The Divining (48 page)

     A short distance away, Primo scowled at what he had just overheard, and wondered how he was going to keep his master safe now. When word of what had happened here reached the city, there would be no containing the thousands flocking to this place. With his master insisting on firing it!

     And Quintus Publius about to depart, any day now, for his return to Babylon.

T
O MY ESTEEMED
Q
UINTUS PUBLIUS
. In the name of the Senate and People of Rome, I greet you. Herewith is a report on the latest activities of my master, Sebastianus Gallus, in regards to his caravan and the goods he transports for Caesar."

     Primo was dictating in the privacy of his spartan military tent that had been hastily erected near Daniel's Castle. He paused to allow the secretary to write the words, dipping his pen in the ink and applying it to the papyrus. Although Primo had become proficient in several languages, he was dictating in Latin, for that was the language he shared with the ambassador from Rome.

     He continued: "We are still in Babylon, honored Quintus, but there is a very good reason. Please read this report before you consider arresting my master for treason."

     He had spent days worrying over what to tell Quintus Publius about Sebastianus's continued lingering in Babylon, but now he had a solution.

     Primo had once been a soldier with limited imagination, who had seen
the world in black and white, unskilled at fabricating lies. Yet since their return from China, Primo had found that he was more adept at lying—diplomacy, Sebastianus would call it—than he had ever thought possible. For now he must think of a clever way of covering up the fact that they were still in Babylon because his master was in love.

     In his new way of thinking, going outside black and white, into areas of gray and brown and even red or green, Primo decided that the best move in this instance would be to dish the ambassador a fiction so outrageous that Publius would have no choice but to believe it!

     As Primo weighed his next words, he watched the finely shaped hand move across the papyrus, jotting perfect letters. The secretary wrote almost as quickly as Primo dictated. One of the best in Babylon, Primo had been told. He wondered what the man was going to think of his next words, how he was going to react. But surely the secretary had heard hundreds of strange confessions and declarations, perhaps some even more bizarre than what Primo was about to say. If the man was truly as professional as he comported himself, and if it was true what they said about the code of ethics that governed secretaries and lawyers, the man should not react at all.

     Primo knew that professional secretaries, licensed by the government and ruled by strong ethics—for otherwise they would have no clients—were paid not so much for their letter writing skills as for their silence. Whatever passed between client and secretary, whatever went into the correspondence and messages, remained there. Breaking such a confidence was punishable by death because, like lawyers, secretaries recited sworn oaths before receiving their medallions to practice—as was reflected in the title of their profession: from the Latin,
secretus
, which meant "secret."

     Primo resumed dictating, "Sebastianus Gallus is under a witch's spell," and the finely shaped hand kept writing with not the slightest hesitation. Mithras, Primo thought. I might be dictating a list of vegetables for all this man reacts! He continued: "She is a sorceress who claims, among many tricks, to communicate with the dead. She holds my master in thrall by professing to communicate with supernatural beings and therefore to foretell the future. You can imagine, my esteemed Quintus, what power she has over my highly superstitious master. It is this woman, named Ulrika—and
take note that she is from the same tribe that has caused the Roman Empire, and more specifically General Vatinius, much grief in recent years—who has cast the evil spell over Sebastianus Gallus, making him stay in Babylon, holding back Caesar's treasure for her own selfish interests."

     Primo prayed that the story of bewitchment would divert Quintus from the charge of treason. Otherwise, the ambassador would have Sebastianus arrested, seize the caravan and, under Primo's leadership, send it off to Rome. And for a man of Sebastianus's standing in the field of merchant trading to have his caravan taken from him and his rights and privileges stripped, his family name sullied, would be the worst disgrace—not to mention what horrible fate awaited him in the arena.

     Primo wondered if he could tell Sebastianus about this untenable situation. The emperor himself had sworn Primo to secrecy, and Primo had always been a man true to his oath. But, of late, he had found his loyalties shifting. He had witnessed his master's bravery in China, had observed Sebastianus's integrity and honor at work. And hadn't Sebastianus himself managed to obtain their release from the emperor's "hospitality"?

     Primo scowled. He was used to wrestling
men
, not moral dilemmas.

     "Send for me at your convenience, esteemed Quintus," Primo concluded, "and I shall give you a more detailed report in person, at which time I am sure you will agree that my master is more a victim than a traitor. I am confident you will encourage Caesar to be lenient with him. Your servant, Primo." He thought for a moment and then, deciding that a touch of humility would not hurt, added, "Fidus."

     And the secretary smirked.

     U
LRIKA GLANCED IN THE
direction of Primo's tent, glowing against the night with lantern light. She knew he was entertaining a visitor from the city, a man of some importance judging by the heavily fringed robes he had arrived in, the tall cone-shaped hat, and the wooden box he carried, resembling those carried by lawyers. She wondered what business Sebastianus's steward had with a civilian.

     Then she looked past the tent and out into the dark desert, to see a red glow on the horizon: Babylon. A city that never slept.

     Ulrika was filled with an ominous feeling. The back of her neck prickled. The sort of sensation one experienced just before a lightning storm, or a dust storm that had its unseen beginnings in faraway deserts where mythical
jinni
were said to stir up the wind to torment humankind.

     Where was Sebastianus? He should have returned by now. He had left that morning for an urgent meeting with the High Priest and now he was overdue.

     They had spent the past days trying to convince people to go away from this place. Instead, more had come. The crowd grew so large that Sebastianus had given Primo orders to set up a small camp and arrange for a manned guard around the perimeter.

     There had been no miracles since the little girl was cured of paralysis. But that one demonstration of the magical properties of this place had been enough to generate and sustain faith. This time, there was no pushing, no protesting. Miriam and her family, Timonides, and Primo's men saw to the orderly conduct of visitors at what everyone was calling "Judah's shrine."

     But they could not stay any longer. It was time for everyone to leave.

     Ulrika looked out at the dark desert and felt gooseflesh rise on her arms. Something was out there, coming this way ...

     T
HE RIDER GALLOPED ACROSS
the desert at breakneck speed, moonlight guiding his way, his cloak flying behind him as his steed kicked up clouds of sand. Sebastianus had used his powerful and influential connections, plus generous monetary donations, to keep the priests of Marduk placated. But it had come to an end. He had to warn Ulrika and the others.

     They were out of time. The temple guards were coming.

     A
S SHE WAITED ANXIOUSLY
for sign of Sebastianus, Ulrika looked at the quiet, faithful mob, regretful that she had given them this sacred place, only to have brought them into danger.

     Was it Judah who had cured the little girl? Ulrika knew that, in the vast world, there were many different beliefs, and miracles were possible.

     As the desert wind blew against her face, it reminded her of another desert, another wind—on the shore of the Sea of Salt. And suddenly she was remembering the place where Rachel and Almah had found her—on a grave. Ulrika had thought Rachel had buried her husband in sacred ground. But now, as people prayed to Venerable Judah, Ulrika wondered if it had been the other way around. Had Jacob made that ground sacred?

     Remembering, too, that Jacob and Judah had been "brothers" under their master in Galilee, Ulrika wondered now if Jacob was also a Venerable One.

     I
N PRIMO'S TENT, THE
secretary was packing his writing equipment and saying, "I will see that your letter is delivered safely to the house of Ambassador Publius first thing in the morning." After reading the dictation back to Primo, making corrections, and then copying it out again more neatly, the secretary had rolled it up, dripped wax onto it, and allowed Primo to seal the scroll with his ring.

     "A job well done," Primo said, but as he reached into his money pouch for coins, he heard horse's hooves approaching at a gallop. Looking out, he saw Sebastianus flying into the camp.