"You see?" Sebastianus said. "There is no one here."

     "Look!" Ulrika whispered, pointing.

     He turned and, lifting the torch, saw the rock wall suddenly spring to life. It was covered in vivid paintings, and as Sebastianus examined the figures rendered in bright reds and yellows and browns, he was able to identify bison, deer, wolves. There were also small figures of men carrying spears, chasing the animals, hunting them. All executed in a lifelike manner. Sebastianus had never seen anything like it.

     "Someone is buried here," Ulrika murmured. "He was a holy man ... a long time ago."

     Sebastianus turned to her and saw Ulrika's face cast in strange shadows. Her eyes were wide as they swept the darkness, as if searching for that ancient holy man, as if expecting to find him there, welcoming the two intruders.

     "This is why we are safe in here," she added quietly. "This is why those men outside will not come in here. It is a holy place, and taboo for them to walk on this ground."

     "How did you know?"

     "I think—" she began. "Do you remember the old woman who told you in which direction I had gone? She took me into her hut for a while and she told me that I have a gift."

     "What sort of gift?"

     "I am visited by visions, dreams. I thought it was a sickness, but the old woman said it is a power given to me by the gods and that I am to use it to help others."

     Sebastianus nodded. "My mother believed in such powers. She called it the Invisible Eye." He took in the loose tawny hair, trailing over one shoulder but still coiled on the other side, the smudges on her cheeks and chin, the tattered dress that spoke of disappointment and grief. And suddenly he was gripped with the impulse to take her into his arms and hold her, keep her safe, make love to her. "It is late. You need to sleep."

     As he led the way back to the reassuring fire, they both tried to ignore the forest beyond the cave's entrance, an uncanny realm of ghosts and owls and Barbarian rebels awaiting the unsuspecting trespasser. Ulrika gave Sebastianus'scloak back to him, saying her own would be sufficient now that the fire had warmed the cave, and then she took a place by the amber flames, to lie down and curl up in her cloak.

     Soon, troubling images filled her slumbering mind. The valley strewn with the victims of Roman treachery. Her father, cut down by an imperial sword. Did he fight to the very end? Did it take ten soldiers to finally bring the great Wulf to his knees? In her dream, Ulrika wept until she thought her heart would break.

     And then she realized she was not sleeping by the fire anymore but had somehow made her way to the back of the cave, where she was alone beneath the stony vault ceiling.

     In the next moment, sandaled feet stood before her. Ulrika pushed herself up and saw an old man looming over her, robed in a bear skin and carrying a spear. His hair and beard where white and long. He spoke. "I am the shaman of our tribe. We are Wolf Clan. I created these paintings eons ago. They tell the story of our people. Your people. You have forgotten who you are, your ancient names, your purpose and destiny. It is not for you, Ulrika of the Cherusci, to sit at a loom, recline on silken couches, and have slaves attend you. Ancient blood swims in your veins. Feel it. You know in your bones, you know in your sinew, who you are. You know, too, that the gods have singled you out for a special purpose. You have been given a great gift, which you must use for the good of humankind. But first you must return to the place of your beginning."

     "My beginning," Ulrika whispered. "I do not know where that is."

     "Your mother told you the story long ago. You have not forgotten. The name of the place sleeps in the deepest part of your soul. Think, Ulrika!"

     She struggled with her thoughts. Yes, her mother had told her of her journey through Persia with Wulf. But there had been many place names—

     "Go deep into that place you rarely venture, Ulrika, to that part of your soul which slumbers, a repository of precious memories. Your mother and father stopped to rest at a place called..."

     "I remember," Ulrika said in wonder. "They stayed beside the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar."

     "And that is where you must go ..."

     The old man was bent and wizened, skin and bone, but as he stood before Ulrika against the backdrop of vividly painted bison and deer, the flesh began to grow on his limbs, muscles filled out beneath the shriveled skin, he grew tall. His hair turned from white to bronze, the fragile jaw filled in and grew a stubbled beard.

     Sebastianus!

     He wore only a loincloth. She saw the wound on his upper arm, which she had cleaned and bandaged, an injury to muscles that had wielded the heavy sword when he came to her rescue. He glistened with sweat.

     What had he to do with this cave, with the shaman who slept here?

     Sebastianus filled the stone chamber with his masculine power. Ulrika had never known a man so strong, so male. She became warm, feverish. She rose to her feet to stand before him, to face this powerful man.

     He spoke in the voice of the ancient shaman: "You must not turn your back on the call from the gods. You are courageous, Ulrika. You will not deny your destiny."

     "But I do not know how to find the Crystal Pools of Shalamandar. And it is such a long and hazardous journey."

     "Great destinies do not come easily."

     Sebastianus reached up and drew down the other side of her hair, undoing the Grecian knot entirely. At his touch, her skin caught on fire. She had never known such sexual hunger. But she felt something else, too, a power she had never sensed before, as if it were waking up, stirring from a deep, ancient slumber.

     He swept her into his arms then and, pulling her to him, pressed his lips to hers. Ulrika's arms went around his neck. She clung to him, kissing him back, relishing the hardness of his body, his masculine power and strength.

     And then he began to fade, leaving her arms empty and cold.

     Don't leave me ...

     ACROSS THE FIRE, SEBASTIANUS watched Ulrika as she slept. It was a fitful sleep, her eyelids fluttering and small sounds coming from her throat. Ofwhat did she dream, he wondered? She was enchanted somehow, touched by a special magic. The admission of her special gift did not surprise him. But where in all the world did such a special creature belong?

     When she started to shiver violently, he took his cloak and laid down beside her, covering her with the thick blue fabric and drawing her into his arms. Her hand went up to his neck, and Sebastianus struggled against desire. Ulrika was asleep, vulnerable, and he was her protector. He would never betray that trust.

     He stroked her hair and whispered words of comfort, and after a moment she grew quiet and the shivering stopped. As he watched her closed eyelids, the long lashes resting on white skin, he thought of the wondrous gift she had given him and did not know it—a priceless commodity that was going to be presented to Claudius Caesar upon Sebastianus's return to Rome and that was going to guarantee the awarding of the China diploma to him.

     With such exciting thoughts in his head, Sebastianus fell asleep, holding the enchanted girl, protecting her with his strength and his warmth. And presently he sighed deeply, his broad chest expanding, and as he exhaled, a low groan came from this throat.