Sebastianus could not argue with this logic. He also could not deny that the girl had been able to affect a cure that Rome's physicians could not, so perhaps she would be an asset on the caravan. But how would she travel? Where would she sleep? How could he keep a watchful eye on all his men?

     "But I am in a hurry," Ulrika said. "I must travel with speed and your caravan is too large, it will take too long."

     "As it so happens," Timonides said quickly, "my master is also in a hurry and must reach Germania Inferior as fast as he can, and so we will be traveling at a healthy pace."

     Timonides saw how his master hesitated and so he said, "Master, you know that in the next towns, a family will join us, or a group of women. They always do. It will only be for a short time that the young lady is unchaperoned."

     Sebastianus considered this and then, as he had never questioned the stars, he finally said, "Very well," as Timonides had known he would.

     It was done! The girl was coming along and Timonides was guaranteed of freedom from salivary pain. He struggled to conceal his joy.

     They entered into an agreement. With the corner of her veil covering her fingers, Ulrika shook hands with Sebastianus and in that instant a startling vision filled her head: an explosion of small bright lights streaking across the black sky and coming to rest, like a shower of golden sprinkles, on a vast, grassy valley. The image was so strong, so vivid that it held her briefly transfixed.

     In the next moment, her mind was filled with the vision of a breathtaking landscape of rolling green hills, a rocky coastline, winds blowing in from the sea. She knew it was a land called Galicia, although she had never been there. She knew it was this man's beloved home, verdant with thick forests, ending in a wild and rugged coastline, a place that his people called Land of the Thousand Rivers—and yet thoughts of Galicia caused him great pain. He is homesick, she thought, yet he can never go back. Sebastianus Gallus was a man without a country.

     As Gallus picked up her travel packs and she followed him to a line of covered carriages, as her heart raced in anticipation of meeting her father at last, Ulrika shivered with a chilling thought. If her illness was indeed back, what other frightening visions and sensations awaited her on this journey into the unknown?

BOOK TWO

GERMANIA

8

STAND ASIDE IN THE NAME OF IMPERIAL ROME!"

     Ulrika did not recognize the stranger demanding to be let in. "Who are you?"

     "Agents of Claudius Caesar. You are hiding someone in there."

     "I am hiding no one. We are a simple trade caravan, taking grain to the northern outposts. You must speak with Sebastianus Gallus, he is the leader of this caravan. You cannot mistake him. He is tall, with hair the color of bronze, and a deep commanding voice, and a way about him that makes one notice. He is unmarried, although I do not understand why, for he is very attractive, quite handsome, in fact—"

     Ulrika opened her eyes to darkness and found herself in bed. Where was she? To whom had she been speaking?

     It was another dream ...

     She held her breath and listened, and heard, beyond the cloth walls of her small tent, horses galloping through the encampment. Men shouting. Women crying out.

     Ulrika frowned. It was barely dawn. The camp wasn't due to break up for another two hours.

     Clutching her shawl at her throat, her long hair streaming over her shoulders, she stepped out and peered through the atmosphere thick with mist and smoke. Eerie figures were marching through the camp, brandishing swords and barking orders. Roman legionaries, rousing people from sleep, disrupting breakfasts, interrupting prayers.

     As Ulrika watched the commotion in the pale morning light, Timonides appeared from around the side of the tent. "What's going on?" the astrologer asked with his mouth full. He held a greasy lamb chop with a bite taken out; his tunic was stained down the front where honey had dripped from wheat cakes. It was the first of several meals of the day for the corpulent Greek who had discovered the joy of eating again.

     "I do not know," Ulrika murmured.

     Timonides wrinkled his nose as he watched the red-caped legionaries stride through the crowded encampment, entering tents and covered wagons, kicking over hay bales, jabbing swords into barrels and bundles of merchandise. "They appear to be searching for something," he observed as he sank his teeth into the spicy chop.

     Or someone, Ulrika thought.

     "Where is your master?" she asked as she watched the legionaries brusquely pull people from tents, bringing torches close to their faces, to examine them and then push them away.

     "Sebastianus will come soon. Mistress, go back inside. With your fair hair and that symbol you wear about your neck..."

     Ulrika's hand went to her breast, where she wore the Germanic Cross of Odin. She turned and looked out over the Rhine—a wide, flat, silver river that, in the early morning mist, looked unreal. Roman naval vessels patrolled the waters, great ships moving under the power of sail or rhythmic oars, a constant reminder of Rome's imperial and mighty presence in this northern land. On the other side of the river, dark green forests holding ancient secrets stretched to the horizon.

     Ulrika brought herself back to the camp and the intruders. The caravan of Sebastianus Gallus had stopped, along with several smaller caravans andgroups of traders and travelers, at a garrison called Fort Bonna, one day's journey south of Colonia, birthplace of Empress Agrippina and the cause of the new outbreak of war in the region. Since leaving Lugdunum in Gaul and following the eastward road that skirted alpine foothills, the mood of the caravan had become one of nervousness and anxiety. Lugdunum was a major trading hub in Europe, a cosmopolitan city of marble towers and fortress walls and roads that stretched away like the spokes of a wagon wheel. And along those roads, men traveled, bringing with them word of fighting in the east, rumors and unconfirmed reports but no one saying for certain what was happening—or was going to happen, or had already happened—in Germania Inferior.

     Now, after days of rising apprehension, they had come to a halt fifteen miles from Ulrika's destination. Her heart raced. Where was Gaius Vatinius and his legions? Everyone said that he was leading his troops directly across the Alps, a more hazardous route than the one caravans took, but a more direct one—thousands of men pushing northward like a deadly tide, bringing horses and weapons and war machines into the pristine forests of Ulrika's people. How far behind were the legions? How much time was left to her to find her father and warn him?

     As she kept her eye on the soldiers, their armor clanking as they pushed their way into people's privacy, stamping the ground with their thick, hobnailed sandals, Ulrika wondered where Sebastianus was. She glanced at his tent. It was dark and deserted as usual. Once again, he had not slept in his own bed.

     Where does he go every night?

     As they had followed the busy trade route from Rome to Masilia, from Lugdunum to the Rhine, Ulrika had seen Sebastianus Gallus interact with merchants, traders, and travelers, inviting them to share his fire and a meal. Trade and commerce were conducted at each stopping point, with the abacus coming out, coins being counted, baskets and bundles of merchandise changing hands, and Gallus overseeing it all. When business was concluded, he would bathe in his tent, change into a fresh tunic and cloak, and leave the camp, usually bearing gifts, to head into the village or town, and return the next morning.