wars, observed the scene with a jaded eye. He knew that ambassadors were here to create or break treaties, that envoys had come to make or break promises, that men had come to beseech, cajole, praise, or kiss the imperial buttocks, and that nothing any of these self-important men accomplished here today was going to be worth a jot in a hundred years.

  At Sebastianus's side, Ulrika watched and waited in apprehension. She, too, was wondering why they had been brought before the emperor.

  And then she saw, standing between two dignitaries in the distinctive robes and headdresses of the Parthian Empire, a familiar woman. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, and her arms and hands were stained with blood. In shock, Ulrika realized it was the apparition she had seen in the countryside when she was twelve. Why are you here? she silently asked the ghost. Why do you haunt this place?

  Realizing that her heart raced and that she was breathing rapidly, Ulrika placed a hand on her breast and tried to force herself to calm down. Her visions were no longer something to be afraid of, but to control. And so first she must overcome her fear—

  The breath stopped in her chest.

  Your lungs are in a hurry...

  Minerva's strange message! Did it have meaning after all? As her companions shifted on their feet, waiting to be called, Ulrika focused on her respirations and forced them to slow down, calming herself, suppressing her fear. As she did so, she heard faint whispering—a soft susurration that lay just below the din in the marble hall. She looked around—were there more apparitions? What were they trying to tell her? And then the whispering receded and the frightened woman slowly faded before her eyes.

  But Ulrika was excited. She had gained some small control over her gift. That was what the Goddess had told her. Ulrika must be conscious of her respirations before she could control the Divining. Minerva had been the first of her teachers!

  The Praetorian captain came to life at that moment and grunted an order to his guards, and the six newcomers were prodded forward.

  No one cleared the way as they had to shoulder through knots of men, and a few women, who looked by turns bored, impatient, angry, or hopeful as everyone awaited his or her turn before the new emperor.

  But even as they drew near, Sebastianus and his friends were afforded no clear glimpse of the young Nero, as he was surrounded by advisors, in purple-edged togas or military dress, all leaning toward the throne like mother hens, clucking advice into the imperial ear.

  The personage whom everyone saw, and who stood tall and powerful at the side of the white marble throne, was Empress Agrippina, a handsome woman in her forties, widely known to be ruthless, ambitious, violent, and domineering. It was also said she had a double canine in her upper right mandible, a sign of good fortune.

  Agrippina wore a purple gown under a saffron-yellow palla edged in gold, her head crowned with hundreds of tiny curls. She was known to take long soaking baths in goat's milk, and employed a daily regimen of applying egg whites and flour to her face to enhance her fashionable paleness. As she was a great-granddaughter of the emperor Augustus, a great-niece and adoptive granddaughter of the emperor Tiberius, as well as sister to the emperor Caligula, niece and fourth wife of the emperor Claudius, and finally mother of the newly seated Emperor Nero, Agrippina bestowed upon her son an illustrious bloodline.

  That she had poisoned her husband Claudius so that Nero could claim the throne, no one doubted for a moment. But where was the proof? Imperial household staff told of the empress's heroic efforts at the dinner table to save her stricken husband, kneeling at his side, forcing his mouth open so that she could insert a quill feather to induce vomiting. And Claudius did indeed vomit, which should have expressed the ingested poison (from mushrooms, it was whispered) but then he died anyway. No one could fault the empress, as she did try to save his life, although rumor had it that the quill had been dipped in toxin obtained from a rare fish and that it was the second poisoning that had done the emperor in.

  The empress leaned forward now, long pincer-like fingers gripping her son's shoulder, and murmured something, and the clot of advisors dissolved. As the men drew back, Sebastianus and his friends saw a youth on the white marble throne, wearing a white tunic under a white purple-edge toga, with a laurel wreath above his brow. The sixteen-year-old possessed regular features, a light downy beard on his jaw, and surprisingly blue eyes. His neck was unusually thick for one so young, giving him an athletic appearance that he otherwise did not have. "The reputation of the Gallus family is well known, Sebastianus," the young Caesar said without preamble. "You and your father and grandfather have served Rome and her people well. And now we are told you wish to open a diplomatic route to China?"

  "That is true, sire," Sebastianus said, blinking in surprise. He had no
t been expecting this. "I wish for the men of China to know the might and grandeur of Rome. I wish also to expand Caesar's network of friends and allies."

  "Other men wish to do the same. Why should I select you above the others?"

  Sebastianus glanced at Ulrika. Thinking of the idea that had come to him from something Ulrika had said the night they spent in the cave, and knowing his idea would completely distinguish him from his competitors, he said, "Because, sire, I alone can guarantee that I shall make it to the distant Orient. Where others will certainly fail, I shall be successful. And I promise that not only will I return with new friends of Rome, and their treaties, I will return with treasure beyond imagining."

  Nero bent his head back and looked down his nose at the supplicant, a mannerism that made Sebastianus wonder if the boy had practiced it in a mirror. "Tell me, Gallus, how can you make such a guarantee when no other trader can?"

  "I have recently come from Germania Inferior, where I regularly conduct business in Colonia, and there I learned a special secret."

  "And what might that be?" Nero asked, and Agrippina, the imperial advisors, and those nearest, listened with interest.

  Sebastianus's heart raced. This was a moment he had dreamed of all his life. "It is being said, sire, that Commander Gaius Vatinius employed deceptive measures to give his soldiers a tactical advantage. He operated under the clever strategy that things are not always what they seem. When I heard this, I saw how such tactics could be employed along a trade route. For example, brigands who prey upon caravans are blinded by greed and tend to see only what they expect to see. They know that merchants and traders spend more time at the dinner table than at the gymnasium, and so the thieves who lie in wait for a caravan expect to descend upon soft, weak men. And that is how such missions fail. But in this case, using General Vatinius' strategy, my caravan will be different. The brigands will not know that our robes and turbans and beards disguise trained fighting men. What the brigands will not be expecting is the element of surprise."

  Nero pursed his lips as one of his advisors, a man in military dress, leaned forward to murmur in his ear.

  "Continue, Sebastianus Gallus," the young emperor said after a moment.

  "In addition, sire, when the brigands attack my caravan, not only will they find themselves suddenly fighting soldiers, they will also find themselves being attacked from behind. Another tactic I learned from General Vatinius."

  The military advisor again murmured something to Nero, who said, "Clever strategy, Sebastianus Gallus. But how will you be able to create such a fighting unit?"

  "May I call my steward forward, sire? He is not a slave, but a freeman, and a veteran of Rome's elite legions."

  When Primo stepped forward, a look of awe and bewilderment on his disfigured face, Sebastianus continued: "What my trusted steward has told me of warfare, and how to win, is three essential rules: attack before being attacked, wage the battle in the enemy's territory so that his losses are all the greater, and use the element of surprise, for that is the deadliest weapon. These guarantee victory, great Caesar, and Primo is a master at all three."

  "You expect one man to do all that?" Nero said with a trace of scorn.

  Sebastianus did not take offense. "Although Primo is retired from the army, he still has military connections, friends who serve the Empire at this moment, and so he has entry into all garrisons, forts, barracks. In addition, Primo knows many retired legionaries who would be more than eager to fight again for Rome. But there is more," Sebastianus added, warming to his topic. "As I travel the eastern route, I will send spies ahead, men dressed as local folk, to blend in and talk in taverns and at waysides, to learn what they can of planned attacks. And then I will send soldiers ahead to hide and come in behind any brigands who lie in wait."

  "Tell me, Gallus," Nero said, peering down his nose. "How did you learn of General Vatinius's secret strategies? Commander Vatinius enjoyed a triumphal entry into Rome after his victory in Germania, and as a reward he was granted command of the legions in Britain, where he is currently employing his strategies again. But how did you learn his secrets?"

  Sebastianus felt many eyes on him, including Ulrika's, which were wide and blue and full of question. "All of Colonia speaks of them, sire," Sebastianus said, "for that was how the battle was won. They are no longer secret."

  Agrippina leaned forward and said something in her son's ear, upon which his advisors drew in close and a conference was held with much nodding and shaking of gray and white heads.

  When Nero's advisors were done, the old men in togas drew back from the sixteen-year-old, whose voice still cracked when he spoke, and Caesar said, "Very well, Sebastianus Gallus, it is our wish that you carry our imperial diploma to China, there to establish an international mission with the ruler of that land. Along the way, you will make allies of monarchs and chieftains, offering them our protection in exchange for small favors. We will send you with gifts for these rulers, to show Roman generosity, and in return you will bring back examples of their resources. We will also send men trained in foreign diplomacy, who will establish political connections along the way. It is our wish that, someday, Roman eagles will protect the entire world."

  Nero yawned then, and the captain of the Praetorians quickly stepped forward. Gesturing to his guards, he rounded up the five and escorted them away from the throne. But they were not escorted far. The captain and his guards soon withdrew, vanishing behind a tapestry that hid a door, to leave Sebastianus and his companions standing in the crowded reception hall in speechless silence.

  Finally Sebastianus spoke, and there was disbelief in his tone as he said to his companions, "It appears that I have won the China route! Timonides, we will need the most accurate and precise star-charts drawn up. I want to know the most propitious day for departure."

  "At once, master," he said. "But I can feel it in my old bones that the reading is going to be very favorable toward you. After tonight's victory, how can it be otherwise?" Timonides could barely contain his joy. The catastrophe that he had expected tonight had not only not occurred, but a wonderful gift had been given to his master instead!

  China! Timonides had heard great stories of the food there, the delicacies, the rare treats! A specialty called rice, fluffy and subtle, to be mixed with meat or vegetables, fried or boiled and seasoned to one's own taste. And did not Babylon lie along the route? Timonides had heard of a special dish there that involved crunchy fish fins dipped in sesame oil and wrapped in bread. His paunchy stomach rumbled. He could hardly wait for the journey to begin.

  As he took Nestor by the arm to hurry out, Timonides vowed that from now on, he was going to lead an exemplary life. No more falsifying horoscopes, no more lying about the stars for his own personal gain.

  Sebastianus said to his chief steward, "Primo, you will need to get started at once recruiting men, as we sail as soon as possible for Antioch."

  "Yes, master," the old veteran said with uncharacteristic animation. A military mission! One involving strategy and warfare. His face lit up until he was almost no longer ugly, and his soldier's mind awoke from slumber to begin racing ahead with names, plans, strategies, lists of supplies he would need. He turned on his heel and left.

  Sebastianus finally faced Ulrika. "I owe you a tremendous debt," he said, looking at her for a long moment, oblivious of the crowd milling around them, aware only of her nearness. He wanted these people, this colossal hall, all of Rome to vanish and leave him alone with her. "How can I thank you?"

  Ulrika could hardly catch her breath as she looked up at him. Sebastianus stood so close, his eyes holding hers, his voice drowning out the din so that the rich tones coming from his throat were all she heard. No one else existed, the world was silent and far away. She wanted to slip into his arms, press her body against his, feel his heat and warmth and reassuring strength.

  "You need not thank me," she whispered, thinking: I do not want to be parted from this man. "But I will ask a favor. Just now, you
told your steward that you would be departing for Antioch. My mother lived there as a girl, she grew up in the house of Mera the healer woman until she was sixteen years old. Perhaps that is where she and my family went when they fled Rome. I can think of no other place they would go. I need to know that she is safe. And she is the only one who can tell me where to find the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar."

  Sebastianus was flooded with relief. He had feared these were his final moments with her, that they would be parting ways in this remarkable hall. "I will gladly take you to Antioch," he said.

  As they fell silent then, looking into each other's eyes, thinking of the coming weeks and months together, for Antioch was far away—as Sebastianus thought excitedly about the new adventure he was to begin and the mythical realm that lay at the end of an unknown road, as Ulrika thought of Antioch, the third largest city in the world and home to many gods, many temples and sacred groves where answers were to be found—neither saw Empress Agrippina give covert orders to a slave, who then crossed through the crowd to detain Primo at the door and escort him back to the throne, where he was admitted through a doorway concealed behind a tapestry.

  Inside a private chamber where flames flickered in golden lamps, Primo the loyal soldier listened to words that made him go gray-faced and wish he had never been born. For the first time in a life of dedication to duty and following orders without question, Primo the veteran considered running away and making sure he was never found.

  "Do you understand your orders?" Empress Agrippina asked sharply.

  "Yes, mistress," he said, sick at heart, knowing that his beloved master, Sebastianus Gallus, was at that moment celebrating an empty victory. What Primo the loyal friend had learned was that the new emperor was not a generous benefactor after all, but a very dangerous and deadly enemy.

  BOOK FOUR

  SYRIA