Nearby, sitting at the campsite with his pie-faced son Nestor, who was stirring a stew of lamb and vegetables, Timonides watched the exchange between Sebastianus and the Babylonian with a jaundiced eye. He alone knew that Sebastianus's caravan to China was going to be no dove's flight because it lay upon a route plagued by pitfalls, traps, treachery, and setbacks. Not that any of this was apparent to ordinary men, or could be seen with the naked eye. Only Timonides knew of the great dangers that lay ahead, because only he had read his master's stars and had seen the calamities that awaited him.

     And it was all the fault of Timonides the astrologer! He could not stop falsifying his horoscopes, but must keep lying, must keep Sebastianus moving eastward in order to save Nestor from certain execution. The hue and cry from Antioch had not yet reached Babylon, but the royal mail routes along the Euphrates River were swift and efficient. A word from one magistrate to another, and the guards of the city would be knocking upon every door, looking under every rug, overturning every man-sized jar in search of the assassin of the beloved Bessas the holy man.

     It made Timonides almost too sick to eat.

     The stars did not lie. Sebastianus was supposed to be, at that moment, somewhere south of Antioch, perhaps as far south as Petra. Anywhere but here! Yet Timonides, interpreter of the will of the gods, urged his master ever eastward, uttering blasphemy upon blasphemy, at the sacrifice of his own immortal soul. For surely he was going to Hell for his sacrilege. Worse, by bringing Nestor along on his caravan he made Sebastianus an unwitting participant in a capital crime. Sebastianus was giving aid to a fugitive, which meant certain execution for him as well, should they be caught.

     If only they would leave! Timonides had gently suggested that they start for the East today, this minute, not waste a precious moment, but Sebastianus, he knew, was thinking of that girl! Ulrika. She was like an insidious disease, itching just below Sebastianus's skin. Timonides saw how his master looked westward every evening, pausing in his work to gaze wistfully over the miles and horizon, picturing the fair-haired girl who had bewitched him. Timonides had been tempted to falsify a horoscope and insist they leave, but it would just be one sin too many. Wherever he could be honest, he would be so. Besides, why put his master to the test? What if he told Sebastianus that the gods insist they leave at once, and Sebastianus, waiting for Ulrika, said no?

     To make matters worse, Sebastianus was considering altering the first leg of their journey to accommodate that girl. He had asked around for information on the whereabouts of Shalamandar, but no one had heard of it. She had said the place was in Persia, and so Sebastianus had declared his intention of going north at first, to accompany her to her own destination before getting on to the business of China!

     With a sigh, and thinking that the philosophers were right when they said it was impossible to love and be wise, Timonides returned to his charts and instruments for the noon horoscope, and as he re-calculated his master's stars, taking into account the comet that had appeared in Sebastianus's moon-house, and the unexpected falling star that had streaked past Mars—

     Timonides froze, and his breakfast of eggplant and garlic rose to the back of his throat.

     Not again ...

     He wanted to cry out against the injustice of life. Destined forever to read the stars for other people, Timonides the astrologer, who had been abandoned on a trash heap as an infant, had hoped that someday the gods would reveal to their humble servant the stars of his own birth. To this end Timonides had tried to keep his astrological practice pure.

     But the gods were perverse. They toyed with him, tormented him. Gave him glimmers of hope only to dash them.

     The girl was in Babylon.

     There was no doubt about it. Sebastianus's horoscope had changed. The two lovers were about to cross paths again.

     And so once more, despite oaths to the contrary, Timonides must falsify another reading. He could not allow Ulrika to join the caravan. Nestor had behaved himself during the journey from Antioch and during their stay in Babylon. But with Ulrika in his company once again, the boy would certainly commit another crime to please her.

     Even if it meant sending his own immortal soul to Hell, Timonides had to protect his son.

     "Master," he called, rising from his table. "I have found her at last. The stars have revealed Ulrika's location."

     Sebastianus turned such a hopeful smile to him that Timonides feared the eggplant was going to come all the way up. Swallowing back his bile, he said, "She is in Jerusalem. She is with her mother and family."

     The smile turned to a frown. "Are you sure?"

     "The stars do not lie, master. Even if the girl were to leave Jerusalem today, she would not reach Babylon for weeks. But master, a journey does not lie in her future. She is staying in Jerusalem."

     It pierced the old man's heart to see such disappointment on Sebastianus's face. He loved young Gallus almost as much as he loved Nestor. Cursing his life, cursing the parents who had abandoned him on a trash heap, cursing Babylon and the gods and even the stars, Timonides said, "There is something else. The comet last night, and the falling star against Mars, indicate that we must leave at once. We cannot stay another day in this city. It is crucial, master."

     "But the Summer Solstice is days away!"

     "Master, the worst calamity will befall this caravan if we delay. Today is the most propitious day for departure. The gods have made themselves clear."

     With a scowl, Sebastianus weighed his decision.

     He had spent his time in Babylon collecting as much information as he could about China. Precious little was to be had. Goods from that distant land never came directly to this part of the world, but passed through a series of middlemen. A bolt of Chinese silk might cross the hands of twenty traders before it reached the Babylonian market. It was the same with information. Place names, in particular, did not travel well, and so each man he spoke to, every map he consulted, had different names for cities and geographical features.

     One, however, seemed more consistent. The city where China's emperor was throned. Sebastianus had a name at last, an identifiable goal to set before himself each dawn and sunset, keeping it in his mind like a fixed star.

     "Very well," he said reluctantly. "Where is Primo? Timonides, send someone into the city to find him."

     "Yes yes, master," Timonides said with relief. Later, in the next city or valley or mountain, when they were far enough away from the threat of Ulrika's presence, he would make sacrifice to as many gods as he could, offer penance and self-denial, dedicate himself to fasting and celibacy if he must—Timonides would do everything in his power to get himself back into the good graces of the Divine.

     "Make certain Primo comes back at once," Sebastianus said, and then he turned and strode into his tent, his mind already composing the letter he was going to write to Ulrika and leave in the care of the Caravan Master.

     ACROSS THE RIVER IN the Western City, in the shadow of the Temple of Shamash, Primo the retired legionary, Chief Steward of the Gallus villa in Rome but now second in command of his master's caravan to China, lay back as a whore massaged his thick penis. His thoughts were not upon the woman and her carnal ministrations but upon the long journey he and his specially trained men were about to take. And he mentally reviewed the things he was to see to that day: provisions, weapons, the duties roster.