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, orwhy 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, drillingthem, 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.