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.