The Divining

by Wood, Barbara

  13

  W

  HEN ULRIKA SAW THE apparition standing behind the innkeeper as he wiped down his stained counter, unaware of the numinous visitation, she set aside her cup of warm wine, settled back in the chair, turned a deaf ear to the soft voices in the tavern, and concentrated on slowing her respirations.

  In the weeks since discovering, in Nero's audience chamber, that controlling her lungs brought her closer to controlling her visions, Ulrika had practiced what she thought of as "conscious breathing." It had taken her several tries—twice more in Rome, three times on the ship crossing the Great Green, and once prior to this evening in an Antioch street—to learn that not only must she breathe slowly, but in a measured cadence, drawing air through her nose, expelling it through her mouth.

  And so now she inhaled the aromas of the tavern on this late, rainy night—the smells of stale beer, roasted lamb, smoke from the fireplace where flames roared and kept out the winter cold—and as she withdrew into herself and grew calm, she sent a silent voice across the smoky room, across the supernatural ethers, and said, "Who are you? What is it you wish me to do?"

  Ulrika still did not know what the Divining was, the nature of her special gift. But because her visions consisted mostly of people—of all ages and walks of life—she assumed she was able to speak to the dead. She assumed also that they, sensing that this living human was a conduit to their world, were trying make contact with loved ones through her.

  She watched the young man, who had long hair and wore a plain tunic, as he gazed at the innkeeper with soulful eyes. A son, perhaps? "Tell me your message," she said silently, but the youth did not acknowledge her and, like the previous visions, finally faded away.

  Ulrika sighed in frustration. Although she was able to hold the visions longer, and in some way make them appear more solid and detailed, they still disappeared. She had also discovered, to her frustration, that while she had made progress with the visions when they came, she still could not bid visions to come to her, she still had no control over when or where one might materialize.

  In the Rhineland, the keeper of the sacred groves had told her she would never know who her teachers would be until she looked back. Ulrika saw only Minerva. And the Egyptian seer had told her to accept a key when offered. Their rooms above this tavern had doors that locked, but the innkeeper offered them no keys. Who would her next teacher be? And when would she receive a key—to what?

  While Timonides and Nestor, who shared her table, consumed their meal of oily fish and stewed leeks, oblivious to Ulrika's brief withdrawal from the moment, she turned her attention to the tavern's entrance, where the closed door kept out the cold and the rain.

  Where was Sebastianus? He had gone out into the city earlier that day. Had he gotten lost?

  The inn was located north of the Jewish Quarter in Antioch, on a narrow, hilly lane called Green Wizard Street for reasons no one knew, since no wizards lived there, nor were there any trees or shrubs or greenery of any kind. But it was in a maze where a man could easily lose his way. And as it was nearly midnight, the weather outside inclement, Ulrika was worried that he had gotten lost, or worse.

  She tried not to worry, but the tavern was quiet and filled with shadows. No one had come through the front door in the past hour, and few patrons lingered in the smoky atmosphere. Two very drunk carpenters, complaining about lack of employment, leaned on the counter with beer mugs in their hands, and three tables accommodated patrons quietly snoozing in their cups. The innkeeper was a portly jolly man who was himself tipsy from sampling his own wares.

  Ulrika felt her heart begin to gallop, and her respirations quicken. She had discovered that, in her conscious-breathing, not only did she have a stronger hold on her visions, a side benefit was a great inner calming for herself. And so she slowed her breathing now, reminding herself that Sebastianus left the inn every morning and always managed to find his way back through the warren of twisting, winding streets. The caravan to China was going to be the largest he had ever handled and so he had much to organize and see to.

  And once again, Ulrika was impressed by Sebastianus's network of friends and connections. Even in a city so far from Rome, he seemed to know many men who owed him favors or who were simply happy to be of help.

  However, the man he had gone out to meet with tonight had nothing to do with the caravan. He was helping Ulrika in her quest. She had not found her mother in Antioch. And so she decided to see if anyone in this port town had heard of the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar. Sebastianus had asked about and learned of a hermit living in the wilderness of Daphne outside Antioch, a foreigner named Bessas who had come to this Syrian city long ago, and who, it was said, possessed knowledge of rare and esoteric places. But Ulrika had been cautioned that no one had ever been able to get such information out of the old hermit. Nothing had worked, everyone said. Bribery, reasoning, pleading, even threats.

  Sebastianus had said that he could get the information from the old man, and Ulrika half believed he would, for Sebastianus Gallus could be a very persuasive man. He was visiting the hermit at that moment, and Ulrika prayed that he would be successful.

  The clock in the corner of the room—a stone urn marked with hours, and from which water dripped, lowering the level each hour—now indicated that it was past midnight.

  Feeling a tug on her arm, Ulrika turned to see Nestor offering her a plump peach. Ulrika thanked him and bit into the juicy fruit. Ever since the episode with the false blind beggar in Pisa, Nestor had followed her about like a puppy, smiling adoringly and giving her gifts. She did not mind. His childlike innocence, in the body of so large a grown man, and his guileless nature, touched her.

  Ulrika suspected that Nestor had a poor grasp of time and distance and that, most likely, the attack by the beggar seemed to him to have occurred only yesterday, and in this city. Because of this, unlike most people, his memory of it would never fade, nor would his gratitude to her for saving him.

  She turned toward the tavern's entrance, where she hoped Sebastianus would soon appear, and felt her heart flutter. Sebastianus had taken residence there, she carried him day and night in her breast and in her thoughts. When she was in his presence, her body grew warm and she ached for his touch. She had never known such desire. Once, during the voyage from Rome, a storm had struck and Sebastianus had held her and comforted her as the ship was tossed mercilessly on high seas. Ulrika had thought they would kiss, that they would make love. But he never took that crucial step.

  She had seen the way Sebastianus looked at her when he thought she was unaware, and knew that he welcomed her touch. They both found ways and excuses to be in each other's company. But neither had dared utter words that could not be called back. She knew it was because neither was free. Both were committed to separate destinies.

  As she finished the peach, a rare fruit that had been brought, over many years and by many brave caravans, from China, she saw its presence in this particular tavern on this particular night as a sign that Sebastianus was on the right road.

  Her eyes strayed again to the clock, and her worry grew.

  "I pray that my master is successful," Timonides said as he, too, noted the hour and wondered where Sebastianus was. Had he been able to find the hermit Bessas? Was he successful in obtaining the location of the Crystal Pools? Timonides had no idea what ploy Sebastianus was going to use, or why his stubborn young master thought it would work where others had failed, but he hoped Sebastianus was successful.

  "If not," Timonides muttered as he ran his bread around his greasy plate, catching fried onion and the last bits of fish, "my master should just pluck the bastard's head from his neck and scoop the information out!"

  The fire cracked and sparks flew upward. Nestor smiled and giggled. His chin was greasy from dinner, his tunic spotted and stained, but Timonides would take care of those things later, as he always did. Nestor had earlier astonished the innkeeper by replicating one of the man's own specialty dishes—a delicacy
made of chopped nuts and honey. Over the years, innkeepers and wealthy housewives had tried to buy Timonides's son—with his talent, one could steal the secret recipes of Rome's renowned chefs and serve them at one's own table. But Timonides would never sell Nestor, and it wasn't just because he himself enjoyed his son's unique skills. Nestor was the center of the old Greek's universe, and to Timonides Nestor wasn't simple minded, he was just a very sweet boy. It didn't matter that Nestor had no idea where they were at that moment or where they were going. Even the ocean voyage hadn't fazed him, as he had stood at the ship's railing, smiling at the sea. And soon, they would be seeing yet new and different sights to delight the child-man.

  If only they would get going!

  Timonides was tired of lingering in Antioch. And it had taken over a month for them to finally arrive here. After securing a transport vessel for Sebastianus's goods and slaves, they were first delayed by a bad dream that had visited the ship's captain the night before they were due to sail. The second delay, as they were about to depart, was caused by a crow being sighted on one of the masts—a very bad omen for sailing. But after a week of such delays, the Poseidon had finally set sail and, enjoying decent weather, arrived in Antioch ten days later.

  But now a month had passed, they had just celebrated the winter solstice. Gray skies hung over the city, and rain had been coming down all day. Even so, it had not been a month spent in idleness. Primo, who had taken up temporary residence at the local Roman garrison, had spent the past thirty days recruiting and training men for his special military unit, drilling them, arming them, preparing them for the hazardous journey ahead, and especially schooling them in the secret strategies and military tactics they would be using. Sebastianus in the meantime had been busy putting together his massive caravan, buying camels and slaves, meeting with trade merchants, taking on merchandise, conferring with bankers—all the business of commerce. Timonides, of course, had passed each day in diligent study of the stars, their alignments, houses, ascents, and descents, paying particular attention to the moon and constellations and the planets. This mission to China must not fail. Rumor had it that Nero was prone to petulance and did not like disappointment.

  As thunder cracked and shook the centuries-old inn, Timonides looked through the smoky gloom at Ulrika, who was watching the street door.

  She was quite handy with her medical kit, he thought, recalling how on the voyage from Rome, he had been stricken with such seasickness that he had not been able to eat. Once again, Ulrika had come to his rescue, giving him a tonic made from a rare and expensive root called ginger. It had done the trick so that Timonides had been able to eat again, and now he was doubly indebted to her!

  Back in Ostia, awaiting the order to set sail, Ulrika had surprised Timonides by suggesting that she might be of some help to Nestor. Not his mind, of course, for that could never be helped. But Nestor had never learned to speak properly beyond a few garbled syllables. Timonides understood what the boy was saying, but it was gibberish to everyone else. Ulrika had speculated that Nestor could have something called a "tied tongue." Her own mother, she said, had been born tongue-tied and had had her tongue freed when she was seven years old. She recommended that Timonides take his son to a doctor skilled with the knife. Timonides had been tempted, but then he had thought: Do I really want Nestor to be able to talk? Didn't people mock him enough as it was? And what if, in gaining speech, Nestor lost his gift for cooking? Such things were known to happen, unexpected consequences to good fortune, a trade-off as it were, the gods being the capricious pranksters they were known to be.

  No, best to leave things as they were. Especially as he had more urgent matters requiring his attention, primarily the problem of the catastrophe that continued to lie in his master's future. The first time Timonides had noted the possibility of calamity ahead for Sebastianus, at Fort Bonna months ago, he had been alarmed. But as he had watched the stars and charted their courses, and as he had observed the dark omen continuing to lie in the future—as if, in fact, it moved in time as Sebastianus himself did—Timonides's panic turned to a more objective frame of mind.

  There was no doubt—something terrible awaited his master, it hovered like a dark cloud on the horizon, staying always distant no matter how quickly one traveled toward it. But where or when the catastrophe was going to happen was any man's guess. Timonides had stopped blaming himself for it, and he had told not a single lie since leaving Rome—he had held himself to his usual noble standards, had held the gods and astrology in the highest esteem, had kept himself morally and physically clean and pure, and had arrived at this rainy night feeling spiritually immaculate and without blemish.

  So whatever the catastrophe was, and whenever it was going to happen, no one could blame Timonides the astrologer for it.

  AS SEBASTIANUS MADE HIS way up the narrow street, leaning into the rain, looking forward to a hot fire and spiced wine, he thought of the remarkable series of events that had brought him to this even more remarkable moment.

  Tomorrow they would depart for Babylon! And after Babylon ...

  He owed this good fortune to Ulrika.

  Sebastianus would not be here tonight, about to embark upon the adventure of a lifetime, had Ulrika not told him the remarkable facts of Gaius Vatinius's secret battle strategy. While Adon's gryphon or Gaspar's conjoined twins would be far more appealing to a sixteen-year-old, Nero's seasoned advisors saw merit in a caravan trader who could guarantee the safe passage of imperial ambassadors and goods to the Far East, thus expanding the reach of the Empire.

  And Sebastianus was certain he would be successful. Primo had been working with his hand-picked unit, drilling them relentlessly, a small fighting force of mercenaries, loyal veterans, retired gladiators, and marksmen with bows and arrows. A force to be feared.

  He owed it all to Ulrika, and now he had a gift for her!

  Sebastianus neared the tavern with its sign that swung in the wind. No one could read it, as the lamp had been doused by the rain. But the Inn of the Blue Peacock had stood in this spot for generations, a warm beacon in the winter, cool harbor in the summer, offering food and drink to the weary wayfarer, gathering place for those who lived on Green Wizard Street. And temporary home to Sebastianus and his three companions.

  Ulrika slept in the room next to his, on the floor above the tavern, while Timonides and Nestor shared another. But sleep had been elusive for Sebastianus. He had found himself tossing and turning, waking at all hours to kick his blanket off despite the winter night. He dreamed about Ulrika, just as she filled his daytime thoughts. He had come close several times, when he had held her during a storm at sea, or in a rocky chariot, or as they passed through a crowded marketplace, to revealing his feelings for her. But she was still under his protection as a caravan leader, and that was a personal rule Sebastianus would never break.

  And how did she feel about him? he wondered as he pushed on the heavy, rain-soaked door. There were moments when he caught her staring at him. At other times, she seemed to move close to him, or she would touch him more than was necessary. If only he could hold her just once, kiss her, caress her ...

  Sebastianus entered the tavern loudly announcing his great news: He had found Bessas and presented the old hermit with a proposition he could not refuse!

  Timonides jumped to his feet, wheezing as he did so. The other patrons had already left, the innkeeper had vanished into his private quarters, and Nestor had gone upstairs to bed. Only the astrologer and Ulrika remained. "Did he tell you how to find Shalamandar?" Timonides asked.

  Ulrika rose and went to Sebastianus, taking him by the arm to lead him to the fire, lifting his damp cloak away from his shoulders. A goblet of warm wine awaited him, and she pressed it between his cold hands.

  Sebastianus fell silent for a moment, filling his eyes with the sight of this fair-haired maiden silhouetted in front of a dying fire. I wish, Sebastianus said silently, I could give you so much more. I wish I could find your mother for you, or explai
n your gift from the gods. I wish I could take you into my arms and never let go.

  Instead, he sipped the wine and said, "Bessas does indeed know of Shalamandar and the crystal pools. Even better, he will show us the way."

  "And you believe him?" Timonides cried. "He is not going to take your money and vanish?"

  Sebastianus smiled as he looked into Ulrika's eyes. "Bessas is called a holy man, and people around Daphne revere him, they take him food and offerings, and bless his name. They say he has brought luck to them. And he asks for no money."

  "But he did tell you how to reach Shalamandar?" Timonides said in irritation. He had seen this lovesickness blossom between Sebastianus and Ulrika over the weeks, and knowing that nothing could come of it, wished his master would find a cure for it!

  "He said he will guide us to it," Sebastianus said as he turned to the astrologer. "I offered Bessas what no one else had thought to, what all travelers in foreign lands yearn for: passage home. We depart for Babylon in the morning!"

  TIMONIDES AWOKE WITH SWIMMING BOWELS. Moaning softly, he crawled out of bed and padded across the wooden floor on bare feet, cursing himself for taking that third helping of leeks. The innkeeper's wife had stewed them in too much oil and now he was paying for it.

  A floorboard creaked and he stopped, looking at the other bed, which was a sack filled with straw on the floor, covered by woolen blankets. He didn't want to wake Nestor, who sometimes had difficulty getting back to sleep.

  Timonides blinked in the darkness. The rain had passed and the stars were out. Enough light seeped through the cracks of the window shutters to reveal a vacant bed. Where was Nestor?

  Deciding that his son must have gone outside to answer nature's call, Timonides resumed his journey across the small chamber, to rifle through his travel pack for a stomach powder he always traveled with. A few pinches in a cup of water, and his insides would calm down.