He held out his hand, wondering what the boy had gotten into now—Nestor had a penchant for bringing flowers for Ulrika, or colored pebbles—and took the sack, thinking it held a melon of some sort, by the weight and shape.

     Praying the boy hadn't stolen it, and that Timonides wouldn't have to find the owner in the morning, and explain things, he opened the sack and peered in, wrinkling his nose, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light in the room. "What—" he began. Narrowed his eyes. Brought the sack closer. "I don't..."

     And then—

     Timonides cried out.

     He dropped the sack and tripped backwards to land on his buttocks. "Nestor!" he cried. "Nestor! What have you done?"

     For Nestor's gift was the head of Bessas, the holy man whom all of Antioch revered.

14

IT WAS A LONG moment before a stunned Timonides could scramble to his feet. And then it was to rush to the small window, throw open the shutters, and thrust his head out in time to vomit down to the street below. He broke out in a cold sweat and let the night air revive him.

     The head of Bessas ...

     What had possessed Nestor?

     His mind reeling, Timonides closed his eyes and tried to think. As sweat poured from his face and dripped from his nose—as wave after wave of nausea hit him—he recalled words he had spoken earlier by the fire: "My master should just pluck the bastard's head from his neck and scoop the information out!"

     And there sat Nestor with his knack for two things: taking words literally, and always wanting to please. Especially Ulrika.

     "By the stars," Timonides whispered, feeling the leeks swim in his belly and come up again. He vomited twice more before he could bring his headinside, and then it was to worry that his scream might have been heard. But the mudbrick walls of the inn were thick. Had he disturbed the others, he would have known by now. But the night continued on in its objective silence, and Timonides was alone with a monstrous problem on his hands.

     A problem that grew in size and proportion as several facts began to sink in: primarily, that Sebastianus had said Bessas was believed to have brought luck to people.

     And people didn't take kindly to holy men getting their heads cut off.

     As the immensity of Nestor's act began to sink in, Timonides felt his bones and muscles melt. He feared he was going to faint. But he had to maintain a stout heart and a clear head. What was he going to do?

     They will be coming for my son ...

     For it was certain that Nestor, who continued to stand there smiling, oblivious of what he had done, would surely not have been careful to go about his grisly task unseen, nor would he have covered his traces. Knowing Nestor, he might have even shown his "gift" to a passerby! The hue and cry could be out at that moment, the guards of the night watch stamping down the street that very minute, to take Nestor away for certain execution.

     Timonides's legs gave way and he slumped to the floor. They will crucify my son ...

     AS HE WATCHED HIS FATHER take a seat on the floor, Nestor thought of the gift he had just brought, and was thoroughly delighted with himself. He hadn't done it for his father, it was for the lady with the sunlight hair.

     Nestor loved Reeka and would do anything for her, she talked to him so soothingly, calming him, telling him that everything was going to be all right. He loved her voice. It caressed his inside mind. Like a mother's touch.

     He giggled when he looked at the sack on the floor. In the simple mechanisms of his mind, Nestor had discerned that Papa and Uncle Sebastianus were looking for a pool. They hoped to take Reeka there, to make her happy. But Papa and Uncle Sebastianus had seemed to be having a hard time finding the pool, and there was a man who knew where it was, but hewasn't telling. Papa said it could be scooped from his brain. Uncle Sebastianus had said the man lived in a hut near the big statue of Daphne. Nestor remembered the statue because it looked so comical, a woman with tree branches growing out of her hair. Papa needed to scoop the pool from the man's brain, so here it was!

     A gift for Reeka, the lady with the sunlight hair.

     LIFTING HIS WEARY HEAD, Timonides looked up at his son, still standing in the doorway with a smile on his face, and Timonides felt his heart break into a million pieces.

     He suddenly felt big and lumpy and stupid, this astrologer who could read the messages in the stars with such precision that he could advise a fellow on whether to choose beans or lentils for supper—a man who could lift his face to the dark bowl of night, pick out Venus, and tell you exactly where she would be in an hour, in a month—a man who could close his eyes and point directly at red, distant Mars while other men would be searching wide-eyed and saying, "Where is it?"

     A man of precision and control, and yet whose life had just unraveled into the myriad fibers that had made up its fabric.

     This is it, he thought in weary surrender. This is the catastrophe that was foretold. And it is all my fault. I brought this about. I used the stars and my sacred calling for my own personal gain. I wanted to keep the girl and her healing skills at my side, and in so doing brought calamity to myself and my master's house. I alone can fix it.

     And there was only one way. Timonides the astrologer had to lie again.

     My punishment, he thought, for having lied in the first place. And the punishment, ironically, was that he was doomed to continue to lie. He could never, for as long as he lived, tell Sebastianus the truth of what had happened tonight.

     Hoisting his bulk from the floor, he searched the cold night for a plan. They must leave the city at once and be well away before the magistrate was able to determine the identity of the cold-blooded killer of Bessas the holyhermit. It will be easy to convince Sebastianus to move at a quick pace. He always obeys the stars—

     Timonides groaned as he suddenly remembered Ulrika. He could not let her come along, for Nestor would continue to commit crimes to please her.

     I will tell her that I have done her chart and found that her mother is living in Jerusalem.

     Sebastianus will ask about Bessas. I will tell him that the hermit is not to be trusted.

     Telling Nestor to go to bed, assuring him that his gift was good and that Papa was pleased, Timonides went to his travel pack to bring out his box of charts and instruments. The old astrologer felt the weight of the world on his back. He did not want to do this—he did not want to lie again, to blaspheme and commit sacrilege, to outrage the gods and bring their wrath upon his head. But he had no choice. He must save his son, even at the risk of his own immortal soul.

     When he had cradled Nestor as a baby, Timonides had learned a primal truth: that it was not the parent who created the child, but the child who created the parent. And while others saw a simpleton, Timonides the believer in the transmigration of souls looked beyond the homely features and thought of the migrant soul that might lurk behind them. Perhaps Nestor possessed the reincarnated soul of the greatest philosopher who ever lived.