Текст книги "The Divining"
Автор книги: Barbara Wood
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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 not 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
13
WHEN 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 explain 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."
