Текст книги "The Divining"
Автор книги: Barbara Wood
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 27 страниц)
BOOK FIVE
BABYLON
19
THEY WERE SIX SISTERS in search of husbands, and they had come to Babylon to find them.
Ulrika was not sure the young women, ranging from thirteen years old to twenty-four, had been given accurate information, but they were hopeful and full of cheer, and had livened the journey from the oasis at Bir Abbas, where they had joined the flax caravan and told their remarkable tale. Their father, a widower, had had to sell his house, his sheep, and himself into slavery to cover gambling debts. And so he had been forced to send his daughters out into the world in the hope of finding a better life.
They rode on the back of a flat dray drawn by mules, seven young women, two grandmothers, and one elderly carpenter, swaying with the vehicle as they watched the towers and smoke fires of Babylon draw near. Ulrika had joined the caravan in the town of Petra, where a Babylonian flax trader had brought massive sacks of fibers, seed, and flowers to sell to makers of linens, medicines, and dyes. To fill his empty drays for the return trip, he took paying passengers who joined or left at various settlements and farms along the way. Now he was reaching the terminus of his biannual journey, and his passengers looked forward to food and lodgings and a steady ground beneath their feet.
Ulrika's excitement grew. After weeks of desert travel, camping at oases, walking, riding, constantly on the move, she felt the fresh breeze from the Euphrates River whisper against her face. The desert gradually gave over to lush green farms, dense groves of date palms, fields of wheat and barley. Marshes and ponds appeared now, from which lively waterfowl flew up in rainbows of color. Beyond, a ribbon of blue lazily wound its way between banks thick with poplars and tamarisks, to disappear under city walls—Babylon straddled the Euphrates—and emerge on the other side, bringing water to thirsty sheep and goats.
As Ulrika's small caravan neared the Adad Gate, a major entry in the western wall, through which heavy traffic was passing to and fro, she recited a silent prayer of thanks to the All Mother. She had come through the long trek unscathed, and now would soon be reunited with the man she loved—her love growing with every dawn as she held the handsome Sebastianus in her heart and mind, picturing his bronze-colored hair in the sunshine, hearing his deep authoritative voice, seeing his dimpled smile. Although many in Ulrika's group would leave the caravan here and enter the city on foot, Ulrika would stay on the road and follow it to the southern tip of the walled city, where she had been told the caravans to the East were launched. She knew she would find Sebastianus there.
Whenever the leaders of caravans met along the many trade routes of the Roman empire, they exchanged gossip as well as goods. And during their last camp, at an oasis called Bir Abbas, the flax merchant had shared his fire with a wine trader traveling west, and from him had heard of a great caravan being prepared for a diplomatic trip to China, a Spaniard traveling under the auspices of the Roman emperor himself.
Ulrika knew it was Sebastianus of whom they had spoken, and she knew he was still in Babylon because the summer solstice had yet to be marked, and he had said he would leave after that.
The flax caravan wound its way through congested settlements of people who had come to the city to find work. Ulrika had heard of the power and might of Marduk, called by his followers as the most powerful deity in the universe. I will consult with his priests, she thought now. Perhaps Marduk can tell me where to find Shalamandar.
The flax trader brought his line of animals and wagons to a slow crawl, and those with whom Ulrika shared the dray gathered their bundles and prepared to head into the city on foot. Ulrika said farewell to the six sisters, wishing them luck.
As the dray neared the road that led past the Adad Gate—a massive archway in the city walls with guards in towers and colorful pennants snapping in the wind—they heard the sudden garish blare of trumpets. In the next moment, riders on horseback came galloping through the gate, hooves thundering across the moat bridge. The riders were shouting, "Make way! Make way! Fall on your faces in honor of the Divine God Marduk!"
The flax trader brought his dray to a halt, as all other traffic and pedestrians came to a stop on the highway and surrounding lanes. The thunder of drums came next and Ulrika watched as, immediately behind the horses, drummers marched, banging their instruments in unison, creating a formidable sound.
"What is it?" she asked of the flax merchant.
"They are parading the Great God," he said. "They say that getting a glimpse of Marduk brings luck. Keep your eye open."
As she waited for the procession to pass, Ulrika turned her face to the east, toward the feathery palms and blue sky that embraced the caravan staging area.
Tonight, she thought with racing pulse, I will be with Sebastianus ...
"MY FRIEND, IT HAS been a pleasure doing business with you. I promise you, my fine wines will open doors and gateways to you, they will make men want to give you their virgin daughters. I say in all modesty that my grapes are the envy of Marduk himself!"
Sebastianus smiled at the loquacious Babylonian as he conducted a final check of his animals and their packs. Recently added to his caravan was wine stored in silver jars, the way the Phoenicians had done for centuries, as the silver prevented spoilage. And mules were draped with bags of fresh milk strapped to their sides. Fermentation would take place in the bags, causing the milk to curdle. The constant motion of the animals would then break up the resulting cheese into curds while the remaining liquid, the whey, would provide a potable drink in case no water was found.
Sebastianus's caravan was nearly ready to depart. All he had to do was wait until after the solstice celebrations.
At which time, he prayed, Ulrika would appear and he could persuade her to join him for the journey eastward.
Was it a foolish prayer, he wondered? Surely Syphax had delivered her safely to her mother in Jerusalem, where Ulrika would have learned the location of Shalamandar. And now she would be on her way to join him. Perhaps she was nearby already, and the same wind that blew gently on Sebastianus's face caressed Ulrika's.
"I thank you for your help, Jerash," he said, seizing the Babylonian's wrist and giving it a manly squeeze. Jerash, garbed in a colorful fringed robe with a cone-shaped hat on his head, was the cousin of a man whom Sebastianus had befriended in Antioch, and now Jerash had given him the names of relatives who lived in settlements eastward along the trade route. "You have but to mention my name, noble Gallus," the Babylonian said as he reached into a deep, embroidered pocket and brought out clay tablets, "and give these letters of introduction to my uncles and cousins, and they will offer you all the help you need! Your mission to China will be like riding on a breeze, my friend! The gods will carry you on their shoulders and you will fly like a dove!"
Nearby, sitting at the campsite with his pie-faced son Nestor, who was stirring a stew of lamb and vegetables, Timonides watched the exchange between Sebastianus and the Babylonian with a jaundiced eye. He alone knew that Sebastianus's caravan to China was going to be no dove's flight because it lay upon a route plagued by pitfalls, traps, treachery, and setbacks. Not that any of this was apparent to ordinary men, or could be seen with the naked eye. Only Timonides knew of the great dangers that lay ahead, because only he had read his master's stars and had seen the calamities that awaited him.
And it was all the fault of Timonides the astrologer! He could not stop falsifying his horoscopes, but must keep lying, must keep Sebastianus moving eastward in order to save Nestor from certain execution. The hue and cry from Antioch had not yet reached Babylon, but the royal mail routes along the Euphrates River were swift and efficient. A word from one magistrate to another, and the guards of the city would be knocking upon every door, looking under every rug, overturning every man-sized jar in search of the assassin of the beloved Bessas the holy man.
It made Timonides almost too sick to eat.
The stars did not lie. Sebastianus was supposed to be, at that moment, somewhere south of Antioch, perhaps as far south as Petra. Anywhere but here! Yet Timonides, interpreter of the will of the gods, urged his master ever eastward, uttering blasphemy upon blasphemy, at the sacrifice of his own immortal soul. For surely he was going to Hell for his sacrilege. Worse, by bringing Nestor along on his caravan he made Sebastianus an unwitting participant in a capital crime. Sebastianus was giving aid to a fugitive, which meant certain execution for him as well, should they be caught.
If only they would leave! Timonides had gently suggested that they start for the East today, this minute, not waste a precious moment, but Sebastianus, he knew, was thinking of that girl! Ulrika. She was like an insidious disease, itching just below Sebastianus's skin. Timonides saw how his master looked westward every evening, pausing in his work to gaze wistfully over the miles and horizon, picturing the fair-haired girl who had bewitched him. Timonides had been tempted to falsify a horoscope and insist they leave, but it would just be one sin too many. Wherever he could be honest, he would be so. Besides, why put his master to the test? What if he told Sebastianus that the gods insist they leave at once, and Sebastianus, waiting for Ulrika, said no?
To make matters worse, Sebastianus was considering altering the first leg of their journey to accommodate that girl. He had asked around for information on the whereabouts of Shalamandar, but no one had heard of it. She had said the place was in Persia, and so Sebastianus had declared his intention of going north at first, to accompany her to her own destination before getting on to the business of China!
With a sigh, and thinking that the philosophers were right when they said it was impossible to love and be wise, Timonides returned to his charts and instruments for the noon horoscope, and as he re-calculated his master's stars, taking into account the comet that had appeared in Sebastianus's moon-house, and the unexpected falling star that had streaked past Mars—
Timonides froze, and his breakfast of eggplant and garlic rose to the back of his throat.
Not again ...
He wanted to cry out against the injustice of life. Destined forever to read the stars for other people, Timonides the astrologer, who had been abandoned on a trash heap as an infant, had hoped that someday the gods would reveal to their humble servant the stars of his own birth. To this end Timonides had tried to keep his astrological practice pure.
But the gods were perverse. They toyed with him, tormented him. Gave him glimmers of hope only to dash them.
The girl was in Babylon.
There was no doubt about it. Sebastianus's horoscope had changed. The two lovers were about to cross paths again.
And so once more, despite oaths to the contrary, Timonides must falsify another reading. He could not allow Ulrika to join the caravan. Nestor had behaved himself during the journey from Antioch and during their stay in Babylon. But with Ulrika in his company once again, the boy would certainly commit another crime to please her.
Even if it meant sending his own immortal soul to Hell, Timonides had to protect his son.
"Master," he called, rising from his table. "I have found her at last. The stars have revealed Ulrika's location."
Sebastianus turned such a hopeful smile to him that Timonides feared the eggplant was going to come all the way up. Swallowing back his bile, he said, "She is in Jerusalem. She is with her mother and family."
The smile turned to a frown. "Are you sure?"
"The stars do not lie, master. Even if the girl were to leave Jerusalem today, she would not reach Babylon for weeks. But master, a journey does not lie in her future. She is staying in Jerusalem."
It pierced the old man's heart to see such disappointment on Sebastianus's face. He loved young Gallus almost as much as he loved Nestor. Cursing his life, cursing the parents who had abandoned him on a trash heap, cursing Babylon and the gods and even the stars, Timonides said, "There is something else. The comet last night, and the falling star against Mars, indicate that we must leave at once. We cannot stay another day in this city. It is crucial, master."
"But the Summer Solstice is days away!"
"Master, the worst calamity will befall this caravan if we delay. Today is the most propitious day for departure. The gods have made themselves clear."
With a scowl, Sebastianus weighed his decision.
He had spent his time in Babylon collecting as much information as he could about China. Precious little was to be had. Goods from that distant land never came directly to this part of the world, but passed through a series of middlemen. A bolt of Chinese silk might cross the hands of twenty traders before it reached the Babylonian market. It was the same with information. Place names, in particular, did not travel well, and so each man he spoke to, every map he consulted, had different names for cities and geographical features.
One, however, seemed more consistent. The city where China's emperor was throned. Sebastianus had a name at last, an identifiable goal to set before himself each dawn and sunset, keeping it in his mind like a fixed star.
"Very well," he said reluctantly. "Where is Primo? Timonides, send someone into the city to find him."
"Yes yes, master," Timonides said with relief. Later, in the next city or valley or mountain, when they were far enough away from the threat of Ulrika's presence, he would make sacrifice to as many gods as he could, offer penance and self-denial, dedicate himself to fasting and celibacy if he must—Timonides would do everything in his power to get himself back into the good graces of the Divine.
"Make certain Primo comes back at once," Sebastianus said, and then he turned and strode into his tent, his mind already composing the letter he was going to write to Ulrika and leave in the care of the Caravan Master.
ACROSS THE RIVER IN the Western City, in the shadow of the Temple of Shamash, Primo the retired legionary, Chief Steward of the Gallus villa in Rome but now second in command of his master's caravan to China, lay back as a whore massaged his thick penis. His thoughts were not upon the woman and her carnal ministrations but upon the long journey he and his specially trained men were about to take. And he mentally reviewed the things he was to see to that day: provisions, weapons, the duties roster.
The prostitute straddled him without a word. Those were always his instructions: "Don't speak." Primo could only enjoy a woman if she was nameless—and even then it wasn't really enjoyment, more of a need.
Letting the prostitute do all the work, the veteran of military campaigns and a hard life decided that his crack archer, a Bithynian named Zipoites, would be best for gathering intelligence along the journey—he was solidly built enough to look fat under merchant's robes, no one would suspect his strength or that he was a trained fighter. Yes, Zipoites would be the one to send ahead to settlements along the road, to visit taverns and talk with the local men. Zipoites could hold his wine where other men's tongues loosened. He was adept at getting information out of—
"Ungh." Primo gave a cry as he climaxed, and then he lay motionless for a few moments while the whore wordlessly removed herself from the bed and slipped into a robe to cover her nakedness. Outside, the city of Babylon bustled beneath its usual din as citizens hurried to and fro in the narrow streets, their minds concentrated upon their own immediate worries, fears, hopes, and yearnings. They were preparing for the coming week of summer solstice celebrations, which also meant they were preparing for a season of heat and dust. Many were unemployed, and so their thoughts were on food and the gods.
But Primo didn't care about this city or its people. His job was to see that his master, Sebastianus Gallus, reached China safely and that their diplomatic missions to the East were a success.
And there was the secret job, commanded by Nero Caesar himself ...
As he slipped back into his clothes—the old soldier's costume of white tunic, leather breastplate, military sandals laced to the knee—Primo spat on the floor. He wished he had not been recruited into Nero's spy-ring. He would obey, of course. His loyalty might be to his employer and the man who had saved him from a life of begging in the streets, but a greater duty compelled him, as a soldier, to uphold his allegiance to Emperor and Empire. Even if it meant betraying the man he loved.
As he left, he reached into the leather pouch at his waist in which he carried money and his lucky talisman—a bronze arrowhead that had been dug out of his chest by a military surgeon who had declared Primo the luckiest man on earth, as the German arrow had missed his heart by a breath. Primo pulled out a coin and threw it down. It had a Caesar on it, so the whore knew it was good. Primo didn't look at her face. They never looked at his.
As Primo walked along the Street of Harlots, he realized that, more and more of late, he was coming away from his paid women with diminished feelings of satisfaction. Physically, they satisfied him. Primo had no difficulty getting erect or coming to orgasm. But, increasingly, he was leaving whorehouses with little gratification.
And he found himself thinking of a woman he had met long ago, the one woman in his life to whom he had given his heart.
Primo and his regiment had been passing through yet another small, nameless village when his Centurion had sent him ahead to find the local blacksmith. It was spring, Primo recalled, with a blue sky dotted with white puff clouds, the scent of blossoms in the air, the breezes fresh and full of promise. His boots had stamped over cobblestones as he had entered a narrow alley and found himself suddenly surrounded by a group of angry men. They carried clubs and daggers, and seemed intent upon using them.
Hatred of Roman soldiers was universal throughout the empire, especially in newly conquered regions, and so Primo knew the anger in these men was fresh and sharp. They would mindlessly attack and only ponder the foolishness of their actions later, as they were nailed to crosses. It had briefly entered his mind to try to warn them off—for surely they meant to kill him, and he was greatly outnumbered—when a young woman appeared. "Wait," she called, and the villagers stopped advancing upon the lone soldier.
She drew near, and Primo saw that she carried an infant close to her breast. Her head was veiled, but an exquisite face was exposed to the spring sunshine.
One man growled, "This is none of your concern, daughter of Zebediah. This is men's business."
"And is it men's business to make widows of their wives and orphans of their children? Shame on you."
"Rome is evil!" shouted another. And they began to press forward again.
But she placed herself in front of Primo, so that he caught a sweet fragrance from her veiled hair, and she said, "This soldier is not Rome. He is but a man. Return to your homes before it is too late for all of us."
They shifted on their feet. They fingered their clubs. They looked at one another and then at the infant sleeping in her arms until finally they turned and drifted away.
The young woman faced Primo and said, "The fault is not yours, Roman. You are only doing your job. Go in peace."
And Primo, the soldier whose heart was the size and hardness of a pebble, fell in love.
He watched her walk away, a slim figure draped in a long blue veil, as if she had descended from the sky, and he stood frozen in that moment of time, as if the world had come to a standstill and he and the young mother were all who inhabited it. She had not smiled at him, but she had not looked upon him with revulsion either, though he was indeed ugly. She had simply looked at him—he had seen lovely features, heard a gentle voice—
Even now, simply from the memory of it, Primo was rocked with intense emotion. She had intervened on his behalf. Although she had done it to spare her neighbors from Rome's wrath and the punishment of those who did not obey their new masters, she had looked at him with clear brown eyes and told him it was not his fault. And in that moment he had fallen in love, irrevocably and without condition. He had also known in that moment that he would love her for as long as he lived, and that he would never, for the rest of his life, love another woman as he loved that young mother.
A powerful stink suddenly washed over him, bringing him out of his nostalgic reverie. He wrinkled his nose and turned in the direction the stench was coming from. Rotting corpses hanging on the city walls. Most had their hands cut off, or their genitals, indicators of their crimes: thieves and rapists. Justice in Babylon was swift. A thief suffered having his hand cut off, and then he was strung up by his ankles and left to die. Sometimes it took days. To Primo, it seemed an extreme punishment. Most likely the thief had stolen from a rich man, because who cared if someone stole from a poor man?
Such was justice in the world in general. It was a rich man's world, no doubt of that.
And an emperor's.
"You are to watch Gallus's movements," young Nero had said that night in the room at the back of the imperial audience chamber. "You are to commit to memory his words, observe how he presents himself and Rome to foreign potentates. We cannot have an ambassador who puts his own interests first. You will report to me any actions or words that might be considered seditious or treasonous."
Thinking of it made Primo scowl on this smoke-filled morning, making his face appear even uglier than it normally was. He would do the job, but he wouldn't like it.
"Sir!" came a shout from the end of the lane. Primo recognized a slave from the caravan. The man was breathless from running. "I was sent to fetch you at once. The caravan departs today."
Primo looked at him in surprise. And then, thinking it was about time, broke into a sprint and headed toward the Enlil Gate.
WHILE SEBASTIANUS WENT UP and down the line, checking camels and horses, giving last-minute instructions, patting men on the back and telling them a great adventure lay ahead of them, Timonides paid a secret, hasty visit to the Caravan Master, whom Sebastianus had visited moments earlier. Timonides knew Sebastianus had given the man a letter for Ulrika. Timonides could not help that. But he also knew that Sebastianus had given the Caravan Master a verbal message to give to a fair-haired girl should she come inquiring about the Gallus caravan. "Tell her we departed on the day before the Summer Solstice. Tell her we will wait at Basra until the next full moon. From there, we take the old northern route to Samarkand." He had given the man a silver coin for his trouble.
Now Timonides gave the man a new message, and slipped him a gold coin to help his memory. The astrologer returned to the caravan in time to mount his donkey and wave readiness to Sebastianus who sat high atop his horse.
And then Sebastianus, looking back toward the west one last time, to picture fair hair that framed blue eyes and to whisper a prayer for Ulrika's safekeeping, turned in his saddle and faced ahead, toward the east, where mountains and rivers and deserts awaited him.
And a fabled city called Luoyang.
THE MARDUK PROCESSION SEEMED to go on for miles, and Ulrika grew so impatient that she was tempted to abandon the dray and hurry to the caravan area on foot. But no one dared move while the supreme god of Babylon was making an appearance in public, and so she had to wait.
Finally, the last of the drummers and priests and mounted soldiers had passed by, and the flax merchant whipped his donkeys into forward progress. At the caravan staging area, which was vast and crowded with men and beasts, tents and enormous piles of merchandise, Ulrika went straight to the tent of the Caravan Master, who could point her in the right direction.
He wrinkled his bulbous nose. "Eh? The Gallus caravan? They left over a month ago. Long gone, by now." Gallus had given him a silver coin to tell the girl the truth. But the Greek had given him a gold coin to say they had departed a month ago. For this amount of money, the man would have happily made it a year! "And this is for you," he added, handing Ulrika a small scroll.
She quickly opened it and saw that it was a letter from Sebastianus, written in Latin. "My dearest Ulrika, the stars have decreed that we must depart early. It is with a heavy heart that I leave, for I had hoped to have you at my side on this journey into the fabulous unknown. But I go also with joy, knowing that I will soon fulfill my life's dream to visit distant China. I carry you in my heart, Ulrika. You will be in my thoughts and in my dreams. And when I stand before the throne of the emperor of China, you will be at my side. I pray, my dearest, that you receive this letter, and that you will wait for me in Babylon. I love you."
"Do you know which route the caravan took?" she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
The man frowned. Gallus had left explicit instructions, but surely the gold coin warranted a false rendering of that information as well. So he said, "They were to board ships at the Gulf. They'll be far away at sea by now."
Crushed with disappointment, Ulrika thanked the man and turned away, toward the towering gates of Babylon, turning her back on the eastern horizon where still could be seen, in the dying light of day, dust rising up from the hooves and wheels and feet of the great caravan that had just departed for China.
